#oh thursday light me up

[peachcitt]

fumbling the bag so hard at the local coffee shop that you’re on your knees screaming and crying to smooth jazz

[anoptimisticadventurer]

Happy Holidays Ch. 2 🎄🤍✨🎄

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

DJ Lethal keeping it lit at the house party

"Sour" - Limp Bizkit

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

or

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

© 2023 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[valleyofheartz]

Beginning of the End

pairing: Suna Rintarou x F!Reader

angst to fluff

WC: 3.1k

synopsis: when Suna begins to spend more time with his close friends, including his new sickeningly sweet manager, you start to wonder if you’re not as important to him as you thought.

content/warnings: neglect, mentions of beating up (no one gets beat up), jealousy, insecurity, no use of y/n, lmk if i missed anything!

you make your way towards the gymnasium with a giddy smile as you hum the lyrics to Apple Cider. it’s a boring Thursday afternoon, and while you had the option of going home immediately, you figured you’d stop by Rintarou’s volleyball practice. after all, you’d baked some brownies and thought it would be a fun surprise for the boys.

you peek your head through the door to ensure no volleyballs are going to attack you, before slipping in and running towards the benches. you notice Suna spot you with his intense stare, and you give him a smile paired with a wave in response. he waves back before focusing on the rest of his practice.

you manage to get some work done throughout the hour, not disturbing the team as you know how serious the sport is to them. by the time you’ve finished your homework, they’ve begun to pack up and head to the locker room.

Atsumu, however, wipes his sweat with a towel before walking towards you.

“Hey, [Name], how are ya doin'?” he asks you with a crooked grin.

you finish zipping up your backpack before looking up, “I’m doing okay! Just waiting for Rin.”

he nods understandingly as the rest of the boys walk out, dressed in fresh clothes and looking much less… stinky. Rintarou eyes you and Atsumu as he lazily stalks over, draping an arm over you and pulling you close.

he bends down and kisses your temple, “Hey, baby. What’re you doing here?”

you pause, looking up at him unsure as you are aware of the presence of his team members. “I was waiting for you. I was thinking we could go back home together and watch a movie?”

he lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, today the team is going out for dinner. Maybe tomorrow?”

you ignore the pinch in your heart at the lack of an invitation, but you justify it as it is a team dinner. and make no mistake, no matter how close you were, you were not part of his team.

“Oh, okay.” you murmur with an awkward smile. you look towards Osamu who stands off to the side, “Hey, ‘Samu, I made my brownies again since you all loved them so much. Here.”

you reach out to give them to him as he rips open the lid and stares at it with heart-eyes. he looks back to you, “Thank ya so much [Name], ya sure ya don’t wanna dump Sunarin for me? I could eat these for the rest of ma life.”

Suna immediately wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest as he glowers at Osamu. you giggle as Osamu merely raises his hands in mock surrender. the rest of the team digs in, including Atsumu who you notice still hasn’t changed. but that was none of your business.

what was your business, was the pouty messy haired boy in front of you who looked like a sad puppy.

“Hey. Where’s mine?”

you smile fondly, before unzipping your backpack and pulling out a neatly wrapped bag of brownies. they were decorated with caramel drizzle and mini sprinkle hearts.

Suna lights up at the sight, gently grabbing it from your hand and kissing the side of your face. “Thanks.” he whispers, causing you to shiver at the low tone.

“Should you all be eating brownies when nationals is just around the corner? I thought you’d be more strict about this, Kita-san.” a gentle voice comes from behind. you look over and find their manager, Akira, as she frowns at the team.

Kita looks thoroughly scolded as he stares at the brownie in his hand, his cheeks puffed out as he stops chewing.

your brows furrow as you notice everyone stop eating. you force a smile, “I thought it would be fine since it’s been months since I gave it to them.”

Atsumu nods as he finishes chewing, licking his fingers once he’s done. “Yeah, don’t worry about it Akira, yer new so ya don’t know this, but [Name] always bakes for us. It doesn’t hurt to have somethin’ sweet once in a while.”

she sighs, a dimpled smile coming onto her face, “I suppose you’re right, Atsumu. Well, when are we leaving?”

your face drops at the we. who is we, you begin to wonder. the team? her? everyone here but you? you clench your fist as you inhale quietly. you turn to Suna with a smile.

“I’m gonna head home before it gets darker, have fun at your dinner.” you kiss his cheek before placing your bag over your shoulder and leaving, uncaring of the fact that your exit was not the nicest.

perhaps this was the beginning of the end of your and Suna’s relationship. looking back, you should’ve noticed something was wrong. but what were you to do, other than ride the catastrophic wave as a rookie surfer.

✾

things began to go downhill from there. slowly, but surely, you were losing Rintarou. it went from team dinners, to team hangouts, to spending lunch breaks with the team. it was the team, team, team, and team. and a quick glance at Atsumu’s Instagram let you know that Akira was included in every team plan.

that didn’t mean you didn’t try. because if there’s anything you ever did, it was try your best.

“Hey, Rin! Let’s get dinner on Saturday?”

he looks at you with a guilty smile, kissing your lips gently. you part, dazed, but he lets you down with his next words. “Sorry, team dinner again. Maybe next week?”

-

“Rinnie, was thinking of seeing the new Barbie movie with you. Wanna go on Friday?” you ask with hopeful eyes. the Barbie movie was gaining so much popularity lately, it was hard to go about your days without seeing spoilers.

he pauses, before running a hand through his messy dark hair, “Sorry, babe. The team already asked me to go with them. I can rewatch it with you some other time though?”

“No need,” you shake your head with a wry smile.

“Have fun, Rin.”

you end up going to the theatres alone and shoving popcorn in your mouth every time the couples next to you giggle.

the last straw was when he flaked on your usual Thursday lunch break meetup. the two of you would sit on the rooftop together and enjoy picking at each others food. it would often end in you being cuddled into his chest, enjoying the soft kisses down your neck.

the past few weeks, he hadn’t been present at all. he was physically there, but his mind was somewhere else. he’d be on his phone texting the team group chat you were obviously not in, and it was getting ridiculous. so when he fails to show up this week, you begin to wonder how much more of this you’ll put up with.

he doesn’t text you back for the rest of the day, and while you wish you could say you were angry, you were more so disappointed. was expecting him to prioritize you asking for too much? was it unreasonable to want to be chosen first? was love meant to hurt this much?

you make your way to the gymnasium once again after class. your face that once held a happy smile is replaced with a blank look, as you are unable to force yourself to look something you do not feel.

you walk in without a care of the volleyballs being thrown across the room, but you stop when you spot Akira, dimpled brown-haired Akira, who is in your Rintarou’s sweater. the sleeves fall below her hands, and the sweater paws look horrifically adorable. she smiles as she talks with the team, handing their water bottles to them. you wonder if you are imagining the glint in her eyes as she hands Rintarou his, their fingers brushing lightly as she gives it to him.

“[Name]!” a loud voice calls. it snaps you out of your daze, but you wish it hadn’t. tears begin to build in your eyes, so you turn around and walk out. you quickly wipe them away, thankful that your eyes don’t get red easily as you continue walking.

but then you hear footsteps. someone’s running towards you. you know it’s Rintarou, but you can’t face him right now. you speed up your steps, but he catches up with you in no time and softly grabs your wrist, pulling you into his chest.

you rip your arm out harshly, frowning up at him.

he exhales, out of breath from practice and running. “Baby, what’s wrong? Why did you leave?”

he pauses, “Why do you look so upset?”

he moves closer to grab your face in his hands, but you take a step back, needing the space.

“Why… Why was she in your sweater, Rintarou?”

he frowns, eyes looking around as his mind scrambles to understand you. “Who? You mean Akira? She wasn’t feeling well during lunch so I gave her my sweater.”

your heart drops. so while you were waiting for him alone at the rooftop he was with her? your face twists; you aren’t sure what kind of expression you’re showing, but it must annoy Suna, as he scoffs quietly, sliding a hand over his face.

“You’re not upset over that, are you? Because I don’t remember you being so possessive like that.”

you bark out a sarcastic laugh, looking at him as you tilt your head, “Possessive? More like I’m fucking normal, Rintarou. With the way you’ve been neglecting me lately, this is just the cherry on top.”

you shake your head, ignoring his concerned eyes. “Go back to practice, Suna. I’m going home.”

you turn around, fully expecting to be pulled back, but nothing happens. you continue to walk, letting out a shaky exhale as you place your headphones on. tears slip out of your eyes as your vision begins to blur. you blink harshly, wondering why every situation seemed to leave you utterly alone.

✾

“She said something about Akira being in my sweater.” Suna dries his hair messily with the towel in his hands before leaving it draped on his neck.

Osamu shrugs, “Well, that’s a valid reason to be uncomfortable in my opinion.”

Aran nods in agreement beside him. “Yeah, you considered that maybe you pushed a boundary of hers?”

Suna frowns, trying to ignore the flashes in his head of your heartbroken face. his chest aches. he hates not being on good terms with you.

Atsumu comes out from the showers, stretching his arms as he yawns.

“How was yer lunch with her today? Did she seem upset earlier?”

Suna pauses at Atsumu’s words.

Lunch?

Today was…Thursday.

he stands, scrambling as he rummages through his bag for his phone. he quickly opens your contact and looks at your texts. he sighs with a heavy heart at what he sees. why didn’t he get your texts?

he checks to the settings, finding that he had your contact muted. he knows he could have never done that, so he traces his memory back to whoever had his phone. the only time he left his phone alone today was when he was with Akira in the nurses room.

putting the pieces together, he shuts off his phone and tosses it back into his bag.

“Fuck.”

-

Suna looks for you on Friday, but you manage to slip away every time he got close. he sat in your usual seat in class, only for you to sit up at the front close to the door. when class was over, you quickly packed your bags and was out before he could blink.

when he looked for you at lunch, he found you surrounded by your friends. you must’ve told them something, because the moment they saw him they glared before huddling closer to you as if to protect you. he rolls his eyes at the thought but is happy you have such caring friends.

he waits by your locker after school, crossing his arms and leaning on the cool metal. he has practice, but he has priorities. and perhaps he neglected you for the past three weeks, but he knows he can fix this. he can be better.

but when you don’t show up, he wonders what the point of being better is if you’re not there.

his eyes trace the lines in the concrete as he walks towards the gym. the rest of practice he’s off his game, with sloppy spikes and weak serves. sure, he gets told off by Kita but it’s not as bad as the pain of potentially losing you.

Akira walks up to him after practice. she taps his shoulder. “Hey, Suna. I was wondering if you wanted to visit the Illusion Cafe with me this weekend? I know you love sweets and I heard lots of good things!” she smiles sweetly, but all Suna can focus on is the sweater she is wearing. it’s his.

more importantly, it’s yours.

he frowns, “No. I’m gonna spend that time with my girlfriend.”

Akira’s expression drops into a slight scowl. his eyebrow twitches at the mere sight. why would she be angry that he’s spending time with his girlfriend?

“Oh…Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” she says with a tight lipped smile.

he looks back at the sweater before glancing at her face. “I won’t. Also, I’d like my sweater back sometime soon, thanks.”

her face reddens at his comment. she nods, embarrassed, before scurrying away.

Suna sighs, walking to the locker room and wondering how he was gonna get you to talk to him.

-

the team walks out of the gym, with Suna tuning their mindless rambling out. he stretches, finding his eyes seem heavier than usual. he hadn’t slept well last night, unused to you being angry with him that it left him so unsettled he couldn’t sleep.

“Oh, looks like the basketball team is also going home.”

it’s something insignificant. something Suna thought he’d look over at and forget the next second. but then he sees you.

you, with your arm wrapped around another guy’s arm. he’s tall, taller than Suna. muscular too, and his dark blue hair is captivating. Suna stops walking, causing the rest of the team to take a second glance at what he is looking at.

“Holy shit, is that [Name]? What’s she doin’ with those scrubs?” he distantly hears Atsumu say, but all is on his mind is he needs to get you away from that guy now. away from him and into his arms.

you’re laughing, happy for the first time in three weeks until you hear the rushed footsteps that are approaching you.

“[Name], let’s talk.” Suna demands. unfortunately for him, you’re not in the mood to talk anymore.

you unwrap your arm, looking at Suna directly. “No thanks. Maybe next time.” you quote his favourite line he’d used on you countless times recently. it seems he realizes, as his face crumples.

“Who’s this dolt?” the tall blue haired man asks, and Suna’s eyebrow twitches in irritation. who does this guy think he is?

you sigh, “Sorry, Aomine. This is my…boyfriend.”

Aomine’s brows raise. “Ah, my bad. Didn’t mean to get in the way.”

you shake your head, ignoring the other basketball members who surround you. “You’re not in the way, let’s go home, please.”

Suna walks in front of you, stopping you from moving. you exhale, exhausted from the long three weeks and wanting nothing more than to be in your bed.

“You want me to deal with him, [Name]?” Kagami asks from the side, sliding his sleeves up as Suna’s eyes widen.

a new voice comes from behind Suna, “Deal with him? Yer gonna havta deal with us too then.” Atsumu stands in front of Suna, eyes blazing with confidence. even Kita stands off to the side, seemingly ready to physically intervene. you want to laugh at the scene.

you shake your head at the almost comedic situation in front of you, before clapping your hands loudly. “Okay! That’s enough. Volleyball kids, go on your way. Basketball kids, also go on your way. Suna and I will talk as he walks me home.”

Suna’s eyes light up at your words, but you ignore his gaze. he wasn’t forgiven quite yet.

the rest of them begin to make their way out of the school grounds, except for Suna and Aomine. Aomine looks down at you, bending to your height, “You sure you don’t need me to do anything?”

you smile at his overprotectiveness, “No thanks, I got this. Thank you though, really.” he smiles and ruffles your hair, letting out a small ‘oof’ as you hug him tightly.

Suna stands off to the side, silently seething yet knowing he has no place to tell you what to do, especially not now.

Aomine leaves soon after, with a soft wave and a promise to beat Suna up if he tries anything funny. you glance at Suna who looks unsure and out of place.

“Let’s go?” you don’t wait for an answer and begin walking. you hear soft shuffling as he walks beside you and takes small glances that he thinks are discreet.

you arrive at a park near your house. you take a seat on the swings, Suna carefully doing the same. you wait for him to speak, as you’re all out of love and words to give at the moment.

“So… I think- No I know, I need to start this off by saying I’m sorry.” he stands, moving to position himself in front of you. he bends down, crouching to meet your gaze.

“I was very neglectful these last few weeks. I have no excuse, and I know I’ve hurt you.”

he slowly moves to grab your hand; you allow him, as he brings your limp hand to kiss the back. “I want you to know I made it clear to Akira that you’re my number one. You’re the one I always want, no matter what. I can’t even believe my dumbass made you doubt that.”

he shakes your head, looking down before glancing up. you notice tears building in his lash-line, causing you to sit up in alarm.

“I am seriously so fucking sorry for missing our lunch dates, dinners, and for giving her my sweater.”

you grab his face gently, wiping your thumbs beneath his eyes.

“I’ll burn the sweater, I swear.”

you roll your eyes, squishing his cheeks gently.

he grabs your arms, kissing your inner wrists softly as he looks up at you. “Will you give me a second chance? I promise I won’t fumble.”

the sweet moment is broken, then, as you scoff out a laugh. “You’re not going to fumble me, Rintarou.”

he smiles, cat-like eyes with a lazy grin. “Damn right. Gotta treat you like the princess you are.”

you pout, “Not a queen?”

he laughs, a deep raspy sound. he stands up and tilts his head down to kiss your nose.

“Princess, queen, anything. So long as you’re mine.”

EXTRA:

"So, who was that asshole earlier?"

you shove his shoulder gently, "He's not an asshole! He's my friend. Didn't you know I'm friends with the basketball team? I used to be their manager."

Rintarou scoffs, "Yeah, I knew that, just didn't know those guys were so close to my girl."

you look at him with a blank face.

"Right, and I was the one who was possessive. Sure."

he whines softly, low in his throat as he moves his face into your neck, "I said I was sorry!"

a/n: suna brainrot😵‍💫

[unsolvedjarin]

I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.

Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.

gif by luchitohamilton

EVERY UNIVERSE.

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)

summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.

word count: 4k

note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵‍💫

content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning

part of this series but can be read without!

“Ready?”

A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”

Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”

“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”

“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”

The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.

“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.

“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.

“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”

“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.

“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.

“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”

He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.

“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”

You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”

His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”

“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”

“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.

“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.

You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”

“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.

“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.

Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.

The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…

“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”

The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.

Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.

“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.

“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.

“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.

“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”

What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”

“Negative, focus on the race.”

Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.

That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”

“Copy. Is it the car?”

“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”

The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.

You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.

There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.

As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.

You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.

Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.

The next few seconds were a blur.

You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.

The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.

“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.

On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”

“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”

Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”

“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”

“Injuries?”

“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”

“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.

“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.

The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.

“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”

You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.

Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.

“Better?”

You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.

“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.

The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.

“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.

“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”

“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.

“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”

“Any other fun observations?”

Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”

He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”

The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”

Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”

“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.

“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.

“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”

“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”

Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”

“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.

“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”

Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.

“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.

“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”

You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”

Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.

The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.

Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”

Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”

The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”

“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.

Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”

He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”

You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”

“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”

You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”

The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.

“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.

Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.

The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”

“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.

Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”

You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.

You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”

Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”

“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”

“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”

“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”

Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.

“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.

“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.

“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.

“I was here the whole time.”

“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”

“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”

You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.

“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”

Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”

You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”

“We have the same salary in our contracts?”

“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”

Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”

“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”

“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.

That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.

“You know, I’m glad I found you.”

The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”

“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”

Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.

“No, I think we do.”

“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”

Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”

Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”

Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”

You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”

“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.

“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”

Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”

Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.

Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SEVEN

previous chapters | welp. it's here. this one is a DOOZY, and i'm so sorry. i never expected it to get this long but oh well!!! go grab a snack and get settled cause this one is kinda wild. love u guys sm. i proofread this very quickly so i apologize if there's any mistakes!! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: the pressure is building in more ways than one. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexting, n00ds, oral (m receiving), lap-sitting, thigh riding, alcohol, lemme know if i missed any! word count: 15.6k ao3

You're beginning to learn that Joel runs hot and cold.

There have been moments with him, intimate and special and warm, moments that make you feel light on your feet and send butterflies wilding through your stomach. Moments where he's open and present and wants all his attention to be on you, on your body, your pleasure. His touch sets you alight, his words send tingles down your spine.

And then weekdays happen and you start second guessing yourself all over again.

On Sunday you'd attended church with your parents, another attempt at appeasing your mother in lieu of all the lies and deceit. You've only gone to a select few services since you came home, something you know they've been silently judging you for and just waiting to hold above your head. Admittedly you'd been afraid of bumping into people you knew, having to switch on your teenage persona of Good Catholic Girl™ and lie through your teeth about how good it feels to be back home again. Luckily in the few services you'd attended, you'd only run into some elderly family friends, managing to avoid anyone you went to high school with.

Your luck had to run out at some point, though. This service you'd been accosted by none other than Bethany, one of your childhood friends who you'd practically left in the dust when you'd gone away for college. Her friendship was always full of judgement, perfection, and not to mention heaps of Catholic guilt. She'd taken one look at you, appraising you up and down as if assessing you for imperfections, then pulled you into a tight hug.

"It's so good see you," she'd said when she'd pulled back, a wide - and borderline frightening - grin plastered on her face, "My momma told me you were back, thought I woulda heard from you by now!"

Your mother, standing beside you in your pew, had furrowed her brow at this, clearly confused. You hadn't understood her reaction completely until Bethany had headed off to go say hi to someone else.

"I thought you had lunch with her and Alice the other week," she'd murmured softly to you under her breath, giving you an accusatory look, "Said you'd be helping them out over the summer. That's what you told me, anyway."

Fuck.

"O-oh, right," you'd had no idea what else to say other than that, biting down on your lip and staring straight ahead as the service began. She hadn't said anything else about it, but you'd sat in discomfort and anxiety for the next hour.

In a panic, you'd found Bethany after the service and quickly asked if she needed any extra help at Sunday School, to which she'd responded with enthusiasm - a little too much - that they always needed extra hands on Thursdays to help with lesson planning. You'd jumped at the chance, telling her you'd be there.

That night you'd texted Joel. You hadn't heard from him all day despite it being a weekend, and part of you had been hoping you might go over and see him once your parents were asleep.

guess who's volunteering at church now? this idiot.

You'd expected words of comfort, maybe a joke, at least something that would make you feel better about the situation. However, his response to yours had been brief, short, simple:

Rough. Get some sleep x

This trend of short responses has only continued throughout the rest of the week. He's distant when you text him, responds with a few words at best, short and simple and almost like an entirely different person. It's hard to believe it's the same man who whispers good girl in your ear and tells you how well you're doing, how wet you are, how pretty you look. His texts are some ghostly version of him, constantly fading in and out, barely showing interest or desire - that is, if he texts you at all.

It makes your skin itch, sends your insecurities into a tailspin. Why does this always seem to happen? You can't make heads or tails of it - you know he's busy, know that his job takes a lot out of him, and yet you can't help but feel that there's something more he's not telling you. He'd told you on his back deck all about how he wasn't very happy at his job, how he'd prefer to be retired by now, living life on his own terms - so why can't he just do that? It's clearly taking a toll on him, and while part of you feels empathetic and yearns to comfort him, another part feels angry, irritated.

You'd gone to your friends with these concerns, hoping for some sort of answer or solution to the problem. Instead, they'd been more sympathetic to Joel's plight than yours.

you gotta remember you're not in a relationship with him babe

right!! men are v simple creatures. they see things black & white. ur his fuck buddy and he prob doesn't rly want it to go beyond that.

now THAT'S going too far. she's more than his fuck buddy definitely. he wouldn't have told her his whole life story last weekend if that were true.

telling her he had a fucked up childhood isn't necessarily his whole life story. most guys had shitty childhoods lbr

but he opened up!!!!! fuck buddies don't do that.

exactly

i wish you guys were here :(

i'm honestly 5 secs away from booking a flight to texas bestie. gotta use my dad's frequent flier miles somehow.

--

"My friend Tasha is coming to visit this weekend," you tell your mom on Wednesday evening with a smile, turning your phone toward her to show the Airbnb you'll be staying at, "We're gonna stay at this little bungalow, have a girls' weekend."

Her brow furrows, "Why can't Tasha stay here?"

Because Tasha would terrify you, you want to say, because Tasha doesn't wear pants unless absolutely necessary. Instead you just smile again and say, "I think a change of scenery would be good for me, it'll be like a mini vacation. Plus there's a hot tub."

"Now that's something we need," she turns back to her book with a shake of her head, "I swear, your father is more interested in buying that boat we'll never use instead of something new for the backyard." You hadn't been asking for her permission, but her indifference sends a wave of relief through you; you've still been trying to be on your absolute best behavior lately to make up for the lies.

You head out to the backyard and seat yourself in a lounge chair by the pool, unlocking your phone again and swiping to your last conversation with Joel from last night.

hope you had a good day :)

I'm sure yours was better. Sleep well x

Curt and to the point, not at all what you'd wanted him to reply with. You recall one of your first phone conversations, the one where you'd been experiencing the same lack of interest in his texts, what he'd said to you: Don't think for one second that I don't think about you. But how can you not? How are you supposed to feel desired when he's being like this?

can you call me tonight?

You try not to wait too long before biting the bullet, not wanting to talk yourself out of it, but you do stare at the message with your finger hovering over the send button for longer than you really need to. The sound of the back door sliding open forces you to send it, locking your phone again as your mother walks over and seats herself beside you in another chair.

"It's nice to see you wearing that again," she says with a nod to your chest, referring to your crucifix - after wearing it again last weekend you'd thought that keeping it on might please her. "You're starting to really settle in here again, aren't you?"

You try not to grimace, "Yeah, it's nice being home."

