#the semester started today for reference

[moreaujeans]

im signed up for an online english course with a professor who has actually some of the worst rate my professor reviews i have ever seen most of which talk about how she never replies to emails and/or didn’t start putting in grades until like the last two weeks of class and she’s currently refusing to even open the course until wednesday… head in hands

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, APRIL xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[grayandthyme]

Something like Easy | 1

masterlist | next chapter

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x teacher!reader

synopsis: in a small Texas town in early 2002, a young English teacher is barely keeping it together. her car is barely drivable, her students are restless, and her lesson plans are falling flat. though, a shitty car leads to an unexpected carpool arrangement with her next-door neighbor, Joel Miller, a single father with a quiet drawl and a soft spot for his daughter.

warnings/tags: each chapter will have separate tags.

no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'ma'am' on occasion, domestic fluff, slow burn, tension, maternal fluff, bonding over sarah, dialogue heavy.

w/c 8.3k

2002

Coffee pot. Turn it on. Turn on the damn coffee pot. Shit—grab the other bag. Lipstick. Where’s the lipstick? Did you brush your hair? What were you going to pack for lunch—too late now. Way too late. Shit. Coffee. Just turn on the coffee pot.

You were late. Not just a little late—thirty solid minutes behind. You should’ve left long ago. You should’ve been in the classroom by now, setting up, printing handouts, doing everything you promised yourself you’d stay on top of. But the alarm had gone off at five, and your hand found the snooze button. Again. And again…. Six, maybe seven times.

You tore through the house like a storm, leaving disarray in your wake—papers, bags, a half-eaten granola bar. Coffee splashed into a tumbler. Fingers dragged through tangled hair. You shoved open the car door, tossed everything inside, slid into the seat, and went to start it.

Brrsshk.

Start it.

Brrsshk.

Start it... ?

Brrssshk.

The engine tried. It coughed. It gave up. No ignition. Just that hollow, broken sound.

No. No, no, no. The car can’t be dead. Not today. Did you leave a light on? Is it the battery? Or the engine? It's practically an antique—twenty years old, if not older.

Fucking antique.

You slammed your palms against the steering wheel, more theatrics than solution, but it was something. Something to relieve the stress coiled in your stomach.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock. And everything had already come undone.

"Trouble?”

The voice was low, rough around the edges—one of those gravel-laced laughs that came from somewhere deep in the chest. You glanced toward the next driveway over.

“Been a hell of a morning,” you said, eyes landing on your neighbor—and his daughter.

Sarah. She’d been in your class since the semester started, the quiet one who always raised her hand and turned things in early. You recognized her face the moment roll was called back in January.

The girl next door. Her dad was around your age, blue-collar, kind, and easy to be around. The kind of man who knew his way around town and made it a point to invite you over whenever there was too much food. Nothing complicated.

Just… neighborly. Yes, neighborly.

“Good morning, ma’am!” Sarah called out, already halfway into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Morning, Sarah,” you replied, offering a quick smile—one that lingered just a little longer when it shifted to her father.

“Well,” he said, arms crossed and shoulder propped casually against the truck, “… since you’re both headed to the same place, I can give you a ride. Tight squeeze, but it’s better than being stranded.”

There was something calm about the way he said it. No pressure. No teasing. Just an open door when you needed one.

“I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Miller,” you said, exhaling a laugh that scraped out more nervous than light. “If I don’t show up soon, I think they might just about fire me.”

It took a moment to gather your things, every motion feeling slower than it should. The weight of the morning still clung to you. But when you climbed into the truck, the world felt just a little more manageable.

The fit was snug. His truck—an old Chevrolet C/K 10, dark blue and time-worn—smelled faintly of wood and sun-warmed fabric. It was dirty enough to show the dust of long days and dirt roads, but not enough to be neglected.

You sat in the middle—knees brushing lightly against his, careful not to crowd Sarah. The cab was quiet but not tense, broken by the hum of the road and the occasional rattle of something loose behind the seat. Screwdrivers, maybe. A toolbox.

“Are we going to go over the reading chapters today?” Sarah asked, turning from the window, her voice gentle and curious.

“Chapters five and six,” you replied, straightening the collar of your shirt, which still felt slightly wrong after the rushed morning. “Did they bore you?”

It wasn’t the question of a teacher, not really. Just a sincere check-in—human to human.

“I liked it,” she said, smiling. “I like the bird."

Her gaze drifted back out the window, toward the wide fields stitched with fences and the occasional slow-moving cow. You liked that about the countryside. Never saw cows when you were a kid.

Joel’s voice chimed in, warm and casual. “You guys are readin’ a book?”

His left hand rested on top of the steering wheel. The right tapped absentminded rhythms against his thigh.

“Jonathan Livingston Seagull,” you said, returning the smile. “It’s good for students to read allegorical satire. Helps them start asking questions they didn’t know they had.”

He let out a short breath of a laugh. “Never heard of it. Never read it. And, don't ask me what a fuckin' allegorical is.”

You glanced over. “You’d probably like it more now than you would’ve in school.”

“Back in school,” he said with a smirk, “I wasn’t much for readin’. Could barely sit still long enough to get through a page.”

“Most people can’t. Not really,” you said. “It’s a skill you grow into—if life lets you.”

There was a pause, not awkward, just thoughtful. But no one was in a rush to dive in, the morning still clinging to your consciousness.

The road stretched out ahead, light and cracked, under a sky washed pale by morning sun. A few questions bounced between father and daughter, easy and familiar, their rhythm well-worn. You listened more than you spoke, content in the quiet, in the soft country drawl of their conversation and the hum of the road beneath you.

It was peaceful.

You didn’t feel like a guest. You didn’t feel like a burden. And for a morning that had begun in chaos, that was saying something.

The school crept up on the horizon—its brick walls catching the morning sun, buses already lined along the curb. In a blink, the truck eased to a stop at the front.

“Hey,” you said, your hand pausing on the door handle. “I really appreciate this. A lot.”

Joel turned toward you, eyes meeting yours with a brief, searching look—like he was trying to read something unspoken in your face. Then he smiled, easy.

“My kid can’t learn if you’re not there to teach,” he said.

Touché.

He cleared his throat, almost like he hadn’t meant to say the next part. “What time do you get off? I’m usually back around three to pick Sarah up.”

“Three forty-five. I’ve got bus duty,” you said with a faint shrug. You glanced toward Sarah, who was a few steps ahead, idly rolling a small rock under her sneaker, waiting.

“How about dinner as a thank you?” The words came out lighter than you expected, almost airy—your fingers fidgeting at the strap of your work bag.

Was that your heart picking up a little?

Get a grip, girl, oh my god.

Joel’s brows lifted slightly, surprised—not put off, just maybe not used to being on the receiving end of offers like that.

“You cook?” he asked, a teasing note there, but gentle.

“Only on days when my car dies,” you deadpanned, smiling.

He let out a low laugh, hand brushing over the back of his neck. “Alright then. Deal.”

Sarah glanced back at you both with a curious tilt of her head, then turned toward the school doors.

You stepped back onto the sidewalk, the truck rumbling into motion behind you. And for a second, you let yourself watch it pull away—feeling just a little more awake than you had an hour ago.

The school day wasn’t bad. In fact, it moved with a kind of ease—fluid, almost gentle. Most of your students stayed on task, heads down in their books, pens scribbling half-heartedly in the margins. The lessons were simple: annotation, discussion, light analysis. Theories floated through the classroom like soft echoes, some half-baked, others surprisingly sharp. It was steady. Predictable.

At lunch, you slipped into the cafeteria like a teenager sneaking out of class, leaning across the counter to charm an extra salad out of the lunch lady. It wasn’t great—but it filled the space, the kind of space that had been gnawed open earlier that morning by a dead car and a voice that wouldn't leave your head. The space that was only filled by rushed coffee, and no breakfast.

That voice.

Rough around the edges, like a match dragging across gritted paper. Those dark brown eyes, heavy-lidded and knowing. And his arms—tendons of muscle flexing casually beneath a worn t-shirt.

Distracting.

But he was a parent. Your student’s father, specifically.

That made it all feel dangerous in a way that wasn’t thrilling. Like walking a little too close to the edge of a cliff, one you’d promised yourself you’d never climb too high on.

Still, the thought lingered, and it crept in between stacks of ungraded essays and half-finished lesson plans.

By the time dismissal rolled around, you were decaying. Bus duty was its usual slow, aching pace—standing beneath the heavy Texas sun, watching yellow buses puff clouds of smog into the air. Your sundress, collared and ironed just hours ago, now clung to your skin like a second, far less glamorous skin.

You adjusted your sunglasses and scanned the parking lot, squinting through the thick, warm air. A familiar blue truck rolled into view, crawling forward beneath the glare.

And there he was.

Joel Miller, one arm hanging out the window, looked just as effortlessly composed as he had this morning.

You hated that. And also… didn’t. Maybe.

He pulled up slowly, the engine humming low. Sarah hopped out from the group of kids, waving once before trotting toward the truck.

“Still standin’, huh?” Joel called, his voice lazy and amused.

You arched a brow. “Barely.”

He chuckled. “You still up for that dinner?”

Were you? You weren’t sure if it was sweat or nerves prickling at the back of your neck.

Ugh, you're so fucked. Why did you offer that in the first place? Could have sent yourself into a nice, cooled, ice cream rotted binge on your couch.

You nodded anyway. “Yeah,” you said. “I think I’ve earned some of your air conditioning.”

Joel leaned across the center seat, hooking his finger in the door and opening the passenger side. “Then climb on in, teach'. Let’s get you somewhere you can breathe again.”

The ride back was nice—windows rolled down, the late afternoon air sweeping in to soothe your sun-warmed skin. It carried the scent of cut grass and hot pavement, of summer sweeping into the Spring semester. It was roughly mid April. Your sundress fluttered at the hem, and you leaned into the breeze like it might cool something deeper than just the sweat on your back.

Maybe it'll blow away your stress along with it.

Sarah had launched into a breathless recap of her day somewhere around the end of the school parking lot. Now, she was mid-rant—animated, scandalized—telling a story that involved two classmates, an on-again-off-again relationship, and a betrayal. Middle school drama.

“They’re eleven—You're eleven,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the open air.

“You better not be datin’,” Joel cut in from the driver’s seat, voice rough with playfulness. He flicked his eyes toward the rearview mirror with a practiced kind of ease. “You’re too young to be dealin’ with heartbreak.”

“Ew, Dad,” Sarah groaned from the side, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “No. God.”

You laughed—genuinely—and shook your head. “The things I’ve overheard from these kids will always blow my mind,” you said, flipping your sunglasses up to rest on your head. “They talk like they've lived three lives already.”

Joel smirked, hand resting casual on the wheel. “Middle school’s a war zone now. Nothing like when we were that age.”

You nodded. “Now it’s pager beeps… sneaking their iPod into class… myspace…"

Sarah cringed, visibly. Old people.

He let out a low whistle. “I’d never survive.”

“Mmhhmm,” you hummed, softly. And for a second, you both just listened to the road.

The sky was shifting now—smeared with burnt orange, the sun dipping low enough to cast long shadows on the dashboard. The quiet between stretched, not awkward, not strained.

“Home’s just ahead,” Joel said, his voice gentler now.

You turned your head, looked at him—really looked this time.

“I can bring wine,” you said. “Figured it was safer than tryin' to cook with a power tool…” Lacey accent slipping off of the edge of your words.

He chuckled, the sound deep and raspy. “Good call. I’ve got ribs that need finishin' on the grill.”

Sarah practically cheered, a dramatic, “I love when you make ribs!”

“Then it’s settled,” Joel said, pulling into the driveway with the practiced motion of someone who’s done this a thousand times—but today, it felt different. Like a routine just slightly rewritten. You're an extra character, perhaps.

You stepped out of the truck and into something that, maybe, wasn’t so routine at all.

It didn’t take long—just enough time to slip home, peel off the sundress that had long since clung to your skin, and breathe for a minute in the stillness of your space. The kind of stillness that only exists in the hours of the afternoon, when the light comes in low.

You changed into something casual—soft. Nothing bold, nothing inappropriate. But not something you’d ever wear to teach sixth graders about symbolism either. The fabric settled gently over your arms, still chilled from evaporated sweat, the heat of the day finally breaking.

A bottle of wine—cheap, screw top, a last-minute grab from the grocery store last week. A Tupperware of homemade cookies from a restless baking spree the night before. Some fruit, slightly bruised but still sweet, collected into a bag you tied off with a ribbon you found in your kitchen drawer. It was an offering, of sorts. Not extravagant. But thoughtful.

Honest.

Shit, did you want to impress him?

As you locked your door and stepped back into the fading gold of afternoon, it occurred to you how strangely normal this all felt. Like you’d done it before. Like you might do it again.

Hoped you'd do it again.

You made your way next door, your arms full, your heart doing that quiet, uncertain stutter it sometimes did when life shifted just a little out of its usual orbit.

Joel was already on the back patio, sleeves rolled, one hand gripping a pair of tongs as he turned a rack of ribs with practiced nonchalance. The scent hit you before you even rounded the house—smoke, spice, a hint of char.

He glanced up as you approached, and gave a nod like you were right on time.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, the side of his mouth lifting. “We don’t mess around when it comes to ribs in this house.”

You held up the wine and the cookies like a peace offering.

“Well,” you smiled, “I figured I’d at least try to earn my keep.”

Dinner was simple, but good—the kind of meal that stuck to your gut and made the world feel a little smaller, maybe your pants too. Joel plated the ribs with a quiet sort of confidence, tossing a bowl of greens beside the meat like an afterthought.

Sarah had eventually taken her plate to the living room, sprawled on the floor with a tv-show humming from the television, volume low enough to let the hum of cicadas sneak through the open screen door.

You and Joel stayed outside, the patio lights strung overhead flickering to life as the sun dipped low. The wine was already half-gone between the two of you, and the fruit sat untouched on the table—sweating in the heat.

“You always cook like this?” you asked, moving around food with your fork.

He huffed, almost sheepishly. “Only when I’ve got a reason to. Usually it’s just whatever Sarah’s willing to eat without a fight.”

“She’s a good kid,” you said, tone softer now. “Sharp. Thoughtful. Sometimes I catch her looking out for the other students when she thinks no one’s watching…”

Joel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed like he was weighing something. “She likes your class. Says you don’t talk to ‘em like they’re stupid.”

“Well, they’re not,” you replied. “Even when they act like it.”

That earned a low chuckle, his head tipping back, the sound rattling in his chest.

The silence after it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavier.

You glanced at him—really looked—and felt that slow, creeping awareness settle in again. The line. The complication. The tension that had existed ever since this morning when you’d slid into the passenger seat of his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The stares between bringing the mail in, or doing yard work in the summer.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said, after a pause too long to be casual.

You blinked. “What did you expect?”

He shrugged, then shook his head slowly. “I dunno. Most teachers I’ve met don’t come over with cookies and wine. Or talk about books like it’s gospel. Or…” He stopped himself there, jaw working as he looked away.

You swallowed. Your fingers fidgeted with the stem of your wine glass. “Or…?”

He didn’t look at you when he answered, voice lower now. “Or make me wonder if it’s a bad idea to enjoy the way you laugh.”

That silenced the evening air. Even the bugs seemed to pause.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure if it was the wine or the warmth or just exhaustion, but your voice came quieter than you meant it to:

“She’s your daughter. I’m her teacher.”

Joel’s gaze lifted, met yours. Steady. Serious. “I know.”

You didn’t look away.

“Doesn’t make it go away though, does it?” He said, almost a whisper.

The porch light buzzed above you, moths circling like they knew something you didn’t.

From inside, Sarah laughed at something on the TV. A reminder. A tether.

You stood, smoothing your flannel, suddenly aware of the way the night had curled itself around you.

“I should head home,” you said, not moving just yet.

Joel didn’t try to stop you. He just nodded once, like he understood exactly what you meant—and also didn’t. He didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know.

“Thanks for dinner,” you added, voice a little shakier than you wanted.

He looked up at you then, and his voice was quieter now. “Thanks for showin’ up.”

You turned to go, your shoes quiet on the worn patio boards, when his voice caught you—gentle this time, like it didn’t want to startle you.

“Wait—”

You stopped, half-glancing over your shoulder. The wind fizzling out against you, carrying with it the scent of smoke and sugar, and something that lingered between the two of you.

Joel stood slowly, one hand running along the back of his neck, the other dangling at his side, “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed it,” he began, already cautious, already apologetic. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, I know. But I gotta run down to Tommy’s place. His breaker’s been out since Tuesday and he’s useless with wires.”

You don't question who Tommy is, guessing you'll find out sooner or later.

He smiled faintly—just enough to take the edge off the ask. “Figured it’d only take me half the day. Was wonderin’ if maybe you could… keep an eye on Sarah?”

Your brow arched, not from offense, just surprise. “You want me to babysit?”

He huffed, shaking his head like that word didn’t sit right with him. “She’s eleven. Barely needs watchin’. Just someone around. Someone she trusts.”

Questionable.

You hesitated—not because you didn’t want to, but because it suddenly made everything feel a little closer, a little less theoretical. You weren’t just a neighbor now. Not just her teacher. This was something else.

No, this is something entirely different.

“She’s welcome to come to my place,” you said finally, voice careful. “I’ve got air conditioning, cable TV, and leftover cookies. That should be enough to keep her entertained.”

Joel’s mouth lifted into a genuine smile. Not cocky. Not performative. Just grateful.

“I appreciate it. Really.”

You gave him a look—measured, but warm. “You're lucky I like her...”

“Have her knock around ten?”

He nodded, and for a second it felt like something else passed between you. A thank you, unspoken.

As you finally stepped back toward your own yard, his voice floated out behind you—low, but not uncertain.

“Night.”

You paused, smiled without turning. “Night, Joel.”

. . .

Ten came quicker than expected. The morning had been gentle—sunlight pouring through the kitchen window as you swept the floor barefoot, your coffee gone lukewarm on the counter. Cracked the windows to let in the breeze, the sound of birds and distant lawnmowers carried through the air. You’d even lit a candle, something citrusy and clean.

You weren't doing this for her, per se, but it did help spur your motivation.

When Sarah knocked, it was exactly on time.

She stood on your porch with a small canvas tote slung over her shoulder, the strap nearly sliding off. “I brought homework and bracelet stuff,” she announced, stepping inside like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Good,” you smiled. “I’m making you do all my grading.”

She laughed, setting her things on the coffee table and plopping down on the floor. Out came the beads, a half-finished paperback, and a spiral notebook with messy notes in the margins. She settled quickly, legs crossed, humming softly as she untangled some elastic string.

The morning unfolded easily.

You sat on the couch, red pen in hand, a pile of essays to your right, and your planner open on the cushion beside you. The rhythm of your work was slow but steady. Sarah didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t strained. Every now and then, she’d ask a quiet question—about the reading, or if you liked a certain color pattern for the bracelet she was working on. You answered without looking up, then looked up anyway.

She was comfortable. Focused. There was something familiar about it, something that softened you without asking permission. The quiet company. The peacefulness of just being in a room with someone, no performance required.

You caught yourself looking around once, eyes drifting across the living room: the soft sunlight over the coffee table, the slow spin of dust in the air, her bent head over a half-tied knot in the string. Coiled brown hair that was messily tied up. It hit you how still it all felt—how whole.

The thought unsettled you. In a good way. In a scary way. One you felt like you might not deserve.

Sarah looked up, suddenly, like she felt you were thinking. “Do you think I should make one for my dad?”

You smiled, leaning back into the couch. “Would he wear it?”

“Probably not.” She twisted the beads between her fingers. “But he’d keep it.”

“Then yes. Definitely.”

She nodded, satisfied.

You went back to your grading, and the clock kept ticking. The day crawled in that slow Saturday kind of way. And still, neither of you felt any rush to break the moment.

Around noon, you made sandwiches—simple ones. Toasted bread, turkey, tomato, a bit of mayo, nothing fancy. You called Sarah to the kitchen, and she wandered in with a half-finished bracelet still looped around her fingers.

She stood beside you while you cut the sandwiches diagonally, eyes following the knife. “You always eat lunch this late?” she asked, biting into a pickle from the plate you slid her way.

“Only on weekends,” you stated. “School days, it’s usually whatever I can sneak between grading and yelling across the room to keep kids from doodling that damn S in their essays.”

Sarah snorted. “Justina wrote about teen vogue in her book report last week.”

You gave her a look. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear.”

You both laughed and sat on the barstools at your little kitchen island, legs swinging absently under the counter.

Halfway through her sandwich, she asked, “Did you always wanna be a teacher?”

The question came out of nowhere, but not in a challenging way. She just sounded curious. Genuinely interested.

You chewed thoughtfully, then gave a shrug. “I think I did. I liked books. I liked figuring people out through how they wrote. And… I liked the idea of being someone who noticed things when no one else did.”

Sarah nodded like she understood that more than someone her age probably should.

After a beat, she asked, “Do you like it?”

You leaned your elbows on the counter and looked at her—really looked. Tan skin, freckles. “I do. Even when it’s chaos. Even when it’s too hot and no one read the chapter. And someone’s crying in the bathroom. And another kid’s sneaking cheeto puffs under their desk… I still like it.”

That made her smile. Not just polite—but full, like she was letting you in on something private. “You’re good at it.”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She twisted her straw around in her drink. “You don’t talk down to us. You don’t act like we’re stupid… And, you're funny."

“Well,” you said with a small grin, “…. some of you are suspiciously smart.”

She took a long sip of her juice. “Do you have a family?”

You paused—less because of the question, and more because it reminded you how rarely you got asked anything personal by your students. It just wasn't the type of thing they were curious about.

It was obvious you lived alone.

“Not really,” you said gently. “My family’s kind of scattered. A few phone calls here and there, but I’ve made my own little version of it along the way.”

Sarah looked at you. Not pity. Just a kind of knowing. “I think my dad’s doin’ that too.”

You didn’t say anything to that—just reached over and gently nudged the plate of cookies toward her.

“Eat another, that’s your payment for getting deep on a Saturday.”

She giggled and took one. “Deal.”

. . .

The night had crept in without warning. You hadn’t even noticed the sun setting, not really. One moment, the room was bathed in gold, and the next, it was all deep, dark, and warm lamp light. The hum of your box fan filled the background as Lilo & Stitch played on your TV, slightly fuzzy.

Sarah had curled up beside you with a blanket around her shoulders, popcorn long abandoned. At some point, she’d pressed a throw pillow into your lap and laid her head down on it without a word. It felt natural.

Like this wasn’t new.

You sipped from your mug of tea, still warm in your hands. The weight of her head on your lap wasn’t heavy—just present. Comforting. Her hair smelled like cheap shampoo and sun—like Joel clearly didn't know what hair products to buy for her—like maybe you'd have to fix that too.

You watched the movie for a while, but your eyes kept drifting to her instead.

She looked peaceful. Deep asleep, breath even, lashes soft against her cheeks. You reached for the remote slowly, lowered the volume down to a murmur, letting your other hand rest loosely on the arm of the couch

It made your chest feel oddly full. Not in a heavy way. Just full.

You liked it. You liked this.

And then came a knock. Soft. Three times.

You looked toward the front door and instinctively glanced at the clock. A little past ten.

The door creaked open before you could get up—Joel stepped in, gently closing it behind him as he spotted you on the couch. He didn’t speak at first. Just took in the sight.

Sarah, asleep. The dim TV light flickering across the room. Your hand halfway frozen mid-sip.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to wake her.”

“She’s out cold,” you whispered with a soft smile. “Movie night hit harder than expected. It was a rager.”

He walked in a few steps, careful like the floor might creak too loud. His eyes moved from his daughter to you, then back again. “Looks like she made herself comfortable.”

You nodded. “She’s good company, don't worry.”

Joel’s mouth tugged into a soft smile. The kind that didn’t flash—it just settled there. “You’re good with her,” he said after a moment. “I mean—I knew that already. School and all' but this…”

He looked down at his boots for a second, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was stepping over a line just being here.

“I appreciate it,” he added, quieter this time. “Today. All of it.”

You swallowed and nodded, fingers curling around your mug, “Of course.”

There was a pause then. Just long enough for it to stretch a little. He looked like he had more to say, but didn’t know how to frame it.

“I can carry her out,” he offered, voice still soft, stepping forward.

You nodded and gently began to shift. “Let me help.”

Joel leaned in carefully, one arm sliding under his daughter’s legs, the other under her back. She stirred only slightly, murmuring something in her sleep as he lifted her with practiced ease.

She fit into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world. A practiced ritual. Love and devotion.

You stood nearby, arms crossed gently over your chest, mug long discarded, watching him adjust her in his hold.

He looked at you—really looked.

“Maybe next time,” he said, “we make it dinner and a movie.”

Your breath caught, just a little. Then you smiled, faint and genuine.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Maybe we do.”

Joel nodded once, Sarah curled against his chest, and turned to the door.

But it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the first page of something. Quiet. Earnest. Real.

He was halfway down the walkway when you spoke—quietly, but with enough clarity to carry through the still evening air.

“Joel?”

He paused, turning just slightly over his shoulder. The porch light spilled a golden hue across his back, catching the faint tousle of Sarah’s hair as she slept, her head tucked close against his collarbone. Hair slightly messed from the long day of wearing a hat.

You stepped forward, one hand bracing the doorframe. You weren’t sure exactly what gave you the nerve—maybe it was the way he looked standing there, solid and warm in the night. Maybe it was the weight of Sarah’s sleepy trust still lingering in your lap. Or maybe it was just the ache of wanting company.

“When you put her down,” you said, voice quieter now, “… you can come back. If you want.”

Joel tilted his head. Not in surprise—more like consideration.

“I’ve got whiskey,” you added, your tone lighter, a little smile playing at the corner of your mouth, “Might not be top shelf, but it’s not the worst.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there holding his daughter, looking at you like he was seeing something he didn’t know he needed to find.

Then came a nod. Slow. Sure.

“I’ll be back in ten.”

You watched him go, the weight of that promise hanging in the air even after he disappeared down the drive.

