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appocalipse · 2 months

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that guy ⊹ steve harrington

summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.

It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.

To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.

You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.

"Hi."

You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"

"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."

A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.

How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?

You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.

"So...not the one, I take it?"

Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.

"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."

"Nothing is wrong with you."

"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"

The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."

Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.

"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."

"She does."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."

"At least you have one."

He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"

You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.

What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.

Until it wasn't.

"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."

"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."

Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"

You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."

"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"

Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.

Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.

"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."

"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.

Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"

"You...don't know him," you hedge.

"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."

"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."

Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."

The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.

You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."

"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.

You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?

You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.

"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."

Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.

The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.

No, you aren't going to cry.

This is stupid.

You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.

When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.

You don't have to look up to know that it's him.

"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.

"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.

There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.

"You look just fine to me."

You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."

He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.

"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.

You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.

"I should've never asked. That was selfish."

"Forget it," you say.

He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.

You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.

"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."

"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."

"Yup. Exactly. In there."

"So you said."

"Yep."

The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—

He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.

"Okay, so—"

You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.

He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."

You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.

"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.

Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"

"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."

"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"

He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."

"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.

"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."

"Steve."

"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."

"Steve—"

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."

He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.

Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.

"Is this okay?" he whispers.

"I don't—what?"

Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.

"This," Steve murmurs.

He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.

"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."

"I think I am."

His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.

"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"

You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.

"Yes. It's you."

A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.

You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.

"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."

A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.

"Oh yeah?"

"Completely."

You kiss him this time.

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

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It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 5 ] || [ Chapter 7 ]

Pairing: Price x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ cw: firing guns, i guess (but John's teaching you). Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 6: John.

You crossed the entrance to the small pub, head held high, in your most honest attempt at feigning confidence.

After you had accepted, jokingly, to meet with this ‘Captain John’, only as an opportunity to roast the three men behind the account some more, Kyle had reached out to you, through John’s account, saying he also accepted and wanted to meet you today, Friday night, at 8 P.M.

You almost backed out.

Keyword, almost.

Because when you went to your groupchat to ask for support from them, your girlfriends encouraged you.

You almost set a Siri reminder to get better friends.

Either way, you have to admit that it feels… better to meet up John. Your heart is still a bit sore, the wound of heartbreak still struggling to swell closed…

Meeting with Simon or Kyle or Johnny would’ve meant rehashing it. You couldn’t risk getting attached to them after a night of casual sex. But there’s no expectations here… John is older than you, than them. This is just drinks, according to Kyle. He had insisted, in fact, that it be just drinks.

It felt more comforting to know you weren’t expected to go home with him at the end… Even though he’s handsome enough that you wouldn’t exactly refuse had your heart not been in its current state.

So, here you are. You keep his Tinder profile open on your phone, like it has been since you left the house, trying to memorize his features so that when you spot him, you recognize him instantly.

In a way, this feels like a blind date… And it’s strangely exciting.

You spot him from the door the moment your eyes scan the room. He’s at a table in the far corner, his back against the wall, taking up a bar stool. You stop by the bar before making your way over, getting yourself a drink.

You’re not sure if he’s spotted you, if he knows who you are. So you take the time to get a proper look at him that isn’t through a grainy picture on your phone.

He’s about as wide as he is tall and his forearms are covered in hair (“built like a bear”, check.). He’s got a tumbler of ambar liquid in front of him, you can infer it’s whiskey (“likes Whiskey”, check.). His beard is a bit thicker than in the pictures you were sent, and he looks knackered, his eyes surrounded by heavy dark circles.

He sits with his back straight, however his head hangs low and he keeps looking around through his eyebrows like he’s suspicious of everyone. His legs are spread, heels hooked on the footrest of the stool, the jeans he wears clinging tight to his strong thighs. His hands hang limply between them. He’s wearing a maroon button-up atop a white crewneck t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show a black watch on his left wrist.

In short, he’s handsome. And does not look his age.

Stopping in front of the table, you offer him a smile. “John?” You ask, as if you don’t already know it’s you.

He seems to finally notice you, and his harsh face softens with a smile that scrunches his nose.

“Hi. How are you?” He asks politely as he pulls back the stool on his right side for you. You take the seat, squirming a bit as you look for a good position.

“Can’t complain. You alright?” You return and you catch how he looks at you, up and down, his head hanging low, as he glances at you.

“What are you drinking?” He asks.

“Oh, just… a Sprite.” You answer as you keep glancing at him.

He goes quiet and nods, looking away for a moment, giving you every indication that he’s not interested in being here.

“I get it, you know.” You say after a beat of long, strenuous silence.

John’s blue eyes immediately flitter over to you, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Get what?” He asks with a mix of confusion and disdain in him.

“Being forced to go out… Meet someone.” You explain as you sip your Sprite through the black straw the bartender gave you.

“Oh, really?” He retorts as he leans his left elbow on the round table and swivels to look over at you.

“Oh, yeah.” You say with a nod. “Recovering from a break-up.” You tell him. “My friends put me up to the whole… dating app-get laid thing. So, I get it. It’s… awkward.” You add.

“Hm.” He says with a nod and presses his lips together a bit, as if conceding to you.

“We don’t have to make this a whole thing, if you don’t want to.” You tell him and smile a bit. “I can leave, if you’d like. Or you can.” You offer, noticing how his eyes soften a little.

“No… it’s alright…” He tells you. His eyes slip away from you and he looks down at his lap, blinking a little. He seems… a bit lost in thought. He goes quiet again.

“Okay, then.” You say simply. “I just figured you needed a distraction, you know… Your lads were complaining about you being stressed…” You add, your eyes stuck on him, to try and spot his reaction.

He curls his fists closed and then uncurls them, running his clammy palms over his jeans for a moment. Then, he inhales sharply before slapping his hands on his thighs and turning to you swiftly.

“You ever shot a gun before?” He asks you, causing your brows to raise in surprise.

“No?” You answer, watching as he downs the rest of his whiskey and jumps down from his stool.

“C’mon. I’m teaching you.” He demands as he contours the table and helps you down, guiding you back out of the pub.

“Bend your arms about 10 degrees at the elbows.” John tells you from behind you, his big rough hands adjusting your shape with tender but determined touches.

John’s driven you to a firing club’s range just outside of London. You’ve been at this for an hour now and it’s… surprisingly fun.

You’ve yet to land a proper shot, your arms always shaking a little out of aim… But you’ve landed them in the target, which is more than you thought you were going to succeed.

“How the fuck do you handle this every day? This damn rifle is heavy, my arms hurt and we’ve only been practicing for an hour!” You tell him after firing another shot that did not land.

“Lots of practice, love.” He replies, his tone amused. He stepped up behind you, once more fixing your stance, giving little taps to your hip with one of his large hands to force you to stiffen.

John’s been trying not to snicker every time you fire. At first it was because you were flinching, but now it’s because your aim is that bad. But you don’t mind the mockery. He’s got a smile on his face, his smile lines and nose all crinkled.

“Go on, again.” He demands as he helps adjust you, his breath brushing against your ear, the warmth of his torso against your back, and his eyes above the rifle, to try and see if you’re in target. He makes some last second adjustments and then you fire.

This time it was a bull’s eye. “THERE WE GO!” You cheer for yourself and shimmy your shoulders a little while holding the rifle steady. This time, John doesn’t contain himself, and fully laughs. Deep and rich, right next to your ear, making you shiver a bit, your skin covered in goosebumps.

“Good job.” He praises you and gived you another little tap on your hip, this time, sort of catching the side of your ass. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise and you bite your lip before looking up at him.

“You’ve had enough yet?” He asks you with a cocked brow as you lower the rifle into a safe handle, pointing down and to the side.

“Depends.” You find yourself saying as he takes the rifle from you to return at the rental counter.

“On what, love?” He asks you, eyes locked on yours as you turn to face him fully. He seems to be in a much better mood.

“Me having enough of shooting…” You trail off. “Will that end the night? Are you going to drop me off at home?” You ask him.

His eyebrows raise for a bit, but then they lower and his eyes narrow as a ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Oh no, I’m taking you home, but not dropping you off. I’m spending the night with you.” He assures you.

Then, he walks off out to the armory counter, as if he hasn’t just said that.

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #john price x reader

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luverboychris · 4 months

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𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑹𝑨 𝑩𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑭𝑰𝑻𝑺 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

IN WHICH.. chris realizes he wants more than just friends with benefits. what happens when he sees another man touch you?

soft dom!chris x fem reader, friends with benefits, jealousy, car sex

note: siri, play friends by chase atlantic ..

— 5.1k words

it was friday night, which meant you went over to chris’ apartment to fulfil all your dirty needs. he was your fuck buddy, the person that you knew you can call whenever you’re feeling horny. and, he knew he could count on you to do the same.

“fuck, that was..” chris says, panting out loud trying to catch his breath as he rolls onto his back. he rushes his hands through his half sweaty curls with a smile plastered on his face, “that was so good.” he adds.

you cover your naked body with his blanket, wrapping it around your chest as you turn to the side of him. “when is it not though?” you laugh, chris immediately joining with you.

“you have a point. i just love fucking you.” he replies. you shrug your shoulders with a smirk, as in if you already knew that.

you and chris have known each other for a couple years, but it was only just a few months ago where you ended up in his bed and ever since.. friends with benefits was in the mix.

you weren’t used to do it— having sex with someone constantly and not being involved with them romantically. but somehow it made you into a more confident person, and thrived off of it.

his unclothed self sneaks a little closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist under the blanket as he lays his head on your chest. you look down, seeing his eyes closed holding you tightly. you scoff, before reaching your hand out to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“oh shit, i got to go. i didn’t realize how late it was.” you said, snapping your body up to cause chris to go back down in his original spot.

you get out of his bed, quickly grabbing your clothes to dress yourself. chris staring at you as he watches you jump a little when you put your jeans fully back on.

“why you have to leave so quick? stay.” chris mumbles. you flip your gaze on him as you attempt to put your right shoe on.

“i can’t stay. i have a friend’s dinner in thirty and i really can’t be late.” you reply. he looks at you with a slight pout, but you stopped looking at him for you to even notice.

“please?” he begs. you still are looking down at the floor, putting on your other shoe as you begin to shake your head.

“nope. and since when do you beg? and want to cuddle? weird shit.” you laugh. he rubs his eyes aggressively, not knowing how to respond.

“well uh, have fun i guess. when am i seeing you next?” he asks. you put your jacket on and now bring your head up to look at him from across the room. he looked handsome, with his flushed up cheeks and toned upper half not being covered by the blanket.

“i don’t know chris, do we need to schedule or something? cmon.” you say. he playfully lifts his middle finger up at you and you giggle, “but i don’t know. not tomorrow though, going out with friends to the club. so maybe sunday, okay?” you add before you turn around and walk out of his bedroom.

“club? with what friends?” he shouts, yet now you’re almost out of his front door.

“don’t worry about it!” you yell back before shutting his apartment door.

—saturday night

you walk into the club with your friends on each side of you as you admire how tonights theme, they put blue led lights on which scattered perfectly throughout the place.

non stop laughs escaping all your mouths, thinking to yourself how much you appreciate a night out with the girls.

“drinks?” your friend asks, as you all make your way towards the bar.

“if i say no to that, slap me.” you reply. your friend orders all of you drinks as you lean your body against the bar top with your arms resting on it. one of your friends scans the whole place, then suddenly nudges you.

“this guy has been basically drooling, just staring at you y/n.” she whispers. you try to keep calm, attempting to smoothly look over your shoulder to see the mystery man.

and damn she was right. he had hungry eyes staring at you, like you were dessert. you snap your head away from him back to your friend. “shit, he’s cute.” you mumble. she smiles at you. your friend smirks, as she thinks of a devilish plan.

“hey you!” she yells, raising her arm that was holding her drink to him. your eyes widen at what she just did and you felt your face heat up like a lamp.

“i am going to fucking kill you.” you mouth to her as you lower your head, trying to melt into the bar table.

he wastes no time as he walks over to where your guys were, with a big smile plastered on his face. he was tall, tattoos throughout his whole body, with a outgrown buzz cut

“i actually wanted to come over here, but i could tell it’s a girls night.” he says. you and your friends all look up at him, nodding your heads.

“she’s single!” your friend randomly blurts as she points down over your head. you snag her hand down as quickly as possible, feeling the embarrassment rush through your veins. as much as you loved your friends trying to set you up, you felt like you didn’t need the constant help.

“hmm you are?” he smirks. you finally connect eye contact with him.

“yeah, but they are too.” you whine out, pointing at your friends by your side.

“but i want you.” he replies. oh shit, he was smooth. you didn’t respond and giggled instead, feeling all fluttery. he asked your name, as you fidget with your fingers.

his two friends come from behind him, and your friends smile. “you guys want to come to our section? drinks on us.” he says.

before you could even reply, your two friends push you all closer to the three boys. “yes!” they said in unison. well, i guess that means yes with you too because you all went to the other side of the club where they had their section with leathered booths.

the music was loud but as drinks were being handed to you, you sipped slowly and kept your composure. you were not trying to go so crazy tonight. while your friends had other intentions.. basically sitting on the two boy’s laps as they are giggling their heads off.

you feel the boy tap on your thigh to swing your attention back to him, “sorry, i’m just trying to keep an eye on them. they can get pretty wild.” you whisper yell in his ear.

“don’t worry about it.” he laughs. he moves you closer to him, now your legs basically on one another.

“so y/n..” he says, “how come you’re single?” he adds.

“outta pocket question.” you laugh, “i don’t know. i guess i haven’t found the right one yet. sounds cliche…”

he pulls his hand down and places it on your thigh that has been exposed by your skirt riding up too much from sitting down. “i don’t find it cliche, that makes total sense.” he says in your ear.

you feel your legs squeeze together. the touch of his cold hand and him rubbing his thumb back and fourth made you go just a little crazy.

and the worst part of it all was.. it reminded you of chris. this was the club you guys were at with all your friends when your little friends with benefits was created.

it was when you had too many drinks and he did too. you and chris went from innocently talking, when he then made the bold move to put his hand on your thigh. you remembered how you looked down at his hand placement and right back up to his face.

you remembered how he leaned his face to the top of your neck, “this okay..?” he whispered. you turned your head, completely facing him. your lips so close to touching as you went from looking down to his licked lips to his eyes that were full of lust at that moment.

“chris.. what are we doing?” you mumbled.

“what i’ve been wanting to do from the start.” he said before he grabbed the back of your head and connected your lips to his.

you bite your lip as you close your eyes thinking back to that night. how bad was it that you were now imagining chris’ hand on your thigh instead of this guy?

and what you didn’t know.. during all of this interaction, chris was walking in the club alone— it was when you mentioned going to a club with your friends right before you left his apartment, he instantly knew which one you were talking about.

he is wearing a black graphic t-shirt, black jeans, and he constantly is flipping his hat to all different directions. he looks around the club, looking for one person only.. you.

he goes to the bar, asking for a drink. “hey, can i get a whiskey cocktail please?” he says to the bartender. he nods before he goes to make chris’ drink request.

he cuts his gaze off the bartender then back to the scene, looking through the crowd of dancing people.

the bartender places the drink in front of chris, “ah thanks.” he says before bringing it up to take the first sip. he turns his whole body back, leaning his back towards the bar.

that’s when a girl comes to the side of him and sits next to him, “hi.” she says. he turns his head to look at her for a split second before going back to scanning the room.

and he couldn’t help but grow a smile on his face when he finally finds you. but he quickly had to do a double take because he thought his eyes were fooling him when he sees you basically on top of a man that wasn’t him. he sees your friends too but they’re making out with these other men. he had his eyes glued to you, holding his drink to his lips.

“playing hard to get i see?” the random girl laughs. he doesn’t even look at her again, still just staring your way. the grip on his drink tightens as jealousy sneaks through his body.

he didn’t give a shit about this girl trying to talk to him, he only wanted you.

“wow seriously?” she attempts again. he does nothing but leaves the bar area and walks to where you were. his gaze is dark as he comes to the booth you were at.

now he is standing above you and the boy, “who the fuck are you?” chris shouts. with how loud the music is echoing throughout the club, it took a couple seconds for you and the man to stare up at angry and bothered chris.

“chris?!” you question, as you smoothly drop the man’s hand off your thigh.

“y/n, i said who the fuck is this?” he asks again.

the man scoffs as he repositions himself, putting his arm around you. “no, who are you? and why are you acting like you’re her boyfriend?” he snaps at chris.

a cocky laugh escapes chris’ lips as he readjusts his hat. “you need to shut the fuck up.” he says. that sentence alone made the man leave your side and now stand up right in front of chris.

“you just come out of nowhere and try to start something?” he asks.

“i don’t know who you think are.. but seriously, don’t fucking touch her.” chris says.

“buddy, you don’t control her.. get the hell out of here.” the man laughs, as he rubs his hands through his hair.

chris didn’t even wait to pull his arm back and swing at him, punching him straight in the face. your mouth dropped, gasping from seeing how quickly that escalated.

the man drops to the floor due to not being prepared to be punched in the face. he held his hand to his upper cheek, slight blood being visible on his face from how hard chris’ knuckles went into his skin.

by now, your friends and his come closer and ask if he is okay.

you go to the floor and get on your knees to try to help him. you look up at chris with furrowed eyebrows, “chris, what the fuck is your problem?!” you shout.

“y/n..” chris says, as he looks at you with guilt filled eyes.

you look back down on the floor, holding the back of the man’s head for comfort. “cmon, let’s get you up.” you say. you help him getting up as he is still in shock with what just happened.

“man, you’re lucky i don’t get physical.” he hisses at chris.

chris doesn’t reply, as he is still only thinking about how upset you look. he couldn’t care less about how he hurt the man, he basically was asking for it with how he was acting like he’s known you for years. chris could tell you just met this man tonight, he knew you he didn’t have what you and him had.

you grab chris’ wrist and drag him in the hallway where no one is to be seen and all you can hear is the faint music from the main club room.

you walk closer to chris, looking up at him due to height difference. you push his chest, causing him to walk backwards a little. “why the fuck are you here?!” you yell.

you slap his chest again, making him walk back even more. “why are you causing problems?” you shout. he now has no more room to move back to as his back is against the wall.

“chris you better fucking answer me or i swear..” you say.

“you swear what?” he cuts you off, “what the fuck do you want me to tell you huh?” he adds. you look at him, trying not to admire how his blue eyes look in the dark hallway during this serious moment.

“you want me to tell you that i got jealous? that i don’t fucking like seeing you with any other guy? because that’s the reason why i’m here okay. fucking hell.” he yells.

you put your hand against his chest, still staring up at his eyes. you feel his heart racing and his breathing uneasy.

“jealous?” you ask.

“don’t act dumb y/n..” he mumbles.

“i didn’t know you get jealous. i mean, i don’t get jealous when i see you with other girls.” you reply, being truthful.

“i’m never with other girls y/n.” he snaps. you didn’t like the tone he was giving you, sounding incredibly rude.

“well i never said you can’t see other people. that’s the point of what you and i do, we aren’t together!” you snap back.

chris rests his hands on your waist, “i don’t fucking want to see other people!” he shouts.

you take his arms off you and attempt to walk away, “i can’t be doing this right now chris.. i’m ending my night early and going home.” you say. he grabs your arm, pulling you towards him and causing you to snap back in his embrace.

“i’m taking you home then.” he demands.

“fine.” you mumble.

—in the car

the car ride was basically silent the whole time, it wasn’t awkward but the tension was so intense that it made your body almost cramp up.

chris’ music playing, as he drives with one hand and the other on the center console. you were looking out the window, legs clenched. you didn’t realize chris kept looking at you to check up on you. he didn’t try to put you in an annoyed mood, but he just hated how you didn’t realize how much he wanted you.

he wanted every part of you, good and bad. he craved you so much, and he did a good job of hiding it in the past. but with how long he kept it in for, it grew too much that it was just impossible to keep it in.