She leans back in her chair, letting the suns rays hit her for a little bit without speaking. You sit there waiting for her to say something else, discomfort flooding through you. You're reminded of how easy it was to sit with Joel in his backyard last weekend, how little pressure there was to put up any kind of front - sitting here with your mother is the exact opposite.

"So, you lied to me," she finally says, voice quiet.

Your eyes widen and you sit up a bit, turning to her with panic already rising in your throat, "Wh-what do you mean?"

She doesn't turn to look at you, continuing to stare at the sky, eyes covered by her comically large sunglasses, "You know what I mean."

You sit there, staring at her with a mix of confusion and fear. There's no way she knows about Joel, how could she know? Who would have told her? You wonder if perhaps one of her neighborhood friends saw you leaving his house, saw you in his car... but the guise of lessons is your cover now, so how would any of that point to your relationship?

Some relationship, you can't help but think to yourself, based entirely on sex and only communication on the weekends.

"Bethany and Alice," your mom finally states, and you feel the panic in the pit of your stomach loosen immediately - oh.

"Mom," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I-I know. I'm sorry. I know I told you we met up but..." you bite your lip, trying to come up with some kind of excuse but coming up empty.

Instead, you do something that surprises you entirely - you tell the truth. Or at least... half of it.

"I really feel like my friendship with them has passed," you admit with a frown, "I'm... I'm different than I was when I left, you know that, don't you? I'm sure you've noticed."

She's still not looking at you but you catch her nodding slowly, thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry I lied but... I didn't want to disappoint you. And I didn't want you to worry about me being alone all the time. I'm actually rarely ever alone at college so it's been nice to have some time to myself," you smile, thinking of the girls in your group chat constantly waiting for new updates, "Having lunch with two people I haven't talked to in years just... didn't seem appealing to me. I have different friends now, you know? I'm older, people outgrow each other."

"Friends like Tasha," your mom states, bitterness in her voice, "Tasha who you don't even want me to meet."

You make a face, "Mom..."

She puts her hands up in defeat, shaking her head, "It's fine. You can do what you want and so can she," the words are drenched in judgement, "But you should remember that there are rules for staying here, young lady. And honesty is one of those rules."

You take a deep breath, swinging your legs around the edge of the chair and placing your arms on your knees, your face in your hands. You're so close to snapping back at her, making a comment that'll surely start an argument, but you shove it back down as best you can, counting to ten in your head.

"I'm sorry," you finally say through gritted teeth, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." She stands up then, disappears from the chair as quickly as she'd settled in it. You watch as she walks to the back door again, reaches for the handle.

Your mouth can't stop itself.

"Have you told Dad about my guitar lessons yet?"

She freezes, turns and stares at you for a moment without saying anything, then opens the door and heads back inside, slamming it behind her.

Checkmate.

--

I will when I get home.

Your anxiety is through the roof as you pace back and forth in your bedroom after darkness has fallen, freshly showered and pampered and already out of distractions. Without really thinking much about it, you pull Joel's flannel from under your mattress and wrap it around your shoulders, breathing him in as you sit on your bed and try your best not to keep checking your phone. When it finally vibrates you're not even embarrassed when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hey," you murmur, settling into your sheets and closing your eyes, "Is everything okay?"

"With me?" he asks, voice tired and gruff, "Thought it'd be the other way around."

Your brow furrows, "What do you mean?"

"Thought you'd wanna talk about this church volunteerin' stuff," he's moving around as he talks - you hear the sound of a cupboard banging and the clang of a glass against a countertop.

You don't speak for a moment, listening to the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and Joel taking a swig. There's no sound of the tap - you'd be willing to bet that it's not water he's drinking.

"No, I..." you frown, "I was worried about you."

You hear him take another sip, swallowing loudly and then placing the cup back down with a clink. More pouring. You swear you hear the faint sound of a chuckle before he takes another swig.

"Well that's silly," he states, and you suddenly notice there's a strange difference in his voice, a heaviness you're not used to.

"Are you drunk?"

He chuckles again but there's no humor in it, "Nowhere near as drunk as I'd like to be."

You frown, readjusting yourself against the pillows. You hear him take another sip, "Did something happen?"

He sighs then, deep and tired. You hear him put the glass back down on the counter, "No, babygirl, nothin' happened," hearing him say your pet name makes you feel a little better, the anxiety ebbing away a bit, "It's just that my job is the bane of my fuckin' existence."

He sounds genuinely exhausted, words tinged with resentment. You pull his flannel tighter around yourself, breathe him in, pretend you're in the same room as him, "Talk to me," you say softly, "Tell me what's wrong."

He doesn't reply for a moment - you can make out some footsteps on the other end, the creak of his stairs as he goes up to his bedroom, "No, darlin', it's nothin'. Shouldn't be talkin' about this with you."

"Hey, if something's bothering you, I wanna hear about it. I wanna make it better... if I can."

You hear him settle onto his bed, a satisfied little noise emanating from his throat that makes you smile, "That's the thing, babygirl. You can't. This is just the way life works. You do shit you hate and then you die, plain and simple."

"Joel," you admonish quietly - it's the first time you've said his name aloud since last weekend, it feels right on your lips, safe. He sighs but doesn't say anything else, breath evening out in your ear. "What is it? Really? I've been worrying about it all week."

"Oh honey," he murmurs softly. "Shouldn't be worryin' about me, there are more important things."

"Not to me," you admit, closing your eyes and shaking your head even though he can't see you, "First I thought maybe you were just busy, but-"

"Busy," he scoffs, "Right, yeah, busy. That's my middle name at this point. Fuckin' busy."

He really doesn't sound like himself - you know you still don't know him very well at this point, could be wrong about so many things, but part of you just knows that this isn't Joel. You know his softness, his safety, his kind eyes and crooked smile. This version of him sounds so sad; you can't help but wish you were in his bed right now, able to hold him close and run your fingers through his grey curls. You want him to open up to you.

"You don't wanna hear this shit, angel, you don't," he continues, voice gentler this time, "I know you're thinkin' somethin' is wrong, thinkin' somethin' in particular happened to make me feel like this, but the truth is..." he sighs again, deliberates for a moment and then simply states, "Truth is I'm just bein' stupid."

"You're not stupid," you say immediately, and he chuckles.

"God, you're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "It's nice to hear your voice."

Your feel your skin heat up at the words, crossing your legs together unconsciously, "It's nice to hear yours too," you whisper with a smile, "I've missed you this week. Every time you've texted me it's felt like it's not really you."

"I'm sorry, baby," you can hear the sincerity in his voice buried underneath the tiredness and alcohol, "I'm just... I'm a mess." You hear him shuffle a bit in bed, like he's turning onto his side, "Work is always puttin' me in a shitty mood lately and I just...I don't want you to see this side of me."

"But why?"

Another sigh, then-

"'Cause I don't want you to look at me differently."

You bring the sleeve of his flannel to your lips, "I could never look at you differently, Joel," you whisper, "Promise."

He's quiet for a moment and you hope you haven't upset him, hope he's just thinking about what to say. You mean your words; it really would take a lot for you to look at him differently. You know you probably shouldn't feel that way considering you've known him less than a month, that the feeling should scare you... but it doesn't.

"I'm tired, angel," he finally says, voice sad and distant, "I'm too old to be doin' this job."

You wait for him to speak again, listening as he takes a shaky breath on the other end of the line, almost like he hasn't told anyone this. And maybe he hasn't.

"But it's hard to admit that to myself," he continues, "And even harder to admit it to you of all people. I don't want you to see some washed up, tired, old geezer, ya know?" he says it with humor but you can tell that he means it, "I mean I used to... god, I used to be able to do shifts like this no problem. Be up at five and home by midnight and able to do it all over again the next day. Now it's like I'm runnin' on a half empty tank of gas. Got no joy in this job anymore and my back is killin' me and-" he cuts himself off suddenly, "And I need to shut the fuck up before I scare you away."

"You're not gonna scare me away," you whisper, and you mean it, "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughs softly to himself; you're not sure if he believes you, but you're choosing to hope that he does, "Ya know, I didn't even wanna tell you my age when we were first together? I wasn't gonna tell you, I really wasn't. But then you were so sweet and vulnerable and honest with me-"

You scoff, "Yeah, lying about knowing how to play guitar, that's certainly honesty."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," he chastises - you can hear the sudden smile in his voice, "No, darlin'... when you told me you hadn't done anythin' before. That's when I knew I had to tell you, 'cause it wouldn't have been right otherwise," he makes an odd noise in his throat and then corrects, "Not that any of this is really right, but..."

"It feels right," you say softly, staring down at the plaid lines on the flannel shirt shrouding your body, reminding you of what it means - that you're his.

"It does," he agrees, voice rough and low, "Right and wrong in all the right ways, huh babygirl?"

You nod to yourself, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face, "Exactly."

The both of you are silent for a few moments but just like last weekend, it isn't uncomfortable or awkward. It's calming and safe, just listening to each other's breathing. You can tell he's tired, can hear it in his slow exhales; again, you can't help but wish you were lying beside him. And you can't help but wonder if a more sober Joel would have even said any of this to you, would have just kept it to himself and continued to deal with it in silence, not bothering to tell anyone how he's been feeling. It breaks your heart a little bit.

"It'll be okay," you whisper gently, soothingly, "It won't be like this forever, Joel."

He sighs, deep and sleepy, "You really are an angel," he murmurs, "So sweet and lovely, babygirl. Love hearin' you say my name like that."

His words send warmth throughout your body - no one has ever spoken to you the way Joel speaks to you, makes you feel the way he makes you feel. You close your eyes and bury your face in the sleeve of his flannel, listen as his breathing gets slow again.

"You should get some sleep," you whisper, even though you really don't want to end the call - but Joel is tired and you want him to feel better, "Text me tomorrow, okay? Even if you're grumpy."

He almost laughs but he's so close to sleep that it comes out slurred and low, "Okay, baby, I will. Promise."

"Goodnight, J-"

"Wait wait wait," he suddenly sounds a bit more alert, rousing himself from sleep, "You didn't tell me 'bout this church thing. You okay with it?"

You giggle at his sudden concern, "It's nothing, really. Just helping an old friend out with lesson plans for Sunday School. Not very exciting."

"Fun," his voice is sleepy and low again, "What're you gonna wear?"

You have to bite down on your lip to stifle another laugh, shaking your head even though he can't see you, "Go to bed, you perv."

He chuckles, "Okay, okay. Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight, Joel."

You're about to end the call when you hear him murmur one final thing, so soft you're surprised you can even make it out - but you do:

"Hope I dream about you."

You fall asleep with a smile glued to your lips.

--

You end up wearing the same outfit you'd worn to Joel's last Saturday, though you leave the stockings at home; you doubt the women at church will be offended by your bare legs. You fasten your crucifix around your neck and make sure your mom gets a good look at you before you leave the house; you haven't spoken since yesterday afternoon but you still want her to see you're putting in some effort, as surface level as it may be.

She's in the living room when you come down the stairs, and her expression can't help but turn to one of surprise when she looks up from her book to see you standing there in your Sunday best.

"I'm going to the church," you explain softly, "Gonna help out Bethany with the lesson plan for Sunday School."

She assesses you up and down, eyes fixing on your crucifix for a moment before trailing back down to her book. She doesn't say a word.

Silent treatment. Typical.

Fifteen minutes later you find yourself being greeted by Bethany, blonde hair flowing down her dress as she stands outside the church with a bright smile plastered on her face. You recognize the forced expression immediately, one that you yourself have become an expert in feigning, though for different reasons. You haven't seen her in years but you still know her well enough to tell when she's less than thrilled about something - this time that "something" is you being there.

"I'm so excited you're here!" she tells you, voice shrill as she immediately takes a step forward to envelop you in a haphazard hug that feels neither excited nor genuine.

You should have known it would be like this. When you'd left for college a few years ago you'd promised to keep in touch with both Alice and Bethany, the only "solid" friends you'd managed to keep throughout all the studying, the tutoring, the church services, the extracurriculars, volunteering, etc. It's a miracle in itself that your friendship had even lasted through high school, if you're being honest. You'd begun to distance yourself from them a bit in those final years as you started to lose your faith while theirs only seemed to grow stronger. Leaving for college had been the last nail in the coffin.

"Me too!" you lie, feigning a similar smile as you both pull back from each other.

Though her grin is unrelenting, you can see the distance in her eyes, the sourness and disdain for your presence extremely evident. She doesn't like you. There's an awkward few seconds of silence where she assesses you up and down again, like she had at the service on Sunday.

Why did you even say yes to me coming here? You want to ask as you stand in front of her awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. If you didn't want me here you could have just said there wasn't anything for me to do. But you already know why you'd still been invited despite her obvious disdain for you - keeping up appearances means everything to these people; actually being honest about her feelings would have been disastrous for her reputation.

"Was sure you'd forgotten all about me," she finally says with an edge of malice still shrouded through her smile, "Haven't heard from you in what? Three years? And then you just show up outta the blue, huh?"

You grimace, "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. There was... I mean, I've just had a lot going on, I guess." You kick your feet awkwardly; this is not the conversation you want to be having right now.

"A lot goin' on, huh?" she echoes, eyes still scanning you up and down, "Right. Busy with college?"

You nod quickly, "Yeah, it's been kinda crazy."

She raises an eyebrow, "What are you studyin' again?"

"English Lit."

She snorts then, shaking her head and taking a step back, "Right. Reading. Sure sounds crazy."

Your brow furrows, "It's more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she puts her hands up in defense, fake laughing and smacking her lips together, "Just find it funny that an English Lit degree takes up so much of your time." She's being pretty bold with the sarcasm but you suppose she has a right to be angry, though you'd never assumed she'd be this pissed about you cutting her off, "Anyway, we should get inside, they're waitin' for us."

"Bethany," you take a step toward her, softening your expression, "I'm really sorry."

She just shakes her head again and turns away from you to reach for the handle on the front door, forced smile finally fading into a natural frown, "Forget it."

Great start.

You don't talk much after that, not after you're led into a side room off the chapel where a few other women are sitting in a circle with binders in their laps. Bethany simply gestures for you sit down in an empty chair and the meeting begins. Everyone immediately begins their rapport, discussing their plans and reading quotes aloud from their binders while you just kind of sit there unsure of what to do or say. A few of the women give you a tentative smile or two, but the way Bethany periodically glares at you is enough to keep them from actually speaking to you directly. You're okay with it though; as awkward as this is, you'd rather sit in silence than have to pretend. Still, if you'd known it would be like this you never would have come - it's not like your mother appreciates it anyway.

Your phone vibrates at one point, a text from Tasha confirming her flight information with lots of !!!!!!'s that make you smile. As if sensing your sudden mood shift, Bethany puts her hands up with another grin that doesn't reach her eyes.

"We keep phones in our purses" she says sweetly, "So we don't get distracted."

You nod and slip it back inside your bag, a gesture that's more of a peace offering than anything else; it seems to appease her.

It's strange being inside this part of the church again after so long. You'd attended your own Sunday School lessons here, prepped for choir and readings, learned your scripture. It certainly doesn't feel as safe or inviting as it once did, though you have to admit that there was always an undercurrent of pressure, of judgement - an energy that still remains today. Bethany watches you closely, quietly assessing you as you nod along to everyone's suggestions and ideas and try to keep up your long-time façade of obedience. You push down the new parts of you that long to take back a bit of control, maybe say something shocking or suggest something ridiculous just to see how they'd react.

You've been sitting in silence for about forty five minutes when Bethany announces its time for a quick phone break. Like clockwork everyone in the room pulls out their devices and starts checking for missed calls from their kids, their husbands. You pull yours out and your eyebrows go up in surprise when you see a text from Joel on your lockscreen:

How's your day going angel?

He didn't forget his promise. A smile plays at your lips as you start typing out your reply, but it quickly fades when you feel Bethany's eyes on you, watching.

"I'm, uh-" you stand up, smoothing out the creases in your dress and gripping your phone tightly, "I'm gonna take a bathroom break."

--

The bathroom is the same as you remember it, high ceilings and white walls, your footsteps echoing loudly as you walk over to the sinks and lean your back against the countertop. You continue typing out your reply to Joel:

well all the church ladies are giving me the silent treatment til i'm worthy of being here again lol. but jokes on them cause my mom is also giving me the silent treatment so i have training! anyway i miss you. wanna hug you. hope you're feeling a bit better today 💕

You turn around and face the mirror while you wait for his reply. You're still smiling - it's impossible not to when you're thinking about Joel, but this smile is bright and genuine, unlike the forced grins you've been sharing with Bethany for the past hour. God, you can't remember the last time anything made you feel as free and happy as Joel makes you, like nothing else really matters. Your phone buzzes and you tear your eyes away from the mirror to read his reply:

Aw baby I'm sorry. I wanna hug you too. Wanna do a bit more than hug if I'm being honest, but you know that already.

You bring your other hand up to your mouth, smiling even wider into it as his typing bubble pops up again only seconds later:

And I'm sorry about last night. If I said anything stupid please forget it ever happened. Me and alcohol don't mix that well sometimes. I'm alright, don't worry about me x

But I do worry, you want to say, I want to make you feel better. But how can you do that from a church bathroom, miles away from wherever he is right now? You're suddenly reminded of something he'd told you a few weeks ago, something you hadn't quite understood in the moment - You can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures.

Oh.

You look at yourself in the mirror again and carefully place your phone down on the edge of the sink. Your hand slowly comes up to push aside the collar of your dress, pull the stretchy material past your shoulder and down your arm. You do the same to the other side, slipping out of your sleeves and tugging down the high neckline of your dress to expose your bare chest to the mirror, putting your cleavage on display. You bite your lip, willing yourself to see what Joel sees, a pretty girl in a pretty dress, bra straps clinging to her skin and a crucifix hanging from her throat. Filthy.

You grab your phone and turn it toward the mirror, opening up your camera app and moving it close enough so he can see only your torso, sleeves hanging limp at your sides while your other arm comes up to squeeze your breasts together a bit, accentuating your cleavage even more. You snap a pic and send it to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

He replies seconds later:

Fuck

A grin spreads across your face and you make quick work of slipping your bra straps down your shoulders as well, just as another text from him comes in:

Send me another baby. Please.

Already one step ahead of you, you think to yourself as your cheeks warm and you pull down the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling out into the cool air of the bathroom. You squeeze them together again, nipples hardening tightly as you take another picture and send it along with a coy message:

better?

He must be staring at his phone, waiting for it, because his typing bubble appears instantaneously. You can't help but feel a sense of pride at the power you're holding right now, a change of pace from your usual naivety.

Oh babygirl. This is just what I needed.

i know :)

You glance at the bathroom door and then at the time - you still have a few minutes before the meeting starts up again and your mind is already racing with what you can do with those few minutes. With barely any hesitation you tug your dress up over your thighs, pulling your panties to the side and aiming your phone underneath. You frown when you pull your phone back up to find that it's dark and blurry.

"Hold on," you whisper to no one, then carefully lift your leg and place your heel on the countertop for support, pulling your dress up again and aiming your phone a little better. You pull back your panties and aren't surprised in the slightest to feel that they're suddenly damp.

This picture comes out much better. Your pussy is bare and a little wet, clit poking out past your lips, panties pulled against your inner thigh. You already know it's gonna make him crazy as you hit send.

Jesus Christ

He's already typing something else when you receive it and you can't help but giggle, covering your mouth and trying to picture where he is right now, what he's doing. Is he in a bathroom too? On a break? Or is he in the middle of a job, surrounded by other people? The latter thought makes you even wetter somehow.

Fuck you have such a pretty pussy baby.

thank you mr. miller :)

Will you hold her open a little for me? Show me that sweet little hole?

Who are you to deny such a request? With heat radiating all over your body you bring your phone down again and scissor your lips apart, exposing the innermost part of yourself to your phone camera. You can feel your own slick on the tips of your fingers, and when you push yourself open you feel a bit of your wetness dribble down onto your palm. Fuck. This is hotter than you'd expected it would be. You'd thought it would be a good way to make him feel better, get him through his work day like he'd said; you never thought you'd enjoy it this much.

Oh sweetheart. Look at that.

You feel another rush of pride as you take your leg down from the counter and tug your dress back down, rubbing your thighs together and doing everything in your power not to touch yourself again even though you want to. A quiet whimper unconsciously tears itself past your lips at his follow-up message:

Who's that perfect pussy belong to babygirl?

You've never typed a message back so fast in your life.

you. it's yours mr. miller.

That's right. Good girl.

Your skin is on fire, body tingling in all the right places. You smooth a hand down your bare chest, cup one of your breasts, gently squeeze. It's impossible for your eyes not to roll back a bit when you imagine Joel's hand on you instead, big and firm and callused and perfect. Your pussy throbs in your underwear and another whimper slips past your lips.

i'm really wet now :(

I know angel. Come over tonight and I'll take care of it, Ok?

Your heart leaps at the invitation, even more wetness pooling in your panties at the thought of what Joel might want to do tonight, if there's another “lesson” he has in mind.

yes please

Eyeing the time again, you bite your lip in disappointment when you realize you should probably be getting back. You wait until Joel has finished typing his final response, a message that makes your skin burn with anticipation:

Don't touch yourself til you see me. Keep that soft little pussy hidden, baby. Promise me.

i promise x

Just as you hit send you suddenly hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps down the hall, quickly approaching the bathroom. Your eyes widen in the mirror, gaze snapping to your bare breasts, sleeves still hanging loosely at your sides. In a panic you hurriedly attempt to stuff yourself back into your bra before you have company – but you're not that lucky.

The bathroom door bangs open and you freeze with one arm halfway through your sleeve, breasts still completely exposed in the mirror as you turn on the spot to see none other than Bethany standing there, frozen in place.

“I-” she looks flabbergasted, expression one of pure horror as she takes a step back from you and grips the knob of the door like she could rip it off at any moment. Your free arm that isn't trapped in a sleeve comes up to cover yourself as best you can, but you know she's already seen everything.

“I'm- I was just-” You're similarly taken aback and at a complete loss for words, unsure how the fuck you can explain what exactly she's just walked in on.

Her eyes fall to the phone in your hand, like she's putting the pieces together, then she shakily takes another step back and leaves without saying another word, the click of her heels echoing back at you loudly until the door finishes closing behind her.

Shit.

You don't have time to stand around thinking up an excuse; you do briefly consider escaping through one of the windows to avoid facing her, but you know it would just delay the inevitable. Instead you hastily finish pulling your dress back on and stare at yourself in the mirror for one final moment.

Your smile is gone. So is the light in your eyes. You suddenly begin to feel that familiar sense of guilt creeping in, the shame, the sin. You blink a few times and find that there are tears welling up in your eyes, a lump in your throat. A tiny voice in the back of your mind, one you've been attempting to mute for years, whispers to you: What have you done?

--

Bethany doesn't speak to or look at you for the rest of the meeting. It's not much of a change from before you'd gone to the bathroom, but there's something new in her silence now, something you can see in her eyes as she stares down at her binder while the other women talk. Fear. You've known her for most of your life, can sense certain mood changes from a mile away; you've frightened her. And somehow that just adds even more to the guilt building in your stomach.

You'll apologize to her after the meeting, it's all you can do. You genuinely feel horrible that she'd walked in on something so private, seen something she never intended or desired to ever see. You wonder if there's anything you can use to pass off as an excuse; maybe you spilled something on your dress and were cleaning it off? Maybe it was too tight and you needed a breather? Anything is better than the alternative – the truth – but you somehow doubt she'll believe anything you say at this point. That bridge was broken the second you left for college; there's no repairing it now.

The meeting ends with a few pleasantries exchanged and several comments about picking kids up from school, getting home to cook something for dinner, normal things that remind you how abnormal your own situation is in comparison. Half an hour ago you'd felt on top of the world, in control, had power in the tips of your fingers. Now you just feel small again, inconsequential.

You wait until the other ladies have left before taking a step toward Bethany, ready to unload your apologies and beg for forgiveness. She surprises you by speaking first.

"I'd think twice before wearing that again,” she hisses at you, venomous and pointed. Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?"