Ten minutes stretched, but not in a bad way. You rinsed your mug, straightened a blanket. You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t change your clothes or fix your hair. This wasn’t a date—it wasn’t anything like that.

And still, your heart thudded a little when the knock came again.

You opened the door, and there he was—no daughter this time, no arms full of responsibility. Just Joel. Shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair a little tousled, eyes softer than you’d seen them all day.

“I brought glasses,” he said, holding up two tumblers from his own kitchen. “Didn’t know if yours had dust in ‘em.”

You grinned. “You don't take me for a whiskey girl?" The jest came out easy.

The two of you ended up back on the couch—poured the whiskey, handed him a glass, then settled back with your knees pulled up beneath you.

At first, it was small talk. Work. The heat. The horror that was sixth grade social dynamics. You laughed more than you meant to. So did he.

And then, somewhere between the second to third pour and the second silence that followed it, the mood shifted—not heavy, just quieter. The kind of quiet that stretches like a soft duvet, not a wall.

Joel swirled the whiskey in his glass. “She adores you, y’know.”

Your brows lifted. “Sarah?”

He nodded. “You’ve only been her teacher for a little while, but… she talks about you. More than I think she realizes. Always been a little cautious with people. But you? She lets her guard down… and I'm sure I'll never hear the end of tonight.”

You exhaled, your fingers tracing the lip of your glass. “She’s easy to care about.”

Joel glanced at you, then looked down at his lap, his thumb rubbing the base of the tumbler. “So are you.”

That stopped you.

Not because it was forward. But because it was honest.

You didn’t answer, not at first. Just let the moment hang there, warm and undemanding.

Then you gave the softest response you could manage, your voice barely above the hum of the fan:

“You didn’t have to say that.”

He looked over. “I wanted to.”

Another pause. Your legs shifted, stretching out toward the edge of the couch, and Joel turned slightly to mirror you. Closer now. Not touching. But close enough to feel it.

You lifted your glass between you. “To honesty, then.”

He clinked his against yours. “To whatever this is.”

And you both drank.

. . .

Sunday settled heavy over the neighborhood, the heat of the day finally loosening its grip as night crept in through the windows.

It's hot as fuck, per usual.

You’d spent the day on the phone—tow truck, auto shop, then the shop again. No answer. Then one more call that went straight to voicemail.

The car wasn’t going anywhere. And neither were you.

By early evening, you were pacing your Livingroom barefoot, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt as you weighed your options. The silence in your house only made it worse.

You weren’t stranded, not really. You could call a Taxi. Call a coworker. Figure something out.

But you didn’t want to do any of that. It costs money. It costs social awareness you lacked with your older co-workers.

So you grabbed your keys—habit, really—and crossed the short driveway barefoot, the concrete still warm beneath your soles. You didn’t knock immediately. Just stood there for a second, hand raised, heart giving a small, stupid thud.

Then you knocked—three soft taps.

It didn’t take long.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d been doing dishes. He blinked at first—surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Hey,” he said, that familiar rasp curling around the word like warmth.

“Hey,” you echoed, then glanced down, “I—uh—I hate to bug you, especially two nights in a row, but I think my car’s officially given up on life.”

Joel leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “That the same one you tried to nurse back to health Friday?”

“The very same,” you sighed, arms crossing in mirror of his. “I’ve called the shop three times today, and nothing. Was hoping you might have a mechanic, some advice? A brand new supercar?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I know a guy—used to work with him. He’s good, won’t try to fleece you.”

Relief bloomed in your chest, enough to make your smile genuine. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Lemme grab his number,” Joel said, pushing the door open wider in invitation. “C’mon in. You might as well get comfortable while I dig through the drawer.”

You stepped inside, that familiar warmth of his home wrapping around you. There was something about the smell—cedar and clean laundry and something that felt lived-in. Sarah’s backpack was dropped by the couch, her sneakers nearby. Brown paint clung nicely to the walls.

Joel wandered off toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Want some water? Or whiskey again?”

“Water, please. I’m trying not to turn into a problem,” you called back, a small jest.

He returned a minute later with a glass in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other.

“Here’s the number. Name’s Eli. Tell him I sent you, he’ll probably bump you to the front of the line.”

You took both, fingers brushing his—barely. But it was enough to send a small jolt through your system.

Easy, girl.

“I owe you,” you said, softly.

He looked at you then, for a beat too long. Not in a way that asked anything from you. But in a way that made your stomach flutter and your breath slow.

“Nah,” he murmured. “You don’t.”

A silence fell. Not awkward, not pressing. Just… open. You stood in his living room, water glass sweating in your palm, and felt that strange comfort again—like you belonged there more than you should.

You cleared your throat gently. “I, uh… I’ll let you get back to your night.”

Joel didn’t move. “You don’t have to rush off.”

You raised a brow inquisitively.

He shrugged, one hand running down the side of his neck. “Just sayin’. Sarah’s already asleep. It’s quiet. I’ve got a couch and a half a pizza left in the fridge.”

You tilted your head, smiling despite yourself. “Is that your way of asking me to stay for dinner?”

“I’d say it’s more of an open invitation,” he replied, eyes soft, “No pressure.”

You lingered in the doorway, fingers curling tighter around the cool glass in your hand. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you—like you were someone who mattered. Like this quiet exchange, wrapped in casual tones and easy smiles, meant more than either of you wanted to admit.

But your mind pulled elsewhere. You had a stack of unfinished grading waiting at home, a lesson plan to finalize, a classroom to reset before Monday at eight. As much as you wanted to sit back on that couch with him, legs tucked beneath you and the low hum of some old movie playing in the background… reality tugged at your sleeve.

Fuckin' reality.

“I’ve got papers to grade,” you said softly, your voice an apology more than anything. “And a few things to prep for tomorrow. My classroom’s a mess and the kids are expecting answers to questions I haven’t even thought of yet.”

Joel gave a small nod, not disappointed—just understanding. “Yeah,” he said, that low drawl, “Duty calls.”

You smiled faintly, setting the glass down on the kitchen counter. “I wasn’t expecting to be here this long, anyway.”

“Didn’t seem like you were in a rush,” he offered, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

“No,” you agreed, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I wasn’t.”

You crossed the room slowly, letting the silence fall again. At the door, he opened it for you, the night air brushing cool against your skin.

“You’ll let me know if the car gives you more trouble?” he asked.

You looked back at him. “Promise.”

His eyes held yours for a moment too long again—warm and steady, like he saw straight through to the parts of you you kept hidden.

“Night, Joel.”

“Night,” he said, voice low. “Grade easy.”

You stepped out into the dark, your heart just a little heavier in the best way.

Back home, your papers waited. But so did the memory of the way he’d looked at you—not asking for anything, not needing to. Just seeing you. And that, somehow, was the part that lingered the longest.

. . .

Monday rolled in like a wave—heavy, gray-skied, and a little too fast.

You rubbed your eyes in the soft glow of your kitchen light, coffee in hand, toast forgotten in the toaster. It was too early, your body still half-asleep, and the stress of the week already sat on your shoulders like a full backpack. Ironic, right?

Your car still wouldn’t start, and the mechanic hadn’t gotten back to you over the weekend. The thought of repair bills danced in the back of your mind—bitter. Bills you might not be able to pay. Bills you know you aren't going to be able to pay.

At exactly 6:53 a.m, the familiar rumble of Joel’s truck echoed outside your window. You peered through the blinds and saw Sarah swinging her backpack onto her shoulder, Joel stepping around the truck to help her up with an ease that made your chest ache in some unspoken way.

You met them outside, travel mug in hand, your sweater pulled tight around you to fight off the last of the early morning chill. Joel gave you a nod as you climbed in—Sarah already chatting from the passenger seat about some comic she’d stayed up too late reading.

“Morning,” Joel said, voice still gravelly with sleep, “You alright?”

“As good as someone without a working car and a pile of essays to grade can be,” you muttered, flashing him a tired but honest smile.

He glanced over at you, one hand on the wheel. “You hear anything from the shop?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping it’s just the battery,” you sighed. “But knowing my luck, it’s probably the whole damn engine.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Just fact.

That small sentence landed heavier than you expected.

We’ll. As if this was shared. As if your problems were something he was already invested in. It was comforting, and terrifying all at once.

Sarah turned toward you from the passenger seat, holding up the beaded bracelet from the day previous. “If your car’s still busted tomorrow, I can make you one of these. For good luck.”

You smiled, genuine and soft. “How'd you know that's exactly what I need?”

The rest of the drive was quiet in that peaceful early-week kind of way—radio low, wind slipping through a cracked window, Sarah humming something tuneless in the front seat. Joel didn’t say much more, but you felt his presence beside you like a steady drumbeat. Reliable. Unspoken.

When the school came into view, you felt yourself straighten, the teacher version of you slowly surfacing.

But before you unbuckled, Joel’s voice cut gently through the quiet.

“After school,” he said. “We’ll go to the shop,"

"Together.”

You looked at him.

Tired, maybe.

A little stressed.

But steadier now.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft.

. . .

The day was rough from the start.

Your first-period class barely looked up when you entered. Heads on desks, a few pencils half-heartedly scratching at papers. Jonathan Livingston Seagull sat untouched on more than one corner of a desk. You gave the same opening you’d practiced—about individuality, purpose, flying beyond expectations—but it landed with a thud.

By third period, someone asked if Jonathan was just suicidal, and another asked if they could switch to reading The Lorax instead. You scribbled a note to rework your discussion questions during your lunch break.

Damn kids.

Lunch came late and cold. The meat was… questionable. You ate a granola bar instead and skimmed through a few ungraded reflection assignments.

A few of them weren’t bad. Most of them wrote, 'he just wanted to be alone and fly,' in different ways.

Good observation. It's not like he's a fuckin' bird or anything.

The copier jammed halfway through printing your last worksheet of the day.

By the final bell, your nerves were strung tight. Your voice felt hoarse from repeating yourself. Your lesson plans for the next day were untouched. And your car was still out of commission.

You walked out into the bright Texas sun, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder, the heat already slick on the back of your neck. And there it was: the blue Chevy, idling quietly in the car line.

Joel gave you a small nod when you opened the passenger door. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” you said, sliding in. “I think the seagull’s going to be the death of me.”

He gave a low, amused sound—not quite a laugh. “Still on that book?”

You buckled your seatbelt. “Yep. Today’s takeaway was that he should’ve just stayed with the flock.”

Joel didn’t look over, but you could see the smile pulling at his cheek. “Not exactly the message, huh?”

“No. But I’m not sure anyone in my third period cares much about metaphors.”

He adjusted the gearshift and pulled away from the curb. His forearm rested lightly against the wheel, steady. You let yourself sink back into the seat, eyes half-closed against the sun filtering through the windshield.

“How’s the car?” he asked after a few moments.

You sighed. “We talked on the phone. Mechanic's ordering a part. Might be a few days.”

He nodded. “Well—I’ll be here.”

You glanced over, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, not missing a beat. “I mean, it’s not out of the way. Sarah likes the company. And I don’t mind.”

You looked back through the window, a small smile curling in despite the heat and the bad day. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

That made you glance over. He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just kept driving, a slight edge of amusement in his voice.

You shook your head, but you didn’t stop the smile.

"Speaking of Sarah," you murmured as you settled into the truck seat, tugging your bag into your lap, "Where is she? Doesn’t she do a sport?"

Joel kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the open window ledge. “Yeah. Soccer. Practice runs a little later on Mondays. I'll swing back ‘round after I drop you off.”

You nodded, letting the quiet hum of the engine fill the pause.

“Soccer, huh. Is she any good?”

“She’s scrappy,” he said, mouth pulling into the start of a grin. “Got no fear. Don’t matter how big the other kid is—she’ll steal that ball like it’s hers by right.”

That made you smile. “Sounds about right. She’s sharp. Doesn’t say a ton in class, but I can tell her wheels are always turning."

Joel glanced over at you briefly, brow lifting. “Yeah? She don’t talk much about school, other than about you. I ask, but y’know—middle schoolers. Everything’s ‘fine’ or ‘I dunno.’”

“Well,” you said, chuckling, “… she was one of the only ones who turned in her seagull reflection on time. So she’s already ahead of the curve.”

That got a low, amused noise from him. He clears his throat, dramatizing, “She said that book was ‘weird but, like, kinda deep.' Her exact words.'

“She’s not wrong,” you replied, settling a little more comfortably against the seat. “Bird’s dramatic, sure. But you can’t knock his drive.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. He just drove, letting the warm spring breeze drift in through the window. Town rolled by, familiar and soft around the edges.

After a minute, he spoke again. “You got a second to breathe tonight, or you buried in papers again?”

You laughed under your breath. “A little of both. I always trick myself into thinking I can stay ahead. Then I assign open-ended questions and immediately regret it.”

“Rookie mistake,” he teased, lips twitching. “You’ll learn.”

“Oh, so now you’re givin’ me pointers?”

He shot you a side glance. “Hey, I know how to spot a burnout comin’. Seen it plenty. You teachers push too hard, too fast.”

You raised a brow, but the smile that crept in was genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, then with a quieter edge, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with askin’ for help, y’know. For what it’s worth.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. You looked over, but he was already turning onto your street.

“I’ll keep that in mind too,” you said gently.

He pulled up in front of your place and let the truck idle.

“I’ll let you get to it,” Joel said, nodding toward your bag. “Unless you’re plannin’ to school me on seagull philosophy.”

You laughed, reaching for the door handle, “Careful, I might. I’ve got quotes.”

He smirked, voice low and teasing, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You stepped out, the truck door closing behind you with a soft clunk. As you walked up your porch, you glanced back.

He was still there. Engine still running—but he didn’t pull away until he saw you fully enter your house.

Shit.

This is going to be the start of something pretty dangerous, huh?

author note:

omgheyyyy... guess who is hooked to this idea (me, it's me). i think this is going to be my first thorough series. very slice of life and fluff heavy. eventual smut chapter... and ofc it'll lead all the way up to outbreak because angst, and I'm evil? maybe okay anyway thoughts r appreciated...

comment for next chapter tagging.

[cinnaleaf]

In Your DMs: Left on Read - Ch 2: Sticky Situation

summary: you left jude on read once—but after one reckless night, he’s making damn sure you never ignore him again 💫 | MDNI 18+ | Full Series |

warnings: angst/tension, push/pull dynamic, jealousy/possessiveness, verbal altercation, sexual tension, language, cultural references wc: ~6.3k (approx. 23 minutes) 💋: let’s pretend u didn’t see me post this yday when the tag was in shambles song inspo: Gemini x THEY.

You were hungover, running on a questionable amount of caffeine, and about three seconds away from throwing your pen at your professor’s head. Documentary Production & Storytelling was already your least favorite class this semester, mostly because the professor was an eccentric Spanish filmmaker who smoked way too many cigars and had a tendency to talk in circles. Today wasn’t any different.

“Filmmaking isn’t about aesthetics! Not about perfect shots or clever editing tricks!” He slapped the whiteboard for emphasis, where he’d already written EXPOSE THE TRUTH in all uppercase letters. “It’s about reality! Raw. Unfiltered. Humanity! If you want to make a documentary worth watching, you have to dig beneath the surface.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tapped your pen against your notebook instead. Expose the truth. The phrase alone made your head hurt. Bri, who was sitting beside you, leaned over and whispered, “So… are you thinking of exposing how you were crying over a toilet bowl this morning?”

You shoved her off you, whispering, “Shut up.”

Tasha, on your other side, barely contained her laughter. “You know what would be crazy?” she murmured, moving her eyes toward the board. “If you just documented Jude and his desperate ass. Now THAT would be exposing the truth.”

You groaned under your breath, shaking your head, but Bri wasn’t done. “Oh my god, imagine! Surviving Thirst: The Jude Bellingham Story.”

She was joking obviously, but the second she said it, the thought wedged into your brain and refused to budge. Your professor turned away from the board, pacing in front of the class like he was on the verge of an epiphany. The smell of cigars mixed with your lingering hangover made you question every life choice that led to this moment.

“You must capture something real!” He threw a dramatic hand in the air. “Something global but deeply personal! A story that goes beyond what people think they know. Something with weight!” He smacked his hands together which made your head pound even harder. “Something that DEMANDS to be told!”

He surveyed the class, eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me, how do we do that?”

Some overachieving wannabe Steven Spielberg shot their hand up. “By finding a subject that resonates with a wide audience but also reveals something deeper about human nature?”

“YES! Now you’re getting it!” The professor spun toward the board and underlined EXPOSE THE TRUTH so aggressively that the marker nearly flew out of his hand. “This is what great filmmakers do! They take what the world thinks it knows and deconstructs it! They rip apart the facade and show what lies underneath! Think about the subjects people obsess over and glorify.” His voice dropped an octave and he scanned the room. “Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. They are mythologized and turned into icons, but what do we really know about them? What’s behind the curated image?”

He let the question settle in the air before continuing on his artistic yet slightly psychotic tangent. “Your subject must be compelling. It must have global appeal, but you must also find a way to make it deeply personal. You have one week to choose.” He clapped his hands once, signaling the discussion was over. “Class dismissed.”

You sat frozen in your seat as everyone around you started gathering their things. 

Athletes. Celebrities. Public figures. It wasn’t a bad idea.. if you had actually considered it.

The thing was, you’d already been around these people your whole life. You knew exactly how the glossy image the world saw was never the full picture. Your dad was the go to plastic surgeon for the rich and famous. He was the man behind half the “natural” beauty people idolized on social media. You saw celebrities in and out of his clinic since you were a kid, some slipping in through the back entrance, others coming in with full security detail, all of them desperate to maintain whatever illusion the industry demanded of them.

You knew the aftermath too. NDAs, secrecy, negotiations over what work could be admitted to versus what would go to the grave. You knew which athletes got regular “maintenance” to keep their bodies in peak condition, which actors booked consultations but never followed through, and which A-listers claimed their glow ups were the work of a ‘strict diet and hydration’ (ahem, Drake.) Miami was also crawling with athletes and you watched how they moved before you were even old enough to drink. You saw the girls they rotated in and out of their lives, the ones they wifed publicly while keeping a different roster on the side. You had dinner with your dad and overheard conversations you weren’t meant to hear. You went to exclusive parties, walked through yachts and penthouses where cameras weren’t allowed, and sat quietly as men with the world at their feet made it clear that nothing was ever enough for them. 

People were obsessed with them, but if they knew even half of what you saw, they’d have a lot less to say. Your professor wanted something that resonated globally but was deeply personal. Something that exposed the truth.

Well.

You could do that.

As the three of you walked out of the classroom and into the sundrenched halls of the film building, Bri slung her tote over her shoulder and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, so… I’m thinking of making my documentary about Madrid’s club scene. Like a deep dive into the DJs, bouncers, promoters, and all the fuckery behind the scenes.”

You nodded, already seeing the vision. Madrid’s nightlife was lawless, and Bri was a historian on the subject. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know.” She flipped her hair dramatically. “It’s giving investigative journalism.”

Tasha snorted. “More like it’s giving an excuse to party seven nights a week and call it research.”

Bri shrugged. “And what about it?”

You laughed while Tasha transitioned the conversation to go over her own idea. “I think I’m gonna do something about gentrification. Specifically, how it’s affecting Lavapiés and it’s immigrant population.”

You gave her a look of approval. “That’s actually really fucking good.”

“I know. But I’m about to piss off a ton of white people with this one.”

Bri grinned. “Oh, for sure.”

You were still laughing when you all stepped outside in the warm afternoon breeze of Madrid and made your way toward your usual café down the block. You could feel them watching you, waiting for you to speak, and you knew exactly why. You had been quiet about your own project since leaving class, which meant your brain was turning over something serious.

Tasha sighed. “You’re really gonna make us drag it out of you?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone back into your bag. “Fine. I’m thinking about documenting athletes.”

That got their full attention. “Athletes?” Bri repeated with interest.

You nodded. “Think about it. People put them on this insane pedestal, but no one really gets to see what their lives are like outside of what they post or what the media covers.” You shrugged. “I’ve seen that side my whole life. I know what really goes on behind the scenes. Why not film it?”

They exchanged a look before Bri asked the inevitable. “And who are you documenting?”

Tasha raised her eyebrow. “Because if you say Jude, I swear to God…”

You shot her a look. “I’m not doing a documentary about Jude.”

Bri smirked. “But he’s in it?”

You sighed dramatically. “I might use him. I might use Santi too. He’s not on Jude’s level but basketball is still a thing here.. so I could get both perspectives.”

Bri gasped. “Oh my god. You’re pitting them against each other in the name of entertainment.”

“I’m not pitting them against each other.”

“You’re definitely pitting them against each other.”

You shook your head but the idea was already taking place in your mind. The contrast between a man at the height of European football and a man who was well known but didn’t live under the same spotlight could make for a very interesting project.

Tasha smirked. “So… who are you calling first?”

After visiting the café, you made your way back to your apartment and stared at your phone, contemplating if this was really the move. Out of the two of them, Jude was the most likely to be the bigger headache and piss you off within the first few minutes of conversation, but you also knew he’d answer immediately. You tapped his contact and one ring was all it took before he answered.

“You finally had a change of heart and decided to stop ignoring me?” His voice came through the speaker, smug and warm. A normal hello would have sufficed.

You blew out a breath, already over it. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking, that’s for sure.”

There was a pause but then he let out a chuckle that made you clench your jaw. “You were thinking about me enough to call me.”

Your eyes nearly rolled out of your skull. “Are you busy or not?” Your attitude was immediate, rightfully so.

“Not for you, pretty girl.”

You ignored the way your stomach twisted slightly at that and forced yourself to focus. “Good. Come to mine. I just sent you the address.”

“See.. now you’re just making it too easy” he teased.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Jude shut the fuck up and just–”

“I’ll be there in twenty” he cut in smoothly, enjoying the chase. “Missed you too by the way.” The call ended before you could respond, making you stare at your phone in disbelief.

Clearly, this was a mistake.

Twenty five minutes had passed by before you finally heard a knock on your door, because of course he had to be late. You took one last deep breath and pulled the door open, only to be greeted with the ugliest Peaky Blinders ass hat you’d ever seen in your life.

You made a face of disgust because the sheer ugliness of his hat offended you. “Absolutely not.”

Jude stood in front of the doorframe, grinning with one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers. “Good to see you too.”

You didn’t acknowledge what he said and instead waved a hand at the monstrosity sitting on top of his head. “What the fuck is this?”

“What?” He asked innocently, reaching up to adjust the hat. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t like it. You look like you started street brawls in 1923.”

Jude laughed and stepped past you, making himself at home. “I look good in this hat.”

You shut the door behind him and shook your head. “No. You look like a fucking 40 year old who snuck on earth in that hat.”

His ego was too big for him to admit to anything other than him looking good in the hat, so Jude wandered further into your apartment, stretching his long legs and taking in his surroundings with ease. “Nice place,” he mused, glancing at the half empty iced coffee cup on the table, an open notebook filled with scribbled ideas, and a stack of filming equipment tucked near the TV. “This where you plot your next move?”

You sighed, already regretting this. “Jude.”

He turned to you with a cocky half smirk on his lips. “Yeah, angel?”

You clenched your jaw. “Come to my room.”

“Damn at least buy me dinner first.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response and instead turned around to walk to your bedroom as he followed behind lazily. Once inside, you shut the door behind you and watched Jude eye the personal confines of your bedroom. It felt strangely intimate having him in your room, especially since it looked like he was taking mental notes on the little details of your life. Your room was a mix of chaos and personality with half packed bags shoved in a corner, polaroid pictures pinned to the wall, books and videography equipment scattered across your desk. Jude walked over and picked up one of your camcorders without asking, testing the weight of it in his hands. 

“You always been into this?” he asked, adjusting the focus ring as if he knew what he was doing even though he could barely put on a headset without looking confused.

You crossed your arms. “Why do you care?”

Jude glanced at you, setting the camera back down. “Because I’m nosy.”

Okay. At least he was honest. You inhaled deeply, preparing yourself for the conversation you actually needed to have. “I need you for a project.”

“Is that why you finally decided to hit me up?”

“Jude..” He laughed and stepped closer to you, shifting his body language into something more relaxed. His hands sat in his pockets as he studied your face, waiting. “I have to make a documentary for class. Something with global appeal that’s also personal. So I figured....”

“Ohhh,” Jude drawled, tilting his head. “You figured me.”

You stared at him, trying to explain yourself more in depth, but the words tumbling out of you dug you into a deeper hole. “You’re one of the biggest footballers in the world right now. It makes sense.”

He licked his lips, nodding slightly, but that smug look didn’t leave his face. “So what’s the angle? Exposing me in bed?”

Your nostrils flared as you clenched your fists at your sides. “Jude be serious.”

He grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth, leaning in only slightly. “I’m joking.”

You tried to push past the fact that he was actively and succeeding at getting under your skin. “I want to capture what your life is actually like. The side people don’t see.”

Jude didn’t respond right away and continued to study your face to figure out what part of this project you weren’t admitting to just yet. “And you think I’m just gonna agree to that?”

You shrugged. “I think you’ll do whatever you want to do.”

“What if I don’t want to do it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll move on.”

“That easy?”

“That easy,” you echoed, even though you both knew damn well that wasn’t the case for reasons beyond the project.

The silence following after was charged with unsaid thoughts. Jude sat on the edge of your bed with his hands clasped in front of him, still watching you with an unreadable expression, but then he reached out for you and wrapped his fingers around your waist, tugging you just close enough that you had to catch yourself with your free hand on his thigh. Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away.

He looked up at you, voice low. “Why me?”

You swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the feeling of his skin against yours. “Because you’re a global name. And because people don’t actually know you.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just for a second. “And you think you do?”

You really should’ve pulled away and put distance between you but you stayed there instead, feeling the heat of his body meld with yours from the way his leg caged you into his personal space. He smelled too good. He was too close. He was looking at you like he knew exactly what was running through your head and he liked it.

“Jude…” you said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Let go.”

His smirk deepened, but he let go slowly to test the waters. You took a very small step back and pulled the hem of your shirt down in order to forget the sensation of him touching you. “Think about it. If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’ll find someone else.”