“were almost at your apartment.” he blurts, breaking the silence. you don’t look at him, still looking through the window watching the moon follow you in the car ride home.

“mhm.” you reply. he turns his head for a second to look at you.

“y/n, i’m sorry if i upset you tonight.” he mutters. oh that sentence made you so agitated as you turn to look at him.

“are you serious? yes, i’m upset. not only did you embarrass the fuck out of me, you ruined my chances with a man i was hitting it off with!” you snap.

you notice his eyes shut for a second, taking a deep breath. “stop.” he whispers.

“stop what? i’m telling you why i’m upset.” you say, throwing your hands up in the air.

the light turns red, now his full attention on you. “don’t fucking talk about other men to me. it pisses me off.” he says. his gaze on you was so intense, it made you feel like you were shrinking with how submissive he was making you.

but it was also making you slightly horny.. seeing how protective he was over you. and you kind of wanted to push his buttons just a tad more.

“chris, i can say whatever i want. if i want to tell you how badly i wanted that guy i can.” you say.

his cheeks turn red, he didn’t know it was impossible to get this jealous but here he was breaking the record.

“y/n..” he whispers, “seriously shut the fuck up.” he adds.

“no.” you snap back. you know this was getting a rise out of chris, and you secretly loved it. you felt yourself become wet with every second that passes as you both throw words at eachother.

he pulls up to your apartment complex and parks his car. "y/n please stop, it gets my blood boiling." he practically begs.

you giggle, quickly stealing his hat off his head and keeping a firm grip on it. his hair now all messy and all over the place, his curls falling in different directions.

"y/n, give the hat back." he demands, holding his hand out for you to obey his orders.

that makes you smile at how ticked off he was getting. you hold it behind your back, shaking your head at him.

"stop playing around." he says. you shake your head at him again, like a little kid.

he pauses for a second, before he leans to try go grab it but you quickly move it away from him. you could tell how much this was aggravating him but you loved every little bit of it. teasing chris was just too fun.

but he wasn't down for any games, as he now wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you onto his lap. you were taken back from his actions, and also forgot how strong he was.

your legs on each side of him as your back is against his steering wheel. the hat being easily tossed to the side because now he didn't even care about his fucking hat, he just wanted you.

he looks up at you as you stare down, your hair lightly brushing over his face. he sneaks his hands around your ass and rubs circles with them, teasing you.

"i only want you.." he whispers, "and i need you to only want me too." he adds. your breath hitches, feeling your body vibrate with how he was making you feel.

with you now sitting on his lap, you can feel him get hard beneath you. his cock poking your heat and you grind just the slightest to create friction and pleasure. "i do want you chris." you say.

"but do you only want me?" he asks. you didn't know how to respond, because you didn't really know the answer yourself.

"i.. i don't know." you whisper.

"i need the answer to be yes." he demands as he begins to buckle his hips up towards you, causing a small moan to slip from your lips.

"c-chris.." you moan. he leaves one hand that was on your ass and brings it up to your neck, wrapping it around your throat creating the perfect amount of preassure.

"say you only want me." he says.

"i only want you." you mutter out.

with the grip he had on your neck, he pulls you close enough for him to kiss your lips. you practically melt into the kiss, craving his touch. it was crazy how no man can make you feel like this but chris.

"god baby why do you have to look so sexy tonight?" he whispers as he pulls away just to compliment you. you feel your heart beat increase and your pussy throb with how those words came out of his mouth.

"shhh." you say, pulling him back in the kiss.

but he only pulls you back once more. "can i come up to your apartment please?" he asks. you look down at him, rushing your fingers through his curls.

"i kind of want to do something we've never done before.." you mumble. that made chris incredibly curious.

"what..?" he says. you grin at him as you bite your lip at him.

"we never fucked in the car before." you say, giving him flirtatious eyes.

"i've been wanting to have sex with you in my car for so long." he says, practically drooling at the idea of it.

"well you're going to fuck me in your car tonight." you say in his ear.

"get in the backseat right now." he demands, not wanting to waste any time. he was so horny and you were too. you and chris always had crazy sexual tension but it was through the roof right now.

you follow his orders, as you get on your knees and crawl to the backseat through the center console. chris giggles at you before he walks out of the car and quickly joins you in the backseat.

you lay down as he climbs on top of you, kissing you like he has never been able to do so. as your lips intertwine and he slips his tongue in your mouth, he snakes his hand down your body to your skirt and rubs you through your underwear. he immediately feels how wet you are as he plays with the material and sliding it to the side, letting your bare pussy be on display.

as he still is kissing you passionately, he slides his fingers in you causing your mouth to slightly open. "i love how wet you get for me." he whispers in between kisses.

he continues to finger you, as you attempt to take your shirt off which left you in just your bra. "baby.." he says, making his way down so hes eye level to your lower half.

you sit up in the middle seat, as he is now on his knees in front of you. he spreads your legs open, licking his lips at how good you look.

“oh fuck.” he says after he pulls your skirt off, following with your laced thong. your now naked with just your bra and your legs spread for chris.

he puts his hands on your inner thighs, gripping them and admiring the sight before he goes to barry his face in your heat. you moan at the immediate contact, and his scruff rubbing against your exposed skin.

he opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out as he pulls it in and out of you. you immediately pull on his head of hair, gripping onto his curls.

“chris..” you moan out, arching your back. he was eating you out like he hasn’t had a meal in days. he looks up at you, his hooded blue eyes watching you become a moaning mess with your eyes closed. he loved watching you get all riled up for him, it made him the happiest man ever. and, it gave him the confidence to go even more intense with passion.

he goes a little higher up on your heat to suck on your clit, and your grip on his hair strengthens. he goes back down and hums into your pussy, causing vibration and it makes you feel the best intense pleasure.

“cum for me while my tongue is in ur pussy baby.” he says before going back to eating you out. you tried your hardest to last longer but your head feel dizzy and your pussy pulsating with how good he was eating you out.

“oh my f-fuck..” you moan before your orgasm comes rushing through your brain all the way down to your pussy. chris felt your walls tighten around his tongue and he felt proud of himself. he kissed the inside of your thighs before he went up from the car floor and sit right next to you.

“that felt so good.” you say, breathing heavy as you finally came down from your orgasm. chris smiles at you before he goes and leans down to kiss your collarbones.

you didn’t know why but chris loved to kiss your collarbones, he could kiss them for hours. he kisses one side to the other as he rubs his hands around your arm to your chest.

“i wanna make you cum again.” he says as keeps applying kisses to your collarbones.

“just fuck me already chris, i can’t wait any longer okay?” you whine out.

“seeing you beg for me is the fucking sexiest thing ever.” he says, as he goes up to leave kisses all over your neck while playing with your necklace.

you gulp, him teasing you with kisses all over your body creating more sexual thoughts in your head. you pull him off you, not being able to handle all his teasing he was doing.

“chris..” you whisper, “i need you inside me please.” he can’t help but smile again, feeling proud as ever.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. fuck, he looked so good shirtless. even though you have seen him like this too many times to count, you were shocked with how good he looked every time.

“you’re so hot.” you say. you catch him blushing after those words came out of your mouth.

“ma, stop it.” he says, feeling all fluttery. of course he had a soft side when it came to you— no other person had that effect on him.

“never.” you giggle. he covers his face for a second, not letting you see his childish grin that appeared on his face.

“baby, i already know i make you blush.” you say. he shushes you as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. he felt too submissive for his liking.

he continues to take the rest of his clothes off, unzipping his jeans and his boxers. he was never not hard when he was with you, so you weren’t surprised. but the size of his dick always took you back a second because he was huge, and you craved every inch.

you bite your lip as you stare down at his dick before he aligns himself in front of you, with your legs spread touching the car doors. he reaches his hand down to rub your clit as he pushes himself inside you fully.

you lick your top lip as your eyes close shut with him fully inside you. the position you were in made it ten times better and you felt every bit of him.

he quickly begins to move his body, sliding in and out of you.

“such a good girl.” he says. fuck.. every time he calls you a good girl, you go extra feral for him. as he keeps fucking you, he takes his fingers and puts them in your mouth, making you suck on them.

he takes his other hand, gripping it into your hip bone for control as he slams himself into you. he lifts his head up, not being able to handle how good you feel around him.

“who’s my little slut?” he asks, “tell me!” he adds.

“m-me.” you cry out. he pushes his fingers more into your hip, burying them into your delicate skin.

“you feel so good baby.” he groans, speeding up even more. you try to look at him but all you can do is stare up at the car ceiling with all the pleasure you were receiving.

but he can’t take that. he wants you to stare at him while he’s fucking you, he needs you to.

he squishes your face, gripping your jaw to pull your gaze on him, “look at me while i fuck you.” he says, as you now have no choice but to look into his blue blood shot eyes while he’s fucking you senseless.

“you’re a good girl taking all my cock.” he cries out, as he feels your walls clench around him with a certain stroke he did and it made you squirm.

"c-chris, right there." you moan, your eyebrows knitted together. he gets so flustered every time he hears you moan, wanting to hear it at any time of the day.

"like this baby?" he says, staying at the same speed he was at before as he puts his finger to your clit to rub it.

"oh my god- yes!" you yell.

"i want you to cum with me." he says, keeping his thumb on your clit while rubbing it in soft circular motions. his back muscles flexing every time his cock fully goes back inside you.

"fuck baby, i'm about to cum." he cries out, and you feel yourself about to as well. you look up to see chris sweaty and beat red face trying to contain himself as you feel his dick twitch inside you.

your stomach tenses, as you feel yourself climax. you moan out with all the pleasure he was giving you before he slips himself out of you. he quickly wraps his hand around the tip of his dick, pumping it a few times before he cums all over your lower stomach. your mouth wide open, thinking how hot it is he did that.

"fuck!" he says. you both try to maintain your breathing, as he goes to remove the hair out of your face.

"car sex more often.." he says leaning to kiss your lips, and you giggle at the statement he throws at you.

you both look at all the car windows, seeing how fogged up they are. chris reaches his hand out and starts writing on the window due to the condensation on the glass. "what are you doing?" you ask.

he smiles, still writing on the car window. he puts his hand down, as you begin to read what he wrote.

with the words, only want you written proudly by chris.

ᶠᴿᴵᴱᴺᴰˢ ᵂᴵᵀᴴ ᴮᴱᴺᴱᶠᴵᵀˢ

─── aid speaks ᝰ.ᐟ ───

╰┈ ⌞₊˚ est. feb 6 2024🗒 ˎˊ˗ ⌝

didn’t read over so may be mistakes !!

wow i wasn’t intending for this to be so long but i got carried away. oh and of course half of my original didn’t save so i had to write it again which was just great. anyway, thank u for all the ppl who asked for a tag it means so much. and i also tagged my favs. i love you all and i hope u enjoyed. @recklessmatt @plasticferal @imwetforyourmom @chr1sgirl4life @mayhem-72 @valeriestromboli @tillies33ssss @blahbel668 @whicked-hazlatwhore @roostersforevergirl @penelopevonsweets23 @pepsiluvr0209 @breeloveschris @hearts4chris @matthewsfilmsss @ukiyosturniolo @obsessivekniss @st7rnioioss @ireadstoriss @lilsstvrn @chrisblogss @creamoncreamoncream2 @gamermattsgf @mattslolita @angelic-sturniolos111 @alexoslurr @airj0rdans @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @robins-scoop @sturnioloss @sturniololol @eroticsturn @mattybsbitch @septumchris @rozariah51911 @lustfulslxt @m4ttslvr @8blonded @christurniolomyman @septumchris @carolinalikesthings @eroticsturn @jjmaybankswifes-blog

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #smut #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo

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hongism · 6 months

Text

what lies beneath us. - c. san (m)

➼ genre; fluff, smut, slight angst for the first half but i make it better quickly promise ➼ pairing; san x afab!reader ➼ au; established relationship, college au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 6.4k

one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; unprotected sex, oral: m, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, service-top san, san has some slightly submissive tendencies, coming inside

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You normally wouldn’t find yourself in Wooyoung’s apartment on a Tuesday morning, sitting at the bar counter beside his roommate with two mugs of coffee sitting on the granite between you, but you also haven’t had any leisure time to waste lately. It’s a miracle that Wooyoung is even up before ten o’clock, though that might be in part due to you pleading desperately over the phone to come over.

“Oh, you make her coffee but not me? The fuck is up with that, Hwa?” Speak of the devil, Wooyoung comes into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“She’s a guest, you live here. And I had to wake you up because you slept through three alarms so my sympathy levels are close to zero right now.” Seonghwa flashes a faux shrug despite the heated glare he’s sent. Wooyoung lets out a huff but lets it go in favor of redirecting his attention to you.

“Right, well, what did you need to talk about so badly that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?”

“San is coming over tonight, I couldn't do the afternoon,” you mumble.

“Is it about him then? Did something—” he waves a hand through the air like that’ll explain his thoughts, and when confusion shows on both your face and Seonghwa’s, he gives up “—did something happen between you guys?”

“It feels a bit awkward,” you admit over the rim of your coffee mug. Wooyoung scoffs at that, but Seonghwa is far more forgiving than your best friend in that he sends you a sympathetic grin.

“Awkward?” he prompts, toying with his own drink. Wooyoung pushes away from the counter and turns to the coffee maker.

“I don't know. Yeah, awkward, a bit. I guess. Like we don't know what we're doing or how to be in a relationship anymore.”

The brutal semester you both just suffered has been the main factor in the wedge in your relationship. Weekends full of studying, ones that you spent together at the start of the semester when he would come to your place or vice versa so that you could be together even while working. Then, San started picking up more shifts at his part-time job, and you had to redirect your focus to a particularly important internship that required you to forgo those weekends in the blink of an eye. You did have two weekends free of school and work, but San had to rush home during one of those on account of his mother falling ill. The other one was shot by you falling ill with the worst cold you’ve known in all your years of living. San came by that Friday with your favorite chicken and beer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting him sick when you knew how important the semester was to him too. It didn’t keep him from coming by again Saturday and Sunday both, soup was delivered to your front door along with voice messages wishing you well throughout the night. Even your text conversations were fizzling into oblivion by the time finals rolled around, which only served to amplify your feelings of dread.

“Has he been acting differently?” Wooyoung tunes back into the conversation, this time more serious with his tone. “Like, he's pulling away or something?” Wooyoung stands on a different footing in this conversation and knows things Seonghwa doesn't in terms of your relationship with San. He's been there for you since well before you started dating San, and you're certain that he'll be there for you if it were to end tomorrow, the next day, or years down the line.

“It's gonna sound so childish and stupid but he hasn't been calling me nicknames since the semester ended.” You tuck your hands into your lap and shrink into yourself a little, feeling the hot burn of shame well up inside.

“That's not stupid at all, y/n,” Seonghwa reassures barely a second after you finish your train of thought. “That's not.”

“He's right. That's totally unlike San.”

“Not! Helping!”

“I'm just being honest?!”

“Look, y/n, I don't want you to start having doom thoughts or thinking the worst — that doesn't mean his feelings for you have changed.” You’re starting to think that you should’ve asked Seonghwa for advice from the start instead of Wooyoung. “Maybe he's feeling that awkwardness you are too, or maybe he's feeling insecure. The only way to know is to ask. Have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“But…” You glance past Seonghwa to look at Wooyoung's back. Without even needing to look back, he seems to feel the weight of your stare.

“You're scared that if you bring it up, the worst will happen and y'all will break up.”

“We've been dating for so long that I don't know what I would do if that happened. I don't know how to be single, no offense to either of you, but it's just that we've been together for so long now. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it ended.”

“If…” Wooyoung bites his words back as though he's unsure of how they will come out. “I don't want this to sound harsh, but if all it takes for him to lose his feelings for you is one busy semester, then that's not someone I would want you to have a future with. I know it's not up to me and it's not my business, but I want you to value yourself more than you value your relationship with San.”

“I truly don't think he's lost his feelings for you, y/n,” Seonghwa cuts in again, hand darting out across the counter in your direction. “Woo is right; you should value yourself more than the relationship you're in, but that doesn't mean you can only have one of those things. They can coexist.”

“What if I’m fighting for something he doesn’t want any longer?” you inquire softly and under your breath.

“The spark isn’t gone, y/n, I’m certain of that much. Maybe you just… need to find a way to reignite it!” The coffee maker dings loudly behind Wooyoung. And like it’s turning on a lightbulb in Wooyoung’s head, his expression turns suddenly bright. “Why not do just that? It’s been half a decade, to be fair, so really you can’t be blamed if things feel a little stale. If you went and did things that made you fall for each other in the first place, wouldn’t that help a bit?”

“I hate to say it…”

“You always say that when I’m right!”

“Ignoring him, that does sound like a good plan, y/n.”

Despite the reassurance from both your best friend and someone you consider to be far more mature and wiser, it doesn’t fully quell the concerns settling in your gut.

It’s only been six days since you last saw San, though you would argue that it feels a lot more like six months given how absent you both have been from each other’s lives of late. While that isn’t particularly your fault or his wholly — it’s definitely a joint effort that’s kept you apart — it does make your skin itch with anxiety every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s all culminated into this moment right now, where you sit on the edge of your couch waiting for the doorbell to ring and announce his arrival. You want to see him, desperately so, you’ve missed him so incredibly much that you can hardly stand it. And yet — you’re rooted to the cushions riddled by anxieties. You tried to rid yourself of the lingering stress after leaving Wooyoung’s apartment by doing chores properly for the first time in months, going so far as to run to the grocery and restock some necessities as well. You hate to be the type of partner who cannot do anything alone without associating it with your partner, but San was on your mind throughout the day.

Will he feel the same as you even though the flame keeping your relationship alive has been inching closer and closer to nothingness? The two of you don’t fight, in fact, your friends like to say that things go a little too smoothly between you two, and while that’s true, they aren’t aware of what it looks like when you and San aren’t getting along. It looks the way this semester has, slow conversations that lead nowhere and less time spent in each other’s presence. You aren’t fighting right now, but you certainly aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. The weather mirrors your emotions — dim greys shrouded by white flurries of snow that have been falling since early afternoon.

You clench your fingers around the seam of the couch cushion. No part of you wants to play the part of the overbearing partner: if you’re too eager to see him, wouldn’t he find it off-putting?

The doorbell rings.

It takes a moment for you to brace yourself for impact, standing and walking over to the door as slowly as you can manage without it seeming like a deliberate delay. The second you open the door, however, your worries melt away for a moment.

San smiles so brightly like you’ve not gone a second without reveling in each other’s presence. The weather is clinging to his coat still even though he had to climb three flights of stairs to reach your door. The little snowflakes are beginning to melt into the fabric.

“May I come in?” The facade cracks a bit. It’s not like him to ask such things, but you choose not to hold it against him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I finally had time to clean the other day so everything’s — nice.”

If your smile is strained, he says nothing about it, stepping over the threshold and into your apartment like it’s the first time he’s ever done so. He’s polite all the time, but now it makes those seeds of doubt sprout further because you’ve been together for five years now, what reason does he have to act like a stranger in your home? A home he’s been in time and time again, one he’s slept in, fucked you—

“Do you want ramen or pizza?” You force the thoughts to come to a halt before your expression turns bitter.

“Let’s do ramen, I’ll cut up the vegetables for you.”

There’s an elephant in the room that it seems neither of you wants to address, and so you keep your mouth shut just the same as San with the thought of “maybe this awkwardness will pass after tonight”. You watch him remove his coat and hang it up on the door while still picking at your nails. He extends a hand to you, one you take eagerly, and you lace your fingers through the gaps between his. A bit like a well-oiled machine, you think, something that Wooyoung had noted about the two of you as far back as freshman year of college. San presses his lips to the top of your head. You lean into the touch ever so slightly.