"I said,” her words are slow and full of bitter intention, eyes glaring daggers at you, “I'd think twice before wearing that again" she gestures to the crucifix around your neck and you unconsciously reach up to take it between your fingers, glancing down at it before looking back up to meet her angry gaze.

“I'm...” you feel overwhelmed, tears pricking in your eyes again at the sudden burst of rage being directed at you, “I don't...”

"You might not understand this,” she practically spits through her teeth, “but that symbol actually means something to the people here."

"I know what it means.” It comes out as barely a whisper, voice shaky as she takes an intimidating step toward you with nothing but malice in her expression.

"So that's why you've got your breasts out in a public bathroom? A church bathroom?”

“Bethany, I-”

“You're not welcome here anymore, understand?” her voice is full of finality, “You can come to church with your parents-” The mention of your parents sends your anxiety into a tailspin, heart beating frantically in your chest as she continues to step closer and closer toward you, “And you can pretend you're their good little girl. But I know the truth. And it's not welcome in my Sunday School ever again. Got it?”

My Sunday school. The superiority complex is strong and you know deep down that this is all completely rooted in her own fears, her own desires, her pride, but none of that seems to matter when she's staring you down like this, holding you captive with her hostile words.

"Got it,” you whisper, nodding shakily.

"Good. Now go home and take," she points toward the crucifix, the tip of her finger close enough to faintly brush against the shape of it, “that,” she suddenly prods it, giving you one final sneer, “off.”

It takes you twenty minutes to leave the parking lot after that, tears blurring your vision as you cry in your car and try not to let the shame completely envelop you.

--

Going to Joel's that night carries none of the anticipation you'd felt earlier this afternoon; instead you feel nothing but shame as you steal your mother's house key from its dish in the hallway, closing the front door behind you as softly as you can and hurrying out into the night. There's no excitement or rush like the last time you'd done this. You feel like you could cry at any moment as you approach Joel's house, climbing his front steps with a heavy weight on your shoulders that wasn't there before, that hasn't been there in weeks.

The door opens before you can even turn the knob – he must have been watching from his window, waiting for you in anticipation for tonight's “lesson”. Your stomach lurches.

“There's my little Sunday School girl,” he murmurs, taking your hand and tugging you gently inside.

“Please don't call me that,” you say quietly, head down.

He shuts the door behind you and takes your hands in his – you can feel his eyes on you but you're unsure of the look on his face, what expression is on it. Does he sense there's something wrong? Or is he waiting for you to jump his bones?

“Hey,” his voice is soft, concerned, “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, still staring at the floor.

“What happened, babygirl?” he murmurs, one of his hands releasing yours to come up and stroke your cheek gently, thumb grazing the wetness beneath your eyes, “Why're you cryin', darlin'? C'mere.” His finger travels down to your chin, pushes your face up to look at him.

His expression is worried, brow furrowed and forehead creased, a frown playing at his lips. You feel your heartbeat slow, the weight on your shoulders decreasing just a little bit as safety settles in your bones. He cares.

“I had a horrible day,” you whisper, feeling tears trickle down into the corners of your mouth, “I know you want to...want to...” you shake your head, “Whatever we were gonna do. But I don't think I can tonight, Joel. I don't feel good.”

“Oh, babygirl,” he breathes, releasing your chin and immediately wrapping you up in his embrace, arms tightening around you as he pulls you against his chest, “We don't have to do anythin', don't even worry about that.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathe him in. His flannel underneath your mattress is nothing compared to the real thing, the real smell of him overtaking your senses and filling you with a true feeling of warmth and safety. His arms are so big – he's so big – and without meaning to you find yourself going completely limp in his arms, bones turning to jelly. It's like finally breathing in the fresh air after holding your breath underwater, a natural reaction to finally being where you belong.

He doesn't question your body's response, almost seems to understand completely as he pulls you up from the floor and adjusts you slightly to cradle you in his arms, carrying you past the living room, past the kitchen, up the stairs and to his bedroom. You just close your eyes and bury your face in his shirt, inhale the scent of sawdust and sweat and cedar and Joel.

He tips you gently onto his bed, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before settling in beside you without saying anything. You feel his arm wrap around you, tug you in closer beside him as he noses your hair and lets you just exist.

Minutes pass before you finally break the comfortable silence, voice quiet and small - “I feel so ashamed.”

You feel his brow furrow in your hair and you turn around to face him, bringing your arm up around his torso and pressing your hand firmly against his back. He looks at you with confusion, concern.

You tell him everything. About Bethany, your friendship with her and Alice before you left for college, the way you'd already begun to lose your faith even then. You tell him about your mom, about the silent treatment and her reaction to the white lie, the lie that's practically nothing in the grand scheme of deceit you've been weaving these past few weeks. You talk about church and Sunday School and all the guilt you'd felt in that little room growing up, how being there again felt wrong and uncomfortable. You tell him how free you'd felt in the bathroom with your camera, the power you'd felt, reclaimed, and how all of it had been snatched away from you the second Bethany had entered. How she'd destroyed any semblance of confidence you'd been able to find today, how she'd shamed you for the crucifix that you don't even want to be wearing. It's the most you've ever told him, the most you've ever talked to him about anything.

And he listens.

He doesn't seem put out by your venting, annoyed or irritated or ready to send you home at any minute. He just nods, frowns at the right moments, strokes your arm and your cheek, kisses your forehead when you start to cry. Wipes the tears away when you apologize for crying. He stays with you and remains present and attentive, lets you talk and talk until you start to apologize for how much you've been talking.

“I know this isn't even what you signed up for,” you blubber, shaking your head and bringing your hands up to cover your face, “I'm sorry I keep bringing so much- so many complications into your life.”

“Shh,” he soothes, placing his large hands on yours and pulling them away from your tired eyes, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, “Stop apologizin', baby. Stop. You've got nothin' to be sorry for.”

You suddenly sit up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and bringing a hand up to touch the crucifix still clasped around your neck. You hadn't taken it off like she'd told you to do; you'd felt like doing so would have made you weak, would have been like giving up, even though you'd never wanted to even wear it again in the first place.

“Why does this little thing have so much fucking power over me?” you ask aloud, not directed at Joel but more-so to yourself, “My whole life, no one has ever seen me, they've just seen this.” You shake your head, squeezing the tiny cross in your hand. “And wearing it again has just brought all that shit back, it's done absolutely nothing good. Wore it for my mom and she still gives me the silent treatment. Wore it for Bethany and she still treats me like garbage, tells me to take it off. It's just a fucking necklace.”

Joel sits up beside you, places a warm hand on your thigh and peers at you with those soft brown eyes, lulling you back into a sense of calm, of serenity.

“Give it to me,” he says quietly.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You stare at him for a moment, then watch as he carefully brings his hands up to graze his callused fingertips against your neck, brushing the chain.

“I'll take it off your hands for a bit,” he murmurs, “Outta sight, outta mind. And if you want it back, I'll have it ready for you. How's that sound?”

You nod slowly to yourself, feeling your eyes begin to sting again at his words, “...Good. Th-that sounds good.”

Without saying anything else you hear the sound of the clasp being undone, feel the chain slip away from your skin as Joel takes it from you. You turn your head to watch as he fists it in his palm for a moment, gaze thoughtful and faraway as he traces the shape of the cross with his thumb. A few seconds later he opens his bedside table and carefully places it inside, then shuts the drawer.

And just like that, the weight is gone.

--

You take a shower in his bathroom again, wanting to wash this day off you and start over, clean slate. You could have had one when you got home from the meeting earlier but you'd instead opted to just lay in bed feeling sorry for yourself for much longer than you'd needed to. Now you close your eyes and let the hot water envelop you, wash yourself with Joel's body wash and allow yourself to become his again, picturing him laying in his bed in the other room, waiting for you. This is what matters. This moment. Right now.

You enter his bedroom wrapped in one of his towels, drops of water still spilling down your skin onto the hardwood floor. He's sitting up in bed, shirtless with his legs hidden under the covers. He's seemingly deep in thought as he stares at his phone screen, brows scrunched together. You watch as he pulls the phone away from himself, eyes squinting and lips parting a bit, then pulls it back, like he can't see what he's looking at properly. You realize that's probably the case.

“You need glasses,” you say with a soft giggle, and his expression relaxes when he sees you standing there, phone going back on his nightstand.

“I have glasses,” he admits sheepishly, giving you a tender smile, “Just hate wearin' 'em.”

“Of course,” you roll your eyes and take a few steps forward, still gripping the towel around yourself. His eyes fall to the parts of you that are bare, revelling in the way the lamplight reflects on your wet skin. You feel tingles erupt through your senses under his gaze.

“Are you naked?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, “Wearin' pants, don't worry.”

You stand there for a moment, staring. He just stares back, eyebrows going up a bit while he waits for you to say something else. When you don't, he tilts his head slightly, appraising you.

“Do you want me to be naked, babygirl?”

You're answering before you even really know what you want, "Yes."

Without needing to be told twice he reaches under the covers with both hands and shimmies his way out of his pajama bottoms, staying hidden under the sheets as he tosses them out onto the floor. You bite your lip, still just standing there staring at him without moving. You're still dripping everywhere, a little puddle of water forming at your feet the longer you stay frozen.

He raises his finger and playfully curls it toward himself with a smile, "C'mere, baby," he murmurs, "Be naked with me."

You don't need telling twice either.

The towel drops from your body, landing in the puddle of water on the floor - easy cleanup. You feel heat radiating through every inch of your bare skin as you walk toward the bed, avoiding Joel's eyes and quickly slipping in beside him. You really don't know what you're doing - you'd said when you got here that you didn't want to do anything, not tonight, and it's still true. But part of you just aches to be close to Joel, to feel his warm heat, his rough skin, be connected to him somehow. It's what you've wanted all week.

You inch in beside him, back against the headboard, your bare thigh touching his lightly beneath the sheets, and you find yourself tensing up unconsciously. He clocks your reaction immediately.

"You don't gotta be nervous, angel," he tells you softly, soothingly.

You swallow and take a deep breath, "It's hard not to be," you whisper, though there's no reason to, "I'm just... I'm so..."

"What?" he asks, brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb swiping beneath your eye again like he's checking for more tears - luckily you're feeling much better in that department.

You sigh, shrugging slightly, "I don't know what I'm doing," your eyes fall down to the duvet, knowing that if you pulled it back you'd see your bodies touching underneath, his rough and tan skin pressed against yours, soft and untouched, "I mean, I don't even know why I came tonight. I knew I didn't- that I didn't want to-" you sigh again in frustration, unable to find the right words, "I just... I missed you," your eyes travel back up to meet his, "I just wanted to be near you."

His expression softens, still stroking your cheek as he peers into your eyes, "You feel safe with me, don't you?" You nod. "You know I won't do anythin' you don't want me to do, right?" Another nod. "So it's okay to just relax when you're with me."

You grimace, "How can I relax when we're naked in bed together?"

He chuckles, dropping his hand from your face and shuffling down into the bed a bit, away from the headboard, "Okay, time for another lesson."

You feel your heart sink again, worried that he's not understanding - probably because you can't explain it right - but he smiles reassuringly at you and curls his finger slightly, urging you to follow him downwards. With a quiet inhale you slowly inch away from the headboard and further down into the bed, beneath the duvet. You both stop moving when your heads hit the pillows, laying down fully beside each other.

"Gettin' naked doesn't always mean there has to be sex," he says softly, and you watch as he very slowly brings his hand down beneath the duvet; you know where it's going before it touches you, but you still shiver when you feel his fingers brush lightly against your bare arm, "Us bein' naked in bed together doesn't mean anythin' has to happen."

"But earlier today I said..." you trail off, shaking your head, "I promised that-"

"Earlier is earlier," he brushes your arm again, tender and comforting, "Circumstances change, your day got shitty. Mine was no better. It happens."

His hand travels downward, toward the skin of your hip. He curls his palm around your bare flesh and gently massages it, thumb stroking the edge of your tummy. It's intimate and new, but somehow it feels more safe and comforting than sexual, like he's simply doing something casual, normal.

"Sometimes you just wanna lay in bed with someone" he murmurs, still touching you tenderly, "No expectations, no pressure. No nothin'. Sure, it's fun to touch each other and be together like that, but if you just wanna sleep..." his fingertips brush your back gently, then press firmly into your skin as he pulls you a bit closer toward him, "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

You're not sure what to think, staring at him with a million different thoughts flooding your mind. Your interpretation of what men want has always been a bit of a grey area, but you've heard enough from both your family and your friends to know that most of them are just after one thing. You'd heard it from your parents your whole life who always warned about non-Christian boys and their sinful thoughts, then from the girls at college who dealt with disrespect and catcalls, men who turned on them in an instant the second they realized they weren't getting any.

Joel isn't like that. Sure, he wants sex - that's been obvious since day one, when he'd invited you inside his house within minutes of meeting you. He'd only had one thing on his mind, just like your parents had always said. But he hadn't thrown a fit when you'd said no, and up until this point he's made it abundantly clear that the ball is in your court, that it's up to you what happens between the two of you.

"I know all this stuff can be scary," he continues softly when you don't reply, "I know you're embarrassed about bein' so inexperienced, but you don't need to be. I'm here to make it easier for you; I want you to be comfortable."

He nudges forward a bit and slowly begins to wrap his arms around you, warm and inviting. You let him, body going loose and comfortable in his grasp as you feel your eyes close; safe. You feel so safe.

"You're so warm," is all you can think to say, loving the way it feels to have his broad and hairy chest pressed up against your bare breasts, his big and strong arms winding around your smaller form.

He chuckles softly and you feel him press a gentle kiss to your cheek, beard scratching your skin in your favorite way. You bring your arms up and hug him back beneath the blankets, feeling your naked thighs press firmly against his. You're aware of his cock - it's hard not to be, not when it's pressed gently against the base of your tummy, soft against your skin - but he doesn't rub himself against you or do anything to initiate more than this, more than just being together like he'd said.

He really means it, you know he does.

"I can't wait to have sex with you," you hear yourself whisper in his ear; it sounds dirty but you don't mean it to be, "I just...I'm really glad it's gonna be you."

And I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you.

--

You wake up the next morning to a firm and solid presence at your back, bare and warm and comfy. You're surprised you're awake before Joel's alarm, wondering what exactly woke you up in the first place - and then you feel it. Something wet and sticky against your lower back, something pulsing and twitching every so often against your skin.

Good morning.

He hadn't pressed his cock against you like this last night when you were cuddling, hadn't asked you to touch it or even acknowledged its presence. But sleeping Joel is an entirely different person, his big arms wrapped around you tightly, one splayed across your belly while the other holds your right breast, cups it like it's meant to fit there. He holds you in place firmly, breath at your neck, nose in your hair.

You're not sure how much time you have left before his alarm goes off. The sun is only barely starting to come up outside the window, so it could start ringing at any time now. All you know is that the sensation of having him so close to you like this, his most intimate part so close to yours, so wet and warm, it's making you all wet and warm. Your skin almost feels itchy, especially at your neck where his warm breath leaves a damp spot beneath your ear, a spot you're suddenly longing for him to kiss, to lick.

"Joel," you breathe, unable to wait any longer, scared that at any moment he'll have to leave the bed and start getting ready for work.

No response.

"Joel," you repeat, a bit louder this time, and with his name you carefully grind back against him a little bit, the wet head of his cock trailing back and forth against your warm skin. He makes a grumbling noise in his chest, pulls you in a bit closer, "Joel, wake up," you moan, painfully aware of the shape of his balls against your ass, big and heavy and suddenly the hottest thing you've ever felt in your life.

"What?" he groans, rousing from sleep, "What is it?"

It's all the confirmation of awareness you need to suddenly turn in the sheets, bring the duvet down to expose your naked bodies to the both of you. His eyes are bleary and tired as he watches you from beneath heavy eyelids, sees where your gaze has settled.

His cock lays long and thick and loose against his tummy, round tip drooling precum into the hair smattered above his belly button. God, he's so big. Your lips part, saliva filling your mouth like it had the last time you saw it, like somehow your body knows exactly what the next step is.

"I wanna put my mouth on it," you whisper, pushing your hair back behind your ears and turning your gaze back to Joel's face, "Please."

His eyebrows go up in surprise, eyelashes fluttering with sleep. He's probably wondering where this is coming from, how the girl in his bed right now is the same one who just wanted to be held last night, but he doesn't seem to be complaining. He nods quickly, stretches his arms above his head and tries to rouse himself even more from sleep.

"Of course you can, baby," he mutters huskily, voice deep and dripping with arousal, "Go ahead."

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," you murmur softly, and before you can even fully process what you're doing or question if you'll even be good at it, your lips are pressing against the warm heat of his wet tip.

He hisses immediately and you pull back, frightened for a moment that you've already fucked up somehow. He shakes his head quickly at you, "No, no, you're good baby, that's good," one of his hands comes down to settle against the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, "Give it a kiss, just like that."

And you do. Time is already not on your side - you feel like there's a countdown clock hanging over your head as you press another kiss in the same spot, his precum sticky on your lips. You'd thought it might be gross, had heard lots about blowjobs from your friends and how unpleasant they can be, but when your tongue darts out to carefully prod against where he's leaking, you find that it doesn't bother you that much at all.

"Tastes funny," you murmur softly, peppering a few more kisses around the wide head and then down to his shaft, thumbing the prominent vein on the underside as you do it.

"Kinda gross, huh?" you hear him say softly above you, a strained edge to his voice that makes you smile against him.

"I think I like it, actually," you admit softly, tongue darting out once again to slowly lap up a bead at the tip. You're not lying; there's something masculine and sexy and inherently Joel about it, something you hadn't been expecting.

"That's good, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking the back of your head gently, "That's so good, angel." You don't know whether he means your opinion on the taste or simply a reaction to the things you're doing with your tongue, but either way you keep going, hoping that the alarm doesn't interrupt you.

You wrap your lips around the tip carefully, pulling it into your mouth and sucking it gently - very gently. He makes a breathless sound above you and you can't help but bring your gaze up to his face, your eyes meeting his as you swallow him down.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he breathes, thumbing a strand of hair at your temple and pushing it behind your ear, eyes dark, "Look at you."

You swirl your tongue around the tip, still making sure to keep eye contact with him as you carefully slip more of him inside your mouth. He's so big, there's absolutely no way you'll be able to fit all of him inside, at least not without some practice. He doesn't seem to mind that you can only take a little bit of him, his thumb coming downward to stroke gently at the corner of your mouth. He wipes away a bit of drool pooling there, brows furrowing.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, nodding slowly to you in reassurance as you very slowly begin to lift your head up and down, up and down, eyes going hazy, "Takin' that cock so well."

His words spur you on, encourage you to take a little bit more. You've got about half of him in your mouth and you already know you won't be able to take anymore, the spongey tip pushing dangerously close to your gag reflex. You absolutely do not want to choke, don't want to ruin this in any way. You want him to feel good. Feel better.

"Oh, honey," he groans softly when you begin to palm his balls, rolling them gently and feeling their fullness, round and heavy, "This mouth," he touches the corner of your lips again, a bit harder this time, trails his fingers downward to grip your chin, "Made to have my cock in there, huh?" his eyes are boring into yours, pupils blown wide, "You like havin' your mouth full like that, babygirl?"

You nod and whimper around his length, speeding up a little bit and never breaking eye contact with him, obsessed with watching his eyes get darker and darker, filling more and more with lust as he watches you pleasure him.

"Yeah, you do," he murmurs, voice soothing again like last night, calm and safe, "What a good girl you are, wakin' me up to suck my cock. Couldn't wait, could ya, baby?" you shake your head and the head of his cock slips past your throat a little too far, so much that you have to pull off him quickly to be sure you don't gag, "Aw, baby, that's okay," he reassures you gently, "It's a lot, I know."

Your eyes are hooded and your jaw is already starting to ache - you're not used to doing something like this and he knows it, strokes your cheek gently as he takes his cock in his hand and carefully pushes the tip against your lips.

"You just kiss it, baby," he whispers, dark and deep, "Kiss that cock 'til I come, okay?"

You do as you're told, lips parting slightly as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips and strokes himself a few more times, bringing himself close to the edge. He's so gorgeous like this, so rugged and almost animalistic as his chest heaves, groans escaping his mouth as he watches your lips. His hand is still in your hair, grip getting tighter and tighter as you lean down a bit so he can gently fuck the tip of his cock back into your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and you can feel your pussy throbbing against the mattress with every thrust, lips tight around him.

"Ah, fuck," he grits out suddenly, then pulls his cock away from your mouth and releases all over his chest and stomach, thighs tensing up as you watch his eyes practically roll back into his head. Your eyes are wide and attentive, locked onto the white ropes of come that spurt against his bare skin. You find yourself wondering what it would feel like at the back of your throat instead, on your tongue, what it would taste like...

Your thoughts are interrupted by Joel's alarm going off, loud and obnoxious. Before he can pull himself up to turn it off, you lean over to the nightstand and do it yourself, swiping it off and turning back to his blissed out form. He lies there panting for a moment, eyes closed. You can't help but smile, feeling pride swell in your chest again at the knowledge that you made him feel like this.

"Don't go back to sleep," you whisper softly, "You gotta go to work."

He groans then, but opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile and a wink, expression still sleepy and satisfied, "Who needs an alarm clock when I got you, huh?" He gestures with his finger for you to move closer and you do, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Mornin', darlin'," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Morning," you whisper back, and you revel in the smile on his face when you pull away, "Sorry for jumping your bones so early."

He just shakes his head with a wide smile, "Never apologize for jumpin' my bones, baby." His eyes fall to your naked body, settling on your pussy, still wet and aching against the sheets, "Aw, sweetheart, lemme take care of that for you."

You shake your head, pointing to his phone, "We don't have time, you gotta get to work and I gotta get home before my parents wake up," you slip out of bed and reach down to pick up the clothes you'd stripped yourself of last night before your shower. He starts to protest but you put your hand up with a soft laugh, "It's okay, Joel. I wanted to do this for you, start your day out right. Give you a chance at a good day."

He peers up at you from the bed, face smooshed into the pillow as he watches you get dressed, "Doesn't seem fair."

You just roll your eyes, pulling on your panties and shorts and pointing to his phone again, "Really, we need to hurry," you bite your lip as you slip your t-shirt over your head, "I have keys this time but I still don't wanna risk it."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles softly, "I'm goin'."

He slips out of bed and stretches, tilting his body back and forth. You both hear the way his bones crack, the noise that emits from his throat when he bends his back a certain way. You watch his expression change, going from content and sated to embarrassed and grumpy in seconds.

"And just like that, the illusion is gone," he mutters to himself, limping away from the bed and toward the door without so much as a side glance to you, clearly upset by the sudden reminder of his age. You frown, watching him go and feeling an ache in your chest that makes a home there for the rest of the morning.

--

He'd made you breakfast last time, so it's only fair that you make something for him today. Unfortunately cooking has never been your forte, so about fifteen minutes later you're waving a dish rag at the fire alarm while the sausages you'd managed to burn are smoking in the sink. Joel comes running down the stairs after his shower with a look of concern on his face, only for it to fade into one of amusement when he sees the situation.

"Now why am I teachin' you guitar when you clearly don't know how to even use a stove?"

"Oh, shut up," you can't even pretend to be mad at him, grin spreading across your face as you shake your head and breathe a sigh of relief when the alarm stops going off, "Help me clean this up."

You end up making toast instead.

"You know, we've still got about ten minutes," he says across from you at the table as you eat, peering down at his watch quickly.

"Yeah, 'cause I fail as a cook," you mutter, making a face at your slice of toast, "I was gonna do eggs too, you know."

"Let's not reach for the stars too quickly now," he says with a sly smile, putting his hand up quickly when you prepare to retort, "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"What did you-" you look up from your toast and see him beckoning you toward him again like he had last night, finger curling toward himself with a sly smile on his face.

You look at the clock on the oven, biting your lip.