Jude leaned back slightly, propping himself up on his hands. “Like who?”

You tilted your head. “Santi.”

Jude’s whole demeanor changed with the mention of Santiago. He didn’t hate him, but he definitely didn’t like him always being around you, regardless of if you were ‘just friends’. 

“Santi?” he repeated with flexed jaw muscles.

“Obviously he’s not on your level but...”

“But?” Jude laughed loudly and shook his head. “Fucking hell. You really know how to push my buttons don’t you?” You smirked, because for once, you were the one getting under his skin.

“Maybe. But only when it’s something I want.” You were taunting Jude with a game of chess, willing him to figure out his next move and decide what was next.

“What if I want something out of this too?”

“Like what?”

“You.”

You knew he wasn’t joking based on the way he blew up your phone after your hook up, thinking he had a right to your attention. Jude had always been persistent, confident, and way too aware that he was the type of man who always got what he wanted. There were women chasing him all over the world and for some reason, you were the one he decided to bother the most. It would’ve been easier if the sex had been forgettable, but it was far from that and every time you saw him, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now you were finding yourself in a sticky situation where you wanted access to his life without giving him too much access to yours. It made sense in your head originally, but you also knew Jude wasn’t the type to back off once he set his sight on things. When he wanted something, he chased it on or off the pitch, and he usually succeeded every time.

You gave him a poker face, refusing to give in so easily. “That’s cute Jude, but that’s not on the table. I don’t even think you truly know what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah I do.” he said with eyes still piercing into yours. “You just don’t like hearing the truth.”

He always flipped it back on you for control. It pissed you off, but worst of all...it was kinda working. “Are you gonna agree to this or not?”

“I don’t know..” he said, stroking his index finger over his facial hair. “Seems like a pretty big commitment. Are you sure you want me in front of your camera, angel?” You cut your eyes at him, giving him a nasty side eye. The nerve of this man to be standing so close to you, going back and forth in a hat that made him look like he was from the prohibition era was really starting to irk you.

“I want a documentary subject” you corrected, pressing your hand against his chest to create distance.

Jude caught your wrist before you could move away and captured you back into his space to remind you of how he could pull you right back in if he wanted to, especially behind closed doors. “Uh huh..” he murmured. “But what’s in it for me?” 

Your breaths were a bit uneven by this point, but you forced yourself to keep composure. “The world gets to see a different side of you.”

Jude wasn’t impressed with your answer in the slightest and chose to push you even more. “Yeah? Or you get to keep me on a leash while you figure out whatever the fuck this is between us?”

“There is no this.” You gestured between you and him for emphasis. Before you even had time to finish the sentence, Jude scoffed a laugh at you, unconvinced with your statement. He loosened his fingers around your wrist and slid lower to graze his thumb against your thigh. You felt it everywhere. Heat rose in your stomach and kept rising both higher and lower the longer he touched you. He was barely doing anything, but it was a deliberate touch. He knew exactly what he was doing and knew you wouldn’t step back this time.

“This is professional” you said quietly with your tone not sounding confident at all.

Jude tilted his head. “Professional,” he repeated, brushing up against your skin again before he finally stopped. “You really think you can keep it that way?”

Your heart may as well have been in your ass but you refused to let him see it. “Yes.”

Jude wanted to push a little further just to see what would happen but instead, he leaned back to give you space. “Alright then. I’ll do it.” 

The funny thing about exposing truth and reality is that sometimes it comes when you least expect it. A few sharp knocks on the door echoed through your apartment walls, startling you. You hadn’t ordered anything for delivery and all of your roommates had keys so it couldn’t have been them. Jude raised his eyebrow curiously. “Expecting someone?”

“No.” you muttered, knowing he was about to be an inconvenience no matter who was standing on the other side. You weren’t in the mood for any surprises, especially not with the world’s most annoying man sitting comfortably on your bed, grating your nerves. There was no version of events where he sat back quietly and minded his business because Jude’s entire personality revolved around being a pain in the ass. 

You walked toward the door and kept your hand on the knob for a split second, opening it just enough to crack the door open and peek through, only to see Santiago standing tall with a brown bag in one hand and a worn food container that his abuelita passed down to him when he moved to Madrid. Your stomach rumbled slightly from smelling the scent of home. Whatever he had smelled like the kind of food you grew up eating that couldn’t be easily found in Madrid, no matter how many restaurants claimed they knew what they were doing with Caribbean flavors.

Santi flashed his bright teeth, putting last night’s drama from the party at the very back of your head. “I thought you might need this after all the rum.”

You shifted to block the doorway from view. “Thanks. You didn’t have to...”

“Yeah, but I wanted to. Brought some ropa vieja (stewed beef), arroz (white rice), frijoles (beans) and arroz con leche (rice pudding).” Santi glanced at your frame through the tiny crack in the door. “You’re looking better than I thought you would.”

Another voice....a very annoying voice spoke from your side of the door.

“She always looks good.”

You closed your eyes in horror, feeling your entire soul leave your body. After a deep breath, you turned your head back toward your room to see Jude standing a few short steps behind you. Santi shifted his legs, moving around because for some reason, athletes could never stay in place like a normal person…including Jude. “Didn’t realize you had company.”

You turned back toward Santi quickly. “They were just leaving.” You didn’t want to tell him outright who was behind the door, but Jude was going to make sure Santiago knew exactly who was in your apartment. He had no intention of making things easy. 

“Leaving??” he asked while standing directly behind you, making it painfully obvious who was behind the door with his accent. “I thought we were still having a chat?” He cracked the door open wider so Santi could see him towering over you in the intimate space. Santi was chill and didn’t react right away because he was already familiar with the way Jude moved.

“Didn’t know you two were hanging out.”

“We aren’t.” You cut your eyes at Jude over your shoulder to give him a warning to not make things any worse than it already was. “He was just here for something.”

Jude wrapped his hand around your waist with a lot of gall and a sly smirk, ignoring how you were trying to block him from Santi’s full view. You weren’t doing a good job at it considering both of them were more vertically blessed than you were. “Yeah... something.” Jude inserted himself back into the conversation boldly.

Santiago laughed and kept his laid back demeanor intact, but his eyes bounced between you and Jude which made you wriggle your way out of Jude’s grip on your waist. “So what’s up?” You attempted to shift the conversation. “You just came to drop this off?”

Santi nodded, lifting the food slightly. “I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay after last night.”

Jude stepped even closer, making you feel the body heat radiating from behind you. “She’s good, mate.”

Santi finally looked Jude in the eye, becoming increasingly annoyed with his presence just as much as you were. “She can answer for herself, no?” The tension in the air was so suffocating that you could barely breathe through it. Jude wasn’t backing down and Santi definitely wasn’t one to be pushed into anything..no matter how chill he was.

You cleared your throat to gain some sense of control. “It’s fine Santi.”

“You sure?” he asked, locking his eyes on you and very blatantly ignoring Jude.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “Actually… I needed to talk to you about something.” Jude made a noise behind you but you were ignoring his antics now.

Santi nodded. “Yeah? Que lo que? (what’s up)”

Jude didn’t like the fact that he had been cut out of the conversation, his pride was on the line and he wasn’t going to let it slide. He peeped how you were shifting the conversation and being careful with your words to not reveal too much. Jude was smart but he was also petty, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Santi stand in your doorway for some innocent little check-in that could lead to more behind your closed bedroom door.

“You need to talk to him?” he asked mockingly but also very irked. “For what? I already said yes and you’re still asking him to be in the documentary too?”

“Documentary?” Santi asked.

You opened the door fully now and stepped back to grab the food and place it on the counter, then walked back to Santi. “I was going to ask for your help. It’s a project for class..” you admitted.

Jude walked over to the food and lifted the top off, inspecting the ropa vieja with a curious look before he turned his attention back to you and Santi, who had given you a quick hug while Jude was momentarily distracted. “So I’m not enough, huh? You need another athlete in the mix?” He gestured toward Santi lazily. “I guess that makes sense. You can’t just have me, gotta add a little filler content.”

Santi walked over to Jude, unbothered. “Something on your mind hermano?”

Jude smiled but it wasn’t friendly. “Nah. Just wondering what exactly your part in all this is supposed to be.” He opened the arroz con leche and grabbed a spoon, lifting a bite into his mouth to infuriate Santi. It was cold and creamy with just the amount of sweetness as he chewed. “What’s she gonna cover? The story of an NBA reject who never made it past summer league?” Jude then placed the arroz con leche back on the counter and gave Santi a pat on the shoulder. “Not too bad, mate. Maybe you should stick to cooking.”

Santi’s expression barely changed but you knew that pissed him off. There was a barely-there tightening of his jaw and a flash of anger dancing across his pupils. Santi didn’t get riled up easily but Jude’s words weren’t just a throwaway jab...they were designed to sting. His words even had you pissed off and you were seconds away from cussing Jude out yourself. He had no business coming for Santiago like that but you knew exactly why he did it. He needed to have the upper hand and couldn’t just let something sit when his ego was at stake. He peeped the way you kept your voice level with Santi but raised it with him. Jude saw how you tried to block the door and realized you didn’t tell him about your full plans for the documentary from the jump. He didn’t like the picture he was getting.

“Is this what you do?” Santi asked in a raised tone. “You throw a bitch fit every time someone else is around her?”

They were arguing over you again. It was flattering honestly. It wasn’t everyday that two hot men stood in your apartment challenging each other from the sight of you, but two days in a row was pushing it..especially when you still had a raging hangover headache.

Jude licked the last bit of arroz con leche off his spoon, satisfied with himself for getting under Santi’s skin. He didn’t need to say more to make his point. He had already thrown the punch by mentioning Santi’s career, his missed shot, and the fact that he wasn’t on Jude’s level and probably never would be.

“You know what’s funny?” Santi’s voiced in a cool tone. “You talk a lot for a man who can’t even handle his own shit.”

Jude’s smirk fell, but only for a second. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

“You act like she owes you an explanation of what she does in her own life. She didn’t mention it to you because she didn’t want to.” Santi’s head tilted just slightly, pushing the knife in deeper. “Or are you mad she’s not hanging onto the bullshit you tell every other girl?”

Jude shifted around to stand taller and laughed. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.” Santi countered. “You’re a mommy’s boy who’s fucking pissed she doesn’t worship the ground you walk on like your hoes do.” Jude gritted his teeth together. He hated when people tried to dissect him, especially when they weren’t wrong. The boy could stomach a lot of things but being read like a book by Santi made his blood boil.

“I’m not the one delivering homemade meals hoping it earns me extra time. She called me to come over here” Jude fired back. “So what’s the plan bro? Feed her and wait around like a good little second choice the same way you waited around for the NBA just to not get drafted?”

You flinched. That was a deep cut and you all knew it. Santi took a step closer to Jude and squared up to him as a warning, daring him to say something else. “You almost got your ass knocked into the pavement last night, carajito (little boy/brat but derogatory). We can run it back right now.”

Jude’s jaw flexed and his muscles tensed around him with balled fists at his side. He was seconds away from doing something reckless and you knew Santi wasn’t just a basketball player, but also someone who did boxing recreationally. He could truly beat Jude’s ass if he was pushed far enough and it was starting to get to that point. Luckily for Jude, you didn’t want anything to do with the online conversation that would be trending if he showed up battered to training, so you stepped in.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” you snapped while stepping between the two of them. “I’m not doing this again.”

Jude exhaled harshly through his nose with his jaw still locked, but he took a step back. Santi was the first to ease up, but his glare never stopped. You were tired of them throwing shots at each other and tired of being caught in the middle of the circus this was turning into. You ran your hands over your hair, exhaling slowly to keep from losing it.

“I want you both to be in this because you have different experiences and different perspectives. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.” You looked at Jude first. “And if you have a problem with that, you don’t have to be involved.”

Jude kissed his teeth but he didn’t argue, he just stared at you instead. You turned to Santi. “Are you in?”

You waited, watching both of them with growing impatience. Santi had already cooled off and nodded at you. “Yeah, I’m in.” Jude took his sweet time, playing with the rim of his stupid hat with his jaw still flexing from his bruised ego. He wanted you to say something that would put him above Santi and everyone else.

Too bad for him. You weren’t doing that.

You crossed your arms, waiting. “Well???”

Jude wanted to make sure he would be the ONLY highlight of this documentary, no matter what extras you planned on adding. He lifted his hat off his head to run a hand over his sponge curls, finally agreeing definitively as he put the hat back on. “I’m in.”

You nodded out of satisfaction but you were still annoyed as hell that it took this much just for both of them to agree. It seemed like they were both agreeing to challenge each other rather than actually helping you, but you pushed that thought aside to get down to the nitty gritty. “Good. Now.. let’s be clear about a few things.” Santi attentively listened but Jude was still scoffing like a school boy who couldn’t get his way. “We’ll be filming over the next few weeks so I need access to your routines, training, travel schedules and whatever I can capture without pissing off Real Madrid or the leagues. When I go to your games, I’m going as media. Not as some fan..” you pointed at Jude before he could even try it. “Or someone in a private box at the Bernabeu. And definitely not courtside at Movistar. Got it?”

Jude rolled his eyes like your request was outlandishly ridiculous. “You think they’ll just let you in like that? I can–”

“I’ll apply for the credentials just like any other person in the media” you cut in sharply. “I don’t need to be paraded around Jude.”

You stared both of them down for a few seconds to make it abundantly clear how serious you were. “One more thing..I’ll be going back home to Miami to visit so you’ll have a break from filming while I’m gone.”

Santi nodded in understanding but Jude just had to push your buttons. “I could come with you to Miami.”

“What?”

“You’re filming my life, yeah?” He leaned back against the counter as if he had declared a normal suggestion. “May as well get the full picture and show them what I’m like on holiday.” Your mind drifted to the night he first liked one of your pictures on Instagram. You thought he was cute but the minute you took a deep dive googling his name, you found out exactly what he was like on his holidays. Seeing it online was enough to never want to see it again, especially right in front of you.

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” Jude licked over his lips and looked at you, then at Santi. He was weighing whether he wanted to push further just to get under you and Santi’s skin but you clocked the gears turning in his head and refused to give him another opening or opportunity. “We’re done here.” you stated firmly. “I need food, my bed, and zero testosterone in my immediate vicinity. Goodbye. Both of you can leave now.” You ushered both of them to the door, seconds away from peace and quiet when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Mateo took one sniff of the food, clocked Santiago, Jude, and then you.

“I know my eyes aren’t deceiving me on this day... que vaina es esta?! (what’s this nonsense?)” Mateo waved his finger between you three.

Your head fell back with a groan. “Mateo, pleaseeee.”

“No.” He pointed his finger at you. “I need someone to explain why this is happening.” he gestured at the two athletes standing tall in the same space without throwing hands. “Because last time I checked...these two were fighting over you at the party last night.”

Santi smiled brightly at Mateo to disengage from his dramatics. “I just came to drop off some food as an apology. I was just leaving.”

“And you??” Mateo pointed at Jude with a side eye. 

Jude shrugged and pointed at you like the tattle tell he was. “She called me and told me to come over.”

Mateo turned to you in disbelief. There was no ‘we listen and we don’t judge’ with Mateo. He was listening and undeniably judging as he put the puzzle pieces together. “YOU called HIM?”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s for a project Mateo.”

“So you’re telling me out of the millions of people in Madrid, the capital of Spain, that these two fools were your only option?”

“They’re my best options” you admitted with exhaustion, still trying to usher Jude and Santi out of the apartment. Both of them were now intently standing near the door, watching Mateo and his dramatics unfold. 

Mateo looked Jude and Santi up and down with a deep, exasperated sigh and then refocused on you. “You do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Jude scoffed. “Mate, I’m literally standing right here.”

“Oh I know.” Mateo shot back without missing an opening for a quick witted jab. “That’s exactly why I’m saying it.”

Mateo had a point which was easily the most annoying thing about him. But just because he was right about some things didn’t mean he had to be right about this. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Maybe a little messy, sure, but terrible? Noooo. You had a vision and you were going to see it through, no matter how many stress inducing headaches it caused. You were determined to capture the essence of what your eccentric professor explained in class earlier that day. You wanted to reveal the truth of their lives, their stories, and their reality beyond what people thought they knew.

But why did it suddenly feel like the only person being put under a microscope was you?

[haikyu-mp4]

Fussy

word count; 1176 – f!reader

Not usually favouring sports, you’re in the journalism club to make use of your great eye for design and writing. After watching one of your school’s volleyball team’s official games last season, you took notice of the boring brochures they handed out with the players’ information. You hadn’t yet chosen what to do for your project this semester and decided to lend your talents to making a better representation of the team’s charms and talents. What you didn’t expect to get out of the project was a date.

You received permission from their coach and captain and set up some equipment to take your photos in a room adjacent to the gym during practice. Hopefully, you can encourage them all to pose confidently. In order to not disturb their whole practice, you ask one grade to join you at a time, starting with the first-years and ending with the third-years. Good luck!

You already know the captain of your school’s volleyball team. Sometimes you wondered if Kuroo knew everyone. The two of you have a lot of classes together and you would be lying if you said you hated hearing his charming comments and finding fun ways to quip back at him. Perhaps you even developed a little crush. So when you decided on the project for your club, you asked him with the biggest possible doe eyes to approve it and help get his players to cooperate. He was more than happy to help you and arrange everything, despite telling you that you owe him.

Fortunately, the first years were easy. Absolute sweethearts that were so excited to show off. You had almost finished with the second-years when you met your first obstacle of the day, unless you count Lev being too tall for you to photograph without a stool to stand on and Inuoka not being able to stand still so most of the pictures ended up slightly blurry. No, this was an actual problem.

Kenma was having a bad day and didn’t want to.

Nekoma’s pampered prince was really not in the mood for this today, and with every pose you didn’t approve of as good enough, he got more fussy. His facial expressions were very expressive, especially now that he was annoyed, it just wasn’t the emotion you wanted. You sighed and stomped your foot a little, looking at him with a slight frown. “Can’t you try a little harder, Kenma?”

“Does it really matter? Just use the first ones,” he complained, sounding incredibly bored.

You were trying to resist saying you would snitch on him to Kuroo like a little kid, but it was getting gradually more difficult. “This project is important to me, I want to make all of you look good.”

“Are you saying I look ugly?” Okay, now he was being childish. The two of you glared at each other for a second before Yamamoto stepped in to yell at his teammate about how a pretty girl needed their help and Kuroo told them to do everything you say and then hurry back to practice. On the contrary, that only made Kenma more apathetic. “I won’t start posing up a storm just because Kuroo has a crush on her.”

You froze, biting your lip as a blush flushed over your cheeks at the reveal. He has a crush on you? Yamamoto started waving his hands as if stressed about the information being revealed, but he only stuttered out a few syllables that didn’t turn into anything usable. You pick up your camera and look through the pictures you had taken of Kenma again, still chewing on your lip as you try to focus on the task at hand. “Can you do this again, please? Last one.” You held up the camera to show him the reference photo and he silently agreed, standing ready for you. You change the angle a bit and do your best to adjust the lighting before finally dismissing the second-years. When Kenma was about to leave, you carefully tapped his shoulder, not really meeting his eyes. “Is it true? About Kuroo…”

Kenma heard his best friend talk about you all the time. Your wit and charm matched his and he was especially obsessed with how you started doing your hair lately. The setter didn’t look so annoyed with you anymore, which made you glad. “Yes. Please date him or something so he’ll stop whining to me about it.”

You were a bit nervous when the third-years arrived, switching between avoiding Kuroo and coming on too strong. How do you act when you know someone you like likes you back?

Yaku and Kai were great, following your instructions and easily giving you several options for what photo to use of each. As Kuroo stepped up to the plate, he talked to you while you got the camera ready and fetched the little stool you used for the first years. “I hope no one gave you any trouble today,” he said, sounding like he would rather have a normal conversation right now.

“Your best friend and I got into it but we came to an agreement,” you said, gaining a bit more confidence as you went along. That made him chuckle, a fond look on his face as he didn’t doubt Kenma would fight the spotlight. You smiled at him before holding up the camera again, making sure the lens was on him when you kept talking. “I didn’t know you had a crush on me!”

Oh, the betrayal. As Yaku’s laughter burst behind you, you watched through the camera lens as Kuroo faltered and his smile fell, snapping as many photos as you could. His face suddenly matched the uniform and his shoulders were sky-high. “Huh?” he said. He was flustered, brain trying desperately to decide if he should deny it or follow the flow. Damn it, Kenma. Suddenly, Kuroo regretted how he had stolen some of Kenma’s snacks earlier. “You’re not going to use those pictures, are you?” he ended up saying, unusually awkward. It was fun, seeing Kuroo stumble.

Yaku and Kai end up throwing in a little comment about being finished anyway and leaving the area, giving the two of you some space. When he came back to the gym, Yaku threw an arm over Kenma’s shoulder and ruffled his hair, giving him a confusing mix of praise and scolding.

Meanwhile, you were smiling at Kuroo as he stepped a little closer to you. “Of course not, they’re for my special collection.” You wiggled your eyebrows and Kuroo finally felt his shoulders relax a little.

“I did say you owe me one for this project, how about I take you out this weekend?” he asked, usual charm back in place along with his crooked smirk.

“That sounds great, Tetsuro,” you agreed, taking a moment to say anything else as you stared at him up close. Your cheeks were burning at this point and you fumbled with the camera. “Now, come on. We have to show off Nekoma’s captain!”

“You got it, boss.”

/please note that Yaku calls Kenma their «pampered prince» in season 4, so that is not me making a nasty comment about Kenma. I just think it’s a very cute nickname that fit the scenario!

the Flyer Series ║ masterlist

/taglist: @cottonlemonade @dira333 @cosmiicdust @nagi-core

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the old college try

pairing: frat dad!joel miller x college student!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5.1k

summary:

Family Weekend, or DILF Day as you and your friends like to refer to it, is when the University of Texas encourages the parents and families of its student body to visit the school and participate in activities that the Division of Student Affairs has organized. The fraternities and sororities have their own schedule that includes not-so-sanctioned house parties on frat row following the game. It’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang. Literally. Enter Joel Miller, handsome single dad visiting his son at the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house.

dear reader:

this is an extremely self-indulgent fic that i just had to write, so i hope you enjoy it! if you do, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging <3

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), alternate universe - no outbreak/no sarah, age difference (42M and 23F), dub con - sex under the influence of alcohol, no use of y/n, frat party stereotypes, keg stands and beer pong, semi-public sex (frat bathroom), mild daddy kink (not during sex), p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, cheesy dad jokes, the university of texas as a plot device. please let me know if any are missing!

You turn over in your bed with a deep groan, burying your face into your pillow. You reach your arm out from under the covers to grab your phone from the nightstand, smacking your hand around the wood surface until you find it and can bring it under the covers with you. Turning over, you tap the screen and squint at the series of unread text messages.

Ashley: Get up bitch! 

Ashley: It’s time to get ready!

Ashley: We’re going to be late if you don’t get up

Ashley: Don’t make me break into your apartment

Ashley: You know I can

You sit up quickly, shoving the blankets off of you and rushing to the front door, flipping the lock and pulling it open. Your best friend is across the threshold, knelt down on the ground with two bobby pins held up and her eyes wide in surprise.

“Aw man,” she laments, standing and brushing off her knees. “I wanted to test my skills.”

“I’m not paying to replace the lock,” you chastise, stepping back to let her in. “Sorry, overslept.”

“Figured. I’ll get your coffee started,” she replies, heading for your kitchen while you head back to your bedroom to start your morning routine. “Guess which frat is hosting the tailgate today?”

“Which one?” You shout from the bathroom as you run through your skincare routine.

“Theta Lambda Upsilon,” Ashley shouts back. The scent of brewing coffee paired with this excellent news has you perking up immediately. 

Your friend steps into your room with two mugs in her hands, passing one to you as you exit the bathroom and sit at your cluttered vanity, pushing aside products to make room to set your mug down. Ashley sits on your bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“The hottest frat hosting the tailgate and after party means we’ll get to see the hottest dads this weekend,” she says, shimmying her shoulders excitedly. “It’s simple genetics.”

“You dropped genetics. Remember? You couldn’t handle an 8 am class,” you say as you apply mascara. 

“I went to enough classes to know how a Punnett square works.”

You laugh, finishing your makeup between long sips of coffee. “It’s amazing you couldn’t tough it out through an early semester but give you an afternoon game and you’re trying to break into my apartment at the crack of dawn.”

“It’s DILF Day, baby. It’s like waking up on Christmas morning.”

Family Weekend, or DILF Day as you and your friends like to refer to it, is when the University of Texas encourages the parents and families of its student body to visit the school and participate in activities that the Division of Student Affairs has organized. The fraternities and sororities have their own schedule that includes not-so-sanctioned tailgates and house parties on frat row following the game.

As an out-of-state student, your parents have always skipped Family Weekend in exchange for buying your plane tickets back home for Thanksgiving and Christmas break, which leaves you with plenty of opportunity to ogle the hot dads that descend upon campus on this glorious weekend. You’ve never had the guts to actually pursue anything with anyone, but it’s your senior year and your last DILF Day so you’re hoping to go out with a bang.

Literally.

“What are you going to wear?” Ashley asks. 

“Shorts and that new tank top I got,” you reply, finishing your makeup with a pop of your lips after applying gloss. “And boots. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ashley nods as you rifle through your closet for the outfit in question - denim cutoffs and orange Texas Longhorn tank top that hugs your curves and shows off the perfect amount of cleavage. Finishing the look with your worn brown cowgirl boots, you spin for your friend who gives you a thumbs up. “Sexy. I reckon’ this year you’ll catch yourself a DILF.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Joel’s arm hangs out the truck’s open window, fingers tapping against the hot metal as he drives down the highway towards the Austin campus of the University of Texas. It’s Family Weekend and his son, Sean, started his sophomore semester at UT a few weeks prior and now lives in the Theta Lambda Upsilon fraternity house on campus after proving to Joel that he would take his classes seriously by doing well his freshman year. Joel’s always been close with his son as a single dad and the fact that Sean asked him to Family Weekend feels like a testament to that bond.