You share in a quiet synergy that carries you through the motions of preparing food, with no conversation exchanged aside from a “watch for the knife” and “careful, behind you” on occasion. You’re still trying to psyche yourself up to bring up what’s truly on your mind, so you aren’t sure that you’d be able to get any conversation out without it spiraling into insanity right off the bat. For the moment, for now, you want to simply drink in San’s presence.

He hums as he opens a cabinet in search of bowls, but they aren’t there.

“Oh, I—I moved the bowls to the other side.” Three months ago, your mind adds. It would do nothing but add salt to a blossoming wound. San stops dead in his tracks too. He seems to suffer the same crisis that you do right then. After a few seconds of mental buffering, he resumes his humming and shifts to the adjacent cabinet like the moment didn’t happen at all.

You sit beside each other at the bar counter, atop the uncomfortable stools you’ve had for well over two years now, but it offers a weird comfort because it’s familiar, it’s something San knows, it’s something you share and have shared for years.

“Thanks for the meal,” San says, still wearing a bitten-back smile.

“Of course. Thank you for helping.” But the detrimental reality of not speaking to someone properly for a long while is that part of you forgets how to make conversation with them. There is nothing for you and San to “catch up on” seeing as you’ve been keeping each other updated on your lives through dry text conversations. “Um…” He’s eyeing you carefully now, and you could pass off the watering in your eyes as the spice of the food, but he would call your bluff in an instant. The funny thing about doubt is that once it’s taken root, it’ll keep growing back no matter how many times you chop at the stem.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“It’s just — I don’t — are we breaking up?”

San freezes halfway over his ramen, chopsticks nearly falling from his fingers as he rushes to put his noodles back down. Your shoulders start shaking before you can stop it. He doesn’t stop you from turning away from him, but San has always been endlessly patient and gentle with you so you don’t expect him to ask you to look at him anyway. He does rest a hand atop your forearm though, and his thumb drags small, comforting circles over your skin.

“Talk to me, y/n, what do you mean by that? Why would we be breaking up?” The words themselves sound calm. There’s a slight quiver to his tone, however, that makes you want to crawl inside yourself and disappear. “A-Are you wanting that?” Your continued lack of response makes San more urgent than ever, and he shifts his hand to your leg, spinning you to face him. You can’t be certain of the expression on your face (though you’d wager there is some degree of hurt); whatever San sees makes him let out a distressed noise from the back of his throat. “Come here, duck, talk to me.”

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, you push yourself closer to San, and he instinctually moves his knees apart to let you tuck yourself into the space there.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here, you can talk to me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face in his hands. You reach down to cling to his shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time together in six days. We’ve barely spoken or spent time together all semester, and I know why — I know we agreed that school and work have to come first. I know that.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lose the confidence to speak. “I didn’t think it would mean losing you though.”

“You haven’t lost me, y/n. I’m still here, with you, loving you just as much as ever.” San smiles a little as you push your cheek further into his palm. “My feelings have not changed. I thought about you every day, wondered how you were doing, and if you responded to my texts late, I hoped you were eating well and getting enough rest. I listened to your voice memos rooting for me every night. Your face was always the first thing I saw in the morning because I still keep that slideshow of you as my lockscreen.” Reaching around to the back of your neck, he gives you a little tug, and your foreheads bump together. “The thought of you helped get me through the semester because I knew that it was you who was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.”

“Sannie…”

“How long have you been worried over this, baby? You should’ve come to me the moment you started having doubts. I wouldn’t have let this go on if I had known.”

“I thought I felt you pulling away so I was scared to bring it up. You weren’t calling me nicknames anymore, and I started reading into it too much and freaked myself out.”

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Don’t put the blame on yourself, it’s not a crime to have anxieties. I didn’t even realize I stopped using them. I suppose I just got swept up in my own feelings and wanted to call you by your name as much as possible.” He nudges you with his head again. “Because I missed you so dearly.” Your lips turn up at the corners, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “And because I adore you so so much, my y/n.”

“Stop that.” You hope he doesn’t, truly.

“But I’m so mushy and full of love for you, y/n.”

“You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Oh, I can think of other ways to do that, baby.” San stands, subsequently pushing his body into yours, but your hands are still on each other, his moving down to caress the back of your thigh before he hooks his fingers around the bend of your knee and hoists your leg up over his hip. “I haven’t been good to you, my sweet,” he murmurs close to your lips. “What kind of boyfriend am I if I let you feel unwanted?” Your heart skips a beat as he grips tight at your other leg, then you’re suddenly weightless for a second as he hoists you up to his waist.

“We just ate—”

“I don’t plan on letting that stop me.” You let out a gasp as San traces the line of your jaw with his lips, hot breath spilling across your skin as he carries you from the kitchen. “Unless you want it to?” This damned man knows what he’s doing, he knows the hold he has over you — your brain is already turning into a foggy mess of want, and even the prospect of waiting two minutes for him to lay his hands on you is too much to bear. Your nails drag across his shoulders, tugging at the thin material. He misses the doorknob to your bedroom thanks to your antics, sending you against the wood a little harshly and forcing the air out of your lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Still on the pill.”

“Hm?” he echoes, managing to turn it right on the second try and popping it open properly.

“I’m still on the pill,” you repeat. San freezes in place to stare at your face. You bring a hand around to toy at his parted lips with your thumb. “So you can fuck me raw.”

San becomes so dumbstruck that his jaw moves up and down over and over without any semblance of noise coming out.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a horny teenager,” he says under his breath. You drop your head back and laugh. San’s hold on you feels so blissfully warm. You didn’t even have time for this during the semester, sometimes thanks to your workloads but more often thanks to sheer exhaustion. A few solo jaunts before bed are hardly enough to please you the way San does. Based on how tightly he’s gripping your ass, he seems to feel exactly the same.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He manages to get you both to the bed without further incident, laying you down on the mattress with a sort of reverence that makes your chest swell with emotion. Even through the barrier of clothing, his fingers are hot and sear a path from your hips up your waist then right back down again as San wastes no time in stripping you of your pants.

“I missed you so fucking much it’s insane.” You want to respond, but the sight of your lover dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed stops you in your tracks. All you can do is lie there and watch him tug your pants off, lips moving to kiss each bit of exposed skin along the way. Goosebumps rise across your body when he kisses his way up higher. His broad frame cages you in the closer he gets to your face, and despite his hands being on the somewhat small side, they feel all-encompassing when they’re sneaking under your shirt and exploring the skin beneath.

“I missed you more,” you murmur, catching his chin between your fingers and angling his face upwards so you can properly look at him. “I love you so so much, San. More than I can put into words.”

“Yeah?” You make no effort to pull him higher although he moves as though you do and climbs all the way up to be right over your face. He hums before dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I think I’ve missed you more still though—” another kiss, this time to the opposite side of your mouth “—but you’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“San,” you whine. He pulls back and sits back on his knees. Your brain goes totally blank watching him take his shirt off. It’s something you’ve seen time and time again, truly nothing new or foreign to you, but something about it now makes your gut twist in on itself. He’s lost a bit of the muscle you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on him, now softer around the edges, at the waist and across his stomach. It doesn’t curb your desire for him in the slightest; if anything it makes you want him more, to cling to him tighter and feel him firmer against you.

He throws the shirt down to the floor and drags a hand through his dark hair. His legs are splayed around yours, putting the prominent bulge in his pants on full display before you.

“I want you to use me, y/n.” He grabs your hand from where it’s resting against the bed and brings it to his chest. You dig your nail into his flesh like it’s second nature to do so. “Tonight, for your pleasure.” His eyes trail after your every moment, watching as you sit up and pull your legs out from under him. You graze the underside of his dick ever so slightly yet it’s still enough to make his lashes flutter.

“Then…” San is like putty in your hands, conforming to every move you make while still maintaining that unbreaking eye contact. He turns with you, and you climb off the bed to stand despite feeling seconds away from toppling over. All it takes is the slightest push against his chest for him to lie flat on his back. “Will you be good for me?”

His response comes in the form of a bitten-back whine thanks to you cupping the bulge of his cock as you withdraw your hand. It’s intoxicating to strip him of his jeans and feel every inch of his pretty tapered waist. You urge him to move further up on the bed, making room for you between his legs once you’ve tossed his pants down beside yours on the floor. The tip of his cock peeks out the top of his underwear, already stiff and leaking precum onto the elastic band. Saucy nudes here and there don’t do him nearly enough justice, you think. You tease just the bit of him that's exposed with your tongue, licking at the sensitive and swollen head, and he twitches beneath the fabric. Humming to yourself, you inch his underwear down just far enough to put his whole member on display, along with his balls, but you don’t go any further than that. It’s enough for you to get your mouth around him, after all, and that’s exactly what you do without giving San any time to brace himself for the touch.

He lets out a desperate moan the moment your wet heat envelopes his length, fingers curling into his palms around the comforter. His hips twitch with the desire to thrust upwards, but he keeps himself firmly planted on the bed, fulfilling his end of the bargain for you and being so delightfully good. The weight of him on your tongue isn’t nearly enough; you want him buried deep inside you as soon as possible, and you’d go on and do it now if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch given how long it’s been since you’ve taken him. San isn’t distracted enough to miss the way you retract a hand to touch yourself, and he fights to speak through broken moans.

“I w-wanna touch you, pretty.” You lift yourself off his cock until just the tip sits on your lower lip.

“I’ll let you later when I ask you to fold me in half and fuck me into the mattress.” You sink two fingers into your hole, taking San back into your mouth to revel in that full feeling again. You’re just as needy as he is, in reality, because your walls are already coated with arousal and it pools around the base of your fingers in such a way that it makes your cheeks flush. San’s noises aren’t helping in the slightest — for as quiet as he is in day-to-day life, he is ever so vocal when it comes to sex, especially when his cock is buried in your mouth. He’s just long enough to push right into the back of your throat, making it far easier for you to take him fully.

“Your mouth feels so — fuck, fucking good, baby.” If you weren’t preoccupied, you would love to return his words with your own, so you settle for tugging at his balls a little. It earns you a delightful little yelp, and his hips buck up to drive his dick further into your throat than expected. “Hngh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I want—” you don’t finish your train of thought, too rushed to bother with it as you scramble to rid yourself of your underwear. San greets you with his hands when you climb back onto the bed and grabs hold of your waist. He tugs and pulls at your shirt until it’s gone too, leaving you with nothing more than your plain black bra. However, even that San seems to find issue with, because he toys with the clasp until it comes loose and throws that aside too.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling back against the mattress. He’s always told you this is his favorite position, to see you straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock, though he favors missionary quite a bit as well because it lets him see your body and face while he’s fucking you (despite how much he loves your ass). His cock is trapped between your pussy and his stomach now, hard and throbbing for the same kind of stimulation you so desperately crave. You drag your folds along his length a few times just to tease San, but he grips your hip in warning. In hindsight, you should have let him finger you open more before because the stretch is far more than you remember — not enough to hurt, but enough for you to really feel every inch of him entering your body. It makes you writhe atop him, your spine arches, and you drop your head back. San holds you like you're a precious gem, thick arms circling around your waist as you rest your hands on his chest. The position gives you some much-needed stability, but San's fingers have begun to get severely distracting. He rolls his thumbs into your skin, pausing only to squeeze and pinch at the more sensitive parts of your sides.

“I’m gonna start moving,” you whisper like being too loud will break some sort of seal. San nods and unwraps his arms enough to simply hold your hips. Despite the decrease in definition of his muscles, his strength doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere, because he lifts you with such ease that it’s a bit dizzying. Still, he lets the control rest in your hands. You sink down slowly on his cock, letting your walls get used to the drag, before doing the same motion two, three more times. The first whimper to fall from your lips is what snaps your resolve. San’s hold on you remains firm but only to ease the strain on your thighs as you begin to pick up your pace.

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my sweet.” San rolls his hips up in time with your movements, driving his cock up into your cunt as you drop yourself onto him, and it reaches so deep inside you that you see stars behind your eyelids. “Missed you so much, missed this, seeing your body through photos wasn’t enough — fuck, it wasn’t enough.”

“How many, ah, times did you come to those photos, hm?” You crack one eye open to watch San’s face. He’s already flushed with want, but the red in his cheeks deepens more upon hearing your question. You lean your weight further into your hands. “I fingered myself so many times thinking of you, Sannie. B-But, hngh, it wasn’t good enough. Not as good as your cock. Nothing… n-nothing feels as good!”

San thrusts up with more vigor now, all but taking over for you to go slack above him as he drives your hips down with his hands and pushes his length into you from the opposite direction. Then, suddenly, his movements falter and stutter to a halt, and he looks just as shocked as you are when his cock twitches against your walls. A blooming of warmth fills you right after, along with the realization that San has just come inside you without warning.

“I-I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to, ah, I thought I would last longer.” He slings an arm up over his eyes, and the red in his face deepens in hue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you come first.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Leaning down over him, you peel his arm away from his face so that you can see his shamed expression better.

“Your dick is far from the only thing that can make me come, babe. Right?”

He nods a few times, but there’s still a pout on his lips. You kiss it away.

“Then—” you detach yourself from his body, bringing about an unwelcome emptiness as his spent cock slips out of you, and roll onto your back beside him. He watches with rapt attention as you spread your legs and open your pussy to him. “Why don’t you?”

San moves with surprising haste for a man who has just come, rolling into the space between your legs, and while you expected him to just use his fingers to get you off, he hooks his hands around your thighs and shoves his face into your used cunt instead. It yanks a startled moan out of you, and it’s only amplified when he closes his lips around your clit. He’s lucky you don’t give him a concussion with how quickly you slam your thighs around his head. You don’t notice that he’s moved a hand until fingers are prodding at your leaking entrance and urging the come he just pumped into you back into your hole.

“O-Oh, San.”

Normally, he takes his sweet time eating you out, bringing you to the precipice of orgasm before sending you right back down time and time again without release. Though, either out of lingering shame at coming early or simply out of a desire to make you unravel, San laps at your clit so eagerly that it sends shudders through you. You can feel your blood rushing lower as he urges you to come, walls clenching around his fingers. It only takes another second more for the first wave to hit you, and it makes you scramble to grab hold of San’s hair as he keeps curling his fingers over your sweet spot. He does so throughout each wave of your orgasm until tears burn the corners of your eyes and you’re all but pleading for him to grant you some mercy.

“You — you had nothing to prove, you know,” you say between desperate attempts to catch your breath. San giggles and looks up at you from his lewd position. “Ugh!” You shove his head away from you half-heartedly just to spare yourself more embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, duck!”

You only go as far as the pillows, turning back to him immediately and opening your arms to welcome him into them.

“I came too early, of course I had something to prove,” he adds once he’s snugly placed against your chest. You slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, his head under your chin and your breath stirring the messy strands of hair in your path. “I’ve fallen out of practice. When was the last time I did that? It’s embarrassing…”

You can’t contain your laughter.

“You always come a little early when I ride you.”

“That’s not fair!”

All you can do to soothe him is pat his head. You feel a tad sticky and gross all over, but San’s warmth more than makes up for it, and if you’re not careful, you’re certain you’ll fall asleep within minutes. A small sniffle coming from the man atop you chases thoughts of rest away in the blink of an eye though.

“San?”

“’m okay, promise.”

“You’re crying, baby, that’s not ”okay“.”

“I just,” he inhales and licks over his lips, skating across your sternum in the process. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna stay afloat without you.” You comb your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there. Always.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule and get in the way.”

“You have to trust that I’ll take care of myself and my responsibilities even if I help you too. You always tell me that when I worry over the same things. It goes both ways, San, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods against you. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. As long as you don’t lock yourself away when things get tough. Rely on me if you need strength. And talk to me when something is on your mind.”

“Alright, we have an agreement.” Out of nowhere, you remember Wooyoung’s suggestion from this morning. Picking at a stray piece of San’s hair, you mull over your thoughts some more. You could let things settle as they are now since things seem to be back to a pleasant state of balance. But even so, would it do any harm to try anyway? “I’d like to go on a first date again. With you. I want us to go on a first date again.”

“Hm?”

“Like… I want us to go out like it’s the first time all over again. And feel that excitement and giddiness we had back then. We don’t have to, it’s just a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be a good thing after this semester.”

Silence overtakes the room. San’s breathing is so steady that you think he’s fallen asleep, but the second you try to shift and see his face, he tilts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go on a first date again.”

…

“I figured we’d go to that little Thai place by the grocery before heading over to the Christmas light show?”

“Oh!” Your thoughts rearrange themselves around his words. “That sounds really nice, yeah.”

“The guys wanna meet up at Wooyoung’s after for chicken and beer, but I told them I’d leave the decision up to you.” He tilts his chin a bit to the side as he speaks, lips quirked up at the corners, and you find yourself so incredibly fond of him all over again.

“Let’s see how we feel after walking around.”

You offer to drive tonight, but he denies you quickly, whining about how he filled his tank full of gas just for tonight so you don’t push the matter any further than that (though, you still tease him a bit once he opens the passenger door for you). When he turns the car on, music starts blasting through the speakers, a song you recognize well, and the dash shows that he’s been listening to the playlist you made for him at the start of the last school year.

“Sorry, forgot the volume was up so high.” He scrambles to twist the dial down, but you stop him with your hand, gripping his wrist lightly and giving a firm shake of your head.

“I didn’t realize you still listened to it. Normally you just have the radio going.”

“Ah, well,” San’s cheeks are a bit flush under the low lights of the car, “I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental these days.” His next move is a bit hesitant; he reaches across the console and lays his hand atop your thigh. You reassure him by putting your hand over his, fingers curling around his once again. It feels normal and familiar, though you can’t count on two hands the last time you’ve done something as menial as holding hands with San.

“San?” He makes a noise of acknowledgment while watching the road. “I’ve missed you.” His nails dig into your flesh a little, and the pressure makes your heart clench in your chest.

“I’ve missed you more.” You can only see his side profile, but it’s enough for you to catch the upturn of his lips.

“I’ve missed you most then.” The statement slips out through a pout.

“And I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.”

The weight of his hand is comfort enough for you to be at ease for the rest of the drive.

────────────

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#ateez smut #ateez x reader #san smut #san x reader #choi san smut #choi san x reader #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez ff #san imagine #san imagines #caly.writes #fic; and it's snowing #winter fic fest 2023 #fic; what lies beneath us

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gyuwoncheol · 7 months

Text

Slowly; All At Once

Pair: Mingyu x f!reader

Genre: fluff, best friends to lovers with Mingyu, boyfriend material!Mingyu, slight angst.

Summary: Kim Mingyu fell in love with you slowly, but you fell in love with him all at once.

Warnings: short hair Mingyu (yes this deserves a warning. He looks too good), rowdy house party setting, mentions of alcohol, angst (but not with Mingyu), mentions/allusions to a panic attack/sensory overload, kissing, fluff because mingyu is so sweet and protective 😩 Half proofread.

WC: 5k

Author's Note: listen, short hair Mingyu is SO boyfriend coded okay, it just does things to me.

“Gyu?” You spoke as loudly as you could.

“What’s up?” Your best friend answered through a yawn and you would’ve regretted disturbing him so late in the night but you really needed him now.

“Gyu, i’m so sorry..”

Mingyu sat up from his position in bed, the drowsiness in him suddenly gone at the sound of your voice trembling. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his senses heightened, suddenly now hearing the loud music in your background.

“Could.. if you’re free, c-could you come get me?”

Mingyu was already slipping his shirt on and turning off his tv right after you asked. “Where are you? Are you okay? Are you in danger?” He quizzed, rushing down the stairs to grab his car keys and the hoodie hanging off the hooks.

“I’m at Jamie’s house. So many people, I jus’ wan’go home,” you slurred, stumbling into a corner of the house party you were at.

You could hear the sound of his engine rumbling to a start and somehow, that made you breathe a little easier. That was the thing about your best friend, when you needed him, he would be there, any time, any day, no questions asked. “Ok hang tight. I’ll be there.”