"It'll take five minutes tops," he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"Really?" you challenge, "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes."

That, you'd like to see. Dropping your toast back onto the plate, you stand up and walk to the other side of the table, unsure what exactly he wants you to do. He spreads his legs a bit, points to his thigh.

"Sit here, babygirl," he says, voice low and hypnotic, "Wanna show you somethin' new."

Yes please.

You situate yourself on his lap, one leg going between his thighs while the other dangles carefully off the other side of the chair. He pulls you down, big hands coming up to palm your hips and hold you there firmly. You swallow tightly, unsure exactly what he has in mind.

"You know what feels really good?" he murmurs, thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin between your shirt and your shorts.

"What?" you whisper, peering down into his eyes with intrigue.

"This," he says softly, then very slowly begins to move your hips, dragging you carefully back and forth along his thigh. Your eyebrows shoot up, lips parting as you feel the ache in your core immediately return, the pressure of his thigh and the movement of his hands setting your nerves alight.

He looks down at his own handiwork, watches as he moves you back and forth, back and forth, rocking you over and over again until you're whimpering in his lap, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He just smiles up at you, doesn't stop his movements.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he breathes, watching your expression closely, "Feels good to finally have somethin' touchin' that pussy, huh baby?"

You moan at his words, hands slipping from his shoulders to wrap around him as you lean forward to bury your face in his neck. He just starts to move you faster, chuckling softly to himself when your hips buck against him. It's amazing how such a simple action can feel so fucking good, the constant stimulation against your clit through layers of material making you writhe and whimper.

He removes one of his hands from your hips and slips it inside the leg of your shorts, fingertips tickling your inner thigh gently. You grapple onto him even tighter, hugging him like a koala as his thumb slowly begins to stroke you through the wet spot of your panties.

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about this pussy yesterday," he murmurs, thumb rubbing your clit over and over in little circles, "Those pictures were so filthy, baby."

You moan against his shoulder, gripping him tighter as his thumb begins to pick up speed. He presses a kiss to your neck, wet and hot; it makes your eyes roll back.

"And this little hole," he murmurs in your ear, suddenly adding a finger inside your shorts to circle your entrance slowly, "Kept thinkin' about this tiny little hole, all open for me."

God, when he talks like that you can't even fucking think, brain running on autopilot as he pulls you impossibly closer and lets you bare down on his thigh, his finger and thumb trapped under your weight, pressed firmly against your core.

"Who's gonna fill up that hole, babygirl?" he whispers in your ear, soft and secret, "Huh? Who's that hole belong to?"

"You," you whimper into his shoulder, eyes shut tight as he strokes his finger up and down through the fabric, adding even more pressure to the overwhelming sensations you're already feeling "It's yours, Mr. Miller."

"And what's gonna go inside it, sweetheart?"

"Hnhng," you can't speak, inhaling shakily as Joel's other hand presses harder against your hip and continues to guide you, fucking you back and forth against his thigh. He just watches you, eyes dark, lips parted, brow furrowed.

"Words, babygirl," he reminds you softly, "Use your words. What's gonna go inside that tight little hole? Huh? Tell me."

"Y-your cock."

"That's right," he murmurs, the tip of his finger prodding inside you gently, taking the damp material of your panties with it, "Gonna fill you up so deep with my cock, honey. You're gonna feel it right here," he moves his hand up and places it at the base of your belly, pushes against it softly, "Gonna be so big inside you, sweet girl."

Oh fuck.

"I want it so bad," you groan, wrapping your arms even tighter around him, "I need it Mr. Miller."

"You do need it," he agrees softly as he kisses the top of your head, bringing his hand back down from your belly to guide you again, moving you back and forth "Need to be fucked so bad, don't you baby? Til you can't even think straight."

You nod frantically, continuing to grind yourself down against his thigh over and over and over, "Please," you whimper, almost a squeak, "Please, Mr. Miller."

"Shh," he soothes, pulling you in closer and moving your hips against him, looking at you with those big brown eyes full of lust and safety, "I will, babygirl. Soon. I'll fuck you so good, honey. I promise." Your body hitches in his lap as you near the edge, eyes going wide and mouth popping open as your orgasm starts to hit you, "Yeah? You like thinkin' about that, huh? Me fuckin' this soaked little pussy into my mattress? Fillin' you up so deep you can feel me in your stomach?"

You can't hold on anymore, eyes shutting tight and high pitched whimpers flowing past your lips as you start to come. He pins you against his thigh, holds you there tight and firm as your pussy pulses and throbs through his pants. You lean forward to bury your face in his neck as you ride it out, feel his hand press against your back.

"Oh, good girl, that's it, baby," he murmurs, kissing your temple gently and stroking your back in little circles, "Come all over my lap, sweetheart. Show me how wet she can get, there you go. Good girl."

After a moment of catching your breath and willing yourself to pull your face away from his neck, you both bring your attention to the clock on the stove - five minutes have passed.

"Told ya," he murmurs, pulling you into one more hug, hitching his chin over your shoulder and rubbing your back gently as your head lolls against him.

You're too blissed out to tease him back.

--

The arrivals gate isn't as busy as you'd expected, thankfully. You lean against your car a few hours later, still reeling from your morning with Joel as you wait for Tasha to show up. You'd told him about your weekend plans before you'd left, insisting that despite spending time with Tasha you'd still be attending your Saturday lesson.

"Can't wait," he'd murmured to you, low and deep in your ear after giving you one final kiss at the door, "Got somethin' real special planned, babygirl."

You'd practically melted down his front steps.

"THERE'S MY FAVORITE SLUT!!" you suddenly hear someone shout, and you look up to see Tasha at the sliding doors, bags dropping to the ground as she sprints at you head on and collides with you seconds later, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

She's just the same as she was the last time you saw her, high spirited and excitable and sweet, practically vibrating in your arms with joy. Only she could rock a bright purple cowboy hat and sweatpants, not to mention the lime green flip flops.

"Oh my god," you gasp in her ear, hugging her back and spinning on the spot, "You're insane."

"I'M EXCITED!" she squeals, pulling away from you and clapping her hands together, "We're going out tonight!!! Together!!! For the first time ever!" She brings her hands up and places one on either side of your face, lips turning down into a pout, "My baby bird is leaving the nest," she sighs dreamily, shaking her head, "I never thought this day would come."

"Please get in the car," you laugh, popping the trunk and gesturing to her bags, "before I change my mind and send you back."

--

You give Tasha the complete run-down on Joel as you get ready at the Airbnb, updating her on everything that's happened since you'd last checked in. It feels so good to actually talk about it, not text or simply mull it over and over in your head. She gasps at all the right spots, makes ridiculous faces in the mirror as she curls her hair, nearly drops the curling iron on the floor when you tell her about this morning.

"AND YOU LIKED HOW IT TASTED?" she practically screams, running out of the room and then running back in like she has no idea what to do with herself, "Oh my god, you are down bad. Jesus Christ," she makes a face, "Sorry, I mean- uh, fuck."

"Tasha," you roll your eyes, "You can say Jesus Christ."

"I can?" her eyes widen and she sighs in relief, picking up the curling iron from the floor, "Thank god."

You're going clubbing tonight for the very first time; a night of dancing and cocktails and flirting and living out all the college dreams you still have yet to experience. You're a bit tentative about the flirting part though, a concept that floors Tasha immediately.

"You can't go clubbing and not flirt," she says with faux shock, spinning in front of you as she assesses her dress in the mirror, "It's the best part!"

"I have a-" you cut yourself off, making a face at your reflection.

"You do not have a boyfriend," Tasha says immediately, "There has been no definition, babe. You need to keep reminding yourself of that."

"But it's not just fucking," you argue with a grimace, "I mean, it's not even fucking at all, we still haven't taken that step yet."

"I know, I just don't want you to get your heart hurt, honey," she frowns, leaning toward the mirror and applying some lipstick, "Boys are mean."

"Well, Joel's not a boy," you say quietly, fingering the hem of your own dress, a short and cute pink number that Tasha had brought specifically for you to wear, "He's a man."

"Mmhm, so you keep telling me," she raises an eyebrow, "I think I need to see this man for myself. Give you my honest opinion, see if he's really this gorgeous, perfect hunk you make him out to be."

You bite your lip, trying not to smile as you think back to this morning, how he'd looked in the early morning light, naked and sleepy and beautiful. And all yours.

"He is," you murmur softly.

--

You're supposed to be going clubbing, supposed to be out dancing and drinking cocktails and living out all your college dreams for once in your life. But where are you instead?

"O'Neil's!!" Tasha says excitedly, pointing to the red neon sign outside the bar you've just arrived at, throwing you a shit-eating grin that just makes you playfully roll your eyes.

You never should have told her the name of the bar Joel frequents, because she's now made it her mission to find him, get a good look at him and judge for herself if he's really all you're making him out to be. It's your own fault, you suppose, considering that you don't have any pictures of him or any frame of reference to articulate exactly the way he looks. For Tasha he's shrouded in mystery, but not for much longer.

Your ears are already ringing when you get inside the bar, the chatter and buzz of other people's conversations flooding your thoughts. You're not used to being out like this, being around drunk people or high people or literally anyone whose ideal night out is spending time at a bar. It's nerve-wracking and you instantly feel like a fish out of water, gripping onto Tasha's arm after showing your ID to a man who ogled both of you way more than he needed to.

"So this is where he hangs out," Tasha says, assessing her surroundings and leading you towards the bar where most people seem to be gathered, "Quaint. Little divey. Definitely not for our crowd but hey, we're learning new things tonight." She taps the counter and tilts her head toward the bartender with a smile, "Watcha got on tap?"

You wrinkle your nose, "I thought we'd be having cocktails."

"Oh we will at the club, don't you worry. But if we want the authentic dive bar experience, beer is necessary," the bartender lists the options and Tasha orders, though you barely hear what either of them are saying over the loud music and conversations. Your eyes scan the bar for any sign of Joel, but people are packed so tightly in here that it's hard to really see anybody, faces and bodies melding together.

The bartender hands Tasha the drinks and she throws him a wink, "Thank you, darling."

You envy how easily she navigates a situation like this, so natural and graceful despite her surroundings that are anything but. She hands your beer to you with a smile and holds hers up in front of her, tilting it toward yours until they clink.

"To you finally coming out with me," she toasts with a grin, "It's about damn time."

You smile back and take a sip, trying your hardest not to wince at the bitter flavor. It's not like you've never tried alcohol before, you just already know that you hate beer.

"Delicious," you lie, and Tasha just laughs and gestures toward a suddenly empty booth in the corner of the room.

"Let's sit there while we suss him out," she mutters to you, pulling you along with her and slipping inside, "Now, what's he look like? You've been pretty vague about those details." She waggles her eyebrows, "Be honest, is he bald?"

You almost spit out your second sip, shaking your head furiously, "No, he's not bald. Full head of hair."

She puts her hands up in defense, "Hey, it's not that crazy to assume!"

You just shake your head and laugh, turning back toward the bar and the people and trying to get a gage on where he might be. You know he usually comes here with his contracting crew, but what the hell does a contracting crew even look like?

"Help me out, gimme a description!" Tasha says eagerly, wiggling in her seat a bit and following your gaze, "He has facial hair, right?"

"Yes, it's kinda messy and scruffy," you bite your lip, squinting a bit as if that'll help you.

"And what's his hair color?"

You don't look at her as you reply, "Um.. grey."

Tasha's hand slaps down on the table and you jump, eyes going wide as you turn back to her, "What?"

"Grey? Girl, how old is he?" she doesn't sound angry or judgmental - she sounds intrigued. And almost... impressed? You gnaw on your lip, scrunching your eyebrows together as you look back toward the crowd of people.

"Um... he's..." you stop short, freezing when your eyes land on a familiar shirt near the bar, a red and black plaid button down that you'd seen only hours ago, "There! He's there!" You point at him quickly, ducking your head a bit and motioning for Tasha to lean in closer to get a good look.

"Oh... my god," she breathes, and you feel a rush of pride at her response, unable to stop the grin from plastering itself to your face as you peer at him.

There's something different about him that you can't place - maybe it's just because you haven't seen him in a public place like this, aren't used to what he looks like when it's not just the two of you. You try to put your finger on it, and while you're doing so he does something that makes your heart positively swell in your chest.

He smiles. That beautiful crooked smile that pulled you in the day you met him, set your skin on fire and brought you to the point of no return. Those crinkly eyes, the grey in his beard, the softness of his eyes, they send that familiar feeling of safety rushing through your bones. And you realize there's nothing different about him at all. That's your Joel, sitting on a bar stool after a long day of work, nursing a glass of whisky and chatting about his day. He's the same Joel who you'd woken up with this morning, just in a different setting.

You're so distracted by his rugged beauty out in the open like this - overwhelmed by his charm and his smile - that it takes you a few seconds to see who exactly he's smiling at.

You feel your heart in your throat.

There's a woman sitting beside him. Not just beside him, but so close their stools are touching, so close her legs - long and lean and beautiful - are brushing his. It's not subtle the way her ankle moves against his calf, up and down, up and down. She's wearing jean shorts and a halter top, skin dark and gorgeous and exposed in all the right places, beautiful brown braids cascading down her back and shoulders. You can't see her face but you already know she could be a model. She probably is.

No. No, something isn't right.

Maybe it's not him.

Time feels like it's frozen, like everyone in the bar has stopped moving except the two of them, like a giant spotlight is shining directly on where they sit, where they touch, where they smile at each other. Because it is him. It's him in all his gorgeous Joel glory, peering into the eyes of a woman who isn't you, a woman who's probably more his type, closer to his age, a woman who's somehow making him smile like that when she shouldn't. That's how he smiles at you. That's your smile.

A woman who's now leaning in for a kiss.

No. Please no.

A woman who he kisses back.

This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just some sick and twisted nightmare you're about to wake up from at any second.

His hand comes up to cup her face.

"I'm gonna throw up," is all you manage to gasp out to Tasha as you yank yourself from the booth and sprint out of the bar, hand splaying across your belly as you bend over and release the contents of your stomach all over the sidewalk.

You feel Tasha's hand on your back, pulling your hair behind your ears. She's saying something but you don't understand it, ears continuing to ring despite being outside in the cool air, away from the loud music and chatty conversations, away from them.

"Oh honey," you finally hear her say, soft and kind as she rubs circles into your back, a comforting action that brings no comfort to you, not now, not after what you've just seen. "I'm so sorry."

[leewonkyeom]

 light a flame | jeon wonwoo | masterlist

☆ synopsis

when your roommate quits his job at the coffee shop you frequent you never imagined the new guy would be hot or even your type. to make matters worse you both study law at the same university.

your friends to try to convince you to get together with him. you try to convince them you just find him really nice... but are you able to convince yourself?

☆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

☆ genre:  smau, university au, coffee shop au

☆ warnings: swearing, drinking, implied 18+ content

☆ status: ongoing, updates every thursday and sunday

☆ started: 07.09.23

☆ ended: 21.03.24

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profiles: 1 | 2

chapters:

001: stop thirsting on main

002: i’m not a fucking rat

003: please yn it was for the vine

004: not asking for a friend, i’m asking for me

005: you’re forced to come even if minghao drops of the face of the earth

006: HE’S TALL AND HE GOT A NICE ANGLE SHUT UP

007: you can’t recognize drip even if it’s staring right in your face

008: are you trying to limit my artistic expression?

009: step aside! if anyone’s playing wingman it’s me

010: like slaying monsters?

011: “me as a baby”

012: you obviously know the worth of cancelling

013: is that seungcheol photoshopped as aang from avatar?

014: playing league of legends does not qualify as “having a life”

015: he made me stand outside the coffee shop with a “free hugs” sign

016: good luck, daredevil

017: well, i honestly think you’re both in the wrong

018: then i say spider-man is within the realms of possibility

019: i just wanted the public opinion

020: digital footprint

021: i have faith in the tiger

022: last selfie before we die and i didn’t even look good

023: vernon’s sock drawer isn’t a good hiding place

024: i’m thinking of hanging it in our shared bathroom so seungkwan can be reminded of his good deed

025: oh don’t bring judy into this!

026: staging a storm just so someone can experience the forced proximity trope

027: entering private property in 3... 2... 1

028: i’m not helping a traitor

029: all of my midnight entertainment... gone in seconds

030: yes i will be sharing... / the juices?!

031: uh oh / the ominous period

032: i will go just to prove i’m right

033: oh my god... that woman

034: it means you’re annoying /next

035: i know i’m giving zero context here, but bear with me

036: that guy only has feelings for his right arm

037: how can i dump someone i never even dated?

038: joshua says you can come if you take 10 penalty shots and do a strip tease

039: i can never look any of them in the eyes again... well, except johnny

040: ohh so he’s your super smart study buddy?

041: i didn’t know we had chan’s biggest fan right here

042:i didn’t know you were sending all that, chan. sorry.

043: just a peck

044: as real as spider-man

045: so arguably, it wasn’t even my fault

046: shut up and make out with wonwoo instead

047: special deal only for my boyfriend

048: i’m literally throwing rocks at your window as we speak

049: i’m just training you to be wonwoo’s little pet

050: i’m not having a dog ruin the ambiance

051: epilogue

bonus chapter

[ilyhaitanii]

ride me like you mean it ft. alhaitham

nsfw. oral (f!receiving) heavy teasing, alhaitham is called ‘haiyyi’, refers to you as his wife, chubby!reader as usual <3 this was very self-indulgent, oh and he’s mentioned to have a big nose and ykw that means…

“your concerns are irrational, darling.” alhaitham’s voice echos in your ears as you seat yourself onto his hips. you shake your head, trying to pull yourself away from his body, but he keeps his hands secure on your hips, squeezing the fat on your body. he notices the way your thighs tremble around him, keeping your weight off of him. he frowns and presses your body down onto him, making you yelp.

“i don’t understand why you’re so conscious of this. you are well aware i press more than your weight when i workout, right? you’re light as a feather in comparison to it,” the corners of his lips quirk up at the way your cheeks flush at his comments. you tussle with your hair, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“of course i know. but i would break your face. your face and arms cannot handle the same weight. even you know that, haiyyi,” you copy his frown, but it appears so much cuter on you. no matter how much you try not to look at him, your eyes can’t help but be drawn to his face.

he’s gorgeous to say the least. sculpted by the gods themselves, even. his smug smile, the way his hair frames his face perfectly, the soft stubble he’s grown over the years of marriage. his strong hands tug your body closer to his face, dragging your clit across his abs. you gasp in his hold, pressing down on his chest. he chuckles and it’s the most beautiful sound ever.

it’s heavy, weighing as much as those weights he presses every tuesday, thursday, and saturday, yet it’s so effortless and light. your heart skips a beat at the sound.

“why not test that theory out? you spantamad scientists don’t do any experiments anymore? me retiring changed the akademiya so much?” there’s this smug tone in his voice that make your blood boil. you want to shut him up so damn bad. he cocks an eyebrow, before you sigh and hover your body over his face. alhaitham rubs your thighs, smiling into your skin.

he leaves small kisses along your inner thighs, palms squeezing at your ass. he lets out a sigh of relief when his nose brushes against your clit and his eyes flutter closed. he leaves a small kiss on your clit, before pulling you down onto his face.

you slick coats alhaitham’s chin and the stubble growing along his jaw tickles your skin. your stiffle a moan, biting your thumb as alhaitham’s tongue sinks into your heat, pressing it against your hole. he hums gently at the taste of you filling his senses.

the way he laps at your clit has you pressing your weight into your knees instead of comfortably resting on his face. he pulls away from you to catch a breath, but also to speak. he pinches your hips before saying,

“if you’re going to ride my face, fucking ride it,” there’s a slight impatience in his voice that makes your stomach do backflips. you feel yourself gush at his words and alhaitham knows he’s won this argument. finally, you rest your weight onto his face, grabbing at his silver locks.

your hips stutter against his face, the curve of his nose bumping against your clit making you keel. your head falls back, letting out soft moans of alhaitham’s name.

“hayyi..please! oh fuck-“ you’re so whiny, so needy it’s pathetic, but alhaitham relishes in the way you need him. he slips a finger inside of you, curling it so nicely, your thighs shake around his head. he laps at your clit like a parched man, silently begging for you to cum.

you feel the tension building between your hips as your rock them, feeling the rhythm alhaitham has set for you. he groans into your cunt, feeling the way you tighten around his fingers. alhaitham swears he could’ve cum from the way you moaned and whimpered above him. your whines are music to his ears.

finally, what he’s been waiting all morning for has arrived. that knot inside your body snaps, making you jerk against his face, your cum dripping into his mouth. he moans at the taste, his cock twitching in his pants. he finds himself drinking up your slick so desperately, however he doesn’t feel ashamed in the slightest.

as you let out deep breaths trying to calm yourself down, alhaitham moved you to rest on his hips. you look back down at his messy hair and emerald eyes that gaze up at you with admiration. however, in a few seconds that stupid smirk is back on his face.

“seems like you were wrong. i survived, baby.” you know you’ll never hear the end of this, but you guess when you find alhaitham between your thighs again tonight, it doesn’t seem like stroking his ego every now and then isn’t a horrible price to pay for hours of euphoria.

© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms

[incorrectbatfam]

[Duke's first week at the Manor]

[Monday]

Alfred, bringing breakfast: Master Duke, it's time to get up.

Duke, yawning: Good morning, Alfred.

[Tuesday]

Bruce: *barges in*

Bruce: We're leaving in two minutes, get up.

Bruce: *yanks the curtains open*

Duke, as the light burns his eyes: My retinas!

[Wednesday]

Dick: Yo nerd, Bruce said get up.

Dick: *shoves Duke off the bed*

Duke: Why?!?

[Thursday]

Damian: *stands over Duke's bed*

Damian, whispering: Hello.

Duke, jolting awake: Oh my God, what the heck?!

Damian: Father says it's time to wake up.

Damian: *disappears*

Duke: He's like a freaking sleep paralysis demon.

[Friday]

Jason: *bursts through the door with a crowbar*

Jason: YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!

Duke: Jason, this isn't Ethiopia!

Jason: FOR GOTHAM!

Jason: *throws a grenade*

[Saturday]

Stephanie: Hello, it is time to wake up!

Duke: Hey Steph, just give me five minutes and then we can go for waffles.

Stephanie, excited: Waffles?!

Duke: No no no no no—

Stephanie: Yay!

Stephanie: *sprints out the door*

Duke: *facepalms*

[Sunday]

Cassandra: Hey.

Duke: *wakes up*

Cassandra: Hey.

Duke: Hey.

Cassandra: Hey.

Duke: Oh, okay.

Cassandra: Hey.

Duke: Yeah.

Cassandra: Hey.

Duke: Okay.

Duke: *gets out of bed*

[later at night]

Tim: Hey Duke, it's past midnight. You know what that means.

Duke: Psychological trauma?

Tim: Psychological trauma!

Tim and Duke: Yaaay!

Tim: *ambushes Duke with batarangs*

Duke: *screams*

[number1mingyustan]

- Cuffing Season-

His Distraction

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

Warnings: established relationship, size kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex (they almost get caught), creampie, cum stuffing, teasing

Summary: You are his weakness, always and forever

Word Count: 2.4k

_______________________________________________

Your heels click with each step on the tile floors and resound through the office. You navigate the large space easily as you make your way through the familiar surroundings. You already know your destination and exactly how to get there, to Mingyu’s office.

Familiar faces greet you as you walk around, small waves and acknowledging smiles. You greet them all back before you find yourself standing in front of his secretary’s desk.

“Hi Paige,” You smile. “Is he in?”

Paige smiles back at you. “Hi Y/n, yes he is. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Oh there’s no need, I’ll just make my way in.” You grin.

“Okay! Have a nice afternoon Y/n.” She replies.

“You too Paige!” You wave as you walk up to Mingyu’s office.

You knock on the wooden door eagerly. You hear a muffled ‘Come in, it’s open!’ in response. You open the door, seeing your handsome boyfriend sitting at his desk.