The campus is already bustling with the game day crowd, trucks parked in grassy areas along the road with their tailgates down, people setting up tents and tables and coolers. Joel drives slowly down the street until he’s turning down a side road and parking down the hidden drive his son had given him instructions to find. He hops from the truck, sneakers hitting the hot pavement and the sun already beating down on his arms as he makes his way towards the TLU house a couple blocks away. 

There’s a huge crowd of students and parents in shades of burnt orange and white on the front lawn of the two story fraternity house, red solo cups or cans of beer in hand. Joel looks around until he hears a familiar voice calling out, “Dad!”

Sean emerges from the crowd dressed in a white polo shirt with an orange Longhorn logo on the chest tucked into khaki pants, his curly brown hair slicked back with gel. Joel smiles, hugging his son and patting him on the back in greeting.

“Been ages since I saw you, kid. Have you gotten taller?” Joel asks.

Sean rolls his eyes. “You saw me last weekend!”

A voice calls out Sean’s name and the younger man throws an arm around Joel’s shoulders, dragging him along into the packed fraternity house. The scene inside is not unlike all the ones he’s seen in movies and TV shows - flags stuck to the walls as decor, a mysteriously sticky floor, and kitchen countertops filled with booze. Sean stops and grabs a red plastic cup, handing it to Joel. 

“Pick your poison,” Sean instructs, grabbing his own cup. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“Last I checked, you weren’t twenty-one,” he chastises, earning him another eye roll. 

“Like you didn’t know Uncle Tommy was buying me beer when I was a senior.”

“He what?” Joel asks, though the question is lost in the noise as Sean leads him to an impressive back deck hosting a beer pong table and two kegs nestled in plastic trash cans and surrounded by ice. 

Sean slips into the crowd surrounding the kegs, taking Joel’s cup from his hands, pumping the tap and filling each cup with ice cold beer, handing one to Joel. 

“Go Longhorns,” Sean says, tapping his cup to Joel’s and chugging the contents. Joel watches his twenty-year-old son with wide eyes and a torn conscience. 

“This is what I’m payin’ tuition for, huh?” He teases, taking a single sip of the cheap beer. A cheer erupts from behind him and he turns to look at what’s causing so much excitement.

You and a friend are at one end of a plastic folding table, glaring daggers at two boys at the other end, a single solo cup set on the table in front of you. You have a white ping pong ball held delicately between two fingers, your other hand propped on your hip as you squint one eye shut to take your aim for the cup that sits in front of the boys. You let the ball fly and it sinks into the cup, another cheer going through the small crowd gathered around you as you jump up and down excitedly.

Sean approaches the boys, slapping one of them on the shoulder. One of them shouts, “Redemption shot!”

“Oh, please! You can’t aim for shit, Chad!” You shout back. 

“Celebrity shot, then!” He suggests. The boy, Chad, reaches out to pull an older man to his side. “Dad edition!”

Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on Joel. You wave him over, the older man glancing around briefly before pointing to himself to confirm. You nod, smile bright as he approaches.

“I need a daddy for this celebrity shot, you wanna do the honors?” You ask sweetly. Joel swallows nervously, face heating at the suggestive tone and look you’re giving him. 

“Come on, dad!” Sean calls out. “Show ‘em what a Miller man can do!”

“Yeah,” you chime in. “Show me what a Miller man can do.”

“Alright, fine,” Joel acquiesces, moving to stand beside you. You slip a ping pong ball into his hand, standing so close beside him that your bare arm brushes his as you both watch Chad’s dad take aim for the single cup. 

The ball soars through the air, hitting the rim of the cup and bouncing off onto the table, rolling to the ground as the men groan. He feels you place a hand on his shoulder, your lips close to his ear as you whisper, “Come on, Mr. Miller. You’re my only hope.”

It doesn’t escape Joel’s notice that you keep your hand on his shoulder as he takes aim and throws the ball across the table, sinking it into the cup. You’re throwing your arms around his shoulders in celebration as the people around you shout excitedly. On instinct, Joel’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you close for a brief moment before coming to his senses and taking a step back.

“Thanks,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “I’m going to go inside for a drink. You want anything? I’ve got a stash of IPAs in a friend’s fridge upstairs if you want something better than Miller Lite. Consider it a thank you for winning me bragging rights over Chad.”

Joel should say no. He shouldn’t be taking up drink offers from someone half his age, but you’re giving him another devastating smile that has his resolve folding faster than a lawn chair in a hurricane.

“Sure.”

The hottest man you’ve ever seen is currently following you upstairs to your friend Craig’s room for a beer. He’s tall and tan with sweet brown eyes and dark hair that looks like it would be a dream to run your fingers through. His broad chest and toned biceps press deliciously at the confines of the white UT Longhorns shirt he’s wearing. When he stepped up beside you to throw your celebrity shot at the beer pong table downstairs, you’d noted that his left hand featured no wedding band or a tan line of one left behind.

You reach the second floor and head for the last door on the right, marked with a PRESIDENT plaque. You reach into the pocket for the key Craig had given you earlier and let yourself inside, heading for the mini fridge in the corner and grabbing two Yellow Rose IPA cans. 

“So,” you say, handing the man one of the drinks. “You got a name, or should I keep calling you Mr. Miller?”

“It’s Joel,” he says, taking a long sip of the beer. You watch the muscles of his throat work, longing to press your lips against the tan skin. 

You tell him your name, holding a hand out to him for a handshake. His grip is tight, sturdy, and for a brief moment you think about how his sure, thick fingers would feel deep inside of you. He looks around the room curiously as he pulls his hand back.

“Craig and I have been friends since freshman year,” you explain. “I helped him pass calculus, he lets me keep my beer out of the grubby hands of his frat brothers.”

“Calculus, huh?” He asks, taking another sip. “Must mean you’re pretty smart.”

“Just a basic engineering prerequisite,” you joke. 

“Engineering? That’s impressive.”

You take a seat on Craig’s bed, crossing one leg over the other. Joel’s eyes track the movement and you smile, giddy at the attention. “What do you do, Mr. Miller?”

“Thought you were gonna call me Joel?” 

“Mm, I can think of a few things to call you.”

Joel nearly spits his mouthful of beer out, choking on the bitter drink. You rush towards him, patting him on the back as he coughs. After a moment of fighting for breath, the man seems to realize how close you are, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, trailing down to your chest. 

You lean in a little closer, pressing yourself to him and you think this might be it, Joel Miller might be the DILF of your dreams as he leans into you as well. 

But the doorknob rattles and the door swings open, Joel jumping back in surprise as both of you turn to look at the doorway. Craig leans against the frame, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk on his lips. You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, looking between you and Joel. “Ashley’s lookin’ for you downstairs. We’re headin’ to the stadium now.”

“I better find Sean, then,” Joel says. Craig’s eyes light up.

“You’re Miller’s dad? Hey, man, nice to finally meet you. I’m Craig, TLU president.” The men shake hands, patting each other on the back. “Sean’s a good kid, we’re happy to have him.”

“Good to hear,” Joel replies. 

“Well, guess I’ll go find Ashley.” You place a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Maybe I’ll see you later?” You let your hand trail down the man’s bicep as you leave and you watch his throat work around a nervous swallow.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “See you later.”

The Longhorns pull off an impressive win, a 49-0 blowout against Oklahoma that has the entire campus celebrating with abandon. If Joel thought the TLU house was packed for the tailgate, that crowd was nothing compared to the after game party. More alcohol, more people, and more noise is packed into the house. Joel sticks close to Sean, meeting more of his frat brothers and their parents with shouted introductions. 

When the stale air inside the house gets too overwhelming, Sean leads him to the deck. More kegs have appeared and his son bumps him with his shoulder, nodding towards where a few people are gathered around one, a man hoisted upside down by two people gripping his legs as he chugs directly from the keg tap. He spits the valve out as the crowd shouts a chorus of, “Twenty!”

“I bet you could do better,” Sean says. Joel raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know what you’re doin’, kid, and it ain’t gonna work,” Joel replies. Sean puts his hands up.

“I’m not doin’ anythin’. But if you’re too scared, you can tell me.”

“I’m not scared.” 

“Hey, my dad’s got next!” Sean shouts, dragging Joel through the crowd with an arm around his shoulders. Joel tries to argue but a familiar face in the crowd has the words dying on his tongue. You wiggle your fingers at him in a wave and suddenly he has the motivation to execute the most impressive keg stand of his life.

Joel grabs the cold handles of the keg, Sean and one of his fraternity brothers lifting him into the air so that he’s suspended upside down over the barrel of beer. People begin counting, shouting numbers as he attempts to focus on the beer flooding his mouth and drinking it down steadily. It’s been a long time since he’s done one of these, probably before Sean was even born, but if there’s one thing Joel has never been, it's a quitter.

After what feels like forever he spits the valve out with a gasp and he gets lowered back to ground as the crowd shouts, “Thirty-four!”

Sean’s frat brothers jump around him excitedly, hands patting him on the back and cheering his name. He laughs as Sean starts yelling, “That’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!”

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention and he turns his head just in time to see you disappear into the house. He tells Sean he’ll be back in a minute and follows after you, craning his neck to scan the mass of bodies crammed inside until he spots you on the stairs. 

When he finally manages to reach the stairs, he’s surprised to find them roped off at the bottom. Looking around to make sure no one is paying attention to him, he ducks beneath the barrier, taking the steps two at a time. The second floor is dark and empty but light spills into a hall from beneath the last door marked PRESIDENT.

Joel knocks on the wood, his head a little light from the rush of alcohol in his system but it has him feeling good. 

Confident. 

Maybe a little too confident because when you open the door, he wraps an arm around your waist, pushing his way inside as his lips find yours, a little noise of surprise swallowed by him as his tongue explores yours.

He comes to his senses when your teeth nip at his bottom lip, jarring him back to a reality where he is a mature adult who thinks with his brain and not his dick. He grips you on the shoulders, breaking the kiss and holding you at arm's length.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t even ask if it was okay to kiss you, just came bargin’ in here like a bull in a goddamn china shop and you probably don’t even want—“

“Joel?” You interrupt. He blinks.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Kiss me again.”

Joel kisses you again, but pulls away a second time to ask, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” you reply, giggling as he mutters a low thank god before pulling you back into his arms. It’s another short lived kiss, the man leaning back once more as you huff in annoyance.

“Wait, how much have you had to drink?” He asks this time. 

“Less than you, Mr. Thirty-Four-Second Keg Stand,” you answer. He gives you a smirk that has your stomach doing somersaults. 

“You liked that, huh?” 

His hands slip into the back pockets of your shorts and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of your lips against his. Your heart is racing as he pulls you even closer and runs his hands up your back, warm palms exploring your curves like he’s trying to map them to memory.

You’re lost enough in each other that the sound of the door opening doesn’t register until an upset voice is saying, “Ugh, come on! No fucking in my room!”

“Shit,” you yelp, tearing yourself away from Joel. Craig is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. You grab Joel’s hand and tug him towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, pulling him inside and slamming the door behind you, flipping the lock.

“Hey, wait a minute—“

“It’s not your room, Craig!” You yell through the wood. There’s a muffled curse from the other side.

“Condoms are under the sink,” he shouts back. You grin victoriously at Joel, who’s laughing so hard he has a hand pressed to his chest. You step up to him, grabbing that hand and bringing it around your waist.

“You sure about this?” Joel asks seriously, stepping forward until he’s crowding you against the door. You tilt your head up to look at his handsome face, his dark eyes so intense as he searches your face that you feel giddy.

“I mean, the location isn’t ideal, but at least Craig keeps his bathroom pretty clean,” you joke, noting the clear counter space and surprising lack of dirty clothing littering the floor. 

“Answer the question, sweetheart. You sure about doing this with me?”

You reach up, tangling your fingers into his soft curls, pulling him close until your lips graze his as you respond, “I’m so fucking sure.”

Whatever tether of control Joel had been holding onto seems to snap with your words, the man kissing you so roughly that all you can do is hold on, your fingers curling desperately against his scalp as his tongue dives into your mouth and tangles with yours. He tastes like beer and smells like a mixture of cedar and sweat, the combination intoxicating as he presses close and surrounds you with it.

Joel trails his lips across your jaw, nipping your earlobe before continuing down your neck. He sucks the thin skin over your pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue as you writhe against him, gasping at the sensation. You can feel his smile against your shoulder and as he presses a thigh between your legs, you get a brief feel of his hard cock behind the barrier of his basketball shorts.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he growls, hands trailing across your curves until he’s gripping one of your breasts, squeezing tightly.

“Not so bad yourself,” you moan. He chuckles darkly.

“The mouth on you.” He reaches two fingers into the low neck of your tank top, dragging it down over your breasts. He yanks the cups of your bra down in a similar fashion, the fabric bunched beneath your chest to expose your tight nipples to him. He dips his head down and wraps his lips around a tight bud, pulling it into his mouth as you gasp.

“Could show you some other things my mouth is good at,” you tell him as he releases your breast with a wet pop, lifting his head to look at you. 

“I have a better idea,” he says, dropping to his knees. He lifts one of your legs and wiggles your boot off, tossing it to the side before doing the same with the other.

“What are you doing?” You ask when his hands reach for the fly of your shorts. He pauses, looking up at you with concern. 

“I was plannin’ on eatin’ you out until you couldn’t think straight,” he says. His brows pinch together. “Do you not want that?”

“I-I’m not sure? I mean, no one’s ever…,” your sentence trails off, your eyes going wide.

Joel runs a soothing hand down your thigh, smiling up at you. “That’s a damn shame, baby. Let me show you how a real man takes care of a woman.”

You let him work your shorts and panties down your thighs, stepping out of them with a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He lifts one of your legs and settles it over his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze. His eyes flick up to your face and he grins as he says, “Pretty all over, aren’t ya?”

Any smart reply you have died on your tongue as he starts kissing the sensitive skin of your thighs, starting at the knee that’s close to his face and moving up, up, up until you can feel his warm breath on your pussy. His tongue flicks across your clit, featherlight, but it’s enough to have you gasping his name. 

He starts a rhythm of messy swirls of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves before dipping down to your entrance, the tip of his nose still brushing your clit and making you moan. You buck against his face and he immediately grasps your hips in his big hands, fingers curling into the flesh of your ass to hold you still as he lavishes your pussy with attention.

“Oh my god,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. He groans at the same time his lips wrap around your clit and the sound of his satisfaction has your orgasm taking you by surprise, washing through your veins and making you feel like you’re on fire. 

You feel breathless as he licks you slowly, thoroughly, his tongue making sure he’s gotten every last drop of your release. He leans back, slowly lowering your leg from his shoulder. His lips and chin are coated in your wetness, shiny in the light of the bathroom vanity, the sight making your cheeks feel hot and a nervous giggle spill free.

Joel grins, boyish and sweet. “Good?” He asks. 

“Great. Amazing,” you concur. “Ten out of ten. Your Yelp review will be glowing.”

“Shouldn't I be the one leavin’ the Yelp review? You were the meal after all.”

You blink at him. “Oh my god, that was so bad,” you say, laughter near hysterical.

He stands, his palms cupping your face and pulling you into a filthy kiss that quickly shuts you up, his tongue slowly exploring yours and introducing the musky taste of yourself to your taste buds. You reach down, palming his hard cock through his shorts and the responding groan you receive from the older man has you clenching in anticipation.

Joel breaks the kiss, pulling you against his body and turning until you’re facing the vanity, your hips pressed to the edge of the laminate counter. You watch his reflection in the mirror as he runs a hand down your back, pressing you forward slightly so that you’re bent over the counter, ass slightly tilted up. His hand continues lower until it’s running reverently over one cheek. He catches your eye in the mirror.

“You gonna let me fuck you just like this?” He asks. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace through your folds, one dipping into your entrance. He watches your face in the mirror, eyes dark and expression serious. “Answer me.”

“Fuck, yes, anything,” you say quickly. He thrusts his finger slowly, curling it against your front wall with every pull from your body. One finger becomes two, the slight stretch making you whine as he continues to work them in and out of you. “Joel, please.”

“Please what, baby?” He asks.

“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him. 

Joel grins, removing his fingers and urging you to the side so he can open the cabinet under the sink. He crouches down, rummaging through the contents for a moment before standing with a victorious expression and a foil packet pinched between his fingers. He shoves his basketball shorts and boxers down his thighs, just low enough to free his impressive cock, thick and long with a slight curve up that has your mouth watering. He rolls the condom on and then grabs your hips, the tip of his length sliding through your folds and making your breath catch.

“You ready, baby?” He asks, squeezing your hips. You meet his gaze in the reflection, your lips tilted in a smirk.

“Been ready for a while, old man,” you tease. He raises his eyebrows and draws his hand back, landing a sharp smack to your ass that has you crying out. 

Before the sting even fades, he’s pushing inside of you with one steady thrust until his hips are flush to your ass. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter and you lift onto your tiptoes, trying to escape the sudden sensation of his cock stretching you so well. He chuckles darkly, tight hands on your hips keeping you from going too far.

“Old man,” he taunts, mimicking the higher pitch of your voice. He reaches forward, palm resting beneath your chin as his fingers and thumb press into your cheeks, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his in the mirror as he says, “Eyes up, sweetheart. You watch how this old man fucks you.”

Joel draws his hips back and slams forward, the head of his cock burying so deep inside of you that your eyes roll back from the exquisite stretch and pressure. He sets a rhythm that has a constant string of moans and pleas spilling from your parted lips, a slow pull out and a rough push in that makes you see stars. If you dare to let your chin drop or your eyes shut, the strong hand around your throat reminds you of his demand that you watch.

“That feel good, baby?” He grunts. “My cock in this tight fuckin’ pussy?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s right, who’s fuckin’ you so good? Say my name, sweetheart, wanna hear it from that pretty mouth.”

“Joel!” You cry out, the tight coil of pleasure in your belly finally unraveling, your cunt pulsing greedily around his cock as you cum. He curses, his rhythm going sloppy as he fucks you through your release and right into his own.

His hand leaves your throat and his head drops to your shoulder, soft kisses being left on your shoulder blades as you both catch your breath. After a long moment, he pulls back from you, removing the condom and tying it off to toss it in the garbage.

You straighten up from your bent position over the counter, fixing your bra and tank top back into place. Turning, you find Joel holding your shorts and panties. 

“Was that…are you…did you—“ 

You lean into him as you grab your clothes, kissing him softly. Pulling back, you murmur, “That was amazing.”

Joel sighs in relief, watching as you get dressed and tug your boots back on. “Good. That’s…good.”

“Why don’t you head downstairs first? I need to freshen up,” you suggest. Joel nods, but doesn’t make a move to leave. You raise your eyebrows at him and that seems to have him getting the hint. 

“Oh! Right, I’ll just…go downstairs,” he says. You giggle, leaning into him for one more kiss before he disappears from the bathroom and you busy yourself with fixing your appearance to look a little less well fucked.

Downstairs, Joel wanders through the first floor in search of his son. He feels a flash of guilt for leaving him for so long, especially to fuck a woman half his age in a frat house bathroom, but the guilt is short lived when he finds his son with his tongue down the throat of a blonde girl in the living room.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, turning to head for the front door instead. It’s getting late and now seems like a good time to head home.

He’s a few steps out the front door when he hears his name called out and you appear from the doorway. 

“You heading out so soon?” You ask, bottom lip jutting out in a pout that he kind of wants to kiss from your lips. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

“Uh, yeah. Was gonna head home,” he says. Christ, he has no idea why he’s acting so weird, but you have him tied up in knots. 

“You know…my apartment isn’t far. Maybe…maybe you don’t have to go home just yet?” You say, looking up at him through your lashes.

Those knots of uncertainty loosen and Joel holds a hand out to you.

“Lead the way, baby.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

[xoxotria]

starcrossed | hjs

pairing: professor!hong joshua x student!reader

themes: professorxstudent relationship, flirting in public, smut

warnings: none

tick. tock. tick. tock.

time was moving painfully slow today. normally you’d find dr. hong's class interesting but today you just couldn't seem to focus for some reason.

well—you couldve been focusing on the lesson if it weren’t for your stupidly hot professor teaching, his attire slightly different from his usual because the first few buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned whilst his tie hung looser than it normally would around his neck.

it was as if the world was plotting against you to actually do well this semester because of the temptation speaking to the entire class infront of you.

you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts for your professor (he wasn’t that much older, just your senior of 2 years as he had graduated early) but goddamn was he fine. you just couldn’t help but think of him that way—his perfect head of hair that is perfectly messy and perfectly wavy on days he doesn’t gel in place. he's tall and buff. some people describe him as somewhat on the thinner side but i can tell he has more than some hidden muscles under his suit. his big brown eyes are hypnotizing; and his pink plump lips—fucking perfect.

don't even get me started on his hands. hands that i've imagined on my body in the most inappropriate ways—gripping, spanking, rubbing, choking.

he's a profiler so he's probably picked up on the fact that you were attracted to him. and you no profiler but you think he's attracted to you some way too. he looks at you when he thinks you don't notice (but you do). and they're not just any kind of looks; they're long looks, looks that start at your legs and end at your eyes. like that one time you just so happened to wear a short skirt and thigh high socks. walking in late and stopped him mid sentence as he watched you take a seat on the front row. he quite literally choked on his words. and in that moment you felt such a boost of confidence to be able to get that sort of reaction out of him. seeing what you did to him turned you on enough to be miserable for the rest class.

today you were not wearing a short skirt and you were bored. you wanted to get his attention somehow. it's wrong—so wrong.

but this couldn't hurt right?

you remembered you were wearing a tight fitting tank top under your sweater. you decided to discreetly pull down your top and take off your sweater then lean forward and pretend to be engulfed in the subject he's discussing, showing quite a bit of cleavage just enough to get his attention.

he usually paces from one side to the other when he discusses to check if the class was still listening. and you happen to be sitting towards the right side of the room and he's walking towards the left so you wait patiently for him to turn around.

he's walking. walking. walking. and turn.

"what i find interesting is the part where jane says that a lady's imagination jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. what do you think she—" he stopped dead in his tracks; he spotted you.

you smile innocently as you feign to be listening intently to the discussion.

"uhh, ahem" he clears this throat nervously.

"miss, what do you think she meant by this?" he improvised, catching you off guard.

people started to turn their heads in you direction so you instinctively leaned back and slightly pulled up your tank.

shit, he got me there.

you could see a small smirk form on his face as he waited for your answer.

"well..." you start hesitantly, "that women are used to being disillusioned."

"that's your take?" he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

"yes. that's how i interpret it. how would you sir?" you both start to engage in a back and forth. your gazes locked on each other.

"i believe she refers to women's ability to develop deep feelings for someone when they respect them," he walks a few steps forward with both hands in his pockets. you nod your head slowly in agreement.

"i suppose you're not wrong. but the two don't necessarily contradict each other." you add, feeling more confident now with your answer.

"mmm you're right miss. I can always count on you to give me good answers."

you had laid low for the rest of the class, periodically answering some questions for recitation. he had avoided lingering too much on your side of the room probably to remove suspicion on his side from his flustered outburst.

"that's all for today, class. have a good weekend."

slightly embarrassed from what happened earlier in class you try to leave swiftly, passing by the professor's desk avoiding eye contact.

"miss, may i speak to you for a second?" he called out behind me as you curse under your breath for not getting out faster.

you turned around hesitantly and saw him sitting at his desk, looking at papers; almost as if he hadn't called you over. you walk back to his desk as the last few students leave the classroom, leaving us alone.

you start to get nervous as your brain imagines all the things he could say to me.

could he be mad about what you had said in class? is he gonna call you out for your flirting? is he gonna kick me out of his class? fuck—that can’t happen. this was a prerequisite for another class you have next semester.

"the last paper i assigned was due yesterday, you haven't turned it in" he looks up at you as he props his arms up in front of him and interlocks his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.

you had let go of a breath you hadn't realized you were holding—a late paper you could handle but him calling me out or worse dropping you from his class? another story.

"i'm sorry professor, i haven't finished it yet" you make slight puppy dog eyes in the hopes he'll be the tinest bit forgiving. normally he hates it when students turn in their work late and you did not want be one of them that he mentally puts a label on for being tardy.

"can you have it done by tomorrow? i'll be in my office at around 9pm, you can drop it off then. normally i wouldn't open office hours on weekends but i can make the exception; just this once."

"i can do that. i'll have it done by then sir."

"good. you're a bright student, i wouldn't wanna see your grades suffer due to tardiness." he leaned back on his chain and places his hands on his lap.

your eyes had drifted towards his lap—it almost looked like an invitation but you knew better than that.

"thank you dr. hong i greatly appreciate it." you say with all sincerity as you watch a small smirk form on his lips.

does he like it when i call him that?

"i'll see you tomorrow at 9pm sharp, miss."

well, fuck. no escaping him now.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you've finished your paper as soon as you got home and now your mind is being filled with tempting ideas you should not be entertaining.

what if i wore a short skirt again? no. it'll be too obvious what you trying to do.

but wouldn't that be the point though? what point was i making anyways? am i really considering trying to get my professor to sleep with me? you groaned as you jumped into your bed.

the thought kept looming over my head the next morning, during the day, in the afternoon—the entire time i was awake and before i knew it it was time for me to get ready. it's settled—you want him and you wanted him bad.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you walked into the campus surprised that the main buildings are even open at 9pm on a saturday. the halls were so dimly lit, you almost couldn't find his office if you didn’t know the way to the room like the back of your hand.

you were late but that was on purpose. you were hoping it'll get a rise out of him. you decided to put on the same skirt and knee high socks as the last time, except your skirt is slightly more hiked up and you were wearing a very form fitting cropped sweater.

once you reached the door with his name on it you stop for a moment to muster up courage. you loved his name, it really did suit him.

you knock on the door and hear a faint, "come in."

you open the door to reveal a room that looks like any typical college professor’s office; but in a good way. it's lit up by a few lamps and candles, there's books on shelves and on the floor all opened as if dr. hong rummaged through it for research, there's a small couch with throw pillows and a blanket and his desk is facing the door—it was homey. you liked it.

it's not until the click of the door closing that he looks up from whatever he's doing. he does a quick double take and gulps and from where you were you could see him shift in his chair slightly.