The line went dead as you cowered a little more to the corner of the house party you were at. The more the crowd grew, the more out of place you felt. Sure, most faces were familiar to you as they were the same ones that walked around your school building but no one was really close enough to you. Jamie, herself, was nowhere to be found. You weren't a stranger to house parties, you actually enjoyed them but this one really made you feel like you didn't belong. The crowd was quite rowdy, noise was obnoxiously loud, people were shoving drinks to you left and right, frat boys— both those senior and junior to you— were hitting on you, and, well, the sight of your ex-boyfriend's tongue down your ex-roommate's throat just wasn't exactly what you expected to see tonight.

You wished you had stayed home instead or spent your Friday night with your best friend watching Shark Tank episodes and talking about all the inventions you both could make and would definitely get invested on. But no, you had begged off from Mingyu this one time, telling him that you wanted to let loose a little bit and hang with some of your girl friends.

The night started fine, you and the girls having cocktails after dinner at a bar nearby, until one of them had all but dragged you guys to the house party a common friend was throwing. What you didn't know was all their boyfriends had already been there, eventually leaving you alone as soon you all walked in the doors.

You wanted to get out of there but as you looked at the volume of people in front of you, you were sure you wouldn't be able to push through them without getting pushed around. You felt trapped, your breaths becoming shorter whilst you tried to calm your heart. You were in need of air and of water real bad.

"Hello?" you picked up your phone at first ring.

It was Mingyu. "Where are you?"

"I-i'm by the end of the hall towards the kitchen at the back."

Mingyu grimaced at the mixed smell of alcohol, cigarettes, sweat and weed in the place, not to mention the huge crowd that the party had gathered. He spotted numerous acquaintances and friends who all excitedly greeted him, offering him shots and beers but he ignored all of them, brain laser focused at finding you. It took him about five minutes before he reached the hall you were in and immediately spotted you thanks to his height which allowed him a “bird’s eye view.”

"Y/N," you felt a towering presence stumble in front of your crouched position, but was immediately comforted at the owner of the voice. It’s a really good thing you knew his voice well because you were still getting used to his new and much shorter haircut.

"Gyu!" You sighed in relief, hands immediately gripping his forearm as you steadied yourself against him. He kept a protective hand on your waist, caging you in between him and the corner to shield you from the crowd. He noticed the natural blush on your cheeks from the alcohol and the slightly far away look in your eyes. He could tell you weren’t exactly drunk, but he could also read the fear and sadness in them. He gave you a little bit more time to steady your breathing and comfort yourself in his presence, whispering "it's okay's" and "you're alright, I'm here."

"Gyu, I'm dizzy," you declared. You weren't drunk, just slightly tipsy at most, it was the stuffiness in the room that had you wanting air.

Mingyu glanced back at the amount of people in the hall, mentally mapping the fastest way out to the closest door, before turning back to you. "Y/n,” he cupped your cheek to guide your eyes to his, "We'll make our way out, okay? Hold on to me?" He laid out his large hand for you to take and you gripped it like a vice as you gave him a small nod.

There are many reasons to be thankful for Mingyu's height and build, and tonight, as he pushed through the crowds with one hand tightly intertwined with yours, was one of them. You were only but a few steps away from the door when your face collided with Mingyu's back. Someone had blocked his way and you were too slow to stop yourself when he did.

"heeey leaving so soon?!" A very familiar but very drunk voice slurred. It was Jung, your asshole of an ex-boyfriend. "You just got here,bro."

"Not here to party. Just—"

"Oh come on, Mingyu! At least take a shot!"

"Yeah!!" another party goer whom you recognize to be from the same frat as Jung cheered on, "In fact why don't you and y/n take a shot together!" Two shot glasses filled to the brim with tequila were suddenly raised at you both. You made a face, hiding yourself behind your best friend’s broad back, hoping it would be enough to make you disappear.

"Y/n!" Jung sang-song in a way that had Mingyu gripping your hands even tighter, "Why don't you take a shot for me, baby? It's still too early to call it a—"

"Don't touch her." Mingyu growled at your ex who was attempting to bypass him and snake an arm around your waist, "Let’s go, y/n" Mingyu pulled at you, desperately hoping to just get the both of you out of there.

As you stumbled past your ex, you yelped when you felt his hand pull on your free wrist, almost yanking you away from Mingyu's hold. "Cmon, baby. Just one more shot. Like old times." A disgusting smirk was plastered on Jung's face, one you wanted to wipe off with a punch.

“I said. Don’t. Touch. Her.” Mingyu repeated louder and firmer this time, pulling your caught wrist and now purposely standing in full height to tower over your drunken ex.

“Gyu, let’s go,” you whisper, noticing that the exchange between both boys have suddenly gained the crowd’s attention.

“Oh come on Mingyu, it’s just a shot!” One of the other guys pushed.

With a roll of his eyes, Mingyu took the shot glass and downed the liquor easily. But it wasn’t until he took the second shot of tequila— supposedly yours— and poured it down his throat that the crowd erupted in cheers. “Happy?” Mingyu sneered at Jung, “now, let us go.”

“Still her savior, huh?” Your ex called out, making Mingyu freeze in his tracks as he tried to navigate through the crowd, “you still the best friend? Or are you finally the boyfriend now?”

You felt your breath get caught in your throat at what you just heard. But nothing could have prepared you for the next thing that tumbled out of your best friend’s mouth.

“So what if I was?” Mingyu looked back at your ex bitterly, eyes filled with anger, “At least I know I’d treat her right.”

You had no chance to see the sour, defeated face Jung sported, but the crowd’s ‘oooh’s’ were enough to let you know that Mingyu definitely had the last laugh in that exchange. Everyone had even made space for you both to successfully exit, not wanting to mess with the 6 foot 2 man.

Mingyu watched you carefully as you stabilized your breathing, the fresh air paired with the water he had just given you was slowly erasing the dizziness you felt earlier. He had his hands in his pockets while you looked up at him, your back leaning on his car, and a thick silence in the air. You wanted to say something, you wanted to say a lot of things actually, but didn’t know how to start.

“Here, put this on,” Mingyu said softly, grabbing his hoodie from the back seat and pulling it over your shivering frame since your dress did little to protect you from the cold. You hummed in satisfaction, the warmth of the cotton shielding your exposed skin and the smell of him grounding you even more.

“Thank you, Gyu. For saving me. And for taking that shot.” You squeaked, looking down at the ground, wanting to say many other things but it’s all you could put together for now.

Mingyu’s mind however, wandered some place else. Like how you were still so beautiful right now? Looking so tiny in his hoodie, cheeks flushed and your makeup a bit smeared. To him, you were still the prettiest thing his eyes had seen. God he just wanted to kiss you. If only you were in your right mind, no alcohol in your system and not reeling back from what could’ve been a panic attack. And maybe, if only it didn’t ruin the friendship.

‘I’d die for you,’ is what Mingyu would’ve wanted to say. “Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it… as long as you’re okay. I mean… you are okay, right?”

He stood closely in front of you, watching intently as you tried to form words but your growing silence did nothing to quell his worries.

“Y/n,” your best friend’s voice firm, “did something happen back there? Are you hurt? You think your drink got spiked? Did someone harra—“

“No, no!” You confirmed, sensing the agitation in his voice, “nothing happened to me. Was just really overwhelmed with the crowd… the boys were annoying, the girls left me, and I… i didn’t even know Jung was dating Cass now.”

Ah, there it is, Mingyu thought. It always has something to do with your stupid ex.

“Cass? Your ex roommate, Cass?”

“Yeah.”

“Dating or not, they were definitely making out,” Mingyu could hear both the pain and disgust in your voice, “i just don’t get it.” Yeah, neither does Mingyu, why were you still so hung up on this—

“I’m over him, you know?”

“What?” Mingyu looked at you so quickly, he might’ve gotten a whiplash

“I’m over him.” You confirmed and Mingyu would be lying if he said he didn’t want to just jump in joy right there and then. But your face still looked sour, angry even, like you had just been forced to chew on a whole lemon. “I realise now I was such an idiot for even loving him. But Cass? Really? My ex-roommate? I don’t know.. I know we’ve broken up months ago but it just feels weird. She knew how much he hurt me.. she even wanted to, and I quote, ‘stab him in the gym,’ but now she’s practically dry humping him in the middle of the worst house party known to man?!” You frustrated, your voice reaching a higher pitch than you had expected only to fall down to a very quiet whisper, “i just… I can’t help but feel betrayed.”

Mingyu noticed a lone tear roll down your cheek, the back of your hand immediately wiping it away. He knew how close you were to Cass, he still remembers how you cried to him when she suddenly cut off communication with you and moved out of your apartment. For the longest time, you had thought you did something wrong and had beaten yourself up over it. But now it all just made sense.

Your best friend pulled you in for an embrace, mumbling about how you deserve better and how he’s sorry this happened to you.

“God,” you scoffed, “i’m sorry, i’m such a loser… everything about tonight just makes me feel so… alone.”

“Hey now!” Mingyu pulled back harshly, holding you firmly by the shoulders, an arms length distance between you both. “I take offense to that. I’m literally right here, you know.”

“Exactly. When you really could’ve been sleeping peacefully, or maybe even be on a date with some pretty girl. Instead you’re here, rescuing your pathetic excuse of a best friend.”

“Well.. you know what?” Mingyu challenged, pulling you in again into his arms for a warm hug, “there’s nowhere else i’d rather be. Now let’s get you home, yeah?” He assured instead, opening the door to the passenger seat of his car. You slumped into the seat and Mingyu went as far as strapping your seat belt for you, your lips just mere centimeters away from his. He stopped to look at you, eyes scanning yours before dropping to your lips momentarily and then back to your eyes again. You could feel the tension in the air and you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he finally moved away and closed the door gently.

Mingyu couldn’t help but notice a few tears escaping you as you looked out the car window, lone tears slowly falling on your cheek. You couldn’t really shake the idea from your brain of your roommate and your ex getting together, the betrayal just squeezing your heart in pain. Maybe the alcohol also just heightened your sensitivity too. When the car stopped at a red light, a gentle squeeze on your left hand had you looking up to your best friend, soft eyes matching yours as he flashed you a lopsided smile. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. You knew his action was that of comfort, as if to tell you you weren’t alone.

Mingyu kept his hand tightly on yours throughout the ride, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand and that small action really helped keep the sad thoughts away. It wasn’t until you reached the exit of the freeway when you noticed Mingyu suddenly take a left turn.

“Where are we going?” You squeaked

“Mine,” Mingyu confirmed, “is that ok? I just don’t wanna leave you alone for now, and i don’t think the sight of Cass’s empty room is something you’re ready to see either.”

You pondered on his suggestion quickly and knew it made sense. If anything, your best friend’s comforting presence is exactly what you needed right now.

The moment you got to his place, everything was like clockwork. He let you shower and freshen up, then handed you one of his large shirts and one of your old shorts you kept at his place for sleepover nights like these.

A bottle of water was left by the bathroom door when you had finished. Drink this all before you go back down, Mingyu had written in a note and you cooed at the thoughtfulness of your best friend. As you got to changing, you couldn’t help but notice just how much comfort his place brought you. His bedroom— and the rest of the apartment— was littered with photos of the both of you through the years. Your favorite conditioner was in his bathroom. He had a little basket in his closet that had things for you— hair brush, your favorite makeup remover, a few of your skin care items (which he bought himself), some old clothes, and even sanitary pads. You smiled at the sight of the little disney nightlight he had bought especially for you last year because even though he liked his lights off when he sleeps, he knew you hated the dark. You knew he kept some of your favorite snacks in his pantry, and he always had a pint of your favorite ice cream in his freezer. You were grinning by the time you had thought of all these things. You were feeling way too giddy and and then it hit you, those are butterflies you feel in your stomach. You felt like a tidal wave just hit you, your brain suddenly replaying every encounter with Mingyu and the longer it went on, the more you felt your heart being squeezed. You’re reminded how he didn’t even hesitate to pick you up tonight, or take that shot for you, or how he might’ve just thrown a punch at Jung if he so much laid another finger on you. You remember the tension in the car when your lips were inches apart. Yup, definitely butterflies. You simultaneously cursed yourself for not seeing it sooner. For not feeling it sooner. Do best friends really go this far? Could Kim Mingyu be in love with you? Better yet, did you just fall in love with him? There’s no way. Right? Mingyu was simply a really nice guy, and he would be especially kind to you, his best friend, and you are just very, very appreciative of it.

Yeah, just best friends.

That’s all.

So why do you suddenly want it to be more?

Mingyu, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves in his living room. The events of tonight made him feel like he might not be able to hold back his feelings any longer. Seeing you tonight, your helpless self in such a huge crowd of people and then silently crying in the car just awakened something in him, like a very strong urge to protect you and embrace you in so much love that you won't ever remember the feeling of being hurt. He loves you very much, for quite some time now actually, and not just in the best friend kind anymore, he knows that much. But he can't quite figure out when it happened. There was no specific moment or grand gesture that made him think "i'm in love with my best friend." Your friendship certainly began platonic, no hidden intentions or attraction. It started when both your chaotic selves ended up paired for a group work in freshman year and you just haven't been separated since then. Over time, he's unconsciously made more space for you in his heart. What started as him giving you food every now and then so you could test his culinary experiments eventually turned into packed meals every Tuesdays and Thursdays when your classes stretched until 8 in the evening. He began omitting mustard in the dishes he cooks for you because of your allergy, even though he personally loves it. He once helped you do groceries and noticed you liked to buy your juices and milks in large cartons, and so he eventually scheduled his grocery days the same as yours so you wouldn't have to carry everything by yourself. You brought out the best in him. He witnessed your thoughtfulness and kindness and that made him want to be a better person for himself. One day, when he cracked a lame joke, he realised nothing sounds sweeter than your laugh. Mingyu always listened to you, even when you spoke nonsense most times. Your crazy ideas were something he questioned a lot before but now it's what makes him laugh the most. Kim Mingyu fell in love with you slowly, he never stopped himself from it because he's learned it was simply impossible. The joy you brought to his life was unexplainable. So he just let it happen, but he'd never tell you that, not when it could mean losing the single most important person in his life. But tonight, it seemed his heart was bursting at the seams and he wasn't so sure how long he could control his mouth from vomiting the words. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have you sleep over tonight.

"Gyu? you good?" you asked, sitting beside him and getting under the same throw he had placed over him. He looked so soft and cuddly in his dark gray sweatshirt he changed into. God, he looked every bit of boyfriend right now.

"Huh?"

"You were spaced out," you giggled

"Oh. Yeah, i'm ok, just waiting for you… Was the shower ok? Did you drink your water?"

You nodded and pointed to the empty water bottle you had placed on the coffee table in front of you, "I'm alright, Gyu. Tired but feeling much better." You punctuated your words with a small thank you and a kiss on his cheek and Mingyu tensed. The scent of your shampoo washed over him and even though it was only a few seconds, it's like he could still feel your lips on his cheek. You saw his eyes grow wide and his shoulders slightly square up but whatever it was, he chose to stay silent.

"okay!" he announced, trying to break the awkwardness he was feeling. "movie?"

"about that... could we... maybe talk first?"

An ice bucket might as well have been thrown on top of Mingyu's head, either that or have the ground open up to swallow him whole. He seriously might not keep his feelings at bay this time around. "uhhh... a-about what?"

"About what happened in the party."

"Oh," your best friend relaxed a little, "I thought you were fine? You said no one hurt you right? I mean, of course aside from seeing Cass and—"

"Gyu," you interrupted him with a hand on his forearm, turning to the side so you could face him, "I don't mean that."

"Then what?"

"About what you said to Jung," your voice barely above a whisper, "about being my boyfriend..."

At that very moment, the both of you paused, the same thought in your brains: will my heart actually start beating out my chest?

"Oh. What about it?" Mingyu played it off and you gulped hard, maybe you shouldn't have brought it up. You normally thought you could see right through your best friend, but this time, he seemed so nonchalant about it all and if you were being honest, it broke your heart a little.

The tanned boy waited for your answer, eyes holding a glint of fear as he watched you look at everything else in the room except his gaze, "I just... I don't know. You said if you were my boyfriend, then you'd be treating me right."

"I would." Mingyu responded a little too fast, making your eyes find his immediately. He cursed himself for the lack of self control, now literally biting his tongue to stop from spilling the rest of his feelings.

"Then am I crazy for thinking that... that all you've done tonight was treat me right?"

You watched your best friend swallow hard, eyes boring into your soul. You waited in bated breath for a response but Mingyu opened his mouth only to close it, and then open again. Mingyu steels himself, genuinely wanting to run away from the conversation. If he spoke any further, he just knows he'd lose his best friend and get his heart broken, so he chooses to point out the obvious instead. "Well, you are my best friend."

"is that all you want me to be?" There it goes. The million dollar question. It's now or never, Kim Mingyu, he hears the subconscious in his brain. He could feel the sweat on his back, his hands fidgeting under the throw. Mingyu was not fond of how straightforward you were being. It's like you were ready to catch him red-handed and then tell him to start acting like a bestfriend instead of some love-sick puppy, or worse, stay away from you altogether. This is it. The end of a friendship he so carefully protected even if it meant it will never be more.

"What do you mean?" He croaked, his throat feeling drier more than ever. Oh, if only Mingyu knew just how nervous you were too.

You closed your eyes shut, inhaling sharply to muster up some confidence as you carefully place your heart on your sleeve.

“Because I look at your place and your life, and though I see a lot of you in it, I see me too. Pictures of us, my favorite food always in your kitchen, my number in your speed dial. I think about the past and all that you've done for me, laughing at the stupid shapes I think the clouds are forming, listening to me vent about all my frustrations, holding me when i cry about a broken heart, you’re there. You're always where I am. And it might have taken me long to realize this, but maybe you do love me more than just your bestfriend. And I just I hope i'm not too late to tell you that when I think about all of it, it hits me like a truck that I'm in love with you too."

If Mingyu was deaf, then everything you just said is probably the one thing that would help him regain his hearing. Every single word was loud and clear, your last sentence obnoxiously ringing in his ears, yet all this six foot something man could reply was an awkward “huh?”

You blinked hard at his dumbfounded expression, the back of your eyes immediately stinging with tears. Your efforts of confessing dying together with your heart. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment, hands flying to cover your face because wow, you seriously just misread the whole thing. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I- i must’ve misread. For—forget I said anything.” You mumbled, your voice shaking towards the end.

“No, no!” Mingyu panicked, his large hands prying yours away from your face and then cupping your cheeks, “i’m sorry. I love you. I heard you, loud and clear. And I love you, more than just a best friend. I’m so in love with you, have been for a while now.” He inched closer to you, the shyest smile on his face.

His eyes glanced at your lips before looking back at you again, asking softly, “Can I?”

With a small nod, he slotted his lips to yours and you immediately hummed in relief. Your eyes fluttering close with how gentle he was. His lips were slightly chapped but they were so pillowy against yours.

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbled in between a kiss, not being able to contain the smile that was breaking on his face. He swore he saw fireworks explode, his stomach churning in the best way possible.

“I love you too,” you responded as you broke apart for air. Both your eyes were twinkling, pure happiness just flowing through your veins.

He couldn’t quite believe it. Just moments ago, he was certain he’d end the night without a best friend. “Could you say that again?” He asked shyly, and if you weren’t just so whipped for the man, you wouldn’t have indulged him.

You climbed onto his lap, grinning as you placed your hands by the sides of his face. “I love you, Kim Mingyu. I’m so in love with you,” you obliged, peppering kisses on his cheeks and nose and lips.

Mingyu let out that tiny giggle he does when he’s really happy, the crinkles in his eyes appearing and his canines showing. “I love you,” you said one more time before properly latching onto his lips again. This time, your kiss was slightly deeper. He continued to mumble i love you’s to you in between before finally slipping his tongue into your mouth. Mingyu let out a low hum of sayisfaction when he felt you run your fingers through his short hair. His large hand stayed firm on the small of your back while the other was on your neck, making sure you couldn’t pull away too far or too fast, not that he should worry, the warmth of his body alone was already drawing you impossibly closer to him.