He looks up at you and his eyes light up immediately. “Hey baby.”

He stands up as you make your way over to him. You kick the door closed with your foot and he pulls you into a hug.

His embrace is warm and comforting, as always. He holds you close to him and presses a quick kiss on your lips.

“What are you doing here?” He questions.

Disappointment floods your veins. You pull away from the hug slightly and look up at him with a slight frown. “We have plans… for lunch. The new Italian place on Fourth.”

“Ah shit,” he mentally face palms himself. “I’m sorry baby…. I completely forgot. I have a huge meeting in 30 minutes that I really can’t miss.”

“But Gyu…” you pout.

“I know baby, I’m sorry.” He leans his back against his desk and pulls you in closer. He draws small circles on your lower back. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“They handmake their breadsticks babe. I was really looking forward to it.” You frown.

“We can always order in from Olive Garden.” He shrugs.

“Olive Garden isn’t real Italian food Gyu. And their breadsticks are just frozen and reheated.” You roll your eyes.

He pulls you in closer, wedging your body between his thighs. “And their breadsticks are still good, love. I spoil you too much.”

You pout and lean your head into his chest. “You know it’s not about the breadsticks Gyu.”

He strokes the top of your hair softly. “Yeah I know… I’m really sorry. I’ll cancel my whole day on Thursday and take you out. Thursday is a light day for me, so I can afford to miss it.”

You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “You’d really do that for me?”

He nods and pushes your hair out your face while looking down at you. He smiles sweetly. “Of course.”

He presses a kiss on your lips and moves his hands to your waist. "Thanks, Gyu." You smile.

"Anything for my girl," He beams.

You find yourself smiling like a schoolgirl. It's so difficult for you to contain your happiness around him.

"Can I stay until your meeting at least?" You ask.

He nods. "Of course, I have to do some more prep for it, though. I can't talk to you much."

" 'S okay, I just wanna be near you." You tell him honestly.

He pulls you in closer to him with gentle hands and places a soft kiss on your lips. "You're the best, you know that?"

You grin and shrug. "You've told me once or twice."

Your faces remain close and your eyes remain locked. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he stares at you. He can feel his heart beating outside his chest.

It's beating rapidly, and he fears you might be able to hear it. Even after all these years together you still have that schoolboy effect on him.

You brush his hair back with your small hand gently and lean in. You close the gap between your faces and kiss him lightly. It starts off slow, lips moving against one another gently and sweetly.

But Mingyu can't help himself.

He pulls you onto his lap slowly. He feels the weight of his office chair push lower to the ground.

The kiss grows heated as you make yourself comfortable on his lap. Your hand cups his cheek and his tongue slips into your mouth. You can feel the desire burning in your chest.

Your hands begin to wander, trailing from his chest down to his V-line. It's not until you grab at his belt that he comes back into his senses.

"No," He pulls away.

You have a lustful look clouding your eyes as you lick your lips slowly, reminiscing in the taste of him on your tongue.

"I haven't even done anything!" You giggle.

"And we're keeping it that way. My meeting is in like 20 minutes." He lifts you off of his lap.

"You know we could be done in 5," you smirk. "But fine, your loss." You shrug.

He shoots you a glare, adjusting his pants yo hide the semi he’s sprouting

You sit down on the couch he has in front of his desk. with a smirk painted on your face.

"It's so hot in here," You say. You allow your coat to fall off your shoulders, fully exposing the dress you have on underneath.

It's one of his favorites. He bought it for you on Valentine's day last year and it's been a while since you've last worn it. You can hear him inhale sharply in an attempt to keep his composure.

He looks down at the papers on his desk to avoid looking at you. That simply won't do.

You reach into your purse and pull out your handheld mirror and your lip gloss. You stare at yourself, applying the gloss to your lips. The second Mingyu heard you rustling in your purse, his attention was on you again.

His pants felt a little tighter and his heart was beating faster. He couldn't tear his eyes off of you. What you were doing was so simple, yet so effective.

Once satisfied, you rubbed your lips together and closed the little mirror. You shift your eyes toward him and smile sweetly.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" you feign innocence.

"Don't distract me."

"I'm not trying to distract you," You lie. "You're the one that got all handsy and messed up my lipgloss. You're the only one to blame here."

He exhales shakily and submerges himself back in his work.

A soft thump on the carpet takes his attention away again. Your lipgloss lay right next to his desk despite you being seated on the other side of the room.

"Can you get that for me, love?" You smile innocently, batting your eyelashes at him. "I dropped it."

"No," he grumbles. "I'm working and you're very capable of picking it up yourself."

"Fine."

You stand up, walking over to where your lipgloss landed and bend over slowly. It gives Mingyu the perfect view of your ass, and you know he's looking.

While he may look it, Mingyu is not the strongest soldier.

"Fuck it."

He tosses his suit jacket to the side and clears off his desk.

You squeal excitedly when he grabs you and bends you over his desk. He hikes your dress up with ease and stares down at you with hungry eyes. He pulls your panties down to your ankles and begins rubbing quick circles on your clit.

You let out a soft moan from the relieving pleasure.

With his free hand, he tosses his tie and begins undoing the buttons of his shirt. He tosses it onto his chair and unbuckled his pants. He allows his pants and underwear to fall to his ankles, all while your arousal coats his fingertips.

"Can't really prep you baby, you gonna be okay?" He asks.

You look back at him with a grin and nod. "You know I can take it."

It's all he needs to hear before he's lining himself up with your entrance and slipping his cock into you. You both moan in unison at the feel of his stretching you open.

He can feel the way you open up for him. It's something worth relishing in. The tightness, the warmth, the wetness. It's everything he needs right now.

Eyes closed, Mingyu is overwhelmed and completely enthralled by you. He tips his head back as his length reaches deep inside of you. His brain can't even fathom how well you're taking him right now with no prep.

"Oh fuck," he whispers.

"That good huh?" You grin. There's a tease in your voice that ignites a fire in him. You revel in his weakness. Something about having the larger man so weak for you has you soaking his cock and sucking him deeper into you.

His big hand finds its way to your neck, pressing your head down against the desk. It forces your upper body down and your lower body up, giving him a better angle to fuck you in.

"Yeah baby," he nods even though you can't see him. "That fucking good."

He bites down on his bottom lip and draws his hips back. He begins thrusting into you, causing your ass to recoil with his every movement.

His balls slap against your butt with each thrust. The filthy sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room. He slips into you so easily, drowning in the way your arousal coats his length.

Your breathing grows heavy as you try to hold yourself back from moaning too loud. He fills you up so well, tip hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you with every movement of his hips.

"Ah- Right there Gyu–fuck," You whimper.

"Can't be too loud baby," He groans. "Didn't lock that door."

Your eyes shift up to the door in front of you. You whine, and allow your head to fall in your arms on the desk. "Your cock feels so good."

His large frame continuously pushes against your backside. He loves fucking you at this angle. You're so much smaller than him, and he can clearly see the way his cock disappears into you with each thrust.

The sudden knock on the door causes both of your hearts to drop.

"Stay quiet," He demands. "You've already caused enough trouble."

He's quick to slap his large palm over your mouth and muffle your moans. His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady below him.

"Mr.Kim." Paige says from the other side of the door.

"Y-Yeah?" he responds.

"Just a 10 minute head's up on your meeting! I know I sent it to your calendar but Y/n came by and I wanted to make sure you didn't forget."

Even now, he can't find it in himself to stop. He's still fucking his cock into you with his assistant speaking to him on the other side of the door. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. His thrusts have slowed down but increased in force.

You let a moan slip that causes his hand the press down on your mouth harder. Out of anger, he thrusts into you even harder, knocking your body into the desk beneath you.

"Is everything okay Mr.Kim?" she asks.

"Yeah. Reviewing the n-notes for the meeting right now."

"Okay, well the board room is all set up and I'm about to fax the last document to you as well."

"Fuck," he groans softly.

He cannot cum right now. Not with his assistant standing right outside the door. But you're moments away from an orgasm and the way you're gripping him is making it increasingly difficult to hold back.

"T-Thanks Paige." He manages to get out.

"You're welcome Mr.Kim," she responds from the other side of the door.

Mingyu can't even hear a footstep before your legs start shaking and he has to press the palm of his hand harder down on your mouth. You grip the desk tightly and your eyes roll further back into your head.

Your cunt is throbbing around him and he can feel himself losing it. Your pussy hugs him, squeezing just enough that small spurts of cum shoot right from his tip.

"Shit.." he groans.

His hips lose rhythm and his thrusts grow sloppy. He pumps his full load into you as his grip on your hip tightens. You let out a soft moan of satisfaction when you feel him fill you up.

His cock throbs as he releases into you. He leans his chest over, meeting your back. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder before standing to his full stature and pulling out of you.

You whine at the loss of contact, but he quickly plugs you back up with his fingers. He pushes his cum into you, refusing to let any of it drip out before he pulls your panties back up for you.

You stand back up with shaky legs and turn around to face him. You look up at him with a fucked out expression that makes his cock twitch.

He nudges your face back playfully while grinning. "Fuck, you've ruined me."

You fix your dress. "It's not my fault you get distracted easily.

He begins redressing himself and you hand him his suit jacket. "It is when you're the one distracting me."

You grab his tie, raising yourself up onto your tippy toes and redoing it for the taller man. You sit down on the desk and pull his tie so he's at eye level with you.

"Don't worry, you're gonna kill it in this meeting." You grin.

He doesn't break eye contact with you.

"I was only distracting you cuz I know you're prepared. You'll be fine baby." You lean in. "Hear me?"

He nods. "Thank you."

You press your final kiss on his lips and stand back on your feet. You adjust your dress one last time and put your coat back on. "I'm heading back home, you'll be fine babe." You assure him.

"Yeah," he agrees with you.

He grins, opening the door for you to exit. He can't help himself, smacking your butt as you make your way out. You look back at him with a shocked expression on your face.

"Mingyu!" You whisper-yell.

He shoots you a cheesy smirk. "I'll see you at home."

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[undercoverpena]

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

[laurenairay]

hopeless hearts just passing through - J. Hughes

This my entry for @wyattjohnston’s low-key lovefest 2k24 prompt list challenge. I chose “stop making promises you aren’t going to keep” from the angst list and “you’re the only person I wanted to see tonight” from the fluff list.

Summary: Jack had messed up, again. Can he make it up to you this time, or is it too late?

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: light angst, Jack being a dumbass, some bad language, fluff

Title from: I was made for loving you, by Tori Kelly

~

Thursday 28th December

[7.00pm] You’ve reached Jack. I’m obviously not here right now so leave me a message after the beep.

[7.25pm] You’ve reached Jack. I’m obviously not here right now so leave me a message after the beep.

[8.00pm] You’ve reached Jack. I’m obviously not here right now so leave me a message after the beep.

“Hey Jack, guess you’ve forgotten our call. Again. By now you probably have other plans tonight? Just… please give me a call when you listen to this.”

~

Friday 29th December

Morning came without a phone call. You didn’t know whether you were surprised or not, if you were being honest – this wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten to call you while on the road like he promised he would. This time though it felt different. Maybe it was because the two of you had spent a wonderful happy Hannukah & Christmas together only days before that hurt you the most. Maybe it was just because you believed Jack when he promised. Either way, this time you couldn’t let it go – it was a matter of principle.

You made it through your entire morning routine, getting washed and dressed for work, eating breakfast, packing your lunch into your work bag, before your phone started to ring. Jack. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, wincing as you slipped into your shoes and grabbed your hooded coat, bag and keys on the way out the door. You weren’t going to be late, not for him.

“I’m on my way to work, I really can’t talk right now.”

You answered bluntly, pinning your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you put on your coat the moment you stepped into the elevator.

“I am so sorry baby.”

Really?

“That’s really all you have to say?” you snapped, picking your work bag up off the floor now that you’d zipped up your coat.

“What else can I say?”

You were stunned for a moment, lips parting. The nerve of this guy.

“Oh I don’t know, how about what you’re actually sorry for?” you said, the sarcasm in your voice barely hiding your anger.

You heard him huff out a breath, perfectly in time with the elevator doors opening on the ground floor of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry I missed our call. I know I promised to call you but I just totally forgot. The guys were all excited about a mario kart tournament and I really wanted Luke to finally get in on the action!”

“Please don’t blame your brother for your mistakes.”

Jack inhaled sharply over the phone. You could almost picture his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say, just as he usually did in person, so you just waited for him to speak as you trudged down the street to your usual bus stop.

“I’m sorry. For blaming Luke and for upsetting you. It won’t happen again, baby, I promise.”

Yeah, okay. As if that was the first time he’d said that.

“Stop making promises you aren’t going to keep,” you said sharply.

Jack was silent for a moment or two.

“What do you mean?”

His voice sounded so small, so quiet, like he finalised realised the depth of how badly he’d screwed up. Good.

“You know what I mean, Jack. I’m not asking for the world – I know your team will always be priority. I’m just getting sick of never even crossing your mind at all. Even a text to say a mario kart tournament had started last minute would’ve been better than being fucking ghosted by my own boyfriend,” you groaned.

Thankfully there was no-one else at the bus stop to hear your cursing.

“Baby, please, I can do better. I will do better.”

He was clearly panicking, voice full of desperation with whatever he was reading from your own voice. But you just sighed, not really sure what to say because this wasn’t the first time so would it really be the last? Could you really believe him?

Before you could think of an answer to his pleading, your bus came into view as it turned the corner onto your road. Clearly this was a sign.

“I have to go, my bus is here,” you said softly.

“No baby, wait please, I-”

You ended the call without letting him finish, already feeling a headache coming on as the anger washed out of you. This was the last thing you needed after the heartache of last night – his panicked pleading. It wouldn’t help his case when he was so far away, not when you were this frustrated with him. The best thing for you to do, rather than tumbling into saying something you would regret, would be to give yourself some space, some breathing room.

Something that Jack clearly didn’t agree with as he immediately called your phone again.

Thankfully the bus pulled up right at that moment, so you felt justified in ignoring him, slipping your phone into your pocket as you flashed the driver your bus pass, focusing on finding a seat for your commute.

It was all you could do to keep your face neutral, trying to ignore the overwhelmed tears stinging at your eyes as your phone continued to buzz for most of your journey.

~

As you suspected, your morning at work was terrible. Not only did your mild headache turn into a fully formed one, but you were clearly giving off ‘leave me alone’ vibes because your colleagues steered clear, leaving you to stew in your emotions in peace. Not even a walk outside during your lunch break did any good – you still had a headache, the food you packed was so-so, and you had three emails to deal with that were really not your problem.

Didn’t people know that sending emails between Christmas and New Year was pointless?

“Hey, you’ve got a delivery.”

You jerked your head up from your computer to see your office receptionist standing next to you with a gigantic bouquet of flowers – white and pink roses, to be precise, around three dozen. What the hell?

“Uh, thanks,” you murmured, forcing a quick smile as she passed the bouquet over.

You tried desperately to ignore the whispers and stares around you as you spotted a card. Really you knew there was only one person who would send you flowers, but you still opened the small envelope with shaking hands anyway.

‘I’m sorry. Jack xx’

A simple message but it still made your heart ache.

That, and it made your lingering headache pound more. This was so typical Jack, wanting to do some sort of grand gesture which in technicality was very sweet but also so not what you needed right now. You didn’t need the reminder that things were shaky between you two. You didn’t need the stares and attention from your colleagues, all of them now knowing that something was wrong from your reaction. And you didn’t need to carry the bouquet home on the bus with you, the unresolved tension between you and Jack hanging over you like an axe.

Or, well, like a bouquet of 36 flowers, bigger than your head.

“Oh honey, what did he do?”

You winced at the pitying voice of your colleague, smiling sadly as you shook your head.

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” you said softly.

She nodded, smiling sadly back.

“Well if you change your mind, message me and we’ll go for coffee,” she said, voice quiet, trying to give you a modicum of privacy.

You just nodded, thanking her quietly in response, and she left with a squeeze of your shoulder. She meant well, you knew she did, and hopefully this interaction would stop anyone else (especially those who loved to stir drama) from approaching you too.

It was all you could do to put the flowers on the side of your desk, trying to ignore everything they represented. You had work to do – thinking about Jack right now was not going to do you any good.

When your phone buzzed a couple of hours later though, you still read the messages that Jack sent, one after another coming in.

~

[3.22pm]

From: Jack I got an email saying the flowers had been delivered. I chose white and pink roses to symbolise how much I love you and my loyalty and how sorry I am. I know that I messed up and I understand why you’re upset with me. But please give me a second chance?

~

He'd looked up flower symbolism. He specifically chose white and pink roses because of their meaning. What were you supposed to do with something so romantic when you were this frustrated with him?

Fuck.

With a sigh you pulled up the Devils schedule on your phone, confirming the date in your mind that he’d be back from his roadtrip. He was still in Ottawa today and then Boston tomorrow…but he would be back on New Year’s Eve. You could work with that.

~

[3.35pm]

To: Jack The flowers are beautiful. Thank you. I am still upset with you, but I will hear you out. If you want to talk, come to mine on NYE. I have no plans.

~

The two of you hadn’t discussed any parties or plans at all for New Year’s Eve, even though you had assumed Jack would’ve dragged you somewhere in the end. But this was better. You needed time alone with him because there was no way you could face him for the first time after all this while surrounded by other people. Putting the ball in his court was the only way to keep your sanity at this point.

With another sigh you put your phone down, raking a hand through your hair as your eyes lingered on the colourful blooms on your desk. They really were beautiful.

You weren’t surprised when it took mere minutes before your phone buzzed again.

~

[3.37pm]

From: Jack I’ll be there. I promise.

~

Saturday 30th December

[11.15pm]

To: Jack Sorry about the loss. You’ll get the Bruins next time.

~

[11.20pm]

From: Jack Thanks ❤️

~

Sunday 31st December

You hadn’t spoken to Jack since texting him after yesterday’s defeat. Mostly because you knew he was travelling, but also because you knew that him coming over to yours tonight was when you really needed to speak.

For some reason you were a little nervous. You didn’t know what it was really that had you furiously cleaning your apartment, but those fizzing bubbles ran all through your body the whole day. It didn’t help that you had no idea what time Jack would come over. Assuming he was still coming over, that was. No, he had promised, and he knew how you felt about promises. At least you hoped he had learned his lesson on how you felt because you weren’t sure of how much more you could take.

Tonight had to be your deciding factor on protecting your heart, you knew that much.

When you’d scrubbed and rearranged and hoovered all that you could, you showered and dressed up in a comfortable black velvet tea dress, curled your hair and put on a little make-up before putting some wine in the fridge to chill. It was New Year’s Eve after all, and you knew that if Jack didn’t turn up by 9pm, your friends had insisted that you go over to theirs to celebrate the new year together. It felt good to know that you had a safety net because if Jack didn’t show tonight? You were done. And you knew you’d need the support of your friends to get you through.

Fuck.

You really hoped he showed up.

When it got to 6pm, you put some soft music on, hoping to drown out the silence of your apartment, feeling like an idiot for just sitting around waiting for him. What if he didn’t show up? What if he let you down again? What if this was the end of your relationship? What if…

Bzzzzz

The buzzer for your apartment crashed through your swirling thoughts and you quickly jumped to your feet, cheeks heating with how ridiculous you felt.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. Can you let me up?”

Jack. He came.

You didn’t answer, just pressed the button to let him in, trying to keep yourself calm as you paced to and forth while you waited for him to take the elevator up to your apartment. In all reality it didn’t take long, but after the last few days it felt like a lifetime.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

You huffed out a laugh at your awkward greetings, stepping aside to let him in.

“Thanks, uh, for inviting me over,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t sure what time you would come. Or what you were doing tonight,” you murmured, shutting the door behind him.

Jack groaned, walking further into your apartment, you following silently. “I should’ve texted. Fuck, I should’ve told you exactly what time I was coming over, but I got so caught up trying to find the right thing to wear and dropping Luke off early at Nico’s and…”

Oh bless his heart. He was going straight into it then.

His rant trailed off as you pressed a finger to his lips, responding to your amused smile with a shy one of his own.

“You look great, Jack – you always do,” you said simply, dropping your hand back to your side, “But I actually meant if you had other plans around this like parties you were going to go to.”

Jack immediately shook his head, face more serious than you’d ever seen it.

“You’re the only person I wanted to see tonight,” he said firmly.

Oh fuck. Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, Jack taking the chance to hold both of your hands.

“I messed up. I know I messed up. I haven’t been treating you with the respect you deserve and missing even one call with you without letting you know why is unacceptable…”

Wow. This was far more than you had ever expected from him, and your heart ached with the emotion he was putting into his thoughts. Maybe he’d rehearsed this with Luke, maybe he was winging it, but you could tell in his eyes that he meant every word. He was right – you hadn’t been respected like you deserve. Could he really turn himself around though?

“…I really am sorry, baby. I love you so much and I can’t bear the thought of losing you. Please, will you forgive me?”

The confidence in his voice wavered a little, voice cracking with the emotion of his words, and you felt a pang radiate through your chest. You’d never seen him look so vulnerable before. Maybe you needed to see it.

As you formed your thoughts, you kept your hands in his, squeezing to let him know you were processing so he didn’t panic or shut down. That was the last thing you wanted or needed. This was a lot, and it was important that you said what you really meant.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to dive straight into this.”

Jack winced slightly, lips parting, but you shook your head. No, it was your turn now.

“You really hurt me, Jack. I appreciate that you understand that, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I was hurt. I don’t ask for much and you couldn’t even give me the bare minimum,” you started.

The whimper that escaped from his throat just about broke your heart, but you barrelled on.

“I deserve more. I deserve better. I deserve respect, you’re right. I just…I really hope you’re the one that can give that to me,” you said softly.

As your words sunk in, a hopeful smile quickly spread across his face.

“I get a second chance?” he grinned, making you huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, Jack, you do. But you won’t get a third. I don’t like feeling like I don’t matter and you can’t do that again,” you said, hoping he understood how serious you were.

Jack nodded, squeezing your hands.

“I won’t let you down, baby. I almost lost you once by being a careless asshole, I won’t lose you again,” he said, smiling.

Oh how that smile gave you butterflies.

“I love you,” he said again.

It didn’t matter how long you’d been together or how many times he said it – hearing those words fall from his lips made your heart race every single time.

“I love you too,” you said, finally smiling back.

Jack whooped, throwing his head back in celebration, making you burst out in laughter, even more so as he dropped your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, picking you up to spin around in a circle. Ridiculous, ridiculous man.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You just clutched at his shoulders as he murmured the words over and over again in your ear, hoping that this time, his words would be true.

[luveline]

Jade, my beloved!! <3

What about reader going over to Eddie's trailer and Roan starts clinging to reader, and Eddie tries to apologize but reader absolutely does not mind at all and happily carries Roan around? (The way you write kiddos is so sweet😭)

omg YES thank you . girl dad Eddie forever <3 | fem!reader

You and Eddie (and Roan, his mirror image daughter) have been on one date.

It's not easy getting to know someone when they bring their baby but you'd figured it was the only reasonable option. He's gonna have her for the rest of his life and you wouldn't have it any other way besides, so you'd told him to bring her and you'd stuffed her full of chocolate cake. You'd wanted her to like you.

You might've done too good a job.

Eddie called you after the date — the next morning, to your delighted surprise — and told you how much fun he had. How he'd love to see you again. You'd enough butterflies to lose your mind and told him absolutely, yes, but what day's good for you?

So your next date is a week away. You're eager to see him again. You're excited to see his daughter, too, because she'd been lovely and sweet, quiet though she'd certainly known how to throw a tantrum.

Eddie calls you two days after the first phone call and says, "Listen, do you want to come over for dinner?"

"Now?"

"If you're not busy."

So here you are. Standing outside of his trailer home in Forest Hills Trailer Park with a teddy bear in one hand and a bottle of sparkling cider in the other, nervously shifting from foot to foot and wondering if maybe you should've brought wine. Or beer. But no, right? He has a baby. Kind of.