"you're ten minutes late," he leans back on his chair and intertwines his hands together on top of his lap.

"there was traffic leaving my house i'm sorry." you lied.

"do you have the paper i asked for?"

"yes," you reached into you bag and dug out a folder with your essay neatly tucked inside and walked over to his desk and handed him the folder.

"i wanna read it over and give you your grade before you leave. please, make yourself comfortable."

you obliged, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and dropping your bag in the other.

he began reading my essay while you observed him. it was evident he was trying extra hard to focus. as he read and turned the pages you were entranced by the way his fingers moved and caressed the paper softly as if it was fragile.

at this point you were starting to imagine his hands on you again, creating a wetness between your thighs in probably the sluttiest panties you owned and if you had been a bit more entranced you wouldn't have noticed all the times he snuck glances at you while he read the paper he seemed to be approving, which was another relief.

finished he dropped the folder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"it's a great essay, A+." he finally spoke.

you let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding.

"thank you dr. hong.”

"you're a great writer," he complimented, "but you really need to work on the tardiness."

"yes, you're totally right. i will work on that sir."

silence filled the room and all that raced through your mind was that you had to make your move.

now or never.

you stood up slowly and walked around the desk, your finger tracing the smooth wooden surface. you don't say a word and can tell he's trying to decipher what the hell you doing. once you were all the way around you sit on the desk, right in between his legs.

"what are you—"

"do you like having me as your student, dr. hong?"

he gulps and shifts in his seat, "yes."

you hooked your foot under his chair and pull him closer watching as his eyes drift towards your lips then up to your eyes again.

“what’s your favorite thing about me being your student?”

"uh, well, you're very smart and—"

"are you sure it's not staring at my ass and legs when i wear skirts like this?" you cut him off, leaning forward slightly.

he exhaled through his nose, looking deep into your eyes and you see he's giving in. concern flashes in his eyes for keeping things professional as it fades into lust and desire.

"i do like it when you wear skirts like that," his voice was no longer hesitant. he knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you—and that was all he needed not to be nervous.

"mmm, why?" both of you were inching closer to each other. you could smell the perfume he wears to class that always seemed to get your attention in more ways than one.

god, did he smell divine.

"because i can imagine lifting it up to fuck you bent over my desk." his hand began sliding up your leg feeling you up as he did.

your breath got caught your throat when you heard him say it.

"that's what you're gonna do to me?"

"mhm, maybe that'll teach you a lesson on being tardy all the time." he stood up slowly, towering over you with both his hands are now caressing your thighs—his thumbs getting dangerously close to your soaking core.

"then teach me, doctor."

a smirk grew on his face as it did on your own as you challenged him. he tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned down slowly—painfully slowly. your lips graze each others as he avoided kissing you fully.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, your lips nearly touching.

"you can fuck me." you said impatiently breathing getting heavier.

"but can i kiss you?"

it confused you that he wanted to be a gentleman now after explicitly telling you he wanted to fuck you bent over his desk but then you realized he was just teasing you some more.

"yes." you breathed out before pulling him in by the back of his neck and practically going in tongue first.

he immediately pressed his body against yours, and you pulled him even closer by his cardigan. once you was clutching it you thought: why does he still have this on?

you quickly started to unbutton his cardigan as if your life depended on it whilst he slid his hand in your hair pulling on it by the roots.

"you're greedy huh? i bet you're already soaking wet."

"why don't you see for yourself?"

how you even got to utter that sentence was past you. you just needed him and you needed him now.

he grinned before attaching his lips to yours again and slithering his hand under your skirt and into your panties. you moaned softly into his mouth at the feeling of his fingers sliding in your folds and brushing against your bundle of nerves with the fingers you fantasized so much about.

"i hadn't even touched you and you were already this wet for me? all this for me?" he slid his hand out and put his fingers in his mouth and sucked—your mouth hung open in both shock and desire.

that was fucking hot.

"i wanna taste more of you, babygirl." he said looking at you through half hooded eyes.

he got down on his knees and scooted you forward to align himself with your entrance as he then began peppering kisses up ypur thighs as he hiked the skirt up more and more.

once you were exposed he kissed your clit through your underwear—at this point you couldn't help but groan as you grew heavy with anticipation. he hooked a finger on your underwear and tugged them off before he kissed your clit again. this time his lips made direct contact with your skin and a louder moan escaped your lips—you swore you could see your juices coating his soft pink lips.

he started licking softly and slowly. your hips beggining to rocking against his face almost as if they had a mind of their own. he picked up the speed just a little bit and then he stayed in that pace.

fuck this man is driving me insane. i want him like this—all day and everyday, always.

like waves your pleasure kept rolling in as he fucked you with his tongue. you could feel the familiar knot building up in you as began panting and moaning like crazy as his tongue danced slowly on your clit in circles. that's when he inserted a single finger and hooked it upwards hitting that one spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

"oh fuck!" you cried out pulling his face deeper with your thighs as you crossed them behind his head as you heard him moan in response. your hand was tangled in his beautiful head of hair and you tugged on it slightly.

you couldn't believe it. he's moving ever so softly but you can feel so much pressure building up and then it crashed down on you—hard. body began shaking uncontrollably as your thighs clenched together locking him in but he didn't stop what he was doing.

it wasn't until you had come down from your high that he detached himself from you. this man really had you seeing stars for a moment.

he got up and kissed me again tasting yourself on him—his lips felt so nice on mine that i could kiss him forever.

"get up." he commanded softly as you followed.

he pushed his chair to the side and turned you around kissing your neck as he ran his hands all over your body with you becoming a moaning mess again.

"say my name." his hands grabbed my breasts as you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head from the way he played with your nipples with his fingers.

"joshua." you moaned out.

he groaned into your ear and quickly bent you over pressing his hard dick against your ass.

"you see what you do to me? every time i see you in class you're teasing me. coming into my class late in a short skirt like a slut."

he lifted your skirt and gave your ass a slap, making you jolt and moan at the same time from the sting it left.

"are you gonna keep being a bad girl? or are you gonna take my dick like the good girl you know you are?" he whispered into your ear as he spanked you.

"why can't I be both?"

"i knew you were greedy from the start." he chuckled lightly before pulling back to unbuckle his pants and get rid of his underwear.

he lined himself behind you grabbing unto your hips for support.

“do i need to use a condom?” he asked.

i shook my head no.

“i’m on the pill.”

you heard him say a quick fuck under his breath when he realized that he could cum inside you without worries.

"fuck!" he cursed as he inserted his dick in you.

"you're so big," you breathed out as you felt as if your voice had left your throat for a moment.

"you can take it."

once he was fully in he thrusted in slowly so you could adjust to the pleasurable pain.

you gave him the signal and he started to thrust faster. small moans and whimpers can be heard from both of you along with the rattling of his desk.

he took a handful of your hair and pulled, making you moan louder and even though the building was pretty empty both of us could still be heard by guards so he grabbed your panties and stuffed them in your mouth to muffle your loud moans.

"that's my good girl." he said in between pants as he lifted your leg and placed it on top of the desk to get a better angle.

"touch yourself." he whispered into your ear as your fingers found your clit feeling him thrust in and out of you.

you were getting over stimulated feeling both your fingers and his dick sliding in and out of you at a fast pace.

you could tell he was trying to holding back moans as he panted out.

“you look so pretty taking my dick like that. it looks so much better than i even imagined in my head.”

all you could do was moan and cry into your panties. you couldn't really tell him you were so close, but he could tell by the way your walls clenched around his dick.

"cum for me my sweet girl."

you felt the knot in your stomach dissolve as your orgasm crashed over you. you swore you came so hard you squirted and blacked out for a moment.

“fuck joshua!” you cursed as he still thrusted in and out of you, chasing his own high.

he quickly turned you around feeling his high and pushed you on your knees to cum in your mouth. his mouth hung open in an O shape as his hips buckled into your mouth. you swallowed every last drop and stared at each other for a moment—both out of breath.

"quite the mess i made." you said looking up at him, slightly embarrassed after catching your breath.

"was that the first time you squirted?" he asked as you nodded.

he took your hands and helped your stand. your legs we shaking like a baby deer's as he helped you to your feet and pushed your hair out of my face.

"don't be embarrassed. it was very sexy. and i'll take care of the mess."

he chuckled as you nodded and smiled back at him.

"did you learn your lesson about being late?" he placed his hands on your waist and you rested yours on his shoulders.

"if this is what i get for being late then i'm gonna be late everyday for the rest of the semester."

and the sound of his laugh filled the room as you smiled at him.

"fine," he replied, "as long as you wear outfits like this more often."

you had placed a soft kiss on his lips before pulling away.

“deal.”

so tell me, how can something so wrong feel so good?

[grahstumhurts]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙪𝙨

Synopsis- Y/n had always had a crush on Sophia. this being Y/n's senior year, she had to make it count. Sophia, a untouchable goddess, in Y/ns eyes. Will it happen?

A/N - YES I KNOW ITS A CHEESY TITLE AND FIC, ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR TUMBLR OKAY. SUE ME IF I WANTED SOME CHEESY ROMANTIC SOPHIA CONTENT. This was not proof read so yeah

 Lara always complains about how I stare at her in the halls when she passes by with her flock. “Dude, its honestly sad how much time you spend a day staring at her and or thinking about her, when in all brutal truth, she probably doesn't give you a single thought.” Lara sighs, rubbing her forehead in frustration as she watches me get out my books for my AP biology class. “Its not that bad, okay. Trust me i've been worse.” I try defending myself, “Listen, Y/N At this point you might as well confess since it's almost the end of the year. Whats the worst that could happen? You get embarrassed, yes, But you won't ever see her again until the highschool reunion.” Lara tries to convince me for the Nth time this year. Senior year was supposed to be the year where I let loose. By the time senior spring had come and college applications were through, there had been one thing I had yet to do. I’ve known her for years. I mean everyone knows her at our school. She's everyone's dream girl, Untouchable you could say. Sophia Laforteza. I sigh, almost giving in this time, “No, I won't do it. Like i've said multiple times, she's an untouchable painting that, Good lord, I want to touch so bad” I close my locker, leaning against it, facing towards Lara. She gives me an unimpressed look. “You have AP Bio with her next right? So why not ask her to study sometime? I mean you are basically failing that class,girl.” I pause, I consider it, My brain algorithm approves. The bell rings for the next period. “why are you actually kinda smart, Lara.” I walk past her “Hey, woah what do you mean kinda, I legit just gave you the best idea ever” she yells at my passing figure as i jog off to mr bennetts classroom. “For the sake of my mental health I pray to Beyonce that this works.” Lara mumbles under her breath as she walks off to her class. 

Now you would think that the universe would be on my side. And you would be right. The stars have aligned as Lara would say, God forbid that girl ever not talk about stars and astrology the moment the conversation dies down. “Alright class, today i'm announcing your semester-long project for this class. This project will be starting today and will be ending by the end of the semester, so right around April we will present. Now this is a partner project” The class groans in disbelief, “Settle down. Now, I will be picking the partners-” The class erupts in boisterous anger at Mr bennett. “Calm down, Jesus, I'm retiring after this year. This project is going to be about whatever you want it to be. as long as it relates to biology.” He opens his laptop. “Now the partners will be…” he pauses reading the screen “Chloe and Marquise, Nickolas and Wendy, Y/N and Sophia” I note down these partnerships in my head just for reference, Wait. Are you fucking kidding me, its me and sophia? Now in hindsight you would think that maybe this is a class prank on me. I swear to fucking god i was about ready to explode, yean no not that kind of explode, the one where im the most anxious person on the god damn planet that we call fucking earth. Out of the 24 students in this class, other than me, there is a one in fucking 24 chance that i would be placed with her. Which i find is fucking ridiculous. “And thats it for partners, now if you could start planning your projects that would be great” Everyone shuffles around the room, trying to find their partner. I scramble to pick up my things when I drop my pencil case. I notice a manicured hand pick it up, i connect the hand to the arm, the arm to the body. Like the gorgeous goddess she is, she hands me my pencil case, Stupid fucking fish pencil case. “I like your pencil case, its pretty creative and unique” She comments, placing the fish on the table “thanks, my grandma got it for me so i've just been using it ever since.” I laugh uncomfortably. “What do you wanna do the project on?” I meekly ask her, I avoid all eye contact possible. She ponders for a moment, “I've always been kinda interested in how the weather contributes to moods, would that be something your okay with doing?”  “imokaywithdoingwhateveryouwant” I spit out, at possibly the pace of a marathon runner. She laughs to herself at my reaction “you're cute.” She mumbles. “Are you free this week to start the project or…” She drags off the end of the word to insinuate for me to answer, “i'm good for this week, maybe tomorrow? After school” “We can go over to your house? My siblings can be quite loud so i dont think that’ll be the best “study spot”” She physically puts those two words in quotations. Which wakes me up to the reality that i will be spending the rest of the semester with her, creating a project. “Sure, Im down.” I say a little too excited, I clear my throat. “Cool, cant wait” she says casually as she walks off to her desk to pack up. 

The first week went surprisingly well. I actually kept my cool and had a normal conversation with her. As the weeks grow, my feelings never really cut off for her. Instead, like a tumour, it grows. And so does my guilt. The project builds up a good amount of research, by the time its almost the end of the semester, March to be exact. The guilt, it flourishes inside me like a mouldy banana in the bottom of your bag. For all I know she could be straight. 

I hear the doorbell ring, I know its her. My mom answers the door, as per usual. lets her in, then she comes up the stairs and up to my room where the door is already open for her to come in. “Hey” she greets me “almost the end huh? I bought some snacks on the way here, I remember last week you mentioned sour skittles to me so I figured I could try them with you.” “you remembered?” “Yeah, why wouldn't i? We are friends right? I mean with all the time we have spent on this project, i assumed we are friends” she looks confused, almost hurt? “Are we not friends” “we are, yeah” I flusteredly responded, panicking at the seemingly wounded look. She cracks a smile “i'm just messing with you,” she knocks my shoulder against hers as she sits down on my bed. “I think there's a storm coming soon actually” she says opening the shopping bag with the seemingly endless amount of snacks in it. “Kinda ironic don't you think?” I say to her, We get to work for the next couple of hours, sprinkling in some goofy moments between the two of us. She ends up having to stay over, The storm inhibiting her ability to go home. I look out the window, the rain looks as if it will never end. “You ever danced in the rain?” She sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, observing the perspiration. “I did it once with an ex boyfriend of mine,” she adds to her previous comment. For some reason that last bit stung a little, like a scratch from a cat. “You had a boyfriend?” I ask genuinely curious. “I ended things with him since I figured out that i liked girls” “oh, i didnt know you liked girls.” I looked at her, Her hazel eyes looking back. “Do you like girls?” she questioned me. “Yeah, always have” I answered meekly. An idea came to me when she looked back out the window, I stood up. “Lets go out into the rain” I drag her closely behind me as we walk out the front door to my house, running out into the wet sky. I laugh at her standing confused in the doorway. “Dude come on” I actively try to convince her “you were the one that started talking about dancing in the rain” I open my mouth and let the almost salty droplets hit my tongue. “Eugh, dude, dont you know how disgusting rain water is” She runs out into the rain, fully embracing the uncomfortable wetness covering her body. I curtsy to her “Mi’ Lady would you care for a dance?” I say in a faux british accent. She giggles “Of course Mi’ Lady, a dance would be appreciated.” I bring her in, her waist in one hand and her own hand in the other. “Is this okay?” I yell over the sound of the water droplets hitting the ground. She nods, resting her head on my shoulder as we sway in the middle of the driveway. She looks up at me, searching my face for something. Looking down at my lips, then my eyes, then back at my lips again. “What?” I asked her “do i have something on my face?” She cups my cheeks, her warm thumb stroking my cheekbones. Before I can say another thing, she leans in, and kisses me. The Ivy that is guilt covering my heart slowly withers away, her hands leave my cheeks and caress the hair on the back of my neck. I pull her in closer, wrapping my arms around her body. A lightning crack makes us pull apart. “You seriously dont know how long ive been dreaming of this happening” I tuck my face into her soaking collar, she kisses my forehead. “How long?” she giggles, “1st grade, When i first moved here. And it trailed all the way here.” “damn i wasn't expecting that.” I blush. “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” I call out over the rain. “Of course dumbass” She leans back in, coating my whole body in a warm honey feeling, The stars aligned for us to be.

[poweringthroughthis]

love in three acts | kim mingyu, wong yukhei

nsfw, mdni (ftm reader)

ship: wong yukhei (lucas) x male reader, kim mingyu x male reader

(requested!)

desc: forced to act like only friends in public, (name) is sick and tired of his boyfriend's ignorance. Maybe another hot guy what it'll take to set his boyfriend straight and appreciate (name) more.

warnings: feminization, reader's genitals are referred to as pussy/tits, dirty talk, sweat, strength kink, muscle worship/kink, voyeurism, cross-dressing, manhandling, pussy slapping, pussy eating, spanking, breastplay, vaginal fingering, vaginal s*x

act i.

Life is not what it is portrayed to be in cinema. (name) learned as much now that he was well into his 4th semester of college. Society has romanticized the college experience to such an extent that one dives in, expecting alcohol, parties and an enchanting love life to be the frontrunners, while in actuality, it is assignments, exams and stressful days filling the void most of the times.

Nothing changes if you don't make it happen yourself. Your dream life doesn't manifest one day magically, and your love life doesn't become one for the books by itself either. You need to start living the way you want to. That, is the only viable form of happiness in today's world. At least that's what (name) taught himself during one of his loneliest nights, freshman year, which culminated with a self-therapy session.

Then the nerdiest, biggest pushover of a guy, (name) was now a changed man. He had the biggest glow-up: his slender curves, thick thighs and pretty eyes, putting everyone's wildest dreams to shame in comparison. He embraced his true self fearlessly, taking control of his life and living the way he wanted to. He had definitely been happier ever since then, but he believed it did little to better his dating life as he was still boyfriend to a man seemingly afraid to love him in public.

Wong Yukhei is a lot of things, but inherently smart, he is not. Which is why he doesn't understand why his boyfriend is upset with him right now. "W-what do you mean?"

"Seriously Lucas? We've been over this before. Every time I as much as I lean into you in public, you go off to do something else with your friends. It's like we're strangers in public." (name) explained, perplexed.

"It's not like that! You know I love you. It's jus-just.." Honestly, Lucas didn't know himself why he'd been subconsciously dodging his boyfriend's advances while they were out. It's not like he never indulged in PDA with his previous partners. Maybe he'd been getting too caught up with his friends that he unintentionally neglected his boyfriend each time they were in the public eye.

"You know what? I need to go. Come find me when you have an answer. " (name) scoffed dejectedly, storming out of the empty classroom, leaving the flabbergasted giant behind. (name) started wondering if he wasn't attractive enough for Lucas.

If only he knew how wrong that assumption was. Because if that was the case, he wouldn't have the hunkiest man to ever exist (besides his own boyfriend), eye-fucking him from behind. The large man traced (name)'s every movement with great intensity: the way his hips swayed as he walked quickly, the way his skirt rode up just enough to show his supple thighs, even the way his ass looked perfect as he bent down to pick up his fallen stationery.

Kim Mingyu was a lot of things. And like every other guy, being inexplicably horny at the sight of a pretty boy, was one of them. he snapped out of his daze, dashing to (name)'s side, helping pick up his belongings from the floor, without failing to catch a peek of his bra underneath the dress. needless to say, he had to physically restrain himself from popping a boner then and there.

"Hey, you okay? Looking a little sad there" he offered his charming smile, making (name) look up as he straightened himself. His gaze fell on the handsome man's huge biceps, that flexed under the weight of his stack of books, threatening to rip his half-sleeved tee that was already too tight for his massive chest. It was hard not to, when a 6 ft hunk was sizing up his body shamelessly.

"I'm Mingyu. I'm in this faculty too. 3rd year"

"(name). 2nd year." Offered he, politely.

"Boyfriend problems?" Mingyu inquired, (name) taken aback. "Just guessing", he clarified, knowing fully well he eavesdropped into the couple's conversation earlier. What? He just wanted to see for himself who bagged this hot specimen before he could. Before (name) could respond, Mingyu moved closer.

"I won't pry into your personal life, but tell you what. Any man that doesn't appreciate you enough, is a loser."

He ran his hands all over (name)'s curves, finally slipping underneath his skirt to grope his ass and lift one of (name)'s legs against his groin, making the boy gasp.

"Someone who loves the beauty that you are, y'feel me?" His breath fanned over (name)'s face, the boy feeling 50 emotions at once.

"I,I shou-"

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" the duo turned towards the source of the voice: (name)'s seething boyfriend. Lucas stomped over to them, snatching (name) from Mingyu's grasp and wrapping his bulky arm around his waist, pulling the boy flush against his hard chest.

"Not so shy touching him in public anymore?" Mingyu teased. If Lucas wasn't mad jealous right now, he'd probably wonder how Mingyu knew about the couple's fight. But he couldn't care less right now. He all but dragged (name) back to the empty classroom, heels clacking against the tiled floor and slammed the door shut.

"What's wrong with you Lucas ?"

"ME? The fuck's wrong with him? How dare he lay his hands on MY boyfriend?" Lucas fritted his teeth.

"I might as well let him. Since YOU'RE so ashamed of touching me. I bet, with his huge arms and adonis-like body, he can easil-"

"You mean, these?" Lucas threw his stupid smirk (name)'s way as he flexed his massive biceps that threatened to spill out of his half-tee.

"Lucas! W- what if someone sees us? The door has a huge window" (name) stuttered, turned on by his boyfriend's manly display.

"I don't give a fuck anymore." Lucas said, taking off his shirt over his head in one swift motion, using only one hand.

Throwing shame out the window as all coherent thought left his body, (name) ran firm hands all over the muscle mass that was rock hard under the touch. He squeezed the giant pecs as Lucas made them bounce. "You like that?" He smirked.

"So fucking much, you're so big and strong for me." (name) moaned, latching his mouth to suck on the bulge of Lucas' biceps, the giant flexing them hard in (name)'s mouth. The musky scent of sweat filled the air making (name) hornier as the recalled how hot Lucas looked playing basketball earlier, all sweaty and pumped up.

He ran his tongue over all his muscles: the abs, the meaty chest, the armpits, licking every crevice of the result of his boyfriend's hard work.

Lucas moaned, throwing his head back, grabbing a fistful of (name)'s hair as he pushed him further towards his body.

"Yeahh, worship those muscles like the good boy you are."

"You're so fucking hot, baby. Look how fucking huge you are."

Lucas growled, turning (name) around harshly, removing the string of his dress with one hand, the piece of fabric falling aside at once.

"This little pussy is mine" He landed a smack on (name)'s hole, cupping him hard through his panties, the boy shaking from the recoil of Lucas' strength. "Gonna ruin it with my fat cock, baby."

"Yes, daddy. Do it, fuck me!" (name) cried.

Lucas delivered more slaps on his clothed cunt, (name) tearing up and thrashing from the impact, but Lucas held him in place with one hand and he continued using the other to smack his pussy. "Crying already? Wait till I'm done with you. you're gonna cry harder than now, begging me to stop, but I won't."

(name) sobbed at the prospect, loving every second of it. Lucas grabbed a fistful of the boy's ass, kneading the flesh hard, digging his nails deep into his plump flesh. "You have the fattest fucking ass" Lucas groaned, slapping it hard again, and again, and again.

"I'll make sure this fat ass bounces when I fuck you."

Lucas turned him around, grabbing him by the back of his thighs and lifting him up easily.

"Ah! Lucas, fuck! You're so strong."

"Yeah? Want me to throw you around? Use my muscles to manhandle you and fuck you real hard, huh? Like this" Lucas lifted him up in the air and threw him on the desk. He leaned in, pushing his muscular body flush against (name)'s soft one.

He grabbed the boy's neck, squeezing it hard and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "I'm going to wreck you."

"Please" (name) choked out.

Lucas released his grip, sliding the panties clean off and shoving three of his fingers in.

"Look at how small your little clit is, baby. This is so cute, I'm gonna enjoy stretching it out."

He rubbed his calloused thumb on his swollen clit, teasing it in circles as he pushed his thick fingers deeper, adding his pinky.

"Fuck! Oh my god, you're so deep. I can't.

"That's right. Scream my name. Make everyone hear that you belong to me." The giant rammed his digits harder, abusing (name)'s sensitive spot. His body jerked forward and fell on the table behind him, hands scrambling for support.

"Fuck! I can't, please-ah!"

Lucas didn't relent, adding his pinky to the mix, his knuckles rubbing against (name)'s walls. "Take it! Take it like a good boy."

The taller boy continued his merciless assault, ramming his thick fingers in and out of his boyfriend. (name) felt the familiar knot in his stomach as the pressure kept building. "Cumming, please-!"

"Yeah? Gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my fingers? Cum like the good boy you are."

(name) did as told, clenching and shaking, squirting all over his boyfriend's fingers. Lucas took out his digits slowly, admiring the mess, licking his fingers clean and tasting his boyfriend's juices.

"Fuck, you're delicious. Turn around."

"W-wait, I'm sensitive-!"

"I don't fucking care. I'm gonna eat this pussy till I'm satsified. "

(name) turned and laid down, the hard wood of the desk supporting his back. Lucas grabbed him by the ankles and hooked them over his broad shoulders, spreading his legs apart. His heels almost reached the top of the man's back, but it did not deter him as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the wet slit, his warm breath fanning over (name)'s sex.

"You look so beautiful right now. Your tits spilling out of your bra, and your legs spread wide for me."

Lucas dove right in, burying his face in the boy's pussy, licking and sucking at the swollen clit.

"Ah, Lucas-fuck! So good"

(name) gripped the hair on the man's head, bucking his hips as he was sent to another realm. He felt the wet tongue prodding and sliding, the sensation overwhelming his body.

Lucas captured (name)'s labia in his mouth, suckling hard between his lips and pulling it back with a pop sound. The lewd action made (name) cry out as he was eaten out, his pussy abused and raw, the man's tongue lapping at his entrance.