You rested your forehead on his when you broke apart the second time, matching grins on your faces as your eyes looked deeply at each other.

“You scared me, you know?” You scowled out of nowhere, your fist hitting his chest playfully.

“What?”

“I thought I really misread. Thought you didn’t actually love me.” The pout that appeared on your face was one Mingyu had seen before, but this time around, it pulled at his heartstrings even harder.

“Well I thought you saw right through me and didn’t want any of it. Thought you wanted to stop being best friends even.”

You raised a brow at him, tilting your head to the side slightly, “well now you’re not just my best friend, you’re also my boyfriend.”

The squeal that came out of Mingyu’s mouth was definitely one you wouldn’t expect from someone as large as him, but you loved it nonetheless, even though he paired it with a bone crushing hug that had your face uncomfortably smushed on his hard chest.

“G-gyu… c-can’t br-breathe.”

“Oh sorry,” he pulled back, still giggling from the thought of being called your boyfriend. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy before and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter even harder.

You felt soft lips on your forehead, another “I love you” rolling past Mingyu’s mouth.

You responded back with the same three words, allowing yourself to look into his eyes intently, marking this important moment in your brain. You’ve heard of best friends falling in love and then falling out of love, the friendship sinking together with it. You knew there was no certainty that you and Mingyu wouldn’t meet that same fate, and it scared you for sure. But there was something about being in your best friend-now-boyfriend’s arms that just felt right. Like you were home. And somehow, that was more than enough to take away all the fears. It took a while, but you’ve never been more sure of something than you are now of loving Mingyu.

“So… we’re really doing this?” Mingyu asked as he tucked your hair behind your ear. You looked beautiful with the light pink that dusted your cheeks and the deeper crimson on your slightly swollen lips.

“As long as it’s with you.”

#svt #seventeen #svthub #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #svt fic #seventeen fic #svt one shot #seventeen one shot #mingyu #mingyu fic #mingyu fluff #mingyu one shot #mingyu imagine #kim mingyu #paula writes ✨#Slowly; All At Once

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itgetsdark-x · 3 months

Text

Something In Your Mouth

Summary: what’s a little night out if not for a bit of teasing fun with your dad’s best-friend?

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of alcohol, age gap (Joel’s age unspecified), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v (do better!!), edging, orgasm denial, forced orgasm (kinda), use of good girl etc, mild humiliation / degrading. idk i feel a lil unhinged with this one besties.

Characters: dbf!joel miller x (f) reader

Word Count: 5.3k

You pressed your glossy lips together to ensure that the hot pink covered every area of your pout and you smiled at your friend in the reflection of your bedroom mirror.

“Girl, I’m telling you… Tonight is the night that I finally fuck Joel Miller.” You smirked, taking the bottle from your friend, Sasha’s hands and taking a long swig of the warming liquor.

“Ha! Yeah right… Are we on about the same Joel Miller here? Your dad’s friend, the single father himself and what’s that? Oh yeah, he’s ancient, old enough to be your own dad! He won’t touch you, jailbait, give up.” She laughed again as your flipped her off.

“Sash, I am in my mid-twenties, closer to thirty than I am twenty. Not to mention, I’m hot okay?! There are worse women Joel could sleep with. I’m just saying… I think it’s a good idea. I just get big dick energy from him y’know? I mean, have you seen his hands?! His fingers. I actually feel like if I don’t have him soon, I’m gonna go legally insane.” You huffed.

Sasha shook her head as you stood from your bed to get changed. You flung your comfy t-shirt and shorts into your friend’s direction and grabbed the outfit you had hung on your door. Tonight’s attire was an ensemble of a black leather skirt, hot pink tank top and your trusty platform Doc Marten boots.

“Be fucking real right now, that is not your underwear of choice for the evening!” Sasha all but screeched as she caught a glimpse of your undergarments as you began changing your outfit.

“What?!” You asked with feign innocence.

“You’re wearing a hot pink thong with matching bra. Please tell me this is not for Miller.” She sighed with exasperation, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe it is… but hey, if Joel doesn’t want some tonight I’m sure some other lucky guy will appreciate the efforts I have gone to.” You shrugged, winking at your friend. “Now, how ‘bout you quit your judging and get changed so we can get to the bar! The girls are meeting us there.”

Sasha groaned with effort as she stood and joined you in getting changed.

———

The bar was busy, you were meeting your friends there to celebrate your upcoming birthday which meant your father was going to be there and in turn, so was Joel. You weren’t a complete idiot, you knew that trying to get with Joel was a huge risk for you both; if your father ever found out, you would most likely be forbidden to ever leave your apartment ever again and well, you couldn’t even imagine what your dad would do to Joel.

Which also meant you had to be calculated with how you went about it; no blatant flirting or teasing in front of your dad, you had to play your cards right, keep them close to your chest.

As soon as you and Sasha arrived into the dimly lit bar, your friends herded over to you and enveloped you in a big hug. You squealed with delight and greeted them all individually before your dad walked over, with the older Miller in tow close behind.

“There’s my princess, happy early birthday, sweetheart.” Your dad beamed, hugging you and kissing your temple.

“Thanks dad, and thanks for actually showing up! I know hanging out with us girls isn’t at the top of your Friday night agenda. Same for you Joel, thanks for coming.” You smiled bashfully at him before he closed the space between you both and gave you a quick squeeze.

Your head span and you could feel your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest, his heady cologne drowning your senses and driving you mad. It was an immediate effect and you couldn’t stop the way your core throbbed at the contact.

“Gotcha a drink darlin’. Happy early birthday.” He flashed a smile in your direction and gave you a glass filled with amber-coloured liquid. “Yes, it’s our favourite. Southern Comfort and lemonade.”

You grinned at him and took a swig of the drink gratefully, just as you turned to talk to your father again, you were almost certain you could feel Joel’s eyes raking over your body with hunger.

———

As the night wore on, the drinks flowed and the laughter grew rowdier and louder as the music in the bar was turned up. You were dancing with a couple of your friends, every now and then your eyes would catch Joel’s; he sat at the bar talking to your dad and nursing his whiskey.

“Sash, did you see the way he keeps looking at me? And earlier? Please tell me you saw that!” You whined.

“Ugh. God. I hate to feed your delusions but I did see it and I see it now. Even with your back turned, he’s watching you. Fuckin’ weird and intense, it’s like a predator with his prey. Waiting to strike.” She huffed, voice just loud enough for you to catch over the pop music playing.

“Okay… But why is that hot as fuck?” You laughed, throwing your head back as your danced. “I just need my dad to clear off, I love him but I can’t hit on his friend when he right there. That would be weird.”

You carried on dancing, with your friends and even with a couple of men when they tried it; you couldn’t help but notice the way Joel’s stare seemed to intensify when any man came near you, it made you smile to know that he was watching you.

One particular man caught your attention, he was similar to you in age, as far as you assumed and he was handsome, definitely easy on the eyes but nowhere near anywhere as good as Joel. He smirked at you from the bar and closed the distance between you until his hand was on your hip and he was dancing with you. You smiled sweetly at him, peering up at him through your lashes as you brought your thumb up to your glossy lips to suck on it seductively. You flashed a glance over to Joel who looked like he was ready to kill.

Bingo. You thought to yourself and danced with the handsome male in front of you, the music boomed and you swayed your hips against him, you span yourself around so you could press your ass to his crotch and you smirked over at Joel once again who was now alone at the bar. Your fingers clutched your glass as you wrapped your lips around the thin, red straw and sucked up the cool drink.

Joel quirked a brow at you, with a look that you couldn’t quite place, it seemed to settle somewhere between lust and utter disdain for you. You gave him a little wave and turned back to face the man you were dancing with, you looped your arms loosely around his neck and continued to dance along to the loud music.

The nameless man leant down and whispered into your ear, the music distorted his voice but he said something about leaving with him which caused you to giggle. You got up onto your tiptoes to whisper back into his ear but felt a foreign hand pressed against the small of your back. The guy you were just dancing with backed away with his hands held up in innocence.

“Hey!” You turned around with a deep frown. “Oh… hey, Joel.” You smiled.

“Your daddy left a little while ago, he saw you dancing and didn’t want to… disturb since you seemed busy…” He scoffed.

“Well I was a lil busy, and now he’s gone. Whatcha want?” You huffed.

“Don’t fuck around, little girl. We both know what you’re playin’ at.”

“What?!” You asked with feigned innocence.

“Darlin’” he warned lowly in your ear, his voice sending shivers through you. “You’re out here, shakin’ your ass for everyone.”

“And? Last time I checked, I’m single, of age and having a bit of fun. Is that not allowed, Mr Miller? Not even on my birthday?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.

Joel scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, this fake-innocence crap wasn’t getting anywhere with him and he knew you were doing it to get a reaction from him.

“You’re being a little tease, darlin’ and I think you know it.” He growled, his voice low in your ear.

You swallowed roughly, even with the drinks you had, your mouth suddenly felt impossibly dry with nerves. You shook your head to Joel and he just chuckled.

“No, no… You know what you’re doing, I know you’ve been trying to get my attention all night and well, congrats. You’ve got my attention. So what now? What do you want, hm?” He asked, leaning back to gauge your reaction.

“I — I, I want -“ You stumbled over your words dumbly, without a coherent sentence forming.

“Hm?” He hummed, he took your hand and trailed it down his hard chest, down his stomach and let it graze across his crotch.

Even with barely touching him, you could feel the hard length of his cock through the rough material of his worn jeans. You pushed your legs together in the vain hope of staving off the throbbing between them, you could feel your panties get slick as you imagined sinking to your knees and sucking Joel.

“Funny, you seemed to be playing the big girl earlier, princess. Dancing with anyone, swinging your ass and hips for them. What’s the matter? Cat gotcha tongue now?” He smirked, his voice a soft coo in your ear.

“I want you to fuck me.” You blurted out, unceremoniously and immediately, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I mean, I uh — ignore me. I’m gonna go find my friends.” You muttered.

Joel shook his head and held onto your elbow roughly. “Come home with me then, darlin’. My truck is parked out back.”

“You’ve been drinking, I’ve had some drinks. One, I don’t wanna die in your rust-bucket truck and two, this is stupid. I’m being stupid.” You spoke quickly.

“Firstly, I’m gonna ignore you just called my truck a rust-bucket, that’s a whole other conversation and two, I’ve had two drinks, perfectly fine to drive. And as long as you’re sober enough to consent, and you do wanna do this. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Maybe just don’t tell your daddy.” He laughed.

You nodded dumbly, words failing you once again and let yourself be led out of the bar by Joel; you briefly shot a look behind you and for a second, you caught eyes with Sasha who just smirked at you as you left.

—

Joel opened the truck door for you to climb in, you grabbed the handle on the side and hauled yourself in; knowing your skirt would rise and give Joel a quick glimpse of your skimpy fabric.

Joel had to all but bite back a groan as he saw the flash hot pink, the curve of your ass just enveloping the lace as you sat down.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed as he closed the door to his truck and went to the drivers side. “You really are a naughty little tease, aren’t you?” He laughed.

You shrugged at him with a sheepish smile; in truth you weren’t always this bad but tonight it got you exactly what you wanted and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Joel started his truck and within seconds of driving down the road, you reached your hand across the bench to palm at his cock; your delicate fingers wrapped around his half hard length through his jeans and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation.

He felt thick, even when only half hard and your mouth watered at the thought of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Impatient much?” Joel laughed, flashing a quick smirk in your direction.

“I need to taste you, like, immediately.” You hummed, you knew it sounded cringey and cliche but you needed it more than you could comprehend.

“Maybe let’s wait until we are back at mine — fuck —.” Joel cursed as your fingers quickly undid his jeans and dipped into the waistband of his boxers, albeit a little awkwardly.

“I’m sat here, and I’m wet. I’m talking, on the verge of dripping onto my thighs. I want you. In a way I’ve never wanted a man before so… how about you let me get you warmed up so when we get back to yours, you can have your way with me.” You reasoned, your voice blunt.

Joel couldn’t argue with that reasoning so he gently lifted his ass off the seat to allow you easier access to pull his thick cock out from his boxers. Your fingers expertly wrapped around his length and you marvelled at the fact your finger tips barely met. You stroked his shaft a few times as you felt him fully harden under your touch.

You couldn’t help but giggle; it was immature and girlish but in this moment, you felt giddy. You awkwardly repositioned yourself so you could duck your head down and suck the tip of his cock into your wet mouth.

Joel’s fingers tensed on his steering wheel, you could hear the squeak of the leather protest under his grasp as you wrapped your mouth around the male fully and sank your head down, enveloping him further.

You kept a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and bobbed your head slowly, a soft moan being muffled by the fullness in your mouth.

Above you, Joel groaned deeply as your tongue swirled around the tip and you grazed your teeth gently against his frenulum.

“Oh fuck!” Joel cursed out, one hand coming down to grip into your hair tightly; he couldn’t help the way his hand pushed your head down further. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth. Fuck.” He praised, brushing some hair away so he could catch a better glimpse of the sight below him.

You hummed in appreciation as you bobbed your head, your hand moving in perfect synchronicity with your skilled mouth. You removed Joel’s cock with a loud pop and you smirked at the male. You moved to kiss at his neck and your teeth grazed over his ear.

“Tastes better than any sucker I’ve ever had.” You purred, your voice low and sultry.

“You’re trouble.” Joel stated with a soft groan as your lips continued to kiss down his neck and your head travelled down south once more. “But you look so much cuter with something in your mouth, that’s its princess.” He cooed as your mouth sank around his cock once more.

The drive back to Joel’s was a short one, even if he did contemplate driving around the block a couple more times just so he could feel your mouth around him for longer.

Joel pulled into his drive, by this point you were sat up right and running a thumb along your bottom lip to tidy up your lip gloss. Joel tucked himself back into his jeans haphazardly before turning off the ignition to his truck.

“Inside, quickly. I don’t need the neighbours seeing me bringing you home. You know how rumours spread ‘round here.” He mumbled and it was true, most people knew Joel and they in turn, knew your father. You could almost heard the whispers that would spread around this part of town if they caught wind of what you were doing with Joel.

You hopped out his truck and walked to his front door ahead of him, making sure to keep a clear distance from the older male; no matter how hard your fingers were itching to explore his body.

Joel held onto the small of your back as he quickly unlocked his front door and ushered you into the familiar space.

“Upstairs. You know where my room is.” He stated bluntly as he removed his boots.

You nodded without another word and silently went up the stairs; you may have been playing the confident card in the truck but now that you were here, now that you were in his house, your hands were shaking with nerves and anticipation.

Joel entered the room a mere few seconds later and he smiled at you.

“So you’re not that much of a little brat that you can follow basic instructions.” He cooed.

You nodded, biting on your lip as you watched Joel effortlessly remove his t-shirt. Just as you pictured it; his chest was tanned and peppered with soft white hair. Further down his stomach as a groomed line of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband.

“What’s the matter, little girl? Not so brave now?” He smirked, closing the distance between you to hold your chin roughly between his finger and thumb.

He ducked his head down and kissed you roughly; it was an unceremonious clash of tongues as you kissed him back with intense fervour.

“That’s what I thought.” He whispered against your lips and let go of your face. “Take off your clothes. Leave on your underwear, I wanna be the one to remove that from you.” He commanded, kicking off his own jeans and sitting on the edge of his bed.

You suddenly felt self conscious, you could feel the burn of his gaze as you stood in front of him. You turned your back to him as you slowly undid the zip on your skirt and bent down to remove it.

Behind you, Joel had pulled his cock from his boxers and was stroking himself as you removed your clothes. Once your shirt was removed, you span back round to face the male and gently crossed your legs as you watched him.

“Fucking look at you.” He groaned, as his cock gently fucked into his fist. “Thought about your body so many times, knew I shouldn’t. Knew it was wrong but look at you, c’mhere.” He mumbled.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at his confession; it soothed your nerves as you realised the attraction was mutual between you both. Joel sat back a little and tapped his lap; you got the idea quickly and straddled him.

You cock feel his swollen cock rub against your clothes heat and you whined weakly at the contact.

“Please don’t tease me.” You whispered, looping your arms around his neck as Joel’s hands settled onto your soft hips.

“‘M not gonna tease you…” he smirked, his eyes lit with mischievous intent. “But I bet you could cum just from rubbing yourself on my cock. Since you seemed to want it so bad at the bar, trying to get my attention. Well guess what, little girl, you got it. Now keep it.” He hummed.

“Joel —“ you protested, to which he raised a brow at you in question.

You pushed your hips forward so the tip of Joel’s cock nudged your damp panties, it nudged your clit and you gasp as you began to rut your hips back and forth.

“Such a needy little girl, aren’t you? So needy for your daddy’s best friend that you’ll rub against his cock like a good little bitch.” He cooed, holding your cheek tenderly as his condescending words fuelled your hips to move faster.

“Not enough.” You whimpered, your hands scratching at Joel’s back for more leverage. “Need you in me, please. I need to feel your fingers inside of me.”

Joel smirked and pressed two digits into your mouth without warning; you quickly sucked them in, your tongue swirled around them until they were coated with your saliva.

“Is that what you mean, princess? My fingers are inside of you.”

You shook your head no as your hips moved desperately, the hot pink fabric of your lace thong was ruined; it was dark in colour as your arousal soaked the fabric.

“Then what is it you mean? Tell me what you want.” Joel said quietly, removing his fingers from your mouth. A long ling of spittle keeping you connected to the older male.

“Need your fingers in my pussy; need to feel them inside of me as I cum. P-please.” You whined, your voice sounded wrecked already as your hips stuttered against Joel’s cock.

Joel dipped his fingers into the front of your lace panties, they were slick from your spit and they glided through your wetness with ease.

He let out a moan as he felt your wetness soak his fingers further; his fingers circled around your clit with skill and your mouth fell agape with intense pleasure.

You screwed your eyes shut as his fingers sped up to rub over your clit.

“Oh that’s it, good girl. So wet for me, aren’t you? This all for me?” He hummed.

You nodded, as your back arched away from the man so he could gain better access to your front. Joel continued to speed his fingers up; he watched your every movement; every heave of your chest, every gasp or twitch of your arm and he knew you were getting close.

“Tell me when you’re going to cum.” Joel whispered, dropping his head down to kiss at your bra-clad chest.

“I’m close, Joel. So fucking close.” You whimpered, you were barely making a noise.

“That’s it, atta a girl.” Joel praised.

“I — I’m gonna, I’m gonna, fuck!” You screeched, the raw noise ripping from your throat as Joel removed his fingers from your panties at precisely the wrong moment.

He smirked at you, his mannerism teasing and cruel.

“What the fuck?” You squeaked, your eyes wide and your chest still heaving.

“Well I didn’t say you were going to cum, did I?” Joel stated.

“Please.” You pleaded, your eyes searching for mercy in him.

“Lay down on the bed for me.” Joel whispered, tapping your ass gently.

You felt dumb, your body was tingling all over from the overstimulation and lack of orgasm and you moved without knowing how you were doing it. You laid down onto Joel’s bed, your back resting up against his pillows.

It took everything in you to not turn your head into the soft pillows, breathe in his scent and fuck yourself right there. You felt like a horny teenager who couldn’t ever satisfy themself.

Joel fully kicked off his boxers and knelt beside you, he motioned his finger in an upwards movement and you sat up for him. Quickly, he removed your bra and your chest gently fell from the hot pink fabric. He gently pushed you back onto the bed and then worked to remove your panties, they too were discarded with the rest of your clothes on the floor.

“Now, where were we?” Joel smirked before he trailed his fingers back between your legs.

Instinctively, you spread them for him as he worked over your clit again; within seconds, the pressure was there once again and you tightly gripped at the sheets below you.