You knock and wait. There's scrambling feet, obviously smaller footsteps pittering over the floor and then a bang against the door. You flinch and wait.

"Hello?" you call.

"Oh, shit," someone says from further away. "I'm coming!"

"Shit," a little voice echoes.

"No!" Eddie calls, horrified.

Quick footsteps. The deadbolt slides free and the door opens.

Eddie's shepherded Roan behind him just enough to let you in. "You can't say that, babe. It's a bad word," he tells her, face hidden behind a sheet of messy curls.

Roan doesn't take any notice of him. She's stopped dead behind him in an actual princess dress. Tiny clip on earrings hang from her small earlobes and her dark curls are pulled up into dainty pig tails. Her lips part and expose the pink of tongue and all her pearly baby teeth, and then she screams.

"Yes!" she says, and throws herself at you.

Her arms wrap around your legs and her face rubs into your thighs. When you don't hug back she looks up at you with wide brown eyes, all her dad's, and blinks.

"Baby, you can't-" Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand across his jaw. "I'm sorry," he apologises.

You hold out the teddy bear and the cider and he takes both on instinct. Hands free, you lean down to give Roan a tentative hug.

"Hi, princess. I'm happy to see you too, and in your lovely dress! You look so pretty," you baby-talk, bubbly and light and very, very enamoured by the warmth of her small body clutching your thighs.

"She- I said you were coming and she told me she had to wear the princess dress," Eddie explains.

You turn your attention from your cuddle and find him as handsome as you'd left him last Thursday. He's dressed not nearly as fancy as he had been, though this feels more him. A band t-shirt, a pair of black jeans. His tattoos play stark over the length of his arms.

This is more like it.

"Yeah? Good, she should wear it. She's pretty as any princess I've seen."

Eddie tries to separate your clinger so he can shut the door but Roan adamantly refuses it.

"Up," she says, hands grabbing.

"Roan, Y/N doesn't want to-"

"Up please!"

You don't have a clue how to pick up a toddler so you squat down. Roan wraps her arms around your neck and squeals with happiness as you stand. The tulle of her skirt is scratchy under your palms.

"You really don't have to," Eddie says. He sounds worried.

You meet his eyes and try to adjust your hold until she's comfortable as you say, "Hey, it's okay. If it's okay with you?"

He's still for a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's okay," he says softly.

You smile until he smiles back.

Roan pulls away from your neck to touch your neck. You shiver at her cold hands and rub up the length of her back. "Are you cold?" you fret.

"She just had an ice pop."

You raise your eyebrows at him. Dipping your head toward your shoulder, you fix your knowing gaze on Roan. "Is that so? What flavour do you like? No, let me guess..." You take in the purple at the corner of her mouth and beam. "Grape yeah? I like grape too. You have good taste."

"Can I get you a drink?" Eddie asks, wielding the apple cider.

Talking to Roan is a piece of cake. Talking to her dad is nowhere near as easy. You feel like you're in school again as he watches you, your lips curving into a funny excuse for a smile.

"Please."

He disappears to the kitchenette. You press Roan's chest to yours and search their living room for details, curious and hungry to know more about them. They've got a thousand things, not a lick of space between toys, so many toys, pinks and purples like a wave carpeting the floor.

There's a small square table painted pink outfitted by saucers and teacups. There are three chairs, two pink and plastic and one a wooden drum stool, and at each sits a teddy bear.

"Having a party?" you ask.

Roan nods at you. "A tea party."

"A tea party!" you echo, impressed by her neat pronunciation. She's precious when she isn't on her knees screaming.

"For Teddy," she says.

"Yeah? Which one's Teddy?"

She turns to the table and points at the pink bear with a missing ear.

"Why don't you finish your tea party, Roan?" Eddie asks, then says to you, quieter, "You can put her down if you want to."

You take that as a You should put her down now and start to bend. Roan wraps her arms around your neck and clings, knees digging into your sides.

"No," she moans miserably.

"Baby," Eddie starts.

"No," she says again, meaner. You swoop her back up toward your chest, worried she'll start crying.

You feel awkward because it's obvious Eddie is embarrassed by her showing off. She starts to whine loudly and he gets worse, sending you an apologetic look as he approaches.

You can hear the apple cider sparkling away in the glasses in his hands, he talks to her that gently. "Roan, Y/N can't hold you all night, baby. She wants a drink. You don't like carrying Teddy all day, do you?"

Roan cries.

"It's really okay. I don't mind, I promise," you say.

The 'I promise,' comes out ridiculous. Too warm. Too genuine.

Eddie beams at you, almost haphazard. "Okay, awesome, because she's about to go nuclear and I don't think we'll survive it."

"Does she scream?"

"Full nine yards, slaps her hands on the floor, rolls around."

You gasp. "No! No way, do you really show off like that?" you ask her sympathetically. "I can't believe you'd ever do something like that, you're such a sweetheart. Is your daddy telling me lies?" You stroke down her cheek until she laughs, tickled. "He's lying, isn't he?"

"If you stick around long enough you'll see."

You don't flinch. "I can't wait."

Roan giggles wildly as you tickle down into the crease of her neck. You laugh in response, completely infected by her joy.

"She has a really lovely laugh," you praise.

"She's not the only one," Eddie says seriously.

You meet his gaze over her bunches and wrinkle your nose at him when he winks.

He's a real charmer when he wants to be. You're just dying to be charmed.

-

more eddie and roan

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 41 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley really does have to work late, you spend a fun evening with Noah, but Bradley starts to realize all the ways his life is holding yours back when you go out with friends. Then as soon as you let Bradley see you in your formal dress, he wants to take it off of you. In fact, it'll be a miracle if the two of you make it through the retirement party at all.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, spitting, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Your phone screen lit up with a call from Bradley just as you shoved the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth while you were typing up a patient's chart. "Hello?" you managed while you chewed.

"Baby, I'm going to be late today. For real," he said, sounding a bit cautious. "Here, talk to Nat. You're on speaker."

"Hi," came his best friend's voice as you finally swallowed. "He's stupid and annoying, but he's not lying. We're staying late with the new mechanical crew to learn about an update."

"I'm assuming you're calling to make sure I can pick Noah up?" you asked as you smiled. It almost made you feel good that Bradley was being so cautious this time around. 

"Yeah. Can you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, perfect. I know I've been asking a lot of you," he said, his voice soft and deep. "But I trust you with everything. And I'll make it up to you."

Now you were smirking as you looked around to be sure none of your coworkers were around. "Are you going to make it up to me in our bed or in the shower, Daddy?"

He made a strangled noise and you heard Nat shriek in the background. "Baby, I said you were on speaker," he whispered. "Well, now you're not."

You had to stifle your laughter as you said, "I need to go. I'll get Noah from daycare. And then I'll try my pretty dress on for you if you're good, Daddy."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Yeah, I'll be good. I'll be so good."

You had to squeeze your thighs together at the prospect of making him beg. The retirement party for Admiral Bates was just a few days away, but you hadn't let Bradley see you in the purple dress yet. For the past few days, ever since you told him what Casey said to you, Bradley had been letting you hold all the cards. When he came home from work that day and told you that Casey shouldn't be a problem for you anymore, you gasped. He told you what he'd said to her, and then you gave him a blowjob. 

"I'll see you at home later tonight," you told him softly. "In my pretty Princess dress."

"I can't wait."

"Oh, and don't forget I have happy hour with my work friends on Thursday."

"I'll make absolutely certain I leave work on time on Thursday," he promised.

When you made it to the preschool to pick Noah up, you smiled at Casey. "Oh, hi. I'm here for Noah," you told her, annunciating each word like she was very stupid. She rolled her eyes and handed you the clipboard as you asked, "No bakery box today?"

She didn't acknowledge you or say a single word as she walked to the classroom door and went inside. You filled out the sheet on the clipboard, smiling as you saw Bradley's signature from earlier this morning. Then Noah came streaking out toward you. "Can we take Skittles on a hike?" he asked as he ran into your arms. 

"Of course," you told him, kissing his soft curls as you practically threw the clipboard at Casey and led Noah outside. "Daddy will be home late, so we can do whatever we want."

His face lit up as you buckled him in his car seat. "Can we get ice cream?"

You pretended to consider your answer before saying, "Of course we can get ice cream!"

You drove home with the windows down and the kid friendly playlist on. When you stopped at a traffic light, you turned around to sing along with Noah. And when you parked your car in the driveway, you carried him inside while you sang the dinosaur song together. 

"I love you so much," you told him as he wrapped his arms around your neck. You unlocked the front door and went right to the crate in the kitchen. Skittles was looking up at the two of you with the biggest, sappiest brown eyes you'd ever seen. Well, other than the ones the Bradshaw boys frequently gave you. 

Noah squirmed out of your arms and went to open the crate door just the way you showed him how. He was so gentle with the little pup, and she whimpered and whined until she was able to lick Noah's hands and face. "Come on, Skittles," you called as you opened the back door. She limped her way across the kitchen floor, and you had to force yourself not to pick her up since she was supposed to be moving around on her own. It was bad enough that Bradley carried her around all the time. She looked at you, and you bent to ruffle her purple bow before she wandered outside to the grass. 

"Should we go get ice cream first and then eat dinner after that?" you asked Noah with a smile.

"Yeah! We can pretend it's opposite day!"

"Great idea."

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

When Bradley got home, he was irritated. The mechanics took forever to get everything in order so he could sign off and leave for the day. The downside of being responsible for his jet was that he was really responsible for every little detail. When he let himself inside, he could hear the bath water running and laughter coming from the bathroom. 

He poked his head inside to find you kneeling on the floor next to the tub while Noah played, and you were both giggling. Skittles perked up and ran for Bradley, and then Noah saw him too. "Daddy!"

You whipped your head around to face him with a bright smile on your gorgeous face. "Hi, Daddy. You'll never guess what today is."

"Tell me," he said as he walked in still wearing his flight suit and boots, scooping Skittles up in one hand. He knelt on the mat next to you with a soft groan and then buried his face against your neck with a little nip. "I'm dying to know," he whispered as he kissed your ear. Then he reached for Noah and kissed his wet cheek as you turned the water off. 

"It's opposite day!" Noah exclaimed. "The water is dry, and I don't like dinosaurs," he said before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

"Opposite day?" Bradley asked, pretending to need help with the concept while Skittles licked his face. "Can I have another example?"

"We had ice cream before dinner!"

"Noah," you scolded playfully. "You weren't supposed to tell him that!" You eyed Bradley sheepishly. "We did end up eating dinner... just after dessert."

He kissed your cheek. "You're the best Mommy ever. You make everything fun."

"Were you good today?" you asked softly while Noah claimed all of his rubber duckies were sinking when they were clearly floating. 

"So good," he promised. The way you bit your lip reminded Bradley that it had been a few days since you and he had sex. He thought maybe you were ovulating, but it didn't really matter. He needed to do a better job of keeping you full regardless. 

Things had just been a bit hectic, and the tiny dog in his hand was evidence of that. If you got pregnant, things would get even wilder around here, but he didn't mind it. He actually craved it at times. And when he reminded himself that he finally had a teammate in you, things always felt manageable. 

"I have an idea," he said as you washed Noah's hair. "After this, I'll get Noah in bed and let Skittles out one more time, and then you can take your time getting ready while I get a shower."

You nodded. "Did you hear that, Noah? It's time to wake up instead of go to bed."

He laughed again. "Will you read me a good morning story?" he asked Bradley.

"Absolutely, Bub," he replied. "I mean... no, I won't? Opposite day is confusing."

When he got Noah to change into pajamas under the guise that he was really getting dressed for daycare, Bradley heard you get into the shower. Once Noah was tucked in, he took Skittles outside. The bedroom door was closed, so you must be in there putting on your purple dress for the retirement party. He couldn't wait to see it.

Bradley got in the shower and took his time, but he was yawning almost nonstop. He needed to get it together so he could fuck you if that's what you wanted. He'd made a lot of promises about that kind of thing, and he didn't want his age to start catching up with him. "Shit," he mumbled as he toweled his hair off before wrapping it around his waist. 

But he shouldn't have worried. As soon as he walked into his bedroom, Bradley stopped short. You were bending and petting Skittles in her little dog bed, but you really did look like a princess. 

"You're wearing your crown," he rasped, and you stood to your full height and turned to look at him. "Jesus." The purple dress was indeed two pieces, and the top was beaded and very tastefully showcased your tits. Then the skirt was some sort of sheer flowy materials in a million layers, and Bradley wanted to run his hands all over it. But not as much as he wanted to run his fingers along the strip of your skin that showed just above your belly button. 

"You like it?" you asked, twirling for him as you brought one hand up to hold your paper crown on your head. "You paid for it," you said with a laugh. 

The fabric of the skirt swung around your body and moved with you. Bradley was entranced. "Yeah, I like it," he whispered. "Everyone else at the retirement party is going to like it too." Maybe a little too much, but there was nothing to be done about it now. And Nat was right when she'd said you would look incredible next to him in his dress white. "Fuck."

"Daddy," you gasped, looking up at him as his towel fell away from his waist. He was half erect, and he hadn't even touched you. All he had to do was look at you or smell you, and he was ready to go. 

You were standing very close, but you didn't let your hands meet his body, and you seemed too perfect right now for him to touch you without permission. Just like actual royalty. "Princess," he whispered as you licked your lips. "Will you let me pull that pretty skirt up and fuck you?"

In response, you brought your hands up to your hips and jutted your chin in the air. "That was very lewd, Daddy." He grunted as the fabric of your skirt brushed along the head of his cock. He could smell your body wash as you ran your hands up to your top and over your breasts. He could practically taste your pussy as his mouth watered. "You better start begging."

Your gaze followed him as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his face in your skirt. He kissed the soft layers as he asked, "Please, Baby? I'll do anything you want. Just let me have your pussy. Please."

You brought your fingers up to stroke his cheek and run your thumb across his lips. "You can do better than that."

His cock was throbbing now. "Anything you want. I'll get you off just right. You know I will. I'll worship you." He kissed the soft skin just below your beaded top with the gentlest touch of his lips, and you moaned his name.

Bradley kissed and nuzzled his nose against you, whispering please over and over again before you finally said, "Stand up." He was on his feet immediately, cock at attention and cheeks warm. "Don't mess up my dress," you told him, running your fingertips along his abs as you walked over to the bed. You bent at the waist with your arms and cheek pressed to the soft bedding. You looked so innocent and perfect with your teeth digging into your glossy lip, but you sounded dirty as hell when you said, "Come fuck me, Daddy."

Bradley growled as he reached for your hips through all the layers of your pretty skirt. He forced himself to go slow, pushing the fabric up inch by inch and savoring the way it felt in his hands. Eventually your perfect thighs gave way to your wet pussy, but then Bradley's head tipped back as the most ridiculous noise escaped his lips. 

"Baby," he moaned, rubbing his cock all over your ass and through your wet warmth as you gasped and grabbed at the bedding. You were wearing your purple plug and puckering around it beautifully. So needy, the way you were grinding forward against the edge of the bed. "This is fucking gorgeous," he crooned, gently pushing on the base of the plug and giving you more pressure. 

You rolled your hips back against his hand and raised up on your tiptoes. He knew you wanted your pussy full as well as your ass, and he was going to give you his cock and his cum. Eventually. But first he knelt behind you as you whined, and he pinned your hips in place. "Bradley," you gasped, trying to fight the hold he had on you, but he wouldn't allow it. With your voluminous skirt pushed up to your waist, Bradley kissed you from behind and swiped his tongue through your wet folds. 

"Oh," you gasped loudly, trying to thrust back to meet him.

"Shh," he warned, pressing your plug with his nose. "I'll fuck you just right, but I want you to cum on my mustache first."

It took almost no time, not with how sensitive you were. He debated edging you until you squirted for him, but he figured it was better to ruin the dress after the retirement party. So Bradley ate your pussy like the meal it was until you were on the verge of tears. Every long stripe of his tongue had your legs shaking a little harder. He just wanted a little more before he let you come. So he licked up to your plug and spit, watching his saliva drip back down to your pussy as he finally let you have a little pressure on your clit with his middle finger. 

"Daddy!" you nearly screamed as he rubbed you with steady circles. Your hips jerked as you got his mustache even wetter, crying out against the bedding. But Bradley didn't stop the motion with his middle finger. He kept going as he stood and smiled at your face buried between your fisted hands. 

"That's a good girl. Keep nice and quiet." 

He fucked you, bending over your body and gently kissing your back as he rammed himself deep a few times. You felt somehow even fucking tighter when you were wearing the plug, and Bradley made sure he pressed it deeper as he railed you. 

When he kissed your shoulder, your pussy clenched around him. He wasn't even sure if you were still on your first orgasm or if you'd started to come again, but either way, he felt like your knight right now. When you turned your head to take a deep breath, your crown rolled off, and Bradley watched you look back at him as he fucked into you and bottomed out.

"Am I allowed to come, too?" he grunted, leaning in and licking at your glossy lips. 

"Yes," you whispered, kissing his tongue before he stood at his full height, grabbed you by your hips and thrusted and unloaded. 

Bradley ran one hand up along your beaded top, stroking your bare skin when he came across it. He listened as you hummed and laughed softly while he looked at your purple outfit, your purple plug, and your purple crown on the bed. He'd never had anything so bright in his life before you. 

"Don't mess up my dress," you reminded him, and Bradley just stood there with his cock still inside you and his hands full of fabric. 

"Well, what do you suggest I do back here, Princess?" he asked as you giggled and reached your hands back to hold some of the fabric. You bunched it up higher as you slowly stood, and then Bradley could feel the cool beads of your top against his abs and chest. 

"I think it's safe," you whispered. Bradley withdrew himself, and with a grin, he dropped to his knees behind you. He watched his cum drip down your inner thighs, and when you tried to press your legs together he told you no.

He shoved his hand between your thighs and whispered, "No, it's too pretty," as his semen dripped right from your pussy to his palm. "God, it's so fucking pretty." He kissed along the backs of your legs and the base of your plug, but he didn't move his hand until his palm was coated. 

When he stood again, he whispered, "I'll go get a wet washcloth so I can help you get undressed." But before he could leave the room, you met his eyes and raised his hand to your lips to kiss his cum covered palm and swiped your tongue through it. "Oh, shit," he groaned, watching as you cleaned him up. "How's that taste?"

"Mmm," you hummed, licking your lips. "Good. Like me and you."

His mouth was on yours immediately, needing to taste it for himself as he wrapped his still wet hand around the back of your neck. His tongue met yours, and he tasted himself there along with the sweetness of your pussy. "God damn, Baby. I hope I can keep up with you."

You nodded as he pressed some soft kisses to your lips. "You always do."

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

On Thursday, you were getting ready for happy hour with your coworkers when Bradley walked into the bedroom. "You look pretty," he said as you applied some of your lip gloss. You smiled at him in the mirror, and he walked a little closer. There was something about you this week that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he had the urge to fuck you nearly nonstop. 

"Thanks, Daddy," you sang as he rubbed his hand along your lower back. 

"Hey," he whispered, letting his lips meet your ear. "You think we have time for a quickie?"

You knew. You must have known by the way you were smiling. He literally couldn't keep his hands off you. "You just like calling me your little cream donut," you replied, but you didn't say no. 

"I really do," he said, reaching for your jeans zipper, but you took his hand in yours and pulled it away. 

"We don't have time," you scolded, kissing his lips and lacing your fingers with his. "You need to get Noah in the car so you boys can drop me off."

"Who's driving you home again?" Bradley asked, needing to be sure you wouldn't get in the car with anyone who'd been drinking. 

"Sarah," you told him, cupping his cheek gently. "She's seven months pregnant. The hardest thing she'll be drinking is ginger ale."

"Alright," he agreed, letting you finish up as he put Noah in the Bronco. Then he drove you and dropped you off at a trendy looking bar in the Gaslamp Quarter which was filled with people your own age. 

"Looks like a bunch of hipsters," he mumbled as he parked in the loading zone at the curb. He could almost imagine Greyson and his idiot friends hanging out here, and he reached for your hand. 

You laughed as he kissed your fingers. "Everyone under thirty looks like a hipster to you. And I mean that with love."

"You don't look like a hipster," he said, brow furrowed as he looked at your hand and briefly wondered why he hadn't taken the time to buy you a ring yet. 

"I see them," you said, pointing out the window before you leaned in to peck his lips. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way home." Then you crawled halfway over the seat and kissed Noah who was already yawning. "Night, sweet Noah," you whispered before kissing Bradley one more time and hopping out. 

He watched you wave to the group of other nurses he'd met briefly. All of them were around your age, and sure enough he saw Sarah with her pregnant belly. He looked at your elegant body; you looked so damn young, but you seemed older than twenty four. And you'd look just right with a belly like that. Bradley groaned and put the Bronco in drive when he saw a group of guys walk toward you and your coworkers as you were about to head inside the bar. You ignored them in favor of waving to Bradley, and he did you the service of waving back before he started driving home. 

You trusted him, and he trusted you. That was all there was to it. He refused to let Casey try to upset you with her bullshit, and you wouldn't chat up random guys. 

"I miss Mommy," Noah said as he yawned again. 

It had literally been five minutes since you got out of the Bronco, but Bradley honestly said, "Me, too." 

And he felt like an idiot after he let Noah eat the ants on logs you left for them. It was nights like this when he started to feel like he was holding you back. He still had engagement rings open on his phone internet tabs, and he knew you'd say yes when he asked. You and he had talked about forever. But these nights out would become almost nonexistent if you got pregnant and there were two kids to look after. 

Noah whined for you at bedtime, and Bradley had to bribe him with extra books since he couldn't have another goodnight kiss from you. Luckily that kid was usually asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but once he was out, Bradley was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to watch TV and even attempted a nap on the couch until you got home. He ended up drinking a beer and holding Skittles on his lap as she licked at the condensation on the bottle. 

"You are begrudgingly very fucking cute," he told the pup as she curled up on his thigh with her casted leg sticking out straight. He petted Skittles until she was sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a soothing rhythm. Bradley finished the beer as he tried not to think about you, which only made it worse. But he kept telling himself you wouldn't still be here right now if you didn't want to be. You'd stayed through Meredith and all of Bradley's bullshit, and you were still here now.

His phone vibrated with a text. My Princess: I'll be home soon!

Home. It was your home, too. You belonged here. So maybe he was supposed to miss you a little bit on nights like this. Perhaps it was normal to notice that your warmth was missing from the room. 

He closed his eyes, about to doze off, when twenty minutes later, you came bursting through the front door. Skittles carefully jumped off his lap and ran to see you as you pulled your shoes off. You looked a little exasperated as you bent to pet the dog before heading his way. 

"Did you have fun?" he asked, about to stand, but you headed right for his lap.

You groaned and settled in so you and he were chest to chest and you tangled your fingers up in his hair, your purple painted nails grazing his scalp. "Everyone my age is exhausting," you said before claiming his lips.

He rubbed his hands up your thighs and smiled against your lips as he asked, "You prefer the older crowd?"

You kissed the side of his neck and yawned before letting your cheek rest on his shoulder. "You know I do. I'm crazy about you and your checkbook and your inability to use a smartphone correctly."

"Well you came to the right place," he whispered. "I have all of the old man shit for you right here."

You giggled before kissing his neck again. "I love you."

Bradley wrapped his arms around you and held you close. This is where you belonged. "I love you, too. You want me to take you to bed?"

You yawned again and said, "I was thinking about you all night, you know? Dirty stuff."

"Dirty stuff?" he asked as you nodded. 

"Mmhmm. You wanna fuck a baby into me?" you asked as your fingers loosened in his hair and your hand came to rest on his chest. "We could do that," you murmured, your lips moving along his neck. "If you want."

Bradley chuckled and held you a little tighter. As much as he loved fucking you, he loved taking care of you even more. "Let's go snuggle, Princess." He scooped you up and carried you to bed where you immediately fell asleep in his arms.