"Lucas, I-I can't take it. Too much, ahh"

"Yeah? Like how I eat your fucking tight pussy?

Lucas licked and sucked his boyfriend's clit, slurping up the juices from the sensitive hole. "Fuck, I can do this all day."

"L-Lucas, wait! I can't! Please-ah!"

Lucas kept at his pace, eating (name) out, the latter feeling his orgasm approaching rapidly. "I'm-cumming! "

The giant smirked, completely pussy drunk. " Yeah? Eating this little pussy so good, huh? Go ahead and cum all over my tongue, baby. Cum on my fucking face."

(name) was a panting and moaning mess. He couldn't take the pleasure and pain mixed together, and it all culminated as he squirted all over his boyfriend's mouth, the giant swallowing it all up.

Lucas sat on the teacher's desk, pulling (name) harshly onto his lap. He massaged his tits through the bra, growing hornier and more aggressive by the second. He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful view of his boyfriend in nothing but heels, the black material covering his breasts.

"Take that fucking bra off" Lucas growled, pinching the buds beneath the fabric.

(name) reached behind him and undid the strap, the garment falling and pooling around his waist.

"Fuck" Lucas whispered as he squeezed the soft mounds in his large palms. He brought his head down and suckled the rosy buds, biting them harshly and leaving marks around the skin.

"Oh fuck! Please, more!

"Yeah, you like that? My mouth all over your pretty little tits?"

"Mmm, yes"

Lucas continued his ministrations, slurping noises filling the room as squeezed and sucked harder.

"Oh fuck, I need you, now. Turn around and show me your pretty little ass."

(name) slid off his lap and turned around, his knees resting on the wooden desk and his palms spread in front of him.

Lucas unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock, already leaking precum. He gave his length a few strokes before sliding the mushroom tip across his boyfriend's pussy, the heat of the wet flesh driving him crazy.

"Please, put it in. Put it in!"

"Yeah? This is what you wanted all along, huh? Wanted to be fucked stupid in the middle of class? Wanted me to breed you full?"

"Fuck yes, please"

Lucas didn't waste any time, grabbing his thick member and pressing the head against (name)'s sopping entrance. The hole twitched at the touch, aching to be filled. He pushed the head in and watched as the hole stretched to accommodate his size, a moan escaping his throat.

(name) whined at the feeling of being filled to the brim. The cock inside him was massive, stretching his insides and reaching the deepest parts of him.

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend's waist and rammed into him, his cock disappearing into the warm cavern. "Fuck! You feel so fucking good, babe".

The man kept his pace, his thrusts getting deeper and rougher. He leaned forward and bit the boy's earlobe, whispering filthy nothings to him.

"You take my cock so well, huh? Such a fucking good little boy.

"Ahh, please. Faster"

"Yeah, you want me to fuck you faster? Wanna feel my cock in your stomach? Wanna be fucked stupid?"

"Please! I'm so close, please let me cum!"

Lucas grabbed his boyfriend by the back of his neck and pushed his face down on the table, his hips never ceasing their movements. Lucas' strength never failed to amaze (name). He always sent himself over the edge thinking how the giant could easily snap him into two.

"Ah, I'm- I'm cumming!

"Go ahead and fucking cum. Squeeze my dick, milk me dry."

(name) shook as he squirted all over the thick cock, his walls tightening and convulsing around his boyfriend's length.

"Ah, fuck!"

Lucas slammed his hips forward, his balls smacking the boy's ass cheeks. His seed flooded the insides, filling him up to the brim and painting his walls white.

He pulled out his length and watched the cum trickle down the boy's thighs, the sight making him twitch.

(name) laid exhausted on the desk, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucas tucked his dick back in his pants and carried his boyfriend bridal style, the boy resting his head on the man's broad chest.

Lucas kissed his forehead as he left the classroom, carrying his boyfriend to his car.

Little did they know, they were being watched in this classroom, yet again.

Kim Mingyu let out ragged breaths, his head against the cold wall of the lecture halls, eyes closed and lips parted. He was sweating profusely and his jeans felt unbelievably tight. As he came down from his high and removed his hands from over his crotch, he looked down to see what the stickiness was.

He was so crazy over seeing (name) being wrecked in nothing but heels that he came in his pants.

[jacaerysblack]

ᴘᴀs ᴅᴇ ᴅᴇᴜx - ᴊ.ᴠ.

Parts: 2/5

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Those we hold dear, do not usually sit so easily in our grasp. Sometimes they sink their nails in deep. Sometimes they slip away completely. 

Or, Aegon is injured and is unable to dance Swan Lake with you. His replacement brings more than a few complications.

Word Count: 5k

Tags: Modern setting, TargTower!Reader, forced proximity, references to past drug use, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

A/N: I’m terribly sorry it took so long for this second update. I was mostly outlining the story and getting some of the plot beats straightened up. The chapter also ended up being quite long, but I’m sure most of them will be much the same, it’s a bad habit of mine. First semester of grad school is over, so expect me to really binge write this whole story and hopefully a couple of oneshot ideas in the coming weeks!! - xx 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Archive of Our Own

The wood creaked loudly under the dancer's feet, though it was a beating the floor was well accustomed to. Along with it, the overplayed notes of Tchaikovsky blared over the speaker as tense fingers splayed over your torso to keep you in place. With all your effort, you focused on maintaining the carefully held positions of the starting counts in the variation. There was no light marking over the choreography today. The awarded dance director, Criston Cole, was vigilant, sitting on his high stool, back pressed against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that spanned the entire south wall.

You chose to spot the corner of the room, coming up to the box of your pointe shoe into a fluid set of turns. Holding your breath, you kept your middle tense, your neck tall. You let your body be pulled up as if it were being elevated by a puppet string. Jace was there, pushing you through the assisted turns. When you attempted to drop down into fifth position, your arms collided with his chest in a most ungraceful fashion. Jacaerys, the poor boy, tried to hold it in, for your sake, but he let out a low grunt, hand bracing the spot where you’d hit him.

“Sorry.” You muttered, stiffly, barely having it in you to look him in the eye.

The entire class paused, the music shut off instantly, and the sound of your panting breaths filled the already stifled air. Criston pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming to be at a loss for what to do, for the first time.

“You must hold your arms farther up against your chest for the partnered turns.” He grumbled the correction. “An amateur mistake. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Your hands rested on your hips, breathing in deeply. “I promise, it's not for lack of trying.”

Your eyes darted to the reflection as you felt Jacaerys watching you attentively. The whole company of dancers was, really, but it was his eyes, his tall form looming behind you, that set you in a state of unease.

“This isn’t going to work unless you allow it. Try harder, or I’ll have to bring your under study in too.” Criston threatened. “Go again, from the beginning, quickly!”

The entire class looked down on you. Your shoulders slumped. It was his typical way of trying to knock some sense into his students. Still, after Aegon’s sudden departure, your anxiety spiked with the feeling that he might actually be serious for once about replacement. Moving back to the corner of the room, the rest of the corps and apprentice dancers made way as you got into your starting positions.

Jace’s body pressed against your back, your head tilted away. Gritting your teeth, a new dread swept over you at the idea that he was enjoying your failings far too much. And just as the thought crossed your mind, he spoke, his voice a grating whisper in your ear. “You are so put out by me, you know, I’m almost tempted to find it amusing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jace. I will hit you again.”

He clicked his tongue, his words teasing. “I’d heard being a principal dancer in the company was harsh, but I didn’t know I’d be forced to face threats.”

“My brother’s been sent off to rehab, and I’m being threatened with the same if I don’t get my shit together. Forgive me if the circumstances are making me want to gouge your eyes out.” You seethed. Your hands snapped up to where his rested against your waist, your nails digging in. He didn’t flinch. His features softened, and his voice settled away from playful to serious.

“Taking it out on me won’t fix anything, and you know it,” he said, twisting his hand to grab your wrist, his grip gentle and coaxing. “Your brothers spent half his life taking his anger out on me and Luke, and that didn’t help him at all, did it?”

“Jacaerys.” You hissed his name, low under your breath.

“Look at me.” He demanded, reaching up to grip your chin.

The starting position already put his face dangerously close to yours. You loathed to look at him, to see any sort of pity weighed over you in his passing glances. But it was not pity you found in his hazel eyes. It was something different. Dangerous and recognizable to you, though you wouldn’t dare put a name to it. Too sweet–the kind of taste that demands to leave its mark on your tongue. He paused, letting the small space between you linger, as if he would revel in it for just a second longer. The fingers that rested on your chin fell in an instant, though your body was still frozen stiff against him.

He blinked and cleared his throat. “The Adagio will only look effortless if you let me carry you through it; you can’t fight against me the entire time. You have to actually let me hold you so you can look like you’re flying.”

His breath hit your cheek rather than your throat, and you hated to say it was almost a reprieve. You stifled the words, gathering yourself again. “I am trying.”

The remainder of the rehearsal was what you could only describe as a hell personally crafted just for you. After your tense exchange, perhaps finding something in you that would not snap at him the moment he held you too close, Jace garnered the confidence to carry you through the lifts with much more ease. You did your turns and extensions with restrained grace. You bent yourself backwards to take in Criston’s corrections. You at least managed not to frown in the more intimate notes of the song that forced you and Jace to look at one another with nothing but adoration and affection.

In Swan Lake, he played the part of Siegfried, the prince who was willing to sacrifice anything to be with you, the cursed White Swan. Siegfried would fail in breaking the curse that confined his lover, but their final sacrifice would ultimately triumph over everything. Jacaerys tried to look effortless in the way he held you. He even consoled you when Criston became particularly harsh. You hated it. By the fifth run through of the choreography, your pointe shoes were dead, and the late afternoon settled in and brought a wave of exhaustion through the room of panting and sore company dancers.

“That was better. You almost look like you’re floating instead of trampling him for once.” Criston remarked.

You held your face in a perfect mask of indifference, except for the corner of your eye that wrinkled just enough for him to notice. Criston did not want you to fail, not truly, but he was certainly not going to go easy on you.

“We will need to start on Odile’s choreography again soon. No Sundays off, I want private rehearsals with both of you.” He insisted.

Jacaerys, standing next to you, simply nodded in understanding. Criston raised a brow your way when you remained silent.

“No complaints?”

You shrugged. “Fine by me, I guess.”

Your muscles were aching too much to really think about what the next couple of weeks with zero rest would look like. These were the sacrifices one made to be a performer of this caliber. To seek perfection in one's craft, even if it means destroying oneself in the process.

As you made your way out of the dance studio, Jacaerys walked you home again, this time, without bothering to ask. You left the door open, and he came into your apartment again, without asking. You were too tired to push away his company. He had that boyish look on his face, grinning so much it made his dimples stick out. He pushed his long curls back away from his face as he leaned against the kitchen stove, looking out at you with a vague sort of intrigue. Of course, he was excited about having extra time to practice. Today hadn’t been so bad, after all.

“You should buy some real food, you know.” He remarked, frowning when he took another look at your fridge.

“I’ll forget it's there, and it’ll go bad before I remember.” You grumbled, crossing your arms defensively. “The soda’s fine, you should try it.”

His lips pressed to a thin line, not looking very pleased at all. “Yeah, maybe another time.”

Jaceaerys didn’t push the subject any further. He continued to hover late into the night. You called him into the living room, preparing your order of pointe shoes for the next couple of weeks. Getting them ready was a meticulous process, and if the boy was gonna hang around, you might as well make use of him.

You explained how the ribbons and elastic needed to be sewn in, how the shank should be broken and bent, and how it needed to be coated in hardening glue in just the right spots. The tip of the toe box also needed to be darned until the shoe could stand on its own. Jace listened to your instruction carefully, grinning at your precision. He didn’t believe you’d notice if a step was skipped over, but you would. He didn’t complain, and he was surprisingly good with the needle and thread. He asked you silly questions about technique, the music you liked, the first lead role you were cast in, the dream role you’d want to be cast in, and on and on. His keen interest was a bit dizzying, but you obliged him to keep him happy.

“Baela will get Sugar Plum Fairy next Nutcracker season, so the Mouse King will probably do.” You joked.

His nose curled up in disgust, though there was a faint air of amusement that bubbled in his words. “Good luck with that, the headpiece for that costume smells rank!”

You weren’t exactly being serious, but the face he made actually drew a laugh from you. He straightened at the sound, looking at you for a long moment, seeming delighted. He said nothing else for a long while, as if he feared one word would push you back into your overly serious demeanor. You nudged him with your elbow. A reluctant camaraderie was taking root. If your brothers were here–

You snipped at the train of thought before it could weave its way into the more pleasant tapestry that unfurled between you and Jace that night. The anger and annoyance that clouded your thoughts whenever he was around felt like a poison you’d been forcing yourself to take for far too long. Criston was right. Jacaerys was a pleasant, well mannered boy. This partnership would work only if you allowed it to. Once Aegon recovered, it would be over. There would be little need to keep him around. He was simply a temporary aid. Nothing more than that.

But he stuck around. A routine of sorts developed between the two of you. You’d spend the day together in classes and afternoon rehearsals. He’d walk you home and allow himself to linger as he noticed you didn’t exactly mind his presence there. Jace was the kind of boy to would talk your ear off about anything. He seemed to want to know everything about you, and he remembered every reluctant answer you gave. He was protective and possessive to an annoying extent. He prodded at your bad habits and wondered over your silent and far off looks.

“Why do you smoke?” He asked, in the second or third week since the reluctant partnership between the two of you began.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Nothing deep or philosophical about it, it’s just nice, I’ve always done it.”

Usually, you’d step outside or even offer him one when he kept staring at you. But you’d put on his favorite movie that night, and it wasn’t half bad. Jacaerys could be so insistent. So caring in that way that made your skin crawl. You didn’t deserve it. You were cruel to him. All the Hightowers were. There was still a part of you that hated the circumstances that had him lounging on the couch across from you. He still seemed to take too much joy in it all.

“You would hold yourself up a lot better, build your stamina, if you quit.”

“And what do you do for stamina?” You asked.

He grinned in that insufferable way. “I go for a run every morning.”

Jace found he liked to prod at you. To test your limits. In moments like these, it was important for you to maintain your composure. To be indifferent against his efforts at unravelling you. The pointed look he gave set something strange off in your mind. Your thoughts muddled, and the pit of your stomach twisted and turned. It was like the thrill of going on stage for the first time. You chased that sort of high all the time.

You took a deep puff of smoke in, letting the warmth linger in your chest before blowing it out again in his face. “Caffeine and cigs have never failed me before.” You grumbled.

He frowned and batted away the smoke. You pressed play on the movie again, and neither of you said much else for the rest of the night. It was not until you were walking him out the door that he paused for a long moment in the narrow hall. You were going to go outside to read for a bit, still feeling restless after a full day. Pack of cigarettes and a lighter still in hand, you barely had time to process before his arm snapped out and stole it from you.

“Jacaerys!” You yelled after him, wide eyed.

“Come with me.”

He was nervous, eyes full of surprise that he’d even gathered up the courage to do such a thing. Nothing but anger seethed out of you, reaching out for the pack in his hand, failing when he lifted it out of your reach with each attempt.

“Give it back,” You pushed against him.

“I’ll get here early tomorrow before our morning class, we can go together,” he said, ignoring you entirely.

He was holding the pack of cigs and your lighter just above his head. It felt so childish. You jumped for it anyway, gritting your teeth when he laughed at your efforts. You tried again, and this time, you crashed into his chest, and he somehow grabbed your wrists, and you were pushed against the wall, all at once restrained on either side. His hips pressed into yours, muscled legs locking your body in place with ease.

“Let go of me!”

He was breathless as his words hit your cheek. “Say yes.”

You shook your head. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

“I’ll give it back if you go on one run with me.”

He licked his lips, and in that same moment, your eyes darted to his mouth without meaning to. He was too close for you to think clearly.

“You’re getting too comfortable here, Jacaerys.” You swallowed, waiting for your heart to settle into a more even pace. “I’m not your friend. Don’t forget who I am. Don’t forget who my mother is either.”

Though you intended to hurt him with the jab, he did not falter at all. He only smiled, his voice soft and undeterred. “Just one run. You don’t have anything to lose.”

As the next morning came upon you, you found Jacaerys was perfectly unresponsive to your slew of curses and insults. This was somehow even more unsettling than your inability to keep up with his preferred method of exercise. Or, you could say, his preferred method of torture. Much like Ballet, running was a sport made for the masochist. A flash of heat crawled over your cheeks. The growing sheen of sweat over your skin made your clothes stick to you in uncomfortable places.

“Keep your chest up, drive through your knees.” He directed you, full of energy and perfectly pleased to see you struggling.

He guided you down a clear path in the park near your apartment. Any other day, you would say the view was quite pleasant. The grass had not yet dried up against the impending chill of winter. There was a lake and an old bridge that led to a moss and vine riddled gazebo. A family of turtles made their home in the water and along the grass at the shoreline. There were no people around to see your struggle, and for that, you were thankful. The sun had not yet come up, though getting up early that morning was not the part you minded most.

You were a restless spirit, especially since Jacaerys had barged his way into your life. The nerves, the growing spark of adrenaline that came over you when you opened the door that morning, was inexplicable. You checked your phone once more. Fifty calls to your mother, Alicent, along with at least ten different voicemails. No answer. So, off with Jacaerys you went.

He looked over his shoulder, checking to see your pace. Your thoughts had strayed off, and you were hardly trying to measure your breathing anymore. His giddy smile roused up such rage, you nearly tripped over a crack in the cement when you met his leering gaze.

“Jacaerys!” You gritted out, stopping in your tracks. Bending down, you supported your weight against your knees, struggling not to collapse. “This is absolutely miserable!”

Your eyes were downcast, trying not to move too quickly, lest the dizziness get the better of you. You felt his approaching steps. The familiar chill rose up your arms. He cleared his throat, not sounding nearly as out of breath as you were. “Dance was like that for me, too. I hated it at first. It usually is that way the first few times.”

Standing up straight again, you weighed him over with a heavy glance. He looked at you much the same, and shifted on his feet to stand close, reaching his arm out to give you support. You clung to him instinctively, feeling his heady, controlled breaths whisper over your neck when you looked away, swallowing hard.

“When does it get better?” You asked.

“When you decide you’ll keep persisting.”

Your nose curled up in disgust, your arms crossed over your chest. “I’m not good at it.”

He chuckled, clearly amused. You eyed his foot, wondering how hard you could step on it without actually injuring him. Before you could decide, he nudged your arm, still somewhat playful. “I told you, you need to build your stamina.”

“Well, I don’t understand why you would put yourself through this.” Huffing, you began to trudge forward again.

He followed, keeping a steady step next to you. “It’s good practice to let yourself feel uncomfortable. You don’t always need to be in control.”

“I don’t think I know how not to be.”

You felt him lean in, fidgeting next to you as the silence settled between you both. It took everything not to waver under his observant glances. In the small amount of time you’d been forced to keep him in your presence, you realize just how foreign he felt. He could give you time, if you needed it. He could be patient and considerate. So strange, a character. A kindness that made you wonder when his real intentions would really creep up. But no matter how deep you dug, no matter how much you prodded, he was just kind.

Despite your brother's cruelty, Jacaerys was not ruthless or vengeful against you as you thought he should be. Jacaerys was just Jacaerys. As you grasped for hatred and anger to throw at him, it slipped between your fingers like sand, and as it escaped you, you realized the cold air against your bare skin was not nearly as unpleasant as you expected it would be.

“Come on, you were actually doing good.” He nudged you forward, encouraging you.

You continued to run, chest burning, legs aching, and always a couple of steps behind him. As embarrassing as it was, you kept going. When the torture was finished, you walked together to dance class and rehearsals in a contented silence. You gave no complaints, and he did not ask you if you’d liked it. It was difficult to speak, difficult to articulate the mess of things scattered all around you. Only, you were beginning to realize Jacaerys did not necessarily need to be part of that mess. He seemed perfectly willing to help you clean things up.

Rehearsals went smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, Criston agreed to let you both off earlier than usual after a decent barre class and a couple of run through’s of the main variation. The sun had not fully set at the end of the day as you made your way back to your apartment. Jace let himself in, as per the growing tradition between you both.

“You were right. The running did help, unfortunately.”

He smiled cheekily behind you. “Can I come by tomorrow then, same time?”

“It depends…” You crossed your arms, eyeing him with a raised brow.

He seemed confused only for a beat, before gathering what it was you really wanted. With an exasperated huff, he reached into his pocket and handed you back the pack of cigs.

“Here,” He grumbled reluctantly. “I won’t tell you to quit, but you’re an athlete, you should take better care of yourself.”

You shifted uncomfortably, holding back any cruel quips. He was trying to help, though it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard a million times before. What nagged at you, truly, was endlessly wondering over whatever it was he wished to get out of this partnership. You were undeserving of his possessiveness and affection, yet his eyes lingered on you when you became irritated. He struggled not to reach out when it became clear you were completely drained after a long day. He came into your apartment and made conversation, even if it was clear you were annoyed by it. You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that he simply wanted to keep you company. That, despite everything, he enjoyed your company. It was his kindness that left you baffled. You didn’t deserve any of it.

“Why do you even care?” You asked him, as you got to the doorway that night, and he seemed hesitant to leave.

He was standing close to you again, growing more confident. You had to crane your neck up to meet his eyes, unwilling to push him away.

“I like you.” He replied, barely a whisper.

That strange feeling stretched up your arms, prickling at your fingertips. His dark curls rested over his cheek, and his hands were tucked comfortably into the pockets of his oversized hoodie.

“That’s strange, you know, I’ve made an effort to be pointedly unpleasant.”

“I don’t find you unpleasant at all.”

You wondered if, perhaps, he was as frustrated as you were, baffled by the adrenaline rush when you stood so close. You shifted against the wall, taking a step forward, daring to cut the distance between you two. Silence lingered, and you found yourself lost in the purse of his lips and the elegant high slope of his nose. Surprisingly, for the first time, you found yourself frustrated when his eyes were not on you. You hesitated, reaching for his hand, though before you could make contact, you heard him huff impatiently, his lips stretched to a thin line. He was frowning as he straightened and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the small kitchen.

“If I bought you some red velvet cake, would you eat it?”

You flinched your hand back, your thoughts dragged to the present at once, slightly wide eyed. “I'm an athlete, is red velvet cake really on the menu?”

“Of course!” He balked, seeming offended by the question. “Shared with your dance partner, they say it tastes even better.”

He nudged you as he moved to the front door. You watched him go, for the first time, not wanting him to leave. Your heart was pounding in your chest, goosebumps prickled up your arms as the warmth of him faded.

Swallowing hard, you struggled to come up with a good counterargument. “You’ll have to get me in contact with your nutritionist. I think you’re being scammed.”

This, at least, made him laugh. He walked off that night, and for the first time, you lingered by the front steps and watched him go.

You thought over that small interaction quite pitifully, the next couple of days, only because he became somewhat distant after that. Jacaerys still showed up in the mornings to drag you out on runs, but he did not pepper you with so many questions. He did not even push you further than you wished to go.

Rehearsals remained the uphill battle that they usually were. You needed to build strength and trust with him. The lifts were not there yet, the combinations, the turns, the technique, it all needed to be cleaned up and perfected. He was not yet carrying you through every position as he should have. You were not yet flying seamlessly through the choreography as you were used to with Aegon at your side. Still, you both persisted.

At the end of your first long and grueling weekend of practice, you were walking home together. He was at your side and was remarking on certain steps he had trouble perfecting across the floor that day. Unexpectedly, he turned the topic to you again, catching your frown and distant looks.

“Do you like to dance?” He asked, curious eyes weighing over you.

“It made my mother happy.” You shrugged. “She was rarely happy.”

What many people didn’t know was that Alicent Hightower never wanted any children. Somehow, she ended up having four. She still wasn’t answering your calls. You thought, in your desperation, of going off to complain to Aemond again, but keeping your maternal family at arm's length was shifting something in your psyche. The solitude felt better than you could’ve ever imagined. Even if it wasn’t complete solitude.

You glanced at Jace, who had stopped as you came up the front steps into your apartment.

“I’m sorry, you know.”

“Sorry for what?”

You closed your eyes for a moment and breathed in deep, mustering up the right words and some needed courage. “For the way my family has treated yours.”

Jace’s smile grew, bordering on full on laughter. His brows raised in a mixture of shock and amusement. You withheld the urge to kick him. As he started to chuckle, you scoffed and turned your back, fiddling with the lock on your front door out of sheer mortification.

“You didn’t need to say it, you know.” He called out after a long moment.

You snapped your head back around, lips tight. “What do you mean?”

“The day they made me your partner and you walked into the dance room, I could see it in your face. You have that perpetually sad look in your eyes, same as your mother.”

He was standing at the bottom of the steps, not moving to follow you as he usually did. Your fingers clenched around your keys into a fist, and after a second of consideration, all you could do was roll your eyes, a restrained chuckle escaping your throat. “You’re such a charmer, Jace.”

Again, his own laughter filled the air. “No, I’m being serious. You’re quite beautiful, actually.”

You grumbled low under your breath, closing your eyes, feeling that pulse of adrenaline course through you. The silence lingered awkwardly, this time. You froze, hand still braced over your doorknob. When you found the strength to look at him again, your skin felt hot and sweaty despite the growing chill outside.

“Are you not coming in?” You asked, clearing your throat.

He sighed, hands tucked into his pockets. “No, actually, I can’t.”

“Have I finally done something to displease you?”

“No, please, don’t think that.” He frowned, seeming displeased by even the thought of those words.

You came down a step, wanting to stand closer to him again. “What’s wrong then? You’ve been different.”

“Stepdad’s come back in town, mum wants all of us to get together again, entertain the extended family and all.” He glared off into the distance, seeming put out by the whole idea.

“Are they that bad?”

He shrugged indifferently. “They have their moments. Mostly, I just want to see my mum. It’s been too long. She’s staying for a while to watch our performance.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud.”

Jace huffed, exasperation pooling out of his previously cool demeanor. “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. She’s told damn near everyone I know.”