“Joel —“ you whined. “Please. Please, I am begging you, please let me cum.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, little girl?” He murmured menacingly.

You closed your eyes and willed yourself to not burst into tears there and then; the pleasure you were feeling was intense, Joel’s fingers moved expertly to bring you close to your orgasm and then there was the humiliation of him denying you the thing you wanted most.

Joel was watching you intensely, he was picking up on every little micro movement your body made or didn’t make, he was calculating when to stop his movements or when to speed them up. Bringing you right up to the edge, almost letting you peer over it but then pulling you right back again; never quite letting you topple into ecstasy.

He had done this three or four times now and the noises that left your body no longer sounded like your own; they were wrecked sobs of desperation as your arousal coated your thighs and left a wet spot behind in your wake. You could barely remember your own name or where you were anymore; Joel had messed with your mind.

“Please.” You pleaded to Joel, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please let me cum, I can’t — I can’t take anymore.” Your eyes were glassy with tears at the intensity of Joel’s actions and your own frustration as you experienced another ruined orgasm.

You knew if you really wanted this to stop, you could stand up, get dressed and walk away but you didn’t want that. Joel Miller had rotted your brain and you were fixated under him, completely at his will.

Joel smirked at you again, that same look he kept giving you; it was smug, it was infuriating and it turned you on even more.

“Look at you, princess. You’re a mess.” He whispered, his spare hand brushing a strand of hair away from your features. “So wet and messy for me, hm? Are you sure you can even cum now? Do you know what to do?”

You nodded eagerly at the older male, your eyes pleading silently as your mouth was hung open in constant pleasure.

Joel didn’t say a word, instead he sunk two fingers into your hole without warning; his thumb circled your clit with intense pressure. It was like a million sparks erupted throughout your body; your back arched off the bed, your thighs fell open even further and your walls clenched around Joel tightly.

You could feel yourself flutter and pulsate around the man’s digits as you came. Your eyes were screwed shut and your mouth was open, not a single sound fell from your parted lips apart from the start of a strangled moan. The pleasure, the pure ecstasy, was too intense for you to make a single sound.

Joel pumped his fingers quickly, watching as you came on them.

“That’s it, fuck. So good. Give me another one.” He growled, his arm shaking as he pumped his fingers even faster inside of you; his thumb pass over your clit with each thrust of his digits.

You honestly didn’t know if you could give him another; your body was shaking as you laid there and took what Joel was giving to you. It was intense and never before had you had such a strong orgasm; there were still white flecks dancing around in your vision as your body built up to another orgasm.

Your fingers were clawing at Joel’s arm and you were sure that you had broken his skin as you came on his fingers; there was no telling what would happen when he ripped another orgasm from you.

“Be a good girl and then I’ll give you my cock, come on, princess. I know you can give me another one. I know you’re good enough for that.” He whispered. “Look at what you’re doing to me, baby girl. Look at my cock, it’s leaking for you. So good.”

You peered between your bodies and saw the head of Joel’s cock, it was flushed and there was a dribble of precum falling from the tip and collecting onto the sheets below.

“Ki-kiss me.” You managed to squeak out, your voice shaking as you looked at the older male.

He smiled and happily obliged, your lips met in a sloppy kiss as you felt your body shake more intensely. The tight coil in the pit of your stomach snapped once more and another intense orgasm rippled through you like a shockwave.

“Good. Good girl.” Joel praised against your lips as he worked you through your orgasm.

He pulled his fingers from your hole and rubbed them speedily across your clit, you let out a yelp at the overstimulation and gripped Joel’s arm tightly for leverage.

“I’m gonna —“ you managed to call out before he felt yourself gush onto the sheets below you.

“Oh fuck.” Joel moaned, his cock jumping with arousal as you squirted onto his hand.

“I’m so, fuck —“ you breathed shakily and held yourself up onto your elbows, tears staining your cheeks from the intense pleasure. “Joel, I’m so sorry. Fuck, let me clean up. Fuck.” You cursed, your body shaking as you went to sit up.

Joel chuckled and gently pushed your shoulder back onto the bed with a shake of his head.

“So sexy. Have you ever squirted before?” He asked, finally removing his hand from your throbbing pussy.

You shook your head and he just grinned at you boyishly.

“That’s even hotter, how did it feel, princess? Did you like it?” He asked softly, his fingers tracing soft patterns across your tummy.

You blushed at his words and gently cleared your throat. “I did like it, I didn’t… well I didn’t know I could actually cum that hard. It was intense but amazing.” You said softly, looking up at Joel through your lashes.

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Look, we don’t have to — well, y’know, we don’t have to have sex. If you’re too stimulated or whatever. I can sort myself out.”

You quickly shook your head and pulled him closer to your naked body.

“No!” You said quickly. “I mean, I am a little over stimulated right now but please, I need to feel your cock in me.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice and he roughly flipped your body over so your face was against the bed. You gasped under the male, surprised by his strength. Behind yourself, you could feel Joel moving, positioning himself so his cock was nudging against your entrance.

He thrust forward, filling you once again; you were all-consumed with just Joel. The heady scent of him lingered on the bellows below your face, you cunt ached with lingering pleasure of your orgasms and now, you could feel his large hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucked into you with fervour.

“That’s it, sweet girl, taking me so well. So good.” Joel mewled, the praise sending heat through your body once more.

Your fingers clung to the soft fabric of the sheets below you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans that escaped your lips as Joel fucked you.

“So good. F-faster.” You whimpered.

Joel obliged, he sped his hips up and dug his fingers into your hips so hard you felt as if you were going to have bruises there for days.

Joel’s hips began to stutter, his groans grew deeper and you clenched around him, trying to bring him closer to filling you.

“Such. A. Good. Little. Girl.” Joel groaned, each word accentuated by a deep thrust. “This is my cunt now, got it? Hm. All mine. Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

You nodded under him with a soft moan as he bottomed himself out in you, his cock impossibly deep as you felt it twitch before he coated your insides with his hot cum. You whined at the sensation and felt yourself flutter around his pulsing cock instinctively.

“Shit.” He groaned, giving one final sloppy thrust before we collapsed down onto the bed beside you with his chest heaving deeply.

You followed suit, your body finally giving out from under yourself; you grimaced as your body touched the soaked patch on the bed and you began to feel Joel leak from inside of you.

“‘M a mess but so tired.” You yawned, scrunching your face in disgust.

“Let me clean you up.” Joel whispered, stroking your cheek.

He let out a grunt as he climbed off the bed, his limbs aching from the effort. He scooped your body from the mattress and carried you to the bathroom where he sat you in the bath. He turned the shower on and you hummed as the warm water hit your body, not caring your hair and makeup would be a mess.

Joel climbed behind you and gently rubbed your shoulders as the warm water washed away the messes you both made.

A/N: my requests are open again, I can’t promise I’ll always write them really quickly but please send me any ideas of stuff u wanna read <3 love u all <3

#dbf!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #dbf!joel #joel x reader #joel miller

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cezelaia · 3 months

Text

-ˋˏ you’re such a fucking babyˎˊ

manipulative!ellie x f!reader

It was Friday night and you were getting ready to go out with Dina and Jesse, trying to distract yourself from the events of the past 24 hours. Ellie and you had a huge fight the previous night and you were still reeling from the insensitive things she had said to you.

You had been avoiding her all day, not wanting to face her and the issue at hand. You wanted to go out, hand out at the bar with your friends, and forget about the whole thing. But fate had different plans for you.

Your friend Dina, let it slip to Ellie about your plan to go out. And of course, Ellie couldn't let that happen. She showed up at your door, asking to 'just talk' about it. But instead, she made fun of you and belittled you until you couldn't take it anymore and broke down crying.

'I can't believe you wanted to get shit-faced drunk instead of talking it out with me,' she had said. 'You're such a fucking baby,' she continued. And it wasn't until you were crying uncontrollably that she finally stopped and apologized.

“I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please forgive me. I'll make it up to you,” she said, kissing your neck softly.

And that's how you ended up on your bedroom dresser. Ellie standing in front of you, one hand holding your right leg up to your chest and the other hand.. well.. she had two fingers in your cunt, repeatedly hitting the right spot.

Your body was responding to her touch, the pleasure building and building. Ellie continued to thrust her fingers deeply and slowly into you.

She’s whispering sweet apologies, promises of change, and praises of how good you feel around her fingers.

Your eyes are closed, moans spilling out of your mouth, and you find yourself lost in the moment, forgetting all about the fight and the hurtful things she said.  Ellie whispered in your ear, “I love you so much”, and you believed her.

She was caressing your leg while she fingered you, so good.

There was still tears falling down your face and she fucking loved it. “Crying because I make you feel so good, huh baby?”

You nod your head and she laughs before speeding up her movements, making your hands grip the dresser tighter and your breathing speeds up.

You’re about to cum and she knows it, she can always tell even when you don’t say anything.

Your head leans down as you’re struggling to ask for permission to cum. You’re so overwhelmed with emotion. You open your eyes to the sight of her fingers pounding your pussy plowing.

You let out a soft whine as you lift your head back up to face your lover.

“E-El?….” you say, and a tear falls down your cheek. “Cum for me, baby.” she whispers and that’s all you needed.

You arch your back as you release, letting out a loud moan mixed with a sob. Ellie continues to thrust until you reach a hand down to stop her.

As you catch your breath, Ellie releases your leg and brings it to your cheek, wiping your tears before pulling you into a heated kiss.

In that moment, all the hurt and pain from the fight faded away, and you were left with the undeniable truth that you loved her… so fucking much.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #cezelaia

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would.

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—”

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit. Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him.

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk. You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio.

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door.

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him.

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend.

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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cerisereids · 15 days

Text

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀- 𝘀.𝗿. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟮]

pairing- spencer reid x fem!reader

w.c.- 8.5k (wtf)

summary- it's been months since you've seen spencer reid. you miss him more than anything, but your friend convinces you it's better if you move on. what happens when he bumps into your new fling at the library?

warnings- sfw but making out at the end, reader is referred to as a woman, emily meddles in spencer's love life lol, angst to fluff, happy ending, not rly proofread im sorry yall i tried my hardest, reader is a little bit messy but she doesn't mean it, last part of this series! part 1 found here

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You ready, Pretty Boy?” Derek claps a hand on Spencer’s back as he assembles his desk for the weekend.

Spencer shudders at the nickname, like there’s a bug crawling up his spine. He can tell just from Derek’s debonair tone what tonight is going to look like, and he wants no part of it.

“For what? To watch you get phone numbers from every girl you meet?” Spencer teases, doing his best to deflect as he reluctantly stands to leave his desk with Derek.

“Maybe,” Derek shoots him a smile and wraps an arm around his shoulders, “but it’s also time for a special someone to finally follow in my footsteps,” he pinches Spencer’s cheek and he playfully pushes him off.

“Ooh! Are you guys getting drinks?” Spencer turns to see Emily and Penelope coming up from behind him.

“Yeah,” Derek responds, “trying to see if Mr. Grumpy over here can lighten up a little bit,” he shakes Spencer’s shoulders, and he unsuccessfully fights an eyeroll.

“Haven’t been grumpy,” Spencer mumbles, completely proving their point.

“Yeah guys, he hasn’t been grumpy at all!” Emily starts, and Spencer can tell from the theatrics in her tone that the other shoe has not yet dropped, “we all spend our free time moping at our desk after work, looking through old case files that we’ve already solved.” And there it is.

“You know, you guys are this close to becoming a trio for the night,” Spencer holds his index finger and thumb mere millimeters apart, and his comment earns a chuckle from the group.

“Hey now,” Emily gives his shoulder a playful knock, “we tease you because we love you!”

“Well, regardless of Reid’s attitude, we are so in!” Penelope chirps, nudging herself in between Spencer and Derek so she can link arms with both men, and it does make Spencer smile.

Spencer uses their newfound company as an excuse to keep to himself, at least on the way there. He knows Derek won’t let it go when they get to the bar, but for now, he allows his mind to drift. Emily was right, to his everlasting dismay. It’s true that he’s been grumpier in the past few months than normal. He sequesters himself away in conference rooms of local police departments, and he spends hours upon hours going over case files and documents until his eyes go cross. He plays solitaire on the jet home, tucked into a corner, not to be disturbed. He mopes on nights like these, nights where Derek tries to inspire him out of his comfort zone.

It’s all because of one stupid day on the job. One singular day in Massachusetts has turned his life more upside down than seven years in Quantico. It’s torturous, the way you flood his mind, his senses at any waking moment. The way you looked at him, your eyes piercing straight through him, is forever seared into his brain. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory for that. It’s been years since he’s truly felt someone understand him for who he is, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for letting you go.

Spencer is rudely thrust back into reality by the ding of the bell above him and the incessant chatter of a crowded bar on a Friday night. They’ve made it, and now Spencer has to put on an Academy Award worthy performance so he doesn’t get lectured by his coworkers. Damn profilers.

“Now, you kids have fun,” Derek says, the glint in his eyes suggesting he’s already spotted a lady across the bar, “I will be over there, working my magic,” he swiftly points to the direction of the bar, the girl perched on a stool with a friend, “unless you wanna come with, Pretty Boy,” he adds with a knowing smiley.

He claps Spencer on the back again as he shakes his head no, “here, have this to loosen yourself up a bit, then come find me in 20 minutes,” he hands him a beer and moves toward his target.

Spencer fiddles with the glass bottle, feeling the eyes of Emily and Penelope burning holes right through him. He raises his brows, eyes glancing up for the briefest moment, and he knows it was a mistake the second he catches their accusatory glares. There will be no getting out of this one, he’s afraid, especially with Morgan gone.

“So, do you wanna tell me what happened with Pretty Library Girl? Or do you want to continue to avoid the entire team every chance you get?” Spencer’s head snaps to Emily, his stomach dropping at the mere mention of her, eyes wide and wild.

“Pretty Library Girl?!” Penelope squeals, and Spencers takes a big swig of beer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters, a tiny drop of beer spilling over his lip.

“Who is she and why haven’t you told me anything about her?” Penelope sounds offended, like he’s done her wrong by not engaging with her in every detail of his life. It is Penelope afterall, though, so maybe he has.

“It’s nothing, it’s not important! Emily’s just being mean,” he feels himself going red as he takes another sip. The cold of the glass bottle against his lips makes him long for three months prior, when he had you in his arms and his mouth pressed against your temple. The alcohol infiltrating his brain encourages further thought of how sweet your lips would taste, how warm and soft they’d be compared to the icy feeling of the glass rim.

“I am not being mean, you baby!” Emily teases, and he shoves an onion ring in his mouth, “remember that one case we worked on about a few months ago? With that one east coast diplomat who was kidnapped?” Penelope nods so Emily continues, and Spencer feels the warmth in his cheeks spread to his ears.

“Well, Spencer here really hit it off with the librarian who called in that he was missing. We were sent to spend the day at the library to keep her safe, he was nearly starstruck at the mere sight of her,” Penelope’s jaw hit the floor at this information, as did Spencer’s, but Emily kept going before either of them could react.

“To be honest, though,” Emily added, “I think she was starstruck at the sight of you, too, if her reaction to your handshake was anything to go off of.”

Penelope immediately burst into happy squeals and claps at this revelation, and Spencer put his face in his hands.

“So that’s why you’ve been such a sourpuss? A girl? Oh Spencer, this is so exciting!” Penelope squeals as she shakes his bicep back and forth, her nails lightly digging in the skin there.

“No, it’s not!” he finally exclaims, “I didn’t get her number. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in three months and I feel like I’m going crazy!”

A weight was lifted off his chest at the confession, but it only made more room for the longing piercing through his heart. He took another sip of beer.

“Ahhh…” Penelope drawls, “so that’s why we’re grumpy. You know, you could just tell me her name and I’ll find her for you in two seconds flat,” she punctuates her remark with the snap of a finger.

“No…no, I don’t want you to do that. I screwed up by not going for it. If I’m going to contact her, I should at least be honest about it,” he rests his forehead in his large palm, another sip.

“Well, it’s never too late, you know,” Emily remarks, “I thought she was good for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” he mutters, chin in his palm.

Spencer’s on his fifth beer when Derek comes back to the table, this time with a woman on each arm.

“Spencer…” he drags out, introducing him to the one on the left, closest to him, “meet Callie. I was chatting with her and her friend over at the bar and I think you’d really hit it off.”

His tone is light, but his eyes are saying if you fumble one more time, I’m gonna kill you. Looks like he’s a dead man, because he’s quick to tell the girl he’s not interested. He’s never disrespectful, always straightforward. He doesn’t have time for games, unless, apparently, it’s his own heart he’s interested in playing with.

“Excuse us just one second, ladies,” Derek escorts Spencer out the doors of the bar, out to where it’s more quiet.

“What the hell is goin’ on, man?” Derek nearly interrogates, “that’s the fifth girl in the past month I’ve introduced you to that you’ve rejected. Something has been up for a while and I want answers, kid. I’m just trying to help,” his eyes soften with that last bit, but Spencer is now too tipsy to respond similarly.

“That’s just it, Morgan. I don’t need your help, I’m fine. Nothing is going on, all these outings are pointless, and you should’ve just let me go home,” Spencer turns to leave, the alcohol flooding his senses, dizzying him as he whips around. He stops for a moment to regain his balance, and he hears Derek chuckle behind him, which only makes him even more annoyed with himself.

“Come on, what’s going on, man?” Derek asks gently as he turns Spencer around by his shoulders, steadying once he’s faced him again.

He sighs, accepting defeat. Every single emotion he’s held in over the past three months is released with that sigh, and he nearly crumbles when he croaks out, “I miss her.”

“Who, man?” confusion laces through Derek’s tone, and Spencer folds himself in half before he can answer.

“The-ugh! Pretty Library Girl!” he exclaims finally, words slurring together ever so slightly, “and she’s not just pretty, either. She’s the most beautifullest girl I’ve ever met, Derek,” his voice comes out in a whisper, and he felt the gravity of saying those words out loud, there was no going back now, “didn’t get her phone number, it was the biggest mistake of my life, Derek! I don’t care about any of these other girls you’ve introduced me to because none of them are her! And now I’ll never see her again!” he buries his face in his hands at the end of his rant.

He's only vaguely aware of how dramatic he is in his drunkenness, holding in emotions for so long will do that to you. He’s thanking his lucky stars that Penelope and Emily exit the building the moment he says it. They can fill Derek in on the blanks on the walk home. He won’t be able to without bursting into tears.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A wine glass balances delicately between your fingertips as you decide which clothes you want to take with you on the move, and which clothes you’ll be donating to your local GoodWill.

“So, Hot FBI Guy will be living close by, right?” the crackled voice of your best friend, Mary, echoes from your computer, and you take another sip of wine at the mere mention of him.

“All I know is that he works in Quantico. I have no idea where he lives,” you try and keep the conversation about Spencer as neutral as possible, the ache of his departure still stinging like it happened yesterday.

“Well, I’m just saying that if he works near D.C. then he’s local. Just. Saying.” she drags out, innocently holding her hands up like she’s being interrogated. Ironic.

“What does that have to even do with anything?” you know you’re being dense, but you haven’t yet been able to confront what you’ve lost quite yet. That connection, albeit in its infancy, was a million times more powerful than anything you’ve felt with your past relationships. You long so desperately to know what you and Spencer could have been, and it gnaws at your stomach like a parasite.

“You know what it has to do with! If he was as into you as you told me he was, then I can guarantee you he’d jump at the chance to reconnect,” you wish you feel as confident as your best friend sounds.

Still, excitement sparks in your belly at the thought of being so close to him. When Mary came to you a few weeks ago with a job opportunity at the National Museum of American History Library in D.C., you lept at the opportunity. Mr. Anderson had decided to retire shortly after the incident that brought Spencer to you. You can’t necessarily blame him, and you’re elated about the new prospect.