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

"This was not a good idea," Bradley murmured as he paced around his living room in his dress whites with his uniform hat in his hands. When he peeked out the front door, Amelia Benjamin was holding Skittles on a leash, and she and Noah were blowing bubbles. He checked the time and groaned. "Such a bad idea."

He could hear laughter coming from his bedroom, and he had to fight the urge to walk back down the hallway and knock on the door again. He knew what the response would be if he asked how much longer it was going to take before you and Nat were ready to go.

"You can't rush perfection," he mumbled to himself as he rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. You already looked perfect all the time. And Nat always looked the same. So he didn't really get the point of the two of you spending the entirety of Saturday afternoon doing each other's hair and makeup just for Admiral Bates' retirement party. It was at the Botanic Garden; it would probably be so humid and crowded inside, everyone would look gross after an hour anyway. 

"Jesus," he grunted when he heard two female voices laughing about mascara. He stood and walked to the kitchen, considering making himself another cup of coffee to help him stay awake all night while he rubbed elbows with his superiors, but then your voice sounded louder. He returned to the living room and waited.

"I think your hair looks perfect," you said as Nat walked in wearing a pretty black dress that hugged her figure. Bradley could appreciate that she seemed to have more makeup on than normal, because her eyes looked bigger and more playful than usual. 

"You look nice," Bradley told her, but then his jaw dropped as you strolled in like you dressed up to impress every day. That purple dress. Fuck. He would always associate it with taking you from behind on the bed. But you looked incredible. "Holy shit, Baby."

"I know," you said with a grin as you spun into his arms. "Nat did my makeup." You kissed his lips, and Bradley didn't even care if that dark lipstick left a mark. Shit. He kind of wanted you to kiss him all over right now. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, cupping your cheek in his palm. You looked the same as you always did, really, with just a little something extra to drive him crazy tonight. 

"You look good, too," you said, running your fingers all over his service pins before taking his hat and plopping it down crooked on his head. He ran his hands down the back of your beaded top and pulled you snug against him. "We'll have a lot of fun with all of this later, Daddy."

Nat cleared her throat and clapped her hands. "Well, on that rather disturbing note, let's get going." 

Bradley looked you up and down one more time, kind of wishing you and he didn't have to go to the event at all. But Amelia was already here to watch Noah and Skittles, and if he didn't get you and Nat into the Bronco soon, you would all be late.

"After you," Bradley said as he opened the front door for Nat to talk outside. When you tried to follow, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close again as you laughed. "Not you," he whispered. "You're mine, Baby. I want you with me all night, okay? No wandering off. You know how those Navy guys can be."

"Oh, I know," you replied as he ran his hand along that little strip of skin that showed above your skirt. "They can be very handsy."

"Mmm," he hummed as he looked down into your eyes. "So you'll stay with me?"

"Yeah. I'll stay with you."

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

Princess is going to look so pretty at the Botanic Gardens. Wonder if she'll end up with that skirt pulled up around her waist again. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 42

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[hiraiologist]

keep you in my mouth (and hope to never take you out)

hirai momo x f!reader

synopsis: at first it’s a party. then it’s a study session. then it’s like you’re addicted to her, and you find yourself caught up in everything that is hirai momo.

tags/warnings: ambiguous location but college/university setting, alcohol, drugs, parties, mentions of throwing up, smut (strap, cunnilingus, overstimulation, begging), fluff!, light degradation (reader is referred to as whore and slut lul), friends to lovers, switch!momo ??? idk but momo’s the best girl :]

a/n: i haven’t written for fun in… over 5 years? not since i was in high school… so i'm extremely out of practice SORRY! i’ve definitely regressed (T_T) i wanted this to just be a quick way to get back into writing, so its not all that articulate or anything. i started this last thursday when i was off work bc i was sick and bored, and i was gonna post it over the weekend but then with seollal and going back to work, i kinda forgot about it. partially ib my own college experience :p i feel obligated to say don’t do drugs and don’t drink underage but…! title from flashing room by 2am club. not proofread!

the resounding thump of the bass sinks into your skin, replacing the steady beat beneath your ribs.

you feel a body next to you—someone’s pushing past you across the room, their sweat smearing across your exposed forearm. it’s damp and uncomfortably cool, an off-putting and striking contrast to the heat of the crowd. you stop dancing and frown. you turn to your left, pinching a piece of your friend’s shirt between your fingers, wiping the sweat onto the dark fabric. chaeyoung stops moving to the music and swats your hand away.

“what are you doing?”

“someone touched me,” you wrinkle your nose. “it was sweaty.”

“so you wiped it on me instead?” the shorter girl glares up at you, though her eyes twinkle with mirth—or maybe it’s just the reflection from the led light strips on the walls. she pulls out her phone to check the time. “i need another drink before we go. c’mon, let’s go find tzuyu and dahyun.”

you shrug as the two of you link fingers and begin to find your way back to the makeshift bar for more drinks. you’re already drunk—yooyeon’s playing bartender tonight and you’ve been taking advantage of it as much as possible.

“ladies,” yooyeon greets as you approach her table. she spreads her hands over a few stacks of cups filled with red liquid. “what can i get you this time?”

the options are pretty limited. actually, there’s really only one option: a delightfully strong mixture of jungle juice made oh so lovingly by yooyeon and jiwon.

“you’re hilarious,” you say flatly as you roll your eyes at her. she just cackles and starts fixing up two new cups. “have i ever told you that you’re my favorite bartender?”

“that’ll break jiwon’s heart,” she replies with a laugh. “but i won’t tell if you won’t.” she holds out the drinks with both hands.

chaeyoung accepts one of the cups and takes a long swig. “hey, we’re actually probably heading out soon. going to a kickback with some friends,” she says to yooyeon. you take the other cup and swallow some of the jungle juice. it’s your third cup of the night, so maybe you’re just drunk, but it tastes divine. you’re pretty sure that, at the very least, it tastes better than the tequila shots you’d downed earlier with chaeyoung before leaving your apartment.

yooyeon pouts. “why?” she leans in towards the two of you. “don’t go. you guys practically just got here.”

you shake your head. “no can do. we promised jihyo we’d go to her place tonight.” on another night, you might stay, watch jiwon do a few lines in the bathroom, drink more alcohol until your vision starts to blur, maybe let yooyeon or jiwon—or both—put delicate hands up your shirt and leave bruises on your hips. tonight, though, you’re going to a kickback held by one of your closest friends, jihyo, and you’ll consume enough substances to ensure you wake up with your head pounding, mouth dry, body aching all over.

it’s going to be fun, you think to yourself. you chug some more jungle juice, finishing your cup more quickly than you’d intended. chaeyoung’s texting tzuyu, instructing her to meet you guys by yooyeon’s setup. as the alcohol sets into your bloodstream, your skin warms, a muted blush settling on your cheeks.

chaeyoung spots tzuyu and dahyun walking towards yooyeon’s table and waves them over. yooyeon pours two more drinks and offers them out to your friends as they approach.

“thanks yooyeon!” tzuyu happily tips her cup back into her mouth. dahyun does the same, though she only takes a small mouthful. you’re pretty sure she’s sober. you’ve been at the house for about an hour, but you know she’s only been occasionally stealing sips from everybody’s drinks instead of just getting one of her own. really, you’re a little grateful that she’s not drunk—you know that by the end of the night, most of you will be too inebriated to get home properly without help. dahyun’s always been a little less raucous than the rest of the girls, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. dahyun hands her barely-touched cup to you to finish and you flash her a playful grin with a wink.

“finish your drinks and we’ll go. i’ll go ahead and call an uber now,” dahyun directs while pulling out her phone. the rest of you nod and tap your cups together in a cheers. a few moments pass before dahyun slips her phone back into her pocket and announces, “okay, he’ll be here in… six minutes. jihyo said nayeon and mina are already there.”

yooyeon makes eye contact with you. “will you guys come back later?” her eyes are hopeful, bright—she’s more a puppy than a party girl. but you’d rather be with your other friends, so you just shoot her an apologetic expression.

“not tonight,” you shake your head. “but maybe we’ll see you later this weekend or something?”

before yooyeon can respond, you hear someone squeal from a few feet away. “guys! what are you doing here?” you all turn to find sana skipping towards your group, a huge smile on her face.

“sana!” the four of you yell simultaneously, pulling her into hugs with each of you. she’s beaming wildly. you didn’t know she was here; if you’d seen her earlier, you would’ve dragged her onto the dance floor and probably made her your drinking buddy. sana’s a little older than you and she’s infinitely cool. you’d met her at a party last year, where she’d pulled trig for chaeyoung after knowing her for about an hour. you’d all instantly fallen for her, and she was a welcome addition to your group. sana was confidence and optimism wrapped in sex on legs—but she was also undeniably cute, with her bubbly personality and squishy cheeks. she’d easily become one of your closest confidants, spending time with you every week, showering you with affection and giving you advice whenever you were struggling. her status as a social butterfly also meant that she has a lot of other friends, so your group of four—you, tzuyu, chaeyoung, and dahyun—had rapidly expanded to a group of ten, with sana bringing her best friend momo into the fold, then jihyo, mina, jeongyeon, and nayeon with them. but sana’s infinite list of friends turns her into a pretty busy girl, so when chaeyoung had invited her out with you all tonight, she’d politely declined, stating her previously-arranged plans with momo and jeongyeon.

“i thought you were hanging out with jeongyeon and momo?” you look at sana in excitement.

“i am! well, jeongyeon had to go home early because she’s got a test tomorrow morning, but momo’s here. she’s talking to yoona right now,” sana points a few feet away at momo, engrossed in conversation with another girl you vaguely recognize. “wait, this is great! we can all hang out!”

“actually,” tzuyu interjects, “we’re leaving right now. but we’re heading to jihyo’s! nayeon and mina are there right now. will you come with us?”

“i’m down, but let me ask momo,” she giggles before bounding towards the older girl. she taps the girl on the shoulder and yoona offers them both a wave, walking off to find her friends in another room. sana starts to talk to momo; after a moment, she points over at your group and momo turns to glance at you all. her gaze seems to drag over you slowly. then she looks back at sana and says something, prompting sana to grin and tug at her arm, dragging the girl towards you. dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu all give her a quick hug and big smiles.

momo pulls you into a hug last, her firm arms wrapped around you tightly as sana exclaims, “momo said she’s down to go to jihyo’s!”

“we should probably head outside, then,” dahyun suggests. “it would suck if we missed our uber.” you all nod and start to find your way to the door. you quickly turn towards yooyeon and send her a wave. the girl perks up and shoots you a smile before you turn back around and follow chaeyoung out the house to the front.

you all stand outside, chatting idly amongst yourselves as dahyun watches for the right car to pull up. eventually, she spots what must be your uber and walks up to the vehicle, waving at the driver as they roll down their window. the rest of you trail behind her.

“for dahyun?” when the driver nods, she continues, “uh, so we have six people, actually. is that okay?” dahyun smiles sheepishly at the uber driver and bites her lip. he looks at you all warily and sighs.

“yeah, sure. it’s not like we’re going very far, i guess.”

tzuyu climbs into the passenger seat while chaeyoung scoots into the middle seat in the back. dahyun takes the seat to the right of chaeyoung, with sana climbing into her lap naturally. you quickly realize your predicament as the rest of the girls settle into the uber. you turn to momo and say, “you can sit on me. if that’s okay.”

the girl’s cheeks instantly turn the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. “oh! um, okay. sure. thanks.”

you open the door on the left and climb into the last seat. once you’re seated, you look back at momo and smile. she quickly gets in, sitting awkwardly on your lap. you reach for the door handle with one hand, close the door, then snake your hand around the girl’s waist, pulling her towards you more tightly. she squeaks a little, but shifts her body more to settle comfortably against you. your uber driver eyes you all in the backseat with a tired expression before driving off slowly.

“this top looks really good on you, by the way,” you say, lips twitching into a small grin. you play a little with the ends of her hair before dropping your fingers to brush along her shirt. she stares at the floor.

“thanks,” she replies quietly. her cheeks are red when she looks up and her eyes dart away when she notices you’re looking at her face.

the rest of the ride is filled by your friends’ conversations and your driver’s playlist coming low through the speakers of the car, your fingers rubbing circles into momo’s hip soothingly as you feel her take quiet, even breaths. you’re almost disappointed when the uber stops in front of jihyo’s apartment.

when you arrive at jihyo’s door, jihyo welcomes you all with a hug and ushers you inside. she leads you to the kitchen, where nayeon and mina are chatting next to the table covered with an array of drinks. you greet nayeon and mina with hugs as well, chatting with them for a minute before you decide to make a few cherry bombs for everyone. the girls seem to have found their spots in the apartment: tzuyu, dahyun, and chaeyoung are sitting on the floor in jihyo’s living room while sana and momo fumble with jihyo’s speaker system, squabbling over jihyo’s phone to try to queue up a few more songs. nayeon, jihyo, and mina continue to chat while they watch you in the kitchen as you mix cherry vodka with redbull. when you’ve prepared a few shot glasses, you offer them to nayeon and jihyo, knowing mina won’t be drinking. you all quickly down your shots and nayeon and jihyo excuse themselves to go find a game to play, leaving you in the kitchen with mina. she offers to take two of the shots over to sana and momo, and you agree. you grab the remaining three shots, find dahyun, chaeyoung, and tzuyu in the living room, and watch as they knock back their cherry bombs.

you plop down on the floor next to chaeyoung, letting out an excited giggle when she produces a small tin from her pocket and pulls out a perfectly rolled joint. as she lights it and begins to take a hit, you look towards the speaker where you spot sana and momo laughing with mina. you observe them for a moment before you feel chaeyoung tapping at your shoulder, offering you the joint. you take a hit and hand it back to chaeyoung. dahyun and tzuyu get up; you vaguely register them saying something about finding some ping pong balls. you and chaeyoung chat quietly, asking “would you rather” questions, passing the joint back and forth until eventually it’s reduced to nothing and you’re forced to stub it out. by now, the combination of the weed and alcohol has you feeling light and slightly dizzy, but it’s pleasant and you’re smiling a little dopily. chaeyoung pulls you up with her when she sees tzuyu across the room, setting up a table to play beer pong.

“tzu! i wanna play!” chaeyoung exclaims happily. “can i play?”

“sure,” the taller girl agrees easily. “you can be my partner. y/n, wanna play?”

“wait, who else is playing?”

tzuyu shrugs. “go find someone!” you glance around; mina’s sitting on the couch with dahyun, both tapping away at their phones. nayeon and jihyo are sitting at the table in the kitchen, already playing some kind of card game. you start to walk off to look for sana and momo and tzuyu calls after you, “oh, get sana! she needs to get on our level!”

you find sana in the kitchen with momo. you quickly grab another cup, mixing vodka with soda haphazardly, taking a big gulp as you bound up to sana. “i’m drunk,” you state the obvious with a giggle. “and you need to catch up! let’s play beer pong with chae and tzuyu!” you point your cup towards sana, who giggles back at you, takes the cup, shares a look with momo.

“thanks, y/n!” she hums as she sips at the drink. “actually, i think you might regret recruiting me for beer pong,” she winks at you and hands your cup to momo, who tilts her head at you for approval. you nod quickly and she takes a long drink before handing the cup back to you. “but momo would love to be your partner tonight!”

you beam at the other girl hopefully. “would you really? please?” momo looks at you with wide eyes, seemingly caught off guard. she sneaks a glance at sana, who just bats her eyes innocently.

“oh, sure,” she agrees quickly. “i’m down.” you cheer as you grab her hand and guide her towards the table where chaeyoung and tzuyu are setting up the cups and pouring beer into each one. you chug a bit more of your drink, which has dwindled down to just a few more mouthfuls. you offer the rest to momo, then pout when you realize you don’t have anything else to drink, making sana laugh from behind you. she walks back to the kitchen as you and momo take your places at one end of the table, chaeyoung and tzuyu at the other. it’s decided that you and momo will go first. momo gestures at you to go ahead, and you grab one of the ping pong balls and eye the pyramid of cups across from you.

before you can toss the ball, sana returns with two new drinks, places one on the small table by the couch. she points at it and says, “that’s for you, y/n. when you’re done playing.” she takes a sip from the other drink still in her hand.

“thanks,” you nod at her words, focusing intently on your form. you decide to just go for it, casually arching the ball forward, watching as it sinks cleanly into one of the cups in front of tzuyu. “yes!” 

momo whoops. “nice.” she offers her hand out for a high-five. tzuyu takes the cup, removes the ball, drinks the beer. momo quickly finishes off the drink you’d given her, adding it to the cup tzuyu drank to start a stack on the side, then moves to take her shot. she hesitates for quite a while before eventually throwing the ball. it bounces off the side of one cup, but falls into the one next to it. you cheer loudly as momo’s eyes widen and she turns to face you, a giddy expression on her face. you sneak a quick peck on her cheek, delight in the way the skin pinkens immediately as momo looks at you bashfully. chaeyoung takes the cup out, removing the ball before downing the contents inside. she boos half-heartedly but she’s smiling as she hands both ping pong balls back to you.

you immediately toss one across the table. it bounces off a cup and drops onto the table. you pout. “ugh. got too cocky. redeem us, momo!” but momo misses her shot, too, so you hand the balls to chaeyoung and tzuyu.

tzuyu tosses her ball quickly and it immediately falls into a cup in front of you. you grab the cup, take the ball out, drink the beer, add the cup to the stack. chaeyoung takes her position, squinting momentarily across the table before shooting the ball, landing it in a cup next to momo. the older girl grabs the cup, takes the ball out and hands it back to chaeyoung before tossing the beer back into her mouth. a droplet of beer shines at the corner of her mouth. without thinking, you lean forward and wipe at it with your finger before popping it into your mouth to clean it off. momo stares at you, but you don’t seem to notice. tzuyu and chaeyoung take their shots again. tzuyu lands her ball in a cup—momo drinks it quickly—but chaeyoung misses hers. they hand the balls back to you and momo. you arc one ball perfectly into a cup. momo’s turn is kind of disastrous; she throws the ball towards the cups, but it ends up smacking chaeyoung in the tit.

“sorry!” momo squeaks. chaeyoung just laughs and waves her off. the game keeps going, but it quickly becomes obvious that chaeyoung and tzuyu are going to win. you only land your ball into the cups two more times, and momo misses every shot she takes, looking all the more distracted as each round passes. eventually, you and momo lose pretty spectacularly. jihyo and nayeon push you both out of the way to take on chaeyoung and tzuyu.

disgruntled, you grab the drink sana made for you and take a gulp. “i can’t believe we lost!” you wail as momo follows you to the kitchen.

momo shrugs. “we’ll get ’em next time,” she promises, wrapping her arms around you from behind. you settle against her with a sigh.

“you’re so…” you gesture a little vaguely at her body, “comfy?” you finish, pulling momo’s arms around you even tighter. “like, you’re firm. you have really nice muscles and... you know. but you’re super cozy.” she hums in your ear as you lift your cup to your lips again.

“thanks,” she laughs. “i mean, i eat a lot. but i work out a lot too.”

“oh, i’ve noticed. your body always looks so good,” you continue absentmindedly before you pull away from her to look her in the eyes, slightly embarrassed. “i—it’s not like i stare. i just mean i wish i had your athleticism, you know? i don’t really know how to work out, and i don’t have a whole lot of stamina.” that causes momo’s mouth to twitch into a subtle smirk and you flush. your tongue suddenly feels very dry, and you’re not exactly sure it’s cotton mouth.

“well, maybe i could help you with that,” momo quips before she steals a bit of your drink and starts to move to the music blaring from jihyo’s speaker, and it pushes you to dance as well. after a song or two, momo’s hands make their way around your waist and you let your arms wrap around her neck, your cup dangling over her shoulder. it registers in your mind that you like this—like momo pressed against your body, like big brown eyes twinkling as she grins at you, like momo’s laugh vibrating against your chest. you smile at her as you dance together, your friends jumping and singing along to the music around you as they toss ping pong balls at each other.

everyone else seems to be preoccupied, not paying any attention to you and momo. you hardly realize that momo’s been guiding you towards the bathroom until she pushes the door open, closes it behind you, shoves you against the wall. her eyes bore into yours, looking for your approval before she leans in to kiss you. you close the distance, bringing a hand up to cradle her jaw. it feels incredibly intimate as she runs a hand from your neck down your side, eventually resting it on your hip. you continue to kiss her softly, sighing into her mouth as she lets out quiet hums of approval. after a while, she licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp as things begin to progress quickly from there.

her teeth tug at the skin of your throat. you try to suppress a moan, but it rips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and momo laughs, kisses you again. “maybe,” she breathes against your lips, “we should get out of here.” you nod enthusiastically, connect your lips again, savor the taste of her peach chapstick. you follow her out of the bathroom. you go to the front door, grabbing your belongings while momo walks up to the rest of the girls, all still either dancing or playing beer pong, says to them, “i think y/n isn’t feeling great. maybe she drank too much? and i’m kind of tired anyway, so i’m gonna take her home. we’ll see you later.” she leans in to whisper something privately to sana, who squeals and shoves momo’s shoulder. then sana waves you both off, turning back to cheer jihyo on as she tosses a ping pong ball into a cup.

and then you’re out the door, stumbling as you walk the few short minutes to momo’s place, giggling as momo pulls you into her arms every few steps to kiss you exuberantly.

you’ve never actually been to momo’s apartment, you realize. it’s nice; it’s relatively simple, a comfortable lived-in vibe filling the space. in the back of your mind, behind the haze of tequila shots, jungle juice, cherry bombs, beer, and weed, you remember that this isn’t just momo’s apartment—this is also sana and nayeon’s new apartment, the three having just moved in together recently.

you follow momo to one of the rooms, presumably hers. as she punches the numbers into her keypad, you take a moment to check your phone. you have a text from chaeyoung.

text me when you get home please, it reads.

not sure when i’ll be home but i’m okay! i’m at momo’s, you respond before following momo through the door.

quietly, you take a moment to observe momo’s room. it’s cozy, photos adorning the walls along with a bunch of figurines momo must like. there are a few drawings hung on the walls, too, and if you lean in, you can see on each of them a signature that looks kind of like momo’s name.

before you can get a closer look, though, momo’s running her fingers down your arm, pressing feather-light kisses against the back of your neck and your shoulders. you turn and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a proper kiss as she settles her hands along your waist. she kisses you with vigor, smiling as you respond just as fervently. she pushes you lightly, the backs of your knees hitting her mattress, making you fall backwards onto the bed. she makes quick work of your clothes, pulling your top and pants off as she kisses down your skin. momo takes her shirt off and you stare at her muscular arms and abs in reverence. your jaw drops when she pulls off her bra next; her boobs are actually perfect. it’s like she’s not even real. she smirks as she pulls her pants down her legs and kicks them to the floor, shaking you from your daze. then she crawls back on top of you, leaves another hickey on your chest, strokes your hair.

“if you wanna stop at any point, just tell me.” her voice is gentle but insistent, and you nod.

“same here,” you respond, and she sends you a little smile that’s entirely too cute for her own good.

she undoes the clasp of your bra, throws it somewhere to the side and momo descends immediately, full lips around your nipple, sucking hard and assertive, the other one rolled between two fingers. after you begin panting, she switches sides, makes sure to pay attention to both of your breasts as you let out lewd moans and sighs.

you lose yourself like that for a while as she pleasures your tits before eventually she removes her mouth from your chest, shifts up a little, grinds down on your thigh—you can feel the heat from between her legs, the soaked fabric of her panties pressing down onto your skin. you let out a whine.

“you sound so pretty for me, baby,” momo breathes into your collarbone. she sucks a dark hickey at the base of your throat. you moan again, the sound vibrating against momo’s lips. you let your hand drift down towards her clothed core, rubbing circles against the wet spot on her panties. she lets out a whimper, and you push her a little so she sits up. you easily pull her panties off, let them fall to the floor. you use your fingers to tease at her folds, coating them in her slick. you start to rub circles on her clit and she lets out a series of breathy, high-pitched whines. you keep going like that for a while, momo pulling you down to make out with her as you stimulate her clit. soon, momo’s body is shaking. “i need your fingers in me, y/n,” she chokes out. 

you hum. “ask me nicely.”