You mustered up a smile, thinking of Rhaenyra, doting endlessly over her firstborn and his achievements. “I’ll have to fend for myself for a bit, I guess. Whatever will I do without my vigilant dance partner snoring halfway through my favorite movie?”

“I do not snore.” He rejected your teasing, a flush coming to his cheeks.

“You do too.”

Hesitant, as always, to part from you, he looked down and shifted from one foot to the other nervously. You leaned against the iron rail at your side, finding yourself studying him without meaning to. When he looked up again, you had to blink and look off to one side, feigning some sort of indifference.

He cleared his throat, his heavy gaze pressed on you once more. “You’ve survived well enough before. I live close by, you could always call, or come over and visit soon.”

You thought it over, pondering the person you were just a couple of weeks back. Determined to be repulsed by the boy you’d been practically trained to hate. Forced to be in constant close proximity, to work, and to trust in a twisted but affectionate sense. It was getting less hard now to be around him, though as you worked together, as you walked back home at the end of the day, every day, and spent time with him, you found yourself grappling for a missing link.

“Maybe I will.” You admitted, reluctantly. “Strongs are not as bad as I was led to believe.”

He licked his lips, stepping forward, pressing into you. You let him reach for your hand. The feel of his touch was different than when you danced together. Less forced. He looked down, toying with your fingers, fitting them between his own, his voice soft. “You try to be mean and angry all the time, it doesn’t suit you.”

You sighed, the hair on your arms prickled as the feel of his words hit your cheek.

“It doesn’t need to suit me, it keeps me safe.”

He gave a small smile this time, almost sheepish. “You’re safe with me.”

He brought your knuckles up to his lips, leaving a soft kiss there as he stepped back. You were frowning as he went, and he let out a small laugh at whatever he saw in you there.

“I’ll see you at practice!” He waved.

You could barely utter his name, though a whole string of curses accompanied it in your head. Again, you found yourself frozen there, lingering by the steps outside your front door, watching him go.

[edgeray]

Custody Battle with a Dragon

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi 🏹 anon! Accidentally deleted your ask when I did dragon! Arle part 3😅. Uhh… mbad. Reader just kidnapping three random human children is so funny to me, I will never not find this funny. Anyways, just wanted to say the only reason why I’m fulfilling both parts of this ask is because I already have to work on part 3. If I get an ask giving me more than 1 prompt, I will choose only 1 prompt to do. If you want me to do more, feel free to request from me, but with school starting soon, I probably won’t be able to get to many requests until I get used to the first semester.  By the way, since I’m lazy and don’t want to think of more/different worldbuilding, this will be like an alternative universe of my ‘dragon hunter mother' series and it will just be a role reversal. the lore with the hoth though is different from the series, i have a completely different backstory for arle and the hoth hehe. Sorry, this is really awkward and I didn't know how to not write it awkwardly since the reader decides to adopt them just impulsively and I doubt arlecchino would be happy about it. Naturally, they would clash but I tried to get them to get along. Not my best work... :( Content warnings / info - in arle's pov majority of the time, reader is referred as 'it' a few times, 1.6k words

Arlecchino likes to consider herself a successful and (justifiably) proud dragon hunter, among the best for the Tsaritsa. Dragon hunting has been in her veins since she was born into a well-known generation of dragon hunters. She's been trained and has performed the best out of her class in the kingdom’s most renowned dragon hunting academy, the House of the Hearth. Now, as the new head of the House of the Hearth, as ‘Father,’ she's able to change some things. 

For how rigorous and demanding the old House of the Hearth, underneath Crucabena (that despicable woman), it was also quite the precarious and perilous, though that was to be expected with what came with dragon hunting in general. It was easy to get into the House of the Hearth if you had enough money, and by then, you had basically paid for an early grave. Arlecchino remembers that the majority of her peers died, one way or another, before graduating. Families that were wealthy enough and had enough children were happy to enroll some of their children as an investment; being a dragon hunter paid immensely well given that they were paid by the kingdom themselves. 

Now, the classes were fewer due to the rigor requirements. Arlecchino has no need for people that want the job just for the money or to roleplay–with that mindset, they'll get themselves killed. For those seeking glory with none of the gore, for wealth without wear, dragon hunting is far on the list for what Arlecchino would recommend. It is daunting and never safe or relaxing. For this reason, the House of the Hearth takes very few individuals, often strays that she deems worthy and resilient enough for the task. A year is all it takes for her to train the small batch into formidable dragon hunters, about three times more valuable and efficient than the average hunter. 

This year's batch is particularly small, but that does make for more personalized lessons and unique opportunities. It's much easier to allow three children to accompany you on a dragon hunting mission than it is ten. 

Today is one of those days for the children to witness how a real dragon hunter deals with a dragon. Most hunters work in a group to hunt a singular dragon, though the best can do it alone. Today's dragon has been reported to have been killing some livestock occasionally–a few chickens here or there. At the very least, the dragon hasn't destroyed any other property besides the chicken pens, nor has there been any assaults on the people but the kill order is set in stone. Pity has no place among this job, but it is a shame to have to kill an innocuous dragon. 

“Children, maintain a good distance as we have always done. This dragon has been reported to be a two-paired dragon, so be cautious. I trust that you three will be able to handle yourselves during your observing?”

Lyney, the leader out of the three, nods. “Of course, Father.” 

The order should have been simple. It is. A two-paired-winged dragon is usually of little difficulty for Arlecchino, even with how volatile dragons are. Baiting them with fire as well as a large portion of fish is enough to draw the dragon out without waiting for it. With the help of the children, the preparations were done quickly, and all there is left to do is to ignite the fire and wait. 

Except, Arlecchino waits for quite some time. In fact, an hour has passed, and there are no signs of a dragon. Perhaps the villagers were mistaken on the dragon's whereabouts, though instances like these are rare. Nonetheless, it seems like that case, and the dragon hunter heads towards where she last left the trio. As she does, she hears a muffled outburst, recognizing it as Freminet’s, and rushes towards the direction.

Did the dragon target her children on the assumption that they were food? Did she make a mistake, bringing them here? Are their deaths on her hands once more, innocent lives lost because of her again? Her thoughts press her on as she increases her pace, fueled by fury and anxiety for her children. With each child she takes under her wing, with each soul she gently guides, with each hand she teaches how to wield a blade, a bit of her heart has parted and latched onto them. With the three, they are no different, except they are.

Lyney, the ever natural-born leader with a persistence like no other. Lynette, with a placid and rational demeanor to balance her brother's personality and fiercely loyal. Freminet, although timid, holds more potential and skill than he credits himself, and his kindness never fails to shine through even in his conscious actions. These three are endearing, as she has found all children she's taught in such a way before, but perhaps it is these children whom she'd like to call her own finally.

Drawing her sword once she spots the familiar silhouette of a giant, scaly beast, she approaches, only to halt as she takes in the sight. 

A sleeping dragon lays on their stomach in the middle of the forest, curled around Arlecchino's children, their tail hugging the children to the body. Instead of the two-paired-winged dragon that the villagers said, it instead has three-paired wings. That makes the dragon twice as dangerous. 

Against the dragon, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet sit against the dragon's back. Once they spot the dragon hunter, they noticeably perk up.

Why the dragon is like this, the hunter is not sure, but she knows that it has taken her children. 

“Father!” They simultaneously cry for her. The dragon’s head lifts as they're awakened and turns their head towards the dragon hunter, snarling. They whip their tail upon the grass, and they stand on their legs.  

“Are you hurt in any way?” Arlecchino inquires as she prepares to lunge at the dragon. 

“Wait, Father, don't kill it!” Lyney states as he ducks underneath the dragon's tail, escaping from its vicinity quite easily. “It hasn't hurt us!”

“No? Then why did it take you three?” Arlecchino questions, her blade still pointed at the creature. Their slitted eyes glare at the swordswoman in response, also tensing for an assault. It spun its body the other way, this time standing in between Arlecchino and Lyney, and Lynette and Freminet. They maneuver their head to be beside Lyney, using their head to almost shield him from the hunter. 

“I don't know, but… it–they clearly have no intentions of hurting us. See?” Lyney hesitantly reaches out, running his hand on the underside of the dragon's mouth, and the dragon coos from the action, before opening their mouth to lick his hand. 

“I think…” Freminet states outloud, though his appearance is obstructed from Arlecchino’s view thanks to the dragon. “That we're their young. They have been offering us fish, and they're doing this right now.” 

Arlecchino contemplates the situation. The dragon had essentially adopted her children as their own, perhaps even imprinting them already, claiming them as their own. Trying to take the children away would not do any good, especially if it feels threatened, there is no saying what it would do to the nearby surroundings when enraged. But the dragon has been hostile, and given the children's defense for it… it seems that it is rather docile. The hunter narrows her eyes on the dragon, sending a nonverbal warning before sheathing her blade. The dragon relaxes. 

“Even though you three remain unharmed, you still are my children, and under my care. I cannot simply give them away to you,” Arlecchino addresses the dragon, placing a hand on Lyney's shoulder. “Do you not have any young yourself? Why take human children?” 

The creature growls, before shifting away from Lyney. Abruptly, the dragon's form is outlined with a blinding light, and when the light dies down, you stand in place of the beast. The three children gap at you, but Arlecchino remains unfazed, already aware that you have a human form. 

“I cannot bear any children without any mate,” you gruff, your tail flicking behind you in an agitated way. “Why can't I keep human children? They look so small. I can feed them better.” 

Arlecchino steps closer, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in vexation. “My children's diets are fine, and they are not in need of more.” 

“The little ones are tiny even for just hatchlings. You cannot feed your young better?” 

Never did Arlecchino think she’d have to fight a custody battle with a dragon. Should she kill you? No, the children have already rejected it. Though, she cannot deny that you are much more appealing now that you are in a human form…

“Children, what do you think of this?” Arlecchino questions, and all three, expectedly, hesitates. None of them could ever expect a predicament like this, and not surprisingly, a definite answer is hard to come from them.

“I will come with you,” you suddenly suggest, eyes gleaming with determination. “And you will feed me and not harm me. In turn, I will protect and parent the little ones, and I will not destroy another human’s building. Is that enough for you, dragon hunter?” 

“You will do that for human children you just met?” 

“I’ve been wanting children for over a decade. If they come in the form of another species, then so be it,” you assert, and your stubbornness only makes Arlecchino sigh. This is a headache. Though, it was nearly winsome of how protective you are over them, and Arlecchino can do nothing but surrender.

Arlecchino, proud dragon hunter, ‘Father’ to three, and now sharing custody with a dragon. 

[deterioratingpisces]

The Vampire Armand, high school drama teacher from hell.

He always chooses plays that are wildly inappropriate for the age range of his students. "Today we begin rehearsals for A Streetcar Named Desire! What? It’s about family!"

He takes his work way too seriously and expects nothing short of perfection. A forgotten line or missed cue is treated as a personal betrayal.

He refuses to call it “the school play.” No, it’s always referred to as The Production. Like it’s a Broadway masterpiece, and he treats it as such.

His punishments for lateness or lackluster performances are absurdly theatrical. A student misses their mark? "Congratulations, you’re now the understudy for the curtain!"

For every performance, he overdresses like he’s about to win a Tony. Rather than show off high schoolers' work to a room full of parents who’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Verbal abuse is a daily occurrence. Not modern, explicit insults, but long-winded, theatrical tirades that leave students more confused than hurt. “I can see the potential in you—it’s just buried beneath layers of mediocrity and despair!”

Don’t you EVER, under ANY circumstances, try to leave his rehearsal early. Your doctor’s appointment? Postponed. Your sister's in emergency surgery? Unimportant. A relative is on their deathbed? Armand will tell you, “The true death is the death of your commitment to art.” You’ll leave the rehearsal wondering if your life has any meaning outside of his production.

One time, a group of shunned students tried to start a revolution against him. They made the fatal mistake of trying to get him removed from his position. Rumor has it that, by the end of that semester, none of them were seen on campus again. Some say they transferred to other schools. Others claim they’ve been “reassigned” to a different universe, one where Armand reigns supreme.

Once, he made everyone meditate for an entire rehearsal. In complete silence. The only sound was the soft swish swish of Armand pacing in front of the group, whispering phrases like "Feel the despair of the character. Embody the void." It ended with him dramatically fainting in the center of the circle, causing everyone else to panic.

He tapes every performance and subjects the cast to endless replays to highlight their mistakes. He treats this like he’s coaching a national sports team. "Look at this moment. What’s that on your face? A smile? Was this a comedy? No. Try again."

If a parent tries to intervene in his unorthodox methods, he breaks them too. "Oh, you want this to be a fun experience for your child? Let me show you what happens when mediocrity is allowed to flourish." By the end, the parent is running errands for him alongside their kid.

You want to leave the production? Good luck. Once you're in, there is no turning back. You may think you’ve found a way out, but suddenly you have hooded figures following you at all times, dropping off weird newspaper cutout letters at your house, vandalizing your locker with big red letters that say “TRAITOR.” Eventually, you’ll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.

His assistant is an eleven-year-old with a clipboard that he simply calls “Boy.” He frequently complains to him:
“Boy, where’s my iPad?”
“Boy, have you seen his delivery of the soliloquy? A piece of bread could convey more emotion.”
“Boy, what’s your opinion on arson?”
“Has anyone seen the boy? I need him to fetch something for me… yes, it’s my iPad.”

Sometimes, during breaks, they play Minecraft or Roblox together. He gets mad whenever the boy beats him at Dress to Impress, though. “There’s no way that shabby look beat my elegant ensemble!” Whenever he’s feeling extra petty, he even sends him to clean his office as punishment.

He makes a massive spectacle out of releasing the cast list: fog machines, backup music, extras in costumes, choreographed performances—an entire Olympian-level ceremony. "And now... THE LEAD! Drumroll, please!"

He regularly fights with other teachers for not prioritizing The Production. “Your physics test? How adorable. The Production is the only education they need.”

The props department hates to see him coming. He demands Broadway-level sets from students working with cardboard and acrylic paint. “What is this? A tree? I’ve seen more realistic trees in The Lorax.”

He forces other art teachers to produce props during their classes. Pottery class? Now they’re making urns for The Production.

If his stars are stuck in other classes, he silently enters the room and glares at the teacher until they release the student. “No, no, don’t interrupt your lecture on photosynthesis. The future of theater can wait.”

He’s got the headmaster under his spell, so don’t even think about complaining to them. You might have a heated argument about his dismissal of your class, but when you storm into the headmaster’s office, guess who's already there, sipping tea and laughing like they’re in on some inside joke? (Spoiler: They are.)

His biggest rival is the drama teacher at the neighboring school, Lestat de Lioncourt. They’ve been sworn enemies since preschool. Their rivalry began when they both applied for the lead role in their school play. Neither of them got the part and blamed the other for it.

He sends his 11-year-old assistant to sabotage Lestat in petty ways—keying his car, putting dark blonde dye in his silver shampoo, or mixing laxatives into his protein powder. Nothing is off-limit.

He does this especially as a stress relief whenever something goes wrong in The Production. If their lead actress breaks her leg, he’ll casually say, “Boy, I need you to go and see to it that Mr. Lioncourt’s car gets towed.”

He and Mr. Lioncourt always attend each other’s plays. Afterwards, they exchange viciously backhanded compliments: “Now this play really was something. You’ve got a way of making the audience think—mostly about leaving during the intermission.” “Your style of directing is so fresh—it's like you’ve never seen a play before.” “You must tell me where you get your costumes tailored. They were so captivating, I almost didn’t notice when half of your cast forgot their lines.”(They’d never admit it, but they are kind of best friends.)

When stressed, Armand retreats into the world of Just Dance. He’ll dash into his office, and before you know it, you’re hearing the unmistakable "Dannnceee" intro blast through the door. On days you hear "Rasputin" pumping from the cracks in the walls, run. Something's gone terribly, terribly wrong.

His idea of rewards for students is... baffling. A lock of his hair? A recitation of an original theatre piece in the school hallway? Or the ultimate honor: an invitation to witness his one-man show. "This, my dear pupil, is your reward: the privilege of experiencing true art."

One day, his students stumbled upon a recording of his one-man show. A surreal spectacle in which Armand, clad in a series of increasingly ridiculous wigs, argued with himself for three hours. The props? A lone chair, which he threw dramatically around, and a crumpled newspaper he swore was "crucial to the plot," but never actually read.

He has personalised, often insulting, nicknames for every student in the cast. If he’s feeling generous, you might get called “The Chosen One” or “The Future of Broadway.” If not... well, "The Prose Butcherer" might be on the docket. Or worse: "The Disappointment," which he says with a lingering stare.

Rehearsal speeches that drag on for hours. By the time he finishes, half the cast has nodded off, and the rest are wishing they had, too. It’s always the same: “The characters are in you, feel their pain... feel it!”

Production posters that look like they cost a fortune. Seriously, how does a high school drama department afford high-quality photo shoots? These posters are so professionally done, people are starting to ask if he’s siphoning funds from somewhere… somewhere.

Absurd warm-up rituals. Don’t even think about going on stage without going through Armand’s hour-long warm-up. This includes screaming into the void, contorting your body into poses inspired by ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and chanting lines from Macbeth in an attempt to "invoke the spirits of tragedy."

Pre-show pep talks that are mostly threats with a thin layer of encouragement. “I’ve prepared you to the best of my abilities. You’re not just actors... you are vessels for my vision. Fail me, and you will never know peace.” (He says this in the dark, under a single flickering lightbulb, to REALLY set the mood.)

At some point, they get used to his weird antics and emotional tirades. So much so that they get seriously worried for him whenever he doesn’t flip out when something goes wrong. When a prop breaks or someone misses their cue, the cast watches in horrified silence, waiting for the explosion. But when it doesn’t come, they look at each other, unsure whether to feel relieved or more terrified.

They try to figure out what’s wrong with him and find a way to cheer him up. Was he banned from his favourite Minecraft server again? Are things not going well at home? Maybe he’s just overexerted himself? They try to be on their best behaviour, tiptoeing around him like nervous mice to make sure they’re not the ones to make him suddenly implode. Then, just as they’re about to lose hope, Armand looks up from his iPad, elated, and announces that they’ve once again made it to the regionals. The cast collectively exhales in relief, unsure if this moment of joy is worth the emotional rollercoaster that led them here.

Questionable bonding experiences. "To get a better feel of your characters' emotional depth," Armand leads the class on bizarre excursions—abandoned asylums, the red-light district, or a graveyard at midnight. If anyone dares question the appropriateness of this, he dramatically sighs and mutters, "Art is not safe."

Once, they crashed a stranger’s funeral. All in the name of "studying grief and despair." Imagine mourning your beloved grandmother, only to see a group of teenagers with notepads, hovering over the casket and asking intrusive questions like, "How does this make you feel? On a scale of 1 to 10, how raw is the emotion?"

They were, unsurprisingly, kicked out. One attendee threatened to call the police, but Armand was prepared. As soon as the word “police” left their lips, one of the students screamed “SCATTER!” and the entire group fled the scene in an unholy frenzy, leaving the wake with half as many guests as before. They still talk about it as "the performance of a lifetime."

Afterward, they reconvened at a shabby diner to process the experience. Milkshakes and waffles were consumed in abundance (paid for by Armand, naturally, as “rewards” for their "artistic dedication"). The group debated whether true grief could ever truly be captured without disturbing the family, concluding only that they had to do it again, but next time, at a wedding.

Never mind the rough start the theatre group might’ve had at the beginning of the semester. By the end, they are all trauma bonded and have an undeniable soft spot for Armand. He pretends that he’s not affected by this at all because that’s just theatre, but you can still sense it from him. When he’s dressed in all black during the last school assembly of the year and hides his eyes behind sunglasses, you just know that he cares just as much.

A while ago I made this post called Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell, and I had so much fun writing it that I had to do a sequel.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Regarding the “Is Marinette a Stalker?” post, I want to say thank you! Because I did something like Marinette and self-doubted my younger-self’s actions. A bit of context, I’m (37 y/o, female) one of the many adults that loved MLBCN when it started airing. When I came disappointed at the show by S4, I turned to the fandom to look out for fanfics, and was surprised by the salty side.

Don’t get me wrong, I kinda get the why’s and the reasons, and even though I enjoyed a Mari-salt fic titled “The Schedule” (iirc), I… sorta felt ashamed at myself? When I was 19, I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too. Our university had a system only for students where we could do lots of administrative stuff, like choosing our classes. At my time, there used to be a search tool on it to look out for our classmates’ schedules; in my curiosity, I searched for his just to see if we shared free periods. (Btw, today I do feel that it was wrong that my university had that function).

At my defense, after finding my crush’s schedule, I also searched for my friends’, just so I could organize with them to set up a table for our LAN parties. At the end my feelings weren’t reciprocated, my heartbreak ocurred close the next semester’s start, so I searched his schedule one more time, but just to avoid having classes with him.

When I read that Mari having Adrien’s schedule was “stalker behavior” I was like “OMG, was I a stalker? And worse, I was legally an adult!”, but I can’t remember my friends being creeped out by me. I don’t know if it is a subject whose meaning has evolved as time went on, or maybe it can change according to our different cultural/countries’ POV. But we do crazy stuff when we are young-adults, and worse when we are adolescents, add first love/crush feelings, and well… (just look at Hey, Arnold!’s Helga, she had it bad for Arnold and went to do stuff that by today’s standards is a serious case of bullying).

If the issue is the “breach of privacy” and the “3 years”, well, the first one isn’t touched on the show, maybe Mari got the pattern by observation, or Alya helped by asking Nino, or maybe even Chloe said something loudly, or my personal fan-favorite: as Class Rep, Marinette has access to that information to make easy her duties! And as for the second issue, they are 13-14 years old, my bet is that if their school makes fixated schedules for its students, so it wouldn’t be difficult to guess Adrien’s schedule for the next 3-years, and since his father was Marinette’s favorite designer, she might have followed his seasons releases, and might been easy for her to add it to Adrien’s schedule.

I want to clarify that I’m not looking to invalidate people’s feelings about this, or saying that they are wrong. In the end, we all must remember that Marinette is just a fictional adolescent character in a cartoon show, and cartoons will exaggerate actions just for the sake of the plot. We don’t like something about the characters’ actions and/or personalities? We teach and explain to the children why is wrong; and as adults, we tell ourselves to be wary if anything about it is in our daily actions, so we don’t fall into the “hating something that is a reflection of us” projection.

I like to think that I was a good adolescent and young adult that didn’t do anything morally or ethically bad, so it really freaked me out that part of the Marinette salt fandom. So, a thousand thanks! And sorry that your friend, cousin and you had to deal with that stuff.

(Post this ask is in reference to)

Before we get started, I wanted to say that your university having that feature seems incredibly dangerous. Most people are going to use it the harmless way that you did, but boy does that have the potential for misuse. Way better to let students decide if they want to share schedules on their own.

Anyway, while I will absolutely agree that the show occasionally takes Marinette too far, leading me to understand why her behavior bothers people, I think that biggest issue in her writing is actually something you sort of brought up:

I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too.

It sounds like you had some sort of relationship with your crush and that makes a world of difference to how your actions are going to be perceived by others. Checking the schedule of a guy you don't know? Kinda creepy. Checking the schedule of your friends including the friend you have a crush on? Normal.

Let's look at a personal example to show you what I mean. When I was in high school, I learned parts of my crush's schedule. On my way to lunch, I would purposely walk by the area where he hung out so that I could say "hi" to him as I walked past.

This statement probably raises some questions in your mind like how did I learn that he'd be there? The answer is incredibly innocent. I learned that part of his schedule by accident because his hangout spot because was also my hangout spot during my free periods. I just happened to go by one day to see a different friend and ran into him, thereby learning a bit of his schedule. After that, I took path A to lunch instead of path B because they took the same amount of time and I liked seeing him for two seconds every day.

It's also worth noting that we had the same hangout spot because we had a mutual friend group! We were in the same small club and spent a lot of time together. We even hung out together outside of school and club activities. We eventually dates for several years because he asked me out! So when I said, "hi" to him every day, it didn't shock anyone or creep him out because I wasn't some random girl. I was a friend taking a moment to acknowledge his existence before going about the rest of my day.

An additional mitigating detail is the fact that I could have told you details about several platonic friends' schedules because that's just what happens when you know people and pay attention to their lives. We all know random crap about the people we care about. Crushes simply enhance your attention, making you way more aware of everything you do, say, or think about this person. That heightened attention might make you feel creepy at times, but that feeling doesn't automatically make you creepy. It's more complicated than that. The details of the situation matter because there's a ton of nuance around this topic. Nuance that actually makes it hard to give examples because this stuff can be incredibly personal. What person A find cute and charming is a hard no for person B.

That nuances goes beyond crushes on people you're close with. For example, you don't need to stop going to your favorite coffee shop because the new barista is cute! You are not stalking them by maintaining your usual habits! You're not a bad person for experiencing attraction toward a person who is working! It only gets weird if you start crossing social boundaries like if you start asking them on a date every time you see them even though they are very clearly uninterested and you've never actually talked to them beyond simple pleasantries.

This is where we circle back to Miraculous.

While the early seasons of Miraculous gave Adrien and Marinette a few moments of friendship like playing games together in Gamer, those moments quickly stopped. By season three, they barely interacted. This happened for an obvious reasons. Miraculous is an episodic formula show in almost the purest sense of those terms. The writers have made it clear that the episodes are designed so that they can be watched in any order leading to all sorts of weird moments like Felix telling Marinette that Gabriel is Monarch only for her to act like this is new information in the next episode. This was explicitly done so that people who missed the first reveal didn't feel left out:

Talking about previous episodes, [the writers] then say that... the 5 last episodes of season 5 (Collusion - Revolution - Representation - Conformation - Recreation) go together and there is a direct continuation between them. (However, one of their rules as Miraculous writers is that these episodes can also be watched and understood independently.)

This ridiculous rule* means that the on-screen relationships can't develop and grow as that makes the show feel too serialized. This limitation meant that Adrien and Marinette could NOT become functional friends with a developing relationship as that would require a certain viewing order. The same was true for Ladybug and Chat Noir's relationship. They could not become stronger over time. They had to stay stagnant.