Whether your enthusiasm had to do with the job itself or the brunette agent that would be nearby is anybody’s guess. In the months since you’ve seen him, your memories with him have morphed into something dream-like, something you’ve disconnected from your reality. It’s the only way you’ve been able to continue without him. Reality is becoming harder to ignore, though, the more you put items in boxes and clothing in suitcases. You’re flying to D.C. in a few days to begin the move-in process, and that’s what this video call was supposed to be about. Key word: supposed.

“I don’t know,” you take another big gulp, the acidity tickling your throat, “what if this silence is an answer? If he wanted to, he would, y’know?”

“Ugh! Fine! I guess that’s fair, if you want to be stubborn,” your best friend groans, and you smile at her theatrics, “so, how about I set you up with someone when you get over here? There’s a really cute guy that works at the local university, his name is Brad. He comes and works with us every now and then. Maybe when you get here I can introduce you guys.”

“Ugh, Brad?” you spit out. The name tastes acrid on your tongue, like you can feel notes of the red flags already forming on your palette.

“Don’t be so quick to judge!” Mary sputters, “you are the one who refuses to find Hot FBI Guy, so as your best friend, I’ve appointed myself to solve this problem for you.”

“Y’know, I never asked you to do that,” you joke as you finish the last drop in your glass, a pleasant buzz overtaking your senses.

“I know, that’s why you love me!” she chirps, finishing her own wine, “I’ll text you his number, okay? I gotta get going, we both have a busy next few days. I’ll come get you from the airport when you land here, though, okay? Fly safe!”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Spencer’s long, deft fingers pad against the spines of books, some dating all the way back to the 1600s, some that must have been published within a year. He can tell by the condition of the spine itself. He hums to himself quietly, until the dull thud of books hitting against carpet takes him away from himself, his mind. He has to blink twice when he turns around, to make sure he’s not seeing things. It’s you. It’s you, and you’re flustered. You saw him first, he can tell by the way you scramble to pick up the books, avoiding eye contact while you shove them haphazardly back onto the metal cart you’re pushing. Melvil Dewey would turn over in his grave at the sight.

“Let me help you,” Spencer starts gently, so ask not to spook you even more. He kneels slightly, his large hands picking up twice as many books as you were able to. His chest puffs just slightly at the way your eyes linger on them, your gaze following the way the veins in his hands stretch to accommodate the thick text in his hands. He folds back into himself, though, when your eyes meet. Those eyes. Those eyes he’s dreamed about night after night for four months, now inches away from him, staring right into his soul.

“Hi,” is the only thing he can say. It comes out breathy, like a secret.

“Hi,” your voice is shaky, so is your breath as you stand to adjust the books, now lying disorganized across the top of the cart.

“Stop-” your hand shoots out to cover his, and you both make immediate eye contacts at the action. Yours are wide and big, brows furrowed in regret. It makes his stomach drop and he tears his eyes away from yours, stepping back from the cart.

“Spencer-” you start again, but he can take a hint.

“No-no, don’t bother,” he smiles sheepishly as he backs away, “I get it, I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s good to see you again, you look good,” he can’t help but dote, even if it’s obvious you don’t want to see him.

He supposes he’s ruined things by not taking initiative the first time, has already accepted that life doesn’t hand out second chances. That’s why it’s not too difficult for him to start to walk away, even though his brain screeches at him to turn around with each step.

“Spencer-wait!” he hears you call after him, and he believes in a god for the briefest moment.

“I’m sorry,” you gush, “I just-I wasn’t expecting to see you, which I guess is silly considering that we’re both here now, an-and you surprised me and then I dropped all of this…” you trail off, gesturing down to the mess you both created, but before you could continue, Spencer registered your words.

“Wait-” his head snaps up, eyes locking with yours, brows furrowed in confusion, “what do you mean ‘that we’re both here now’? How long have you been here?”

Your face goes white, and his heart falls into his stomach.

“About a month,” you mutter quietly, and Spencer positively aches. One month of you being within 50 miles of him, and he didn’t even know. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” you nearly plead with him, and he wants to take your hands in his and kiss all over them so you know you don’t ever have to plead, not when it comes to him.

“I just didn’t know how to go about this, it’s not like we were really dating or anything…” you trail off, both of you seemingly struck by the verbal acknowledgement of a relationship, or whatever was going on between you two in Massachusetts. It hangs heavily between the two of you, absorbing all his brain power until an idyllic, domestic life with you is the only thought his big brain can create.

“Maybe we can start slow. Friendly,” he suggests. You’re reserved, not telling him something, so even though it physically aches to stay still, to not pull you in his arms and kiss every bit of skin he can find, he’d rather take this slow. He'd rather have you as only a friend than not at all. He did that already, and he never wants to again.

“Yeah,” your eyes sparkle, and he can see the rest of his life in them, “friends.” Your smile at this moment is worth any heartache he’d ever have to go through.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, that’s the fourth book you’ve checked out on American sewing patterns in the 1940s this week,” you smile when you hear your coworker’s voice float over from the checkout desk.

Spencer’s here.

“I got him,” you say once you’ve jogged into the front room, “don’t even worry about it,” you shoo your coworker who rolls her eyes, knowing full well you’re not alleviating her from a customer.

“Neither of you are slick, you know,” your coworker jokes in a quiet tone that only you can hear, and you blush furiously at her insinuation.

“Doing some light reading over the weekend, Doc?” you smirk as the scanner beeps, a red light flashing over the barcode of his book. He smiles and looks down, a slight pink tint dusting his cheeks at the title.

“Not really, actually. We’re working on a case with an unsub who’s very well versed in sewing patterns,” he chews around the words, a cinnamon sugar donut resting in his left hand.

“I see,” you respond, bagging his book, “and you’ve been assigned to do all the research on the symbolism of sewing patterns?” you raise your brows teasingly, and it earns you a million dollar Spencer Reid smile.

“You know it,” he chuckles a little as his cheeks redden, you’ll never get tired of seeing him blush.

“Well…maybe I can help you?” you offer shyly, “y’know, my mom was a professional seamstress back in the day. Taught me everything she knows. I’m no FBI profiler, but I might be able to help,” you shrug, and now it’s your turn for your cheeks to heat up. With the intensity with which he was looking at you, you were surprised you didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“Realy? You never told me that,” Spencer whines accusatively.

“Well, we’ve only been friends again for three weeks. Sorry we haven’t yet gotten into our parents’ lore yet,” you joke, and you can just barely make out a shift in his eyes, like the acknowledgement of your current predicament pains him, “my shift’s done in about 15 minutes,” you soldier on, “let me finish up everything I need to do and I’ll meet you over there,” you nod towards one of the comfortable study couches in your library, complete with tables, cupholders, and outlets.

When you found him there a mere 20 minutes later, you could have melted. Glasses you’ve never seen before perch on his nose. Your heart swells, a symphony of angels could come down and sing at any moment at the mere sight of the wiry frames resting on his nose. There’s an extra pep in your step as you approach him, and his eyes light up once he sees you’ve arrived.

“Hey!” he chimes, happy as a clam, “you ready to study up on the importance of sewing during the second World War?” he punctuates his question with the slam of a thick textbook on the table, and you lean back slightly so as to avoid the dust emanating from it.

“Oof! Sorry!” he coughs, waving his hand in a weak attempt to dissipate the dust. It just makes you giggle, which in turn earns you yet another smile. You two stay like that for a moment, lost in time, lost in each other. Your head and ears become fuzzy, the pounding of your heart soon becoming the only thing you can hear. You rest your chin in your palm, and you won’t be surprised if cartoon hearts start beating out of your eyes while you listen to him spew out sewing information.

You pretend to listen as your eyes trail down his face, from his hairline, down to the slope of his nose, to his full, pink lips. There’s remnants of sugar dusting his lips from the donut he had earlier, and you allow yourself one brief moment to wonder what it’d taste like. If he’d let you run your tongue over his bottom lip and find out. The mere thought makes you shudder, and you adjust in your seat. You throw your right leg over your left in a way that allows the sundress you wore today to cling to every curve and dip of your body, something Spencer notices. You see him adjust, moving the arm closest to you to rest on the table. He feels it too. He wouldn’t be shielding himself if he didn’t.

“Sooo…” he trails off, cheeks reddening once more. You’ll never get tired of it. “How much do you know about sewing? Or was this all a ruse to spend some one on one time with me?” he raises his eyebrows accusatively at you, and it loosens the tension in your shoulders, a laugh bursting from your throat.

“There it is,” he mutters softly, seemingly to himself.

His chin is also resting in his palm now, and it’s brought you closer together. His nose is just inches from yours, your legs entangling with each other under the table. You see his eyes go down, down. You feel them scan over your body, studying the flowing linen of your floral print clad frame. You see his eyes linger on your chest for a brief moment, his own breath picking up at the slightest peek of your cleavage heaving up and down. The way it cinches your waist, the way it allows the rest of your curves to flow freely below it, he drinks it all in. It’s completely silent, save for your heavy breathing. All you can do is watch.

“There what is?” you ask, adjusting once more in your seat so you can face him directly.

You’re open to him, now. Chest fully open and facing him, one arm on the table and the other on the back of your chair. You’re showing him you’re open, you’re ready. You would push him onto this table and kiss him silly right now if you could, you’d give him a really good reason to love this sundress.

“Could tell something was keeping you tense. I wanted to make you laugh so you’d loosen up,” he smiles, “and because I love your laugh.”

You smile and inch impossibly closer, until you’re yanked out of your dream world and slammed onto the cold, hard ground in seconds.

“Hey, babe! You ready? We got reservations in like a half hour,” you feel a hand on your shoulder from behind and a kiss to your cheek. Your stomach plummets, eyes wide like you’re in a horror film and the killer is behind you.

You can see the instant disappointment creeping onto Spencer’s face. He doesn’t want to show it, but it’s there.

“Brad!” you chirp in the fakest possible voice you can muster.

You look up over your shoulder at the man Mary set you up with. He’s taking you on your third date tonight. You completely and totally forgot. A fire of guilt ignites in your lower belly, burning hot until you’re nearly sick with it. Your head snaps back to Spencer, where you see him collect his materials. Your heart sinks into your stomach, charring itself to bits with the rest of your guts down there.

“Spencer-” you reach an arm out to stop him, but he yanks it away. An internal skewer prods your fire, makes it hotter, bigger.

“I checked this out, actually. I’ll look it over at the station, it’ll probably take me not even 10 minutes to read it by myself anyway,” he rambles sheepishly, his face now turning red for the worst possible reason.

“Hey, man!” Brad chuckles obliviously, and you wish you could crawl into a hole right then and there, “you must be her genius FBI friend, yeah she talks about you,” he puts his hands on his hips as his head turns from him, back to you. Realization dawns on his face as Brad reaches out his hand, Spencer shakes it professionally and you want to die.

“Talks a lot about you, actually. It’s funny, I never really understood what a guy with such a high IQ would be doing in the FBI, but that’s just me,” he’s the only one that chuckles at his statement, his gaze now turned towards his phone, “plus, don’t you need to be more fit to be in the FBI? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who chases down killers.”

“Yeah, well, my unit actually profiles the behavior of serial killers in order to catch them. That’s where my IQ of 187 comes in, as well as my three PhDs,” you can tell he's word vomiting, and he sends a fake smile at Brad, who gives not one signal that he listened to any of that at all. You can hear the shake in Spencer’s voice. He’s trying to make it through this conversation without blowing a gasket. You’re doing the same.

“Yeah, man, that’s sweet,” he flips his gum around in his mouth, chewing as he scrolls on his phone, “listen, can we go now, babe? I’m starving,” he tries slinking his arm over your shoulders, eyes still glued to his phone.

This isn’t unusual for him, he’s been guilty of this the past few dates he took you on. Whether it was when you were ordering the food, or walking home, a time would come on the date where his eyes wouldn’t leave his phone. It piqued your curiosity, but truthfully, you never liked him enough to care. This position allows you a quick glance at his screen, opened in the messages of someone named Emma, who he’s also calling ‘babe’.

Spencer takes this as his cue to leave, though. You know you don’t deserve it, but not getting a goodbye from him is like a kick to the shins.

“Yeah-yeah, I’ll be ready in just one second,” you say breathlessly, “gonna just go walk him out,” you give him a weak smile before breaking into a jog to catch up with him.

“Spencer!” you call as you jog out to the patio, where you saw him for the first time that March morning.

“When were you going to tell me you have a boyfriend?” he turns, not letting you get a word in edgewise.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” you exclaim, grasping at straws to save face, “he’s just someone that Mary set me up with. We’ve only gone out on a few dates, it’s not a serious thing!” the wind whips desperately between the two of you, an earthly manifestation of four months of swirling emotions, repressed and ready to bubble over the surface. It’s true that you’ve only been on a few dates with the guy, but you know what honesty means to Spencer. You know that lying by omission is still a lie. You were so desperate to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, you just wanted to let someone else do it for you. You never expected Spencer to come back, never expected a friendship like this to blossom, never expected to be in love with him while dating someone else. You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, ignoring it was not the best way to handle that.

“Serious enough to call you ‘babe’,” he mutters to the ground, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” you spit, now defensive, “you were the one who wanted to just be ‘friends’,” you throw up air quotes, “you don’t get to be mad now!”

“‘m not mad,” Spencer insists, grumbly. His gaze is kept on the ground, the toe of his Converse kicking a rock, “I get it. You’re beautiful, he’s beautiful. No wonder Mary thought you’d be a great couple. I see it, I really do. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me, ‘s all,” his voice is high pitched and whiny, an aggravated tone that gives away his true feelings whether he means to or not.

You roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest, “because, Spencer, I didn’t realize I had to run every single relationship choice by a man I’ve only really known for three weeks! A man who took off without leaving any way for me to contact him! So yeah, don’t be too surprised that I’ve moved on,” you huff, eyebrows drawn downwards in an angry pout.

“Moved on?” Spencer whines, turning to face you, “we spent one day together! I’m an FBI agent, I can’t just hand out my number to random strangers I meet on cases!” “You and I both know I wasn’t just a random stranger on a case!” you shout, and a heavy silence falls between you.

The rain splatters harshly against the ground, moving so fast you can barely see each individual raindrop. Your mind is a similar storm, clouded, dark, and so desperate for sun. The sun in your case is the man standing before you, chest heaving as he stares back at you.

“I don’t know, Spencer, I don’t know,” you chuckle, breaking the silence with a venomous huff, “we spent one day together, yes, but I felt a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else. I know you felt it too. Do you go around telling everybody you meet on a case about how amazing your mentor was and how much you miss him?”

He flinches, and you know you got him.

“Leave him out of this,” is all he can mutter.

“You brought him into it in the first place,” you jab back. You know you’re being petty, you know you’re in the wrong, but you can’t accept it. Not with Spencer standing right in front of you, looking at you like he’s Caesar and you’re Brutus holding a bloodied knife in your hand. Maybe that’s exactly who you are, but the humiliation of your mistakes creeps into every bone in your body, sitting most prominently in your throat. It’s strangling you, holding you back from any logic, your emotions running rampant throughout this conversation.

“Have fun on your date, I have a killer to catch,” Spencer doesn’t spare you one last look before leaving you stranded in the rain.

You return to your desk completely soaked through, and Brad’s eyes widen in a condescending way that makes your skin crawl.

“Whew,” he whistles, nearly scared at the sight of you, “well, it seems like you two have some stuff you need to work out. You’re hot, but I’m not interested in being a part of some weird ass love triangle you have going on with that loser. See ya around,” he raps his knuckles on the desk and leaves without second thought.

Your skin crawls at his third grade insult, your eyes trained on his retreating figure. You’re frozen in place, unbelieving that this all just unfolded in front of you, because of you. Your pruney fingers come up to hide your soaked face. You can only imagine how much of a disaster you looked like right now, dripping and wilted, like the dewey trees hanging outside. You stare at one in front of the window by your desk, and can’t help but feel envious of the sopping bark and dripping leaves. Their storm is about growth, renewal, yours was brought on by your own selfishness and humiliation. Your head falls back into your hands. You need to make things right with Spencer. You’ve already lost him once, you know you won’t be able to go through it again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hey!” Spencer whines, snapped out of his stewing by a crumpled piece of paper flying from Emily’s direction hitting him square on the nose.

“What’d you do that for!?” he whines, nose scrunching as he throws the paper back at the perpetrator.

“You need to focus, Genius!” her voice rings sarcastically, “were you able to get any help from your girly friend at the library or no?”

Spencer’s insides twist at her teasing, the sheer mention of you makes him want to crawl in a hole and never come out. He feels like such an idiot. In what world would someone so beautiful actually like someone like him? The humiliation regresses his emotions to the sinking feeling in his gut he felt when he was 12, watching the jock ask the girl from his AP calculus class that he’d fantasized about for months to prom. He knew it was a pipe dream then, but he should’ve known now, too. As angry as he is at you, he’s almost more angry with himself for letting his guard down. Your beauty destines you to someone like Brad, with his sculpted jaw and perfect hair. It’s a tale as old as time, one where there are two beauties and one beast left behind to study sewing patterns from World War II.

“Oof, sore subject?” Emily asks after a moment of bitter silence, “I thought things were going well. I was thinking we could even have her come in to help us with some of this if you want,” she pats the multiple books they have to help with the case.

If it were any other circumstances, Spencer would feel grateful for his friend doing him a solid, even though they both know he could read everything on the conference room table in an hour. Now, though, the thought feels like a boiling pitchfork slicing through his gut.

“Well, she’s on a date with someone named Brad right now, if you were curious,” Spencer snapped before walking out to read his books in peace.

“What?” he hears a high pitched shout from behind him, and he fights an eye roll when he hears the clicking of Emily’s heels hot on his tail. “I thought things were going well? You were over there all the time, I mean you practically spent all of your free time there, everyone else thought you were just going into hermit mode, but I knew-” “Well, things change, Emily. I won’t be going there so much anymore,” Spencer cuts off her rambling dryly, trying to sound as neutral as possible about the situation. The shakiness in his voice tattletales on him, though. He knows he’s been figured out by the way Emily’s eyes narrow down at him, her tongue poking at her cheek. He accepts defeat, his forehead falling to the crook of his arms resting on his desk.

“Alright…” Emily sighs, moving to sit adjacent to her distressed coworker, “lay it on me, kid.”

Spencer can’t help himself. Everything, every thought that’s been keeping him up late at night, every feeling that’s eaten through his stomach til it’s raw comes spilling out. He tells her about the last three weeks, about how it’s allowed him to actually establish a connection with you, and how it was better than he ever thought it could be. He tells her about Brad, about the patronizing way the beefcake eyed him up and down.

“I just feel so stupid,” he vents, unable to make eye contact with Emily, “I really thought she could actually like me, but it makes so much sense that she’s with someone like him instead,” he shakes his head, gaze turning towards his lap, “she’s so pretty, Emily, I just blew it too many times.”

He’s ready to give up, ready to wallow in his sorrows with Derek, maybe finally take him up on all the offers to set him up. That’s what you did, anyway.

“Well,” Emily scoffs, kicking her feet up on his desk. He frowns at the sight. “Your first problem is that you’re comparing yourself to this Brad loser-”

“You didn’t see him, though,” Spencer jumps in, defensive, “he’s perfect for her-”

“On the outside, maybe,” Emily cut him off, regaining power of the conversation. Spencer slumps back in his chair as she eyes him, “and honestly Spencer, that means nothing. I know you know that,” she says, and Spencer retreats into himself as her pointed gaze pierces through that rawness in his stomach.

“Honestly, Spencer, I’m shocked you’re so intimidated by some meathead,” she sits back, more relaxed now, it allows Spencer to loosen up too. “You’re Doctor Spencer Reid. Three times over, actually!” she makes sure to enunciate his full name, title and all, and it makes his chest lightly puff up once more, “just because you may not be some adonis with a six pack doesn’t make you undesirable, Spencer. I wish you knew that,” she utters that last bit quietly, softer, it makes his heart churn with vulnerability.