“please, y/n. please fuck me with your fingers.” you lick your lips and nod.

you start by easing one finger inside her, thrusting in and out until she’s whimpering softly. then, you add another finger, curling them both upwards as you sink them into her pussy, caressing her g-spot. momo groans, low and sensual, as you start to fuck into her with your fingers. with each thrust, your palm makes contact with her clit, and eventually her head starts to loll back, loud moans rising out of her mouth.

you think you could get addicted to this—her sounds, her heat, her pleasure. it’s enough to get you dripping.

“i’m gonna cum,” momo gasps out. “oh, fuck—i’m—”

you nearly cum when her orgasm takes over, grunts and whines falling from her lips as she shudders and gushes onto your fingers. you slow down, rub at her clit gently a few times before eventually pulling your fingers out. you shove them into momo’s mouth. “suck,” you command, and she does so immediately, tongue flicking around your digits. “good girl.” you take your fingers out and immediately pull her into a kiss, licking into her mouth and tasting her cum on her tongue, sweet and tangy and a little salty.

yeah, you could definitely get addicted to this.

for a while, you kiss her like that, her heavy breathing eventually evening out as she recovers from her climax. slowly, momo slides her hand downwards, stopping at the edge of your panties. she circles the hem of your underwear, presses a kiss into your neck again. your breath catches in your throat. you’re positively soaked. momo moves down, settles between your thighs. she kisses at the wetness on your panties, reaches up, pulls them down your legs, over your thighs, tosses them away from the bed. she kisses your clit and you whimper. you look down and oh—she makes eye contact with you, smirks, licks into your slit, collecting your slick on her warm tongue.

momo sucks at your clit just as unrelentingly as she had your nipple, and you’ve always been so sensitive. you’re moaning, breath ragged, body shaking as momo licks at your cunt.

you’re so drenched, momo easily slips two fingers in and starts pumping them in and out. the feeling of her fingers curling into your g-spot makes you gasp, and she keeps darting her tongue against your clit, licking against your labia, spreading your wetness around her mouth. you moan loudly and your hands fall to grip at her head, grasping into her hair.

you let out a strangled, “oh fuck, momo, oh my god—” as her fingers fuck into you, tongue licking broadly against your folds and flicking against your clit. her lips wrap around your bud and she sucks, the sensation sending you over the edge. “momo, i’m gonna cum, ’m gonna—fuck—”

your body goes slack as you cum powerfully, momo still lapping at your folds, sucking around your clit and thrusting her fingers into you. eventually, she pulls away, lets you lay there as you recover, brushes your hair out of your face. she gets up off the bed and says, “be right back.” then she’s rummaging through her drawers as you close your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

you notice her shadow looming over you when she returns. “so,” momo breathes out, tugging at your hair. you let out a whimper. “i have something else i’d like to try with you, if you’re up for it?” you open your eyes and look at her, see the harness and pink silicone dildo in her hands. instantly, you sit up and surge towards her, kissing her desperately. she pulls away with a laugh and says, “i’ll take that as a yes, then.”

before you know it, you’re face down on the bed, on your hands and knees, elbows resting on her pillow, back arched and legs spread. momo runs her hands down your back as you shiver, grips your left hip, uses her other hand to rub the tip of the shaft along your dripping slit. she teases you leisurely and you quickly begin to grow impatient. you whine pathetically, “more. i need all of you. please, momo.”

momo’s mouth quirks up in satisfaction. “you’re a greedy little whore, huh?” but she complies, places the head against your pussy, pushes the tip in, doesn’t wait for you to adjust and slides the length all the way into you in one movement. you grasp tightly at the sheets beneath you, letting out a low moan. momo slowly pulls out, looks smug at the slickness spread along the strap, pushes back inside you with a giggle. she pulls out again, repeats the action, thrusting harder and quicker each time, hands gripping your ass firmly. she’s found a good rhythm and she lets out a deep groan. you feel yourself clench at the sound, thighs quivering as pleasure surges throughout you.

she continues to fuck into you deeply until eventually your arms begin to give out; she slows momentarily, pulls out completely, grabs your hips and flips you over so you’re on your back, staring up at her. she lines up the dildo against your cunt again, buries the shaft in you, but she doesn’t move. instead, she smirks down at you as you begin to whimper desperately.

“what is it, baby? use your words.”

“momo,” you gasp out, “please move, please.”

she tilts her head. you’re squirming, trying to fuck yourself on her dick, but momo’s strong, holding you in place, preventing you from finding your own pleasure. “beg properly,” she drawls, “and maybe i’ll think about it.”

“will you please move, momo? i’ll do anything, baby, please, i need your cock so bad,” you cry. “please fuck me, please i’ll be such a good slut for you, momo, just please move, please.”

“how cute,” she coos before she starts fucking you at the same pace as before, hitting hard and deep inside you every time. you’re gasping and grunting each time she thrusts, her round eyes shining in amusement as she stares down at you. you eventually break eye contact when you glance at her body.

the sight of momo’s toned abs and round tits glistening with a thin layer of sweat nearly makes you lose your mind, and you claw desperately at her arms. she starts rubbing at your clit with one hand, the other holding you down securely by your waist. the combined stimulation sends you into overdrive, and your breath hitches, vision begins to blur, body shakes frantically with momo’s name falling from your lips repeatedly as your orgasm ripples through every part of you.

as you come down from your high, momo slips out of you, making you exhale sharply as you adjust to the loss. you feel completely wrecked, pussy raw and sore from the intensity of momo’s actions. she quickly leaves to bring you some towels and a glass of water. she returns with a soft expression; the two of you lay together as she gently, carefully wipes you down. you sip at your water gratefully, finishing the entire glass, but you can feel fatigue engulfing your body. she practically carries you to the bathroom, where she lends you a spare toothbrush and leaves you to use the toilet. when you’re finished, she really does pick you up this time, setting you gently on her bed, pulling the sheets up over your body. you barely manage to whisper out a “thank you” before you’re passed out, surrounded by momo’s scent and breathing peacefully. momo just smiles, tucks your hair behind your ear, presses a soft kiss against your forehead. as you fall into a deep slumber, she gets up, folds your clothes and puts them in a tote bag, finds your phone. noticing your almost-dead battery, she plugs it into a spare charger. then she crawls into bed next to you, turns off her light, and falls asleep to the soothing rise and fall of your chest next to her.

you roll over, eyes sticky with exhaustion and haziness. your body aches, and you reach a heavy hand out to find your phone. you feel around for a few moments before your phone is pushed gently into your hand. startled, you blink a few times and sit up.

momo lays next to you, body half-covered by the sheets, lips cut into a smirk. “good morning,” she husks quietly. “sleep well?” you stare at her for a moment. you’re aware that you’re both still naked, and you try not to think about her flawless chest and delicious abs.

“uh, good morning. yes. yeah. uh, i… i did. did you?” your brain feels all jumbled and looking at momo doesn’t seem to help.

“sure did,” she drawls with a grin, all teeth and rosy cheeks. “your phone’s being blowing up all morning, by the way.” you look down at the device and unlock the screen. your notifications are flooded with missed calls and texts from your friends—sana and chaeyoung’s names seem to take up the majority of them. noticing the time, your eyes widen comically.

“holy shit,” you breathe, head snapping up to look at momo. “uh… fuck. i am so sorry.”

her head tilts, adorably confused. “what for?” she shifts forward, reaching for your torso. she tugs at you a little until she’s snuggled against your body, burying her head into your side and wrapping an arm around your midsection.

“uh.” it seems to be your favorite word this morning. “for staying here so long? i didn’t mean to fall asleep here, i swear.” momo just laughs softly and closes her eyes.

“i don’t mind,” she sighs into your skin. your heart starts to beat a little faster.

“are you sure?”

she hums. “yeah. i even made breakfast, if you’re ready to eat. i wouldn’t have done that if i weren’t okay with you staying here.” her tone is teasing, but you can feel the sincerity in her voice. it makes you blush.

you squeak, “you made breakfast?”

“mm,” she responds. “just before you woke up. should still be warm. you still like waffles, yeah?”

“uh,” you repeat. you mentally kick yourself—where is your eloquence? “waffles are… good. hey, is sana here? and nayeon?”

her lips twitch. “would i have made breakfast naked if they were?” you turn bright red. “nayeon decided to head over to jeongyeon’s last night,” momo continues, “and dahyun took sana home with her and tzuyu. neither of them will be back until later.”

“oh, okay,” you exhale. “right. so, uh…” you don’t quite know how to say the words.

“hey, if you’re worried about this ruining our friendship,” momo starts, fiddling with her fingers, “we don’t have to make it anything more than just a hookup. we don’t even have to mention it again, if you’d like. i don’t mind. it’s your call.”

instantly, you flush, embarrassed that she’s read you so easily. “i’m sorry,” you say quickly. “it’s just—last night was incredible, beyond incredible, and you were so good, really, but i just don’t want this to make things weird between us. you’re one of my best friends and i like being with you, you know?” stop talking, you think. momo raises an eyebrow and you can’t help but continue, “not like that—or, well, maybe like that, if that’s something you want, because i definitely wouldn’t be opposed.” oh my god, stop! talking! your cheeks are hot and you look down at the floor.

momo lets out a laugh and reaches for your hand, prompting you to look back up at her. “y/n, it’s okay. i’m not, like, offended or anything. i totally get it. i’d never want to jeopardize our friendship, either. but it doesn’t have to make things weird. because i also like being with you, whether it ends like it did last night or not. no pressure. we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. we can just go with the flow.” she sends you a comforting smile. “how about we eat breakfast now? before it goes cold.”

“sure,” you agree, “but i might need help walking over there.”

momo’s proud smirk that follows replays in your mind even weeks later.

when you’d come home the day after jihyo’s kickback, chaeyoung had asked about your sleepover at momo’s, but she didn’t seem to think much of it. miraculously, none of the girls had noticed the array of hickeys that momo had left all over your body, or wondered why you’d spent the rest of the weekend entirely in bed, only moving to get ready.

before you’d left her apartment that day, you’d mustered up the courage to lean in to kiss her, and momo had closed the distance before saying goodbye sweetly. you’d given in and texted momo not even two hours later, and ever since then, you’ve been chatting back and forth with the older girl, messages flirtier than they’ve ever been, tension accumulating as the weeks go by. you see momo a lot when you hang out with your friends, and nobody seems to think anything of it when she intertwines her fingers with yours or pulls you into frequent hugs, hands gripping at your waist. you hang out with her alone, too, though it’s all been completely friendly so far, with only your texts to insinuate there might be something else between you. you won’t say it to her, but you really wouldn’t mind if she just kissed you sometimes, or edged you in the bathroom during lunch, maybe.

on one morning, between classes, you go for coffee with her and sana—invitation extended by momo followed by a mouthwatering mirror pic of her, post-workout, abs gleaning with sweat and thumb hooked into the front of her joggers, along with the message working on my stamina. needless to say, you’d nearly forgotten about the coffee entirely.

“you guys seem to have gotten really close recently,” sana remarks as momo goes to pick up your orders. the two of you sit at a table, observing the oldest girl as she thanks the barista and starts to carry the tray back over to you.

“well, we were close before,” you say, trying to not sound too affected. “but i guess we have been hanging out a lot more recently.” momo takes her seat then, passing out your drinks and pastries. sana just hums and fails to hide a smile behind her cold brew. you cough.

before you head to your next class, sana pulls you aside as momo’s tossing away your trash. “just so you know,” she whispers, “i think you should go for it. if you like her, i mean. you’re totally momo’s type.”

before you can respond, momo’s standing in front of you, doe eyes sparkling as she swings her bag over her shoulder. sana winks at you.

you bid them both goodbye and make your way to class. it’s kind of funny—the entire time, all you can think about is sana saying you’re totally momo’s type. you try to ignore how the thought sets your skin on fire.

you have statistics class with tzuyu, jihyo, and momo every tuesday and thursday at 10 a.m.

only now, you start to notice momo—she always sits at the end of the row next to tzuyu, while you sit in between tzuyu and jihyo. momo’s quietly immersed in her phone most of the time. she doesn’t really take notes, or even listen to your professor. in fact, whenever your eyes find her, she’s always staring into space or typing something on her phone. sometimes you catch her with her notebook open and pencil scrawling something across the pages, but you can see she’s just doodling. you wonder what her grade is. after all, you spend half your time in this class playing games and texting with tzuyu, and the both of you are barely clinging to a low B as it is. jihyo, on the other hand, is always focused—her hard-earned A is the reflection of her determination and work ethic.

you subtly begin to switch seats with tzuyu so you can sit next to momo. tzuyu doesn’t really seem to notice or care, but one day, after a couple weeks, jihyo asks you about it as you slide into a seat, five minutes early for class.

“why are you sitting there?”

“huh?” you say smartly, pulling out your notebook and pencil. jihyo does the same, but she gives you a look.

“tzuyu usually sits next to momo. what, you don’t like sitting next to me anymore?”

“oh! no, that’s not it. uh, i guess i just didn’t notice.” you hope it comes out as casual as possible. jihyo gives you another look, which you ignore, and pulls out her stuff, settling into her seat.

“momo! hey!” at jihyo’s words, you nearly break your neck looking up so quickly. jihyo tries to stifle a guffaw.

“hey jihyo,” momo glances towards you and her eyes sparkle more brightly. “hi, y/n.”

“hi momo,” you reply breathlessly. again, you pay no mind to the giant grin jihyo’s sending your way.

momo drops into the seat next to you, scoots a little closer to you, her leg brushing against yours. your breath falters slightly. jihyo suppresses a cackle; you ignore her resolutely. “are you guys ready for the test next week?”

“wait, there’s a test next week?” you squeak.

“hey, you should’ve been paying attention,” jihyo tsks. “i invited you the other day to come to my study session. at least tzuyu actually showed up.”

“well, we can still study until the test,” momo offers. she glances at you. “y/n, what do you think?”

“oh, uh,” you look at momo. “sure. i could use the extra help. i mean, tzuyu and i…” you peek over at jihyo sheepishly. “well, yeah. i could use the extra help.” momo lets out a laugh and you blush.

jihyo rolls her eyes. “oh, now you want to study together? hey, you missed your chance.”

you wince. “sorry about that again. it’s just… well, i just didn’t feel like studying.” momo can’t help but giggle again at that. secretly, you’re preening inside at the sound.

“you can study with me,” momo leans closer to you. you stare at her, brain faltering at her close proximity. “i might not be a genius like jihyo, but i’m good. good enough to have an A, at least.”

you’re about to respond when tzuyu hurls herself into the seat between you and jihyo. “hey guys! did i miss anything?”

“hey tzuyu,” momo looks at her. “no, not yet. we were just saying we should study together again before the unit test, maybe next week?” you all agree and begin to make plans, but quickly quiet down when you notice the professor walk in.

the entire lecture, all you can focus on is momo—momo’s leg, pressed against your own—momo’s fingers, tapping every so often along the desk—momo’s perfume, something sweet and citrusy and a little powdery—momo’s jawline, sharp and gorgeous—momo’s eyes, huge and twinkling—

you don’t even notice when class ends, only registering it when momo’s standing up to leave, waggling her fingers teasingly at you as she exits the hall. jihyo and tzuyu gesture for you to hurry up and gather your things. you look down at your notebook, page completely empty save for the words stop staring at me in momo’s cute handwriting scrawled next to a heart.

jihyo and tzuyu exchange a look as you stare at the paper. when you peer up at them, jihyo just laughs. tzuyu rolls her eyes but sends a soft expression towards you. you suddenly feel very dizzy.

you’d spent the week trying to study to prepare for your statistics test, but you didn’t seem to get very far. now, you’re standing in front of momo’s door, textbook in hand with your bag slung over your shoulder as you knock gently.

jihyo and tzuyu had chosen to study on their own, with jihyo ultimately deciding that you would be too distracting for tzuyu to focus if you were together. she’d offered to study with you separately, but you’d instead jumped at the chance to ask momo to study with you. jihyo hadn’t tried to convince you otherwise, just giving you a knowing wink, and momo was more than happy to say yes.

the door opens to reveal a barefaced momo, dressed comfortably in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, doe eyes blinking at you behind big round glasses, fluffy hair falling softly around her face. your heart bursts at the sight. she beams at you before pulling you into a hug, shutting the door behind you.

“hey, you,” she greets you fondly. “ready to study, buddy?” you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

“i guess,” you respond. “but to be completely honest, i’m pretty lost on this whole unit. and not just because i usually spend half of lecture beating tzuyu at candy crush.” momo raises an eyebrow at that. “i mean, i’m not stupid or anything, but it kinda just doesn’t click for me. just to warn you.”

momo just shrugs, gives you a comforting smile. “that’s okay. i’m pretty patient.”

you follow her to her room and you settle on the floor, pulling out your materials. for a while, you’re determined and fully concentrated on your studies. momo’s not wrong: she’s extremely patient, and the way she explains things is direct and simple, and somehow, things start to fall into place, and you grasp the concepts from the unit fairly quickly.

but after a couple hours, your focus begins to waver, and you find yourself incredibly distracted by the slope of momo’s nose, the mole on her neck, the rosiness of her cheeks—

“you’re staring,” momo singsongs, breaking your train of thought. her mouth is configured in a lopsided grin. you blink. “again.”

“sorry,” you say, not feeling very sorry at all. “you’re just really… you know. pretty.”

“i’m pretty?” she smirks at you, leans into your personal space. you nod dumbly and she giggles. she tilts her head forward to capture your lips in a kiss, and you can’t help but sigh. despite her flirty behavior, it’s been almost two months since you’d last kissed, since you’d spent the night with her after jihyo’s party, and you missed it. you missed her.

the two of you collapse onto her bed and kiss lazily for a while; you relish in her gentle touches and natural beauty. she’s so pretty. she’s certainly handsome, too, you think. she’s honestly just the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen in your entire life. her lips are soft and full, dragging lightly along your jawline before she nips at your throat. you whimper quietly as momo bites down on you again.

statistics long forgotten, you take your top off, toss it to momo’s floor.

momo’s plump lips are pressing hot, wet kisses against the column of your neck. you try to keep your composure, but a guttural moan makes its way out of your mouth and you instantly flush red. momo pulls at your pants, tugging them and your panties down your legs.

momo eats you out until you’re trembling, chest heaving and nothing but moans and broken speech falling from your lips. her lips and chin glisten with your slick, but she just gives you a quick kiss before leaning back down and attaching her mouth around your clit again. you fall apart once, twice, three times—your clit throbs intensely, painfully, too sensitive to keep going. but you don’t tell her to stop, so momo doesn’t stop, and you really like that she doesn’t stop. by the time you’re shuddering your way into a seventh orgasm, you’re limp and mumbling incoherently. momo finally lets up, licks into your mouth instead, your own cum coating your tongue as she kisses you wetly, desperately.

you go home that night feeling complete—and momo completes you again and again and again for hours when you show up at her place a week later, a giant A displayed at the top of your statistics test.

you’re pretty sure you’re addicted to momo.

you hang out with the older girl constantly. you go to movies together, study together, eat meals together. you don’t even go out to parties anymore, unless it’s held by one of your friends, choosing to go out with momo instead. you can’t remember the last time you saw yooyeon or jiwon. it hardly matters when you’re settled between momo’s thighs, lips wrapped around her clit, the sweetness of her cum dancing along every corner of your mouth.

eventually, you’re ending every other night in momo’s room. it doesn’t always involve sex—really, you just feel like being around momo. it’s nice. momo certainly isn’t complaining.

she starts to keep a toothbrush for you in her bathroom, and your clothes begin to mix in with her own closet.

chaeyoung doesn’t text you asking when you’re coming home anymore. instead, she asks if you’re coming over. whenever you swing by what’s technically your apartment with momo in tow, chaeyoung beams hugely at you, gives you a wink or a thumbs up. it’s only mildly embarrassing.

you’ve never had a friend quite like momo—she’s in a league of her own. she’s easily the best hookup you’ve ever had. you feel lucky just to be friends with her.

you think about momo’s taut abs, the way her skilled tongue curls inside you, her incredible stamina. you think about her contagious laugh, her alarmingly loud sneezes, her focused expression when she’s cooking something in the kitchen. you like all of these things about momo. you decide that, yeah, momo feels right. your head starts to spin when you think about what that means.

it dawns on you that this was what you’d been feeling every time you think about momo—want, pure desire, love. you’ve never craved anything or anyone like this before. you never felt want like this, love like this—it never felt right, not unless it was momo.

you’re at dinner with jeongyeon when you finally get the bright idea to actually tell momo you love her.

really, it’s more like jeongyeon hands you the idea on a silver platter.

“you seem happy,” jeongyeon says before biting into a dumpling.

you hum. “i am happy,” you say, not at all surprised to find your thoughts immediately drifting to momo. you begin to space out a bit as you think about all your recent memories with her; it’s not just the sex that’s good, but she makes you feel alive. when you’re with her, you forget about the rest of the world. it feels good to be around her. even just thinking about momo makes you feel at ease, content.

jeongyeon smiles at you, eyes softening. “so you and momo made it official then?”

that jolts you out of your reverie.

“momo—official—we aren’t—what?” you splutter incredulously. you stare at jeongyeon. she just blinks at you.

“you and momo,” she repeats, slower this time. “aren’t you guys, like, dating?” she says it so casually, in between bites of meat—you feel like the world has stopped spinning. “did she finally ask you to be her girlfriend?”

“momo and i are not dating,” you choke out nervously. “where in the world did you get that idea?”

jeongyeon stops chewing, swallows haltingly. “you’re kidding, right?” she sits up straighter, looks you in the eyes. “you guys aren’t subtle. like, at all. you know, we’re polite, not blind. those hickeys aren’t invisible, and you only got away with faking sick so many times before it tipped us off that something was up. plus, you’re always looking at each other with heart eyes. it’s kind of sickening, actually.”

you sit in silence as you absorb this. after a beat, you croak, “so, all of you… know about the sex?” she nods. “i see. well, honestly, i love her. but i’m worried that she’s not there yet.”

jeongyeon looks at you. “y/n, i’m pretty sure everyone knows that momo loves you. like, i’m not kidding, but she’s had a crush on you since you met. just ask sana. she’s been playing wingwoman for momo for months and it was like you were completely blind until the first time you and momo kissed. you know sana called me that night, drunk in dahyun’s bed, both of them shouting at me to start planning the wedding? mina helps momo pick out outfits for your dates. nayeon buys extra groceries because you practically live at their apartment now, and don’t think chaeyoung hasn’t noticed that. don’t even get me started on the updates jihyo and tzuyu send every week.” she decides to make it very clear to you. “momo talks nonstop about you, and the sex isn’t even a quarter of her rambling.” she rolls her eyes, but her lips stretch into a tender smile.

“oh. i guess i should probably do something about this, huh?” you rub your fingers at your neck as jeongyeon just rolls her eyes again.

“yeah,” she responds. “make it simple and just tell her ‘i love you.’”

you unlock momo’s room when you return from dinner and march up to momo, who’s laying on her bed, listening to music and staring at the ceiling absentmindedly. “i love you,” you say to her, feeling completely breathless. she sits up, looks extremely confused, but smiles blindingly at you. “i’m sorry i didn’t say it sooner.” you pause. “all of our friends seem to be under the impression that you love me back, so…” you trail off shyly.

“well, they’re not wrong,” she laughs out. “i do love you back.” you’re blushing, but momo just reaches towards you, pulls you onto her bed next to her. “no need to be sorry, by the way. i told you i was patient.”

that night, you see stars over and over and over as you and momo make love for hours until you’re both ready to pass out.

when your eyes finally shut, the last thing you register before you drift to sleep is momo whispering against your lips, “i love you.” and you think love might just be your new favorite word in the world.