“Sometimes I do wonder what it would be like to be like Derek,” Spencer remarks, “to not be scared to go out and find a connection, to be able to act on it once you find it. It’s one of the very few things I’m not an expert at,” he jokes lightly, and Emily smiles at him sadly.

“Nobody is, Spencer,” Emily sighs, “love is messy, and it’s complicated, but it’s worth fighting for. If you really think going cold turkey on your library visits is the best way for you to handle this, then so be it. But I don’t want you forgetting who you are, what you bring to the table, because if someone is lucky enough to capture the attention of the Spencer Reid, she better be able to keep up,” she smiles at him, standing to ruffle his hair like a big sister. It still makes his cheeks go red.

“Thanks Emily,” he mutters, “I’ll think about it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your hands are visibly shaking as the elevator lifts you to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They grip the visitor’s badge dangling from your neck in a desperate attempt to find something to do. You’re here on business, though you’re not sure Spencer knows that. You’re not in the mood to find out. After two weeks of staring at the door from your desk, waiting so desperately to see your favorite person walk through the doors, only to go home disappointed everyday, you have no clue how he will react to seeing you, let alone working with you.

Your eyes drop down to your phone, open to the email you received from Emily Prentiss earlier in the week, requesting a meeting with you for some advice on a case. Your eyes scan over one particular sentence, over, and over, and over again. ‘Spencer told me about how you helped him on cases, and I’d love to hear your expertise…’ You honestly stopped reading after ‘Spencer told me’. He talked about you. He told Emily about you, how you’d help him. It feels you with a mix of joy and fear at the same time. Did he tell her good things about you? Does she know the reason why he stopped coming by the library?

You don’t have much time to ponder, as the doors of the elevator slide open with a ding. You take one step off the elevator, and that’s all you can muster. Your eyes frantically scan the hustle and bustle of the bureau, and you can’t help but feel even more intimidated than you already were. Panic slithers its way from your stomach and wraps itself around your throat like a cobra. You wonder if this was all a big mistake, if you should have just ignored it and stayed out of Spencer’s way. He didn’t fight for you, so why are you fighting for him? You turn around, the only movement you’ve made since stepping off the elevator, and desperately press the button multiple times.

“What are you doing here?” you freeze when you hear the unmistakable voice coming from behind you. The shake in his voice, the slight grievance in his tone makes you freeze again, and now you know you’ve made a mistake. Anything that has to do with Spencer paralyzes you, why would you think you could pull this off?

“Leaving,” you respond curtly, pressing the elevator button a few more times.

“That won’t work, just makes it move slower,” his tone is playful, but biting. He’s mad, you know he is, and bile rises in your throat at the thought. You fold your arms across your chest and do your best to ignore him, but you feel him. You always do, only this time, he’s closer to you than he’s been in weeks. It’s infiltrating your brain, your senses betraying all logic as the heat radiates from his chest, nearly pressed against your back, the smell of his woodsy aftershave floods your nostrils, the spice of his cologne lingering on his sweater a close runner up. You don’t spend much time thinking about your next actions, if you had you wouldn’t have grabbed the collar of Spencer’s shirt and dragged him into the elevator with you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, okay? I’m so, so sorry. I made a huge mistake not telling you about Brad, it was a mistake to even go out with him to begin with,” you say that last part mostly to yourself as the doors shut. You and Spencer breathe heavily in the newfound silence, unsure where to go next.

“What does that mean?” Spencer asks.

“What?” you huff.

“You said it was a mistake to go out with him to begin with. What does that mean?” he presses, like he’s in an interrogation. You don’t expect the sternness from him, but you can’t deny the way it sets your stomach aflame, burning embers warming your heart.

“It means that I never wanted to just be friends with you, Spencer. I thought you were going to ask me for my number when we met for the first time in Massachusetts,” you brush fallen strands of hair out of your face, still out of breath from the intensity of the conversation, of having Spencer so vulnerable, so close to you. “You didn’t, though, and to be honest? I was crushed.”

His eyebrow quirks, “you were crushed?”

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t feel a connection, even from our first meeting?” you challenge him, and when he ponders silently for a moment too long, you know you have him. “Me too,” you breathe, “I was so upset, my friend thought it would be a good idea to set me up with Brad, try and help me move on, y’know? It didn’t work, obviously, because now I’m here, at the first beck and call of anyone who’s anywhere close in proximity to you,” you chuckle condescendingly towards yourself, eyes filling with hot tears as humiliation seeps through your veins.

“I mean…Spencer,” you scoff, breathing heavier now as tears spill over your lash line, “my entire life changed the day I met you,” his big brown eyes nearly turn you to applesauce in that moment, the way they gaze lovingly at you, a light shine reflecting off the LED light of the elevator.

“Mine too,” he mutters, voice raspy and cracked with emotion. “I’m sorry, too. I was just so hurt by that run-in with Brad that I didn’t think I could face you, was too humiliated,” his gaze falls towards the floor.

“I’m so sorry for doing that to you, Spencer, I should have told you,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as tears slowly keep spilling.

“Yeah, well, I should have asked for your number that day in March,” he smiles sheepishly at you, and you want nothing more than to just put him in your pocket and take him home with you.

Your conversation is cut short by the ding of the elevator. You wipe at your cheeks before instinctively reaching for his hand, pulling him with you out into the parking structure.

“Hey-” he lightly protests, although he goes along with you anyway, “you know I have to work still, right?”

“Well, you can tell Emily to take the fall for you,” you quip, “because she was the one who told me I needed to meet with her,” you turn to face Spencer, whose eyebrow quirks in the cutest way, “mmhm, told me it was a big case and everything.”

“We’re in between cases right now, what does she-” Spencer stops himself, the lightbulb flicking on over his head, “...oh.”

“You just now figured that out, Spence?” you gently tease, “you didn’t see her and Derek spying on us by the elevator?” you stop by your car, and the tension from the elevator follows the two of you, settling like dust.

“No,” he chuckles bashfully, his arms lifting to lay lightly at your waist, testing the waters, “no, I didn’t. You ever considered a future in profiling?”

You can’t help but laugh further into his hold, you feel so naturally safe there that you can’t help but just step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. This time, tears of relief, tears of overwhelming joy flood your eyes again. You know things aren’t perfect between you and Spencer, but the fact that there is finally a relationship to build floods your body with relief like a dam breaking. Your bones no longer ache for his touch, your heart slowly stitching itself back together, just from the healing powers of his magical arms. You feel his warm, calloused hand come to rest against your cheek, brushing a tear out of the way.

“Y’know,” he mutters, “the reason I stopped coming by after meeting Brad was because I felt stupid,” he continues when you quirk your brow, eyes full of confusion, “I felt stupid thinking you would like someone like me over someone like that,” he pumps his muscle in a weak attempt to mock Brad, but it earns him a chuckle from you, so his eyes shine.

“Oh, Spencer,” you dote, your eyes shining into his with the brightest confession of love, “he could never hold a candle to you, I mean it,” you punctuate when he avoids eye contact, “not only are you the smartest, kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met, you’re also incredibly sexy. Your hair works wonders you’ve never even heard of.” He looks at you like you’re crazy, “sexy?!” he exclaims, nearly forgetting he’s in the parking lot at his work, “I don’t think anyone’s ever actually called me sexy, and meant it,” he adds, quieter this time, and you have no choice.

You place both your palms against his scruffy cheeks, clenching your thighs together at the thought of him not shaving for a few days, and press your lips to his. It’s not a picture perfect first kiss, either. It’s messy, it’s desperate, it conveys everything the two of you have been too scared to say over the past four months. You nearly swoon when he places a hand at the small of your back, tugging you closer and deepening the kiss. His scruff moves against your supple skin and reddens your chin in a way you’ll have to explain to your coworker later, but you don’t care. Right now, all you can care about is the feeling of his lips on yours, moving to your cheek, down your neck, nibbling at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you gasp, regretfully lifting his head up, “you’re at work.” His eyes close, like he’s trying to retain some composure. He rests his forehead against yours, and your eyes fall closed, too. Your hand grips his wrist as both of his hands rest against your cheeks, your breathing syncs, you lock eyes. You know from the second his blown out irises catch yours, there’s no way he’s going back in that office. He places the softest kiss to your lips, adding one more before he moves to bury his face in your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses your back to your car.

“We can blame it on Emily, like you said,” he presses a kiss to your neck, “I’ve been thinking about the way your body would feel in my arms for four months, baby,” he rasps, and you want to hear him call you baby until the day you die. “I’m not giving it up now, if it’s an emergency, Hotch will call me,” he provides some reassurance before giving you one last kiss and heading around to the passenger side of your car.

“For now, though?” he poses, “we’re finishing this at your place.”

Your heart skips a beat as you hop in the driver’s seat.

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reiderwriter · 6 months

Note

😝 brain rot from my character ai scenario… the team goes out to a bar to celebrate and you wear a tiny little dress (just to rile him up obvi) but you also end up attracting a lot of male attentionand he gets SO jealous and protective of you he’s like sitting off to the side just watching you flirt with everyone and the team is like “he looks like hes gonna explode wtf” and then the SMUT HES ALL “they can’t have you, you’re all mine” “you really like all the attention huh? i’ll give you what you wanted” OMG it’s making me crazy i hope i described it good enough 🥰🥰

A/N: Is it really a reiderwriter smut if I don't have to clarify that 'I got carried away' at some point in the authors note? No, it is not. Thank you for the request. My brain is now equally rotted, oops.

Warnings: complaints, dirty talk, semi public sexual activity, partial voyeurism, fingering, hard/rough sex.

You weren't even dating.

Which made the situation even more frustrating for Spencer, and even more exciting for you.

You'd always flirted with the man a lot, had been told multiple times to knock it off even after getting a little too close for comfort on a case.

But you couldn't really blame yourself on that one. You'd had to do a quick takedown at a dive bar, and you'd been tasked with pretending to be a touchy couple at the bar to block the back entrance at the staff entrance.

You'd draped yourself all over him, allowing yourself to get closer than you'd ever been before.

If you'd just happened to let your hands fall down to his crotch, it was pure coincidence. So was giving his obviously erect length a few strokes through his jeans as he sat staring at you like you were his last meal and he was back in prison.

Emily had to pull you aside after that one personally.

You knew she was protective of Spencer, seeing him as a little brother, but it seemed like she was more protective of you at that moment.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” She'd asked, waiting carefully for your answer before she said anything more.

Two could play at that game. “What is this concerning?”

“With Spencer.”

“I'm not sure what you mean, Emily.”

“Yes, you do. Listen, I don't care what you get up to in your personal life, but Spencer has a way of making others feel very… seen. He can get protective and pushy. And I just want to know you're ready for that, and you're not going to let it affect your work.”

“Is Spencer having the same talk?”

She laughed at that.

“Spencer? No. I already know it's going to affect his work, because it has since you joined our team. He still gets his job done, but I know where his priorities would lie if there were an emergency.”

You'd shivered at that and excused yourself.

If he was that obsessed with you, why had he not told you? Stepped over that line from friends to more than that?

You needed to force the issue, and you had the perfect opportunity when Penelope invited you out for drinks.

“Y/N! Don't go, it's Friday night, we-” she said gesturing wildly to the team gathered around you, “are going to a bar. No, you can't rain check either.”

“Can I at least get changed first?”

“You need to get changed. We're going to a nice bar, Y/N.” Running off again to grab the rest of your team members and force their attendance, you grinned after Penelope.

It was time to see exactly how focused on you Spencer Reid was.

And how willing he was to let you slip through his fingers.

An hour later, you were stepping out of your taxi, pulling your skirt down as you did. The short black dress had a terrible habit of pulling up your thighs to flash your underwear at anyone in a 10 foot radius. Usually, that bothered you, but tonight, you planned on using it to your advantage.

After all, you'd left out the underwear tonight for a reason.

Pulling your jacket around you tighter, you pushed the door to the bar open and scanned the room for your team members.

“Y/N, over here!” Tara called you over, nursing a beer. Luke sat next to her, Penelope on his other side, and Matt on hers and completing the group was Spencer Reid.

“Where are JJ and Emily?” You asked, doing your very best to ignore Spencer as you sat down next to him, practically falling into his warmth. You sat so close to him.

“At the bar. Emily is convinced she can flirt her way to a free drink, and JJ is convinced she cannot. The girl she's working on now has to be 22 at most, so it could honestly go either way.” Penelope answered, and you felt Spencer shift slightly beside you.

“Speak of the devil,” Luke said as the two women approached.

“Well? What's the result?” You grinned up at them, letting your head fall back against Spencer’s shoulder as you gently rested your hand on his thigh. He sat silently for a minute, not moving and just taking in the conversation.

“I've still got it.” Emily grinned triumphantly.

“Maybe I should give it a try. There are a few hot male bartenders tonight. Who knows, I might score more than just a drink.”

Spencer choked on the drink he was sipping as you spoke quickly, a few knowing looks passing between every other person at the table. You'd have to be blind to miss it. Or Spencer.

“Spencer, are you okay? You should be careful, I wouldn't want you to choke. That's how I want to end my night, but it's not for everyone.” That one earned you a few snickers from the others and a glare from the man himself.

“I'm fine, thank you, Y/N.” He smiled down at you and gave your knee a friendly tap that turned slightly less friendly as he pushed it further up your leg.

The others had since averted their attentions, moving their conversation onto other things, but you and Spencer were still stuck in each other's orbits.

Your heart beat faster until you were sure it could be seen, raw and fit to burst out of your chest. His fingertips brushed your hem. He was seconds away from realising that you were going to get the attention you wanted that night.

Slipping just an inch up the hem, he twitched almost imperceptibly as he searched for your panty line, brows knitting when he couldn't find it.

“What's wrong, Spencer? Searching for something that isn't there?” You enjoyed watching his frown deepen as he registered your words, but you enjoyed it even more when you gently pushed his hand away as you stood.

“Well, I need a drink. Let's hope I can recreate your success, Emily.” You said, finally pushing off your jacket. The dress may have been short, but it was also low cut, burning the candle at both ends as your breasts threatened to spill over with any particularly deep breath.

“Sweet lord in heaven! You didn't come to play tonight.” Penelope exclaimed, practically applauding your body as you twirled for her and showed off the form fitting dress, giggling all the way.

“You said it was a nice bar, Penelope. I'm hoping there are also some very nice men here, too.” With a wink, you turned on your heel and strode to the bar, making sure your hips swung seductively with every step.

You couldn't immediately give in and turn to see if he was watching you when you got to the bar, though, not willing to give him the satisfaction. You were doing it all for him, but you still didn't want him to know that.

It didn't take long for men to swarm you. They came one at a time, and you entertained them each as you waited for your unnecessarily complex cocktail order to be prepared.

In the 7 minutes you'd been away from the table, you'd been approached by three separate men. They all tried lines on you, gave you their numbers and tried their best to woo you, but with Spencer’s eyes burning across your body as you leaned against the bar, you really couldn't have cared less.

Still, you leaned in, giggled in the appropriate places, and took the numbers, knowing they'd never be called.

When your cocktail was finally ready, and the last one offered to fund it for you You finally felt a hand at your back.

“That won't be necessary, thank you.” Spencer ended the conversation, handing his own card over to the bartender as he kept his hand on your back, his body crowding yours.

The man walked away in defeat, and you turned on him, sipping your drink as you refused to move away.

“Now why ruin all my fun, Spencer?”

“You're really enjoying all this attention, huh?” He said, pushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned closer to you, his next word a whisper against your skin.

“I can see your pussy from all the way back there,” he said, tugging down your skirt slightly. You weren't surprised though simply taking another sip and maintaining eye contact.

“I know.” His hand, having slipped up to your waist, tightened as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“You want everyone to see your dripping cunt? Want to let all the men here take a turn trying to catch your attention so they can slip in?” His voice was low, practically a growl as he licked his lips.

“No. I wanted to see how long it'd take you to come over and do it. By my count, that was eight minutes, correct?”

“Good girl. Just remember that you're mine. I'm not letting anyone else have you.” Giving your face a gentle stroke, he let it trail down your body, subtly cupping and squeezing your chest on the way down.

“All of a sudden, I feel very tired, Spencer. Take me home.” He wasted no time, grabbing your hand and gathering you up, your jacket and bag collected from the desk as he gave minimal answers to the others as you departed. To their credit, they asked minimal questions.

The cold air hit you hard as you pushed the doors open again, but Spencer was unperturbed, pulling you over to his car silently, a strong hand on your shoulder helping you into the passenger's seat.

You dare not talk the entire drive to his apartment, so sure that any word from you would have him turning immediately to deposit you right back at the bar.

He didn't, though, but he also didn't look at you or touch you. You sat squirming at the heavy atmosphere, suddenly desperate to know exactly what thoughts were trapped inside Spencer’s impressive brain.

“We're here.” He announced, pulling up quickly and cutting the engine, climbing out in a hurry.

You fumbled with your own seat belt as he pulled your door open, catching you up in his arms as he closed the door behind you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him carry you up the stairs to his apartment.

His lips didn't meet yours until the door was firmly closed and locked behind you, and even then, he didn't immediately dive in. He out you down, and a touch of disappointment flooded your body as he completely entangled himself from you.

It dissipated completely when his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Let me be clear, Y/N. You are mine. If you want attention, I will give it to you. If you want to choke on something, I'm more than happy to provide it. If you want to dress like a little whore, go ahead, but don't forget who your sweet little cunt belongs to.” His fingers tightened with each word as you gasped for air, back resting on the nearest wall as his body pressed up along your own.

“Do you understand?” He asked, and you nodded repeatedly, fast and desperate.

“Good. Now, ass up on the bed. I'll meet you there.” You practically sprinted to the room in question, slinking up onto the bed. He said ass up, but you hesitated slightly as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind you, just long enough to earn a slap on your ass as he finally returned to your side.

“You have to listen, Y/N. You wanted this, so you have to listen nicely.”

“I'm sorry, Spencer, it won't happen aga-” He stole the end of your sentence as he slipped his fingers into you, gently working the two longest ones up into a frenzy as he finger fucked you.

“Sorry, what was that? I don't think I quite caught your words.” You could only moan in reply as you buried your head in his pillows, ass pressing back into his fingers to help him get deeper.

“So needy. Look at this little black dress. You knew this was going to happen, right?” A third finger slipped inside you, and you screamed out in pleasure as he continued using you.

“Burying your head isn't going to work, Y/N. Your cunt is answering for you.”

You heard the rattle of his belt unbuckling as his fingers finally slipped out, the emptiness only a relief for a second before his cock was hitting deep inside of you.

Thoughts escaped you as you finally got what you'd been begging for for weeks. His every frustration was pounded into you as he tugged at your hair, pulling your torso up so he could hit even deeper.

Pulling back your head with a hand on your throat he laid a barrage of kisses across your upper back and shoulders, making sure to bite and suck and nip as his spare hand toyed with your nipples, pinching and pulling.

In a second, you reached your climax, not having the breath left in you to let him know before you tightened on his shaft and let your body fall limp under his hands.

“I'm going to mop up our cum with this dress, Y/N, and then I'm going to make you put it back on.” With a final grunt, he pulled out, jerking his cock through his release as he shot his load right over your pussy lips.

He collapsed on top of you, and you finally gave up your last bit of strength beneath him, enjoying the pressure of his weight pushing down on you again.

“Thank god that worked,” you gasped, catching your breath. You smiled as he flipped you over and pulled the dress off your head, true to his word.

“What worked, Y/N?”

“This. You don't know the lengths I'd have gone to to get you yo finally fuck me if this hadn't worked.”

“But suddenly, I'm curious, and I have all the time in the world.” You laughed lightly but snuggled into his chest again, meaning to sleep.

“Unless you want to get dressed again now…?”

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