Without those friendships, Adrienette was reduced to being all about Marinette being unable to function around Adrien and Ladynoir was reduced to being all about Chat Noir flirting relentlessly while Ladybug constantly shot him down. The only side of the square that was allowed to be a true friendship was Marichat because they could interact without it leading to a romance since they weren't in love, which is a major problem since Adrienette is what became canon in spite of it having the substance of unset jello. How are we supposed to ship a couple that never knowingly interacted???

This inability to have developing relationships is why the writers wrote Marinette more like a fangirl than a friend with a crush. But fangirl behavior only plays well when there's a level of separation between the fan and the object of their affections. The fan can't actually know their crush because that makes the fan feel creepy and weird. This is Marinette's main problem. The thing that understandably turns a lot of viewers off. The way her crush is written simply doesn't fit the story canon is going with.

If Marinette and Adrien had been written as true friends and were allowed to have more of those early show moments where they did non-romantic things together, then Marinette would come across light-years more relatable than she does in canon even if her actions didn't change.

It's not that Marinette never has questionable moments, she absolutely does! It's just that a lot of those moments are only questionable because of the nature of her relationship with Adrien. They would all feel wildly different if Adrien was her close friend or boyfriend.

To see what I mean, think about how much less creepy it would have been if Marinette claimed to have Adrien's schedule after she and Adrien started dating. Your instant assumption becomes that he gave it to her! You also have the addition of Gabriel's controlling nature to mitigate the way Marinette's rickshaw date plan comes across. It goes from awkwardly over-the-top to sweet because she's just trying to find a way to spend a few minutes with her boyfriend whose life is too controlled to allow for proper dates. Same exact episode setup, wildly different read because context matters.

It really is sad how much the writing failed Marinette because it's normal to be a little weird around your crush. Wanting to get to know them better and spend time with them is completely understandable and common behavior! But the writers didn't just decide to keep Marinette and Adrien from being good friends. They also decided to give Marinette an active running gag of trying and failing to confess. This gag requires her crush to be extremely active while the show's formulaic nature meant that the crush could never have true progress. This lead to the show constantly putting Marinette in awkward positions and questionable situations. It's a terrible call if your goal is to actually tell a romance. They would have been way better off to make Marinette shy and afraid to confess as a contrast to Chat Noir's bold flirting. The most I'd do in that setup is to let her have the occasional secrete admirer thing where she leaves Adrien a gift or sends him a note like we saw in The Bubbler. That way a much stronger way to play Marinette's crush.

*Quick note: status quo rules are fine in shows that don't have overarching plots, but Miraculous is a romance with an overarching plot. Both of those elements require you to have some level of serialization to your story. I recently used ABC's Castle as an example of this. Almost every episode it a unique murder mystery, but the characters' relationships progress over time. There are also several plot lines that run through the show, leading to a handful of episodes that do need to be watched in order. Notably, all of the major status quo changes happen in that handful of serialized episodes. This is the type of show that Miraculous needed to be for its main story lines to work.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 11

word count: 6.9k

heres the awaited update!! i got in at 2 am and have been working on it since, its 5:30 am now!! hope u enjoy!

When the semester started back up again, Aspen found herself buried under the weight of her new workload. Classes demanded more than she expected, and the long hours spent poring over textbooks and notes left little room for herself, let alone time to see Harry. She felt like her world had shifted entirely to the library or her desk at home, where assignments piled up faster than she could cross them off.

That also meant she saw less of Harry. Each day that passed without seeing him seemed to stretch longer, her thoughts lingering on him more than she wanted to admit. She hated how easily she could recall the feeling of his hands brushing her skin or the way his lips curved when he smiled—how that smile seemed reserved just for her. By now, Isobel was well in tune with what was happening between them. Though nothing had been made official, it was clear there was something brewing. Aspen occasionally found herself at Harry's place, sneaking in fleeting kisses that inevitably stretched into hours tangled on his couch, her cheeks flushed pink by the time she was dropped off at home.

On Harry's end, things weren’t much different. Niall and Zayn remained blissfully unaware—or at least pretended to be. They hadn’t pressed him about it, though Harry suspected they had their suspicions. Still, he wasn’t one to share personal details, and his feelings for Aspen were something he preferred to keep tucked away, both in his mind and on the pages of his journal. Each time he wrote about her, his handwriting grew messier, betraying the restless emotions he wasn’t used to feeling.

As more days passed, Harry found himself thinking about her more frequently. The texts they exchanged helped fill the void, but it wasn’t enough. They spoke throughout the day—small updates, silly jokes, and the occasional goodnight text—but nothing could compare to having her close. He missed the way she fit perfectly against him, the soft curve of her smile, and how her shy laughter sounded like a melody he never wanted to end.

Aspen wasn’t immune to her distractions either. During lectures, her mind wandered far too often. A professor could be explaining a complex derivative, and she’d find herself remembering the way Harry’s arms tightened around her waist as he kissed her. Even mundane tasks like shelving books became harder to focus on, as her thoughts drifted to the warmth of his green-eyed gaze or the way his rough fingers brushed against her softer skin.

Finally, the week ended, and Aspen was blessed with the rare gift of a completely free weekend. No homework loomed over her, no shifts were scheduled, and for once, no tests needed studying. During her last lecture of the day, she realized her upcoming freedom and quickly texted Harry:

Aspen: mmmhm! i’m free i’m freeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Harry’s lips quirked up into a soft smile when he read her text, his green eyes briefly glancing around the empty shop before he typed his reply:

Harry: Let me pick you up from the library today? I’ll be done here at five.

Aspen: yes! i promised marion that i would shelf some books before i take off for the weekend. can you wait a few mins?

Harry: Anything for you, sun.

Harry clicked his phone shut and slipped it into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, the faintest smile still lingering on his face. He turned to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean, the soap foaming white under the running water. After drying them off, he snapped on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and turned his attention back to the supplies on the metal tray in front of him. "Alright, Z. You ready?"

Zayn grinned, his excitement evident even as he settled into the chair. Harry’s eyes flicked to the reference papers Zayn had brought in—designs inspired by Isobel’s lipstick marks on scraps of paper. Zayn had teased Harry relentlessly while they worked on the design, but Harry had focused, sketching until they both agreed on a final concept: a kiss print nestled between a pair of delicately detailed angel wings.

The machine buzzed softly as Harry began the work, his gloved hand steady as he guided the needle. He paused frequently to clean the area, ensuring the lines stayed sharp and smooth. Zayn’s chatter filled the space as Harry worked, but his mind occasionally wandered to Aspen. Would she still be shelving books when he arrived? Would she smile shyly when she saw him, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was nervous?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

By the time Harry arrived at the library, the sun had set, casting long shadows across the building's entrance. He pushed the door open, the soft chime signaling his arrival. His eyes scanned the quiet room, landing almost immediately on Aspen. She was behind the library desk, her head bent over a stack of returns. A stray strand of hair fell across her face as she worked, and he watched as she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

She didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in her task. He leaned against the counter, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Busy night?”

Her head shot up, her wide eyes softening as they locked onto his familiar figure, and a soft smile curved her lips. “Harry,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying just enough warmth to melt through the quiet buzz of the library. For a brief moment, she was struck by the urge to stretch across the counter, her arms aching to wrap around him, to pull him close and feel the comfort she missed in the weeks they’d been apart. But the soft murmur of voices and the rustling of pages around them made her pause, grounding her in the present. Instead, she offered him a shy smile, the kind that made her eyes dart to the side in nervousness before finding their way back to him.

"Hey, doll. Wha's that you're workin' on?" Harry nudged his head toward the stack of books, his voice smooth yet laced with curiosity. His keys spun lazily around his finger, the metallic jingling matching the calm cadence of his words. Though his eyes lingered on her, intent and focused, he allowed them to flick briefly to the stack of books as she explained her task—returns that needed scanning and shelving before she could call it a day.

“Would y'like some help?”

The question caught Aspen off guard. She blinked up at him, the thought of Harry offering to help with something so mundane leaving her a little flustered. She’d expected him to wait patiently in the car, maybe scrolling through his phone or listening to music until she was done. But instead, here he was, standing in front of her with an earnest expression that made her heart flutter unexpectedly. Her mind stuttered to process, and her response stumbled out, shy and small. “Y-yes, please. If you’d like to.”

Harry gave a small nod, slipping his keys into the pocket of his black skinny jeans. His footsteps were confident as he walked around the counter, his tall frame effortlessly commanding the space. “Alright,” he said with a crooked smile, “where d’you want me? What should I do?”

Kiss me, she thought instinctively, the boldness of her unspoken desire catching her off guard. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she scrambled to push the thought away, acutely aware of how it made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Aspen had always carried this strange belief that her thoughts could somehow be read by the people around her, and with Harry standing so close, she feared her reaction was written all over her face.

“J-just help me push around the cart? Is that okay?” Her voice wavered slightly as she gestured to the metal cart, hastily piling books onto it after scanning them into the system. From the corner of her eye, she noticed how his hands wrapped firmly around the cart’s handle, the muscles in his forearms flexing subtly under the grip. Her focus wavered again, and she moved with a newfound determination, trying her best to finish quickly so he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

After a few minutes, Aspen led the way down the aisles, her steps light but purposeful as Harry followed close behind, pushing the cart with ease. They stopped in the non-fiction section, where she reached for three thick Chemistry 10 textbooks. Balancing them in her arms, she stretched onto her tiptoes, her tongue peeking out at the corner of her lips as she tried to reach the top shelf.

Before she could place the books, she felt Harry’s hands gently settle on her hips, grounding her with a soft but steady pressure. “Here, let me,” he murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. Aspen froze, her heart thudding in her chest as he took the books from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. With an effortless reach, he slotted the books into their rightful place on the shelf, the motion fluid and precise.

“There we are,” Harry hummed, his voice warm with satisfaction as his hands returned to her hips. His touch lingered, his thumbs tracing faint circles against the fabric of her leggings. Aspen felt her breath catch as he shifted slightly closer, his presence wrapping around her like a comforting weight.

He scanned their surroundings quickly, his green eyes sweeping over the quiet aisles until he was sure they were alone. Satisfied, he ducked his head, his breath warm against the shell of her ear as he inhaled the soft, familiar scent that had stayed with him for days. “Can I kiss you?” he muttered, his voice barely audible, a husky whisper laced with a longing that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumbs pressed a little deeper into her hips, grounding her while his words made her head spin.

Aspen took a sharp breath, the heat rushing to her cheeks like a tidal wave. Her lips parted, but only a soft squeak escaped, her nervousness bubbling over. “H-Harry,” she stammered, her hands trembling slightly as they reached up to cover his, pulling them away gently so she could turn to face him. Her wide eyes met his, the emotions swirling in his gaze making her heart race even faster.

“Not here, okay?” she whispered, her voice steady despite the blush staining her cheeks. “Is that okay?”

Harry stared at her for a moment, the intensity in his gaze softening into something more tender. He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile as he brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Of course, love. My apologies.”

Though he stepped back slightly, the weight of his words and the warmth of his touch lingered between them, leaving Aspen feeling a strange mix of relief and anticipation.

They continued about their day, Harry kissing over her knuckles or a kiss to the top of her head before he helped her reach the higher shelves. God, how he wanted to actually kiss her pained him. It only took another ten minutes, if that, before Aspen was slinging her totebag over her shoulders and bidding a good weekend to Marion. When she appeared out of the back room, Harry looked up from his phone, locking it and tucking it back into his pocket while he stood up. "Y'ready?" He asked, holding his hand out for her to take it. The familiar feeling that he missed of her fingers curling around his warmed up his hand, and he pulled her a bit closer as they walked out. 

Harry opened the passenger door with his usual care, stepping aside to let Aspen climb into the car. The cold night air bit at her skin as she slid into the seat, grateful to escape its grasp. The interior of the car was still chilly, but not nearly as bitter as outside. She shivered lightly, clutching the ends of her off-the-shoulder long sleeve, the thin material doing little to combat the weather. The fabric clung to her figure, and her flared leggings offered minimal warmth against the evening breeze.

As she clicked her seatbelt into place, the driver’s side door opened, and Harry climbed in, his presence immediately warming the space. The familiar sound of the engine hummed to life, quickly followed by a rush of heat from the vents. Aspen instinctively held her hands over them, sighing contently as the warm air washed over her chilled fingers and spread through her body.

Harry chuckled softly at her small gesture, the sound low and comforting, as he reached for his seatbelt. "Cold, huh?" he teased, his emerald eyes flicking over to her with a glimmer of amusement.

“Freezing,” Aspen replied, her voice muffled slightly as she kept her face near the vents, soaking in the much-needed warmth.

It had become their unspoken routine whenever Aspen rode in Harry’s car. As the warmth filled the space, his hand naturally found its place on her leg, just above her knee. His thumb began its familiar rhythm, tracing lazy, thoughtless shapes into the fabric of her leggings. The small motion sent a ripple of comfort through her. Occasionally, Aspen would place her hand over his, her fingers playing idly with the silver rings that adorned them, twisting each one gently as though committing them to memory.

She could feel his gaze lingering on her, and after a moment, her shy eyes flitted toward him. His intense stare caught her off guard, and she noticed the car hadn't moved despite the engine purring for the past few minutes. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her brows knitting together in curiosity. A small, playful pout tugged at her lips, an expression that made Harry’s heart stutter.

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before rising to meet her wide, questioning gaze. “I jus’ really want t’kiss you. Can I?” His voice was soft but deliberate, holding a vulnerability that made Aspen’s cheeks flush instantly.

Her heart fluttered wildly at his words, and she turned instinctively toward the library entrance. A stream of people had begun flooding the parking lot, their chatter and footsteps filling the night air. She hesitated, her eyes darting back to Harry’s as the blush on her cheeks deepened.

Sensing her apprehension, Harry gave her knee a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, Asp,” he murmured, his tone warm and grounding. “You can always tell me no, and I’ll listen. I want what you want.”

Her chest swelled at his words, the sincerity in his gaze making her stomach twist in that all-too-familiar way. Aspen hesitated for a beat longer before leaning forward slightly, her lips parting with a soft, almost timid, “Okay.”

Harry’s smile was slow and tender, his hand sliding slightly higher on her thigh as he leaned across the console. His lips met hers cheek gently, placing a lingering kiss that made her feel relaxed. It wasn’t rushed or demanding; it was patient and deliberate, as though he was savoring every second of it.

When he pulled away, Aspen blinked up at him, her cheeks glowing with a mix of cold and warmth. “I missed you,” she admitted softly, the confession slipping out before she could stop it.

Harry chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Missed you too, sun,” he murmured.

Before they could linger too long in the moment, Aspen’s phone buzzed in her bag. She fished it out, squinting at the screen. “It’s Isobel,” she said, reading the message. “She’s staying with Zayn tonight.”

Harry arched a brow, leaning back in his seat as he shifted the car into reverse. “Guess that means I’m takin’ you home,” he said, his tone laced with a teasing suggestion which made Aspen shy herself into her seat.

The ride to Harry’s apartment was quiet but comfortable, filled with soft music and the warmth of stolen glances. When they arrived, Harry parked and walked Aspen up to his door, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. He unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting her enter first.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “I’ll order us some takeout. Any requests?”

Aspen wandered into the living room, setting her bag down by the couch as she took in the familiar space. It smelled like him—clean and musky, with a hint of something spicy lingering in the air. “Anything’s fine,” she replied, her voice soft as she perched on the edge of the couch.

Harry nodded, pulling out his phone as he leaned against the counter. “Alright. We’ll get somethin’ good. Y'can pick a movie if y’want.”

Aspen smiled to herself, feeling the ease of their dynamic settle back into place as she began scrolling through his neatly organized stack of DVDs. The titles were meticulously arranged alphabetically, a detail she found both endearing and amusing given the casual chaos of the rest of his apartment. Her fingers lingered over the cases, occasionally pulling one halfway out to examine the cover before tucking it back in its spot. She eventually decided on The Aristocats, a classic that sparked a nostalgic warmth in her chest. After slipping the disc into the DVD player and clicking the TV on, she turned toward the couch, her eyes following Harry shyly as he emerged from the kitchen, balancing two steaming mugs in his hands.

He set the mugs down on the coffee table, his gaze catching hers briefly with a teasing smile before he took his seat. Jasper, his sleek black cat, wasted no time weaving between their legs, his silky fur brushing against their ankles as he meowed insistently. Aspen reached down to scoop the demanding feline into her lap, the soft weight of him grounding her as she dug her fingers into his fur, earning a satisfied purr.

Harry leaned back into the couch, his posture relaxed yet commanding as his arms draped across the backrest. His gaze flicked between Aspen and Jasper, his lips quirking in a way that made his dimples deepen. She didn’t notice at first, too focused on the rhythmic motion of her hand stroking the cat, but the growing smirk on his face was hard to miss.

"What’s so funny?" she huffed, her brows knitting together as she squinted up at him. Her hands didn’t pause in their ministrations, much to Jasper’s delight, his purrs growing louder.

Harry’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re jus’... I guess you could say you’re playing with a pussy on my co—"

"Harry!" Aspen squealed, cutting him off as she lunged forward to slap her hand over his mouth. Her cheeks burned an intense red, the heat crawling up to the tips of her ears. Harry’s laugh vibrated against her palm, his amusement muffled but unmistakable.

He peeled her hand away gently, his dimples on full display as he tossed his hands up in mock surrender. "What? It was funny," he defended, his voice laced with unrepentant laughter.

Aspen glared half-heartedly at him, though the corners of her mouth twitched as if fighting off a smile. "You’re impossible," she grumbled, tucking her legs beneath her and pulling a throw pillow into her lap as if to shield herself from further embarrassment. She turned away, releasing Jasper from her lap with a huff, the cat hopping gracefully to the floor and padding away in search of a quieter corner. "Sorry, your dad ruined the moment," she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with mock indignation.

Harry chuckled again, the sound low and warm as he scooted closer. "C'mere, baby," he murmured, his voice softening as he reached out to tap her shoulder. His tone held a gentleness that made her heart skip, and before she could protest, he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

The movement was brief, just enough for him to guide her down onto the couch beside him, her body instinctively leaning into his as he tucked her against his side. His arm curled around her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as his fingers traced absentminded patterns against the fabric of her shirt.

Harry’s nose buried into her hair, and he inhaled softly, his lips brushing against her temple. The faint scent of her shampoo, a delicate mix of vanilla and something floral, lingered in the air between them. "You smell amazing," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

Aspen felt her cheeks heat again, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let herself sink into the comfort of his embrace, her hands resting lightly against his chest. The movie played on in the background, the familiar animation and soft melodies creating a cocoon of warmth around them.

Harry nestled another kiss to her temple, lingering just long enough for her to feel the subtle press of his lips before he turned his attention back to the screen. His thumb continued its soothing motion against her arm, and Aspen let out a quiet sigh, her earlier embarrassment melting away into a quiet, contented calm.

The knock on the door pulled them both from their quiet comfort. Jasper darted off Aspen’s feet at the sound, his tail flicking in mild annoyance as he trotted toward the hallway. Harry gently untangled himself from her and stood, stretching briefly before heading to the door.

“Chinese is here,” he called over his shoulder, tossing her a quick grin as he grabbed his wallet from the counter. Aspen adjusted her position on the couch, her legs curling beneath her as she watched him exchange pleasantries with the delivery person.

When Harry returned, he carried the brown paper bag in one hand, the smell of sweet and savory spices wafting through the room. “Smells good, doesn’t it?” he said, setting the bag on the coffee table and pulling out the containers.

Aspen nodded eagerly, her stomach growling at the sight. “It smells amazing. What did you get?”

“Couple of m'favorites—orange chicken, beef lo mein, and dumplings. Thought we could share.” He shot her a wink as he grabbed two sets of chopsticks from the bag, handing one to her.

Aspen opened the container of orange chicken first, the steam rising as she took her first bite. “Mmm,” she hummed, covering her mouth with her hand. “This is so good. You’re officially in charge of ordering takeout from now on.”

Harry smirked, his eyes flickering toward her as he took a bite of lo mein. “That right? Guess I’ll have to keep impressin’ you, huh?”

Their banter continued as they ate, the movie playing softly in the background. Every so often, Harry reached over with his chopsticks to steal a bite from her container, earning a mock glare from Aspen. She retaliated by snatching one of his dumplings, popping it into her mouth with a triumphant smile.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he teased, his voice warm and low.

Aspen shrugged innocently, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “You started it.”

As the movie played on, they settled further into the couch, their containers now abandoned on the coffee table, save for a few leftover bites. Harry stretched his arm along the back of the couch again, pulling Aspen closer until she was nestled against his side.

“Comfortable?” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder.

She nodded, her cheek pressing against his chest. “Very,” she whispered, her voice laced with contentment.

Time seemed to slow as they sank into the moment. The warmth of Harry’s body against hers, the quiet hum of the movie, and the faint aroma of takeout lingering in the air made everything feel soft and surreal.

As the movie neared its end, Harry’s gaze drifted from the screen to Aspen. Her focus remained on the animated cats dancing across the screen, her lips curved into a faint smile. He couldn’t help but marvel at her—the way her hair framed her face, the way her glasses slid slightly down her nose, and the way her fingers absently played with the hem of her sleeve.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” he murmured, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Aspen blinked, her head tilting up to look at him. The blush that colored her cheeks was immediate, her lips parting in surprise. “Harry...”

“I mean it,” he said, his green eyes locking onto hers. His hand cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “You’re so beautiful, Aspen.”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she searched his face. The sincerity in his gaze made her chest tighten in the best possible way. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into his touch.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Anytime, love.”

Hearing words like that from Harry, her big, intimidating, scary Harry, made her stomach fill with butterflies she could never had imagined herself having.

They returned their attention to the movie, though the atmosphere between them had shifted slightly, the air tinged with something deeper. As the final few scenes played out, Harry’s arm tightened around her, and Aspen felt a warmth bloom in her chest that rivaled anything she’d ever felt before.

Harry ended up nudging Aspen slightly, his shoulder bumping her up. The girl looked up, tilting her head as if to ask him 'what?' He hummed, the arm not wrapped around her shoulders went to rest on her knee once again. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "I haven't kissed you all day t'day," He mumbled. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he sighed softly. "Can I please kiss you? Please?"

Aspen blinked up at him, her cheeks aflame as his words lingered in the air. "Y-you’re... you’re too much," she mumbled, ducking her head in an attempt to hide behind the curtain of her hair. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, twisting it nervously as she peeked at him from beneath her lashes.

Harry, however, wasn’t about to let her retreat. "Too much?" he repeated, his voice full of mock offense but underlined with a genuine softness. He leaned closer, dipping his head to catch her eyes. "No, love, you’ve got it all wrong," His thick voice muttered, "I’m just the right amount when it comes to you."

Aspen’s lips parted as though she wanted to reply, but her voice failed her, the words getting stuck in her throat. Instead, she shrank further into herself, her shy demeanor only making Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way.

"You don’t believe me, d'you?" Harry pressed, his thumb brushing her cheek gently. "Alright, I’ll prove it. You’re the one thing I can’t stop thinking about. I wake up wishing you were next to me. I go to sleep kicking myself for not being braver with you. You’re in m'sketchbook, my bloody head, everywhere, Aspen. And ’s torture. Possibly the best damn kind."

Aspen’s breath hitched, her wide eyes darting to meet his as her blush deepened. "I-I don’t know what to say," she whispered, her voice so quiet it barely reached him.

Harry gave a self-deprecating laugh, running his free hand through his hair before letting it rest over his heart. "You don’t have to say anything. Just—just let me show you, yeah? Give me a chance to kiss you again. I’ll even beg, if that’s what it takes." His lips curved into a small, pleading smile, his dimples making a faint feature as he dipped his head closer.

"Harry, I..." Aspen trailed off, her fingers trembling as she clutched at the edge of her sweater.

"Please, love," he whispered, the desperation in his voice both playful and painfully sincere. He brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I’ve missed you too much. One more kiss. Just one. I swear I’ll behave after that."

Aspen’s gaze flickered between his earnest expression and the way his thumb traced over her hand. Her heart pounded as she struggled to form a coherent thought. Finally, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

His furrowed brows relaxed with a content sigh, his tongue poking out to wet his lips slightly as he moved impossibly closer. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cradled her face in his hands. His lips brushed hers so softly, it was as though he was savoring every second, committing the moment to memory. 

Harry didn’t waste a second. His hand tilted her chin up as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that started tender but quickly grew more urgent. It wasn��t just a kiss; it was a pouring out of everything he’d been holding back—the longing, the adoration, the quiet ache he felt every time he looked at her and couldn’t have her close enough.

Aspen responded hesitantly at first, her hands finding their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. But as Harry’s lips moved against hers, slow yet deliberate, she melted into him completely.

This time, Aspen didn’t pull back in hesitation. Instead, she let herself fall into the kiss, her hands resting timidly on his chest as his warmth surrounded her. Harry groaned softly against her lips, his thumb caressing her cheek as he deepened the kiss just enough to make her knees feel weak, even while seated. His tongue swiped over her bottom lip carefully, but before she could let him in, he pulled back.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his voice was a breathless whisper. "You have no idea how much I needed that. You’re gonna ruin me, doll. Completely ruin me."

Aspen’s shy giggle broke the moment, her cheeks still rosy as she looked down at her lap. 

 "C'mere," he pulled his arm from over her and helped pull her to sit straddled on his lap. "We won't go anywhere you aren't ready to go, okay? I jus' want t'kiss you some more. Can I do that? Can you sit on m'lap and be my good girl?"

Aspen's breath hitched in her throat at his last question. Nervously, she nodded while her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt that fell above his shoulders. Pleased with her answer, Harry flashed a small smile while one of his hands snaked to cup her jaw, tilting her head down. 

Their lips connected at a slow pace first, Harry being careful and letting her adjust to their new seating arrangement. After a couple of slow kisses, their heads tilted to deepen their shared kiss. Harry wasted no time in swiping his tongue along her bottom lip and taking advantage of the warm invitation. Once their flow was found, his hands went back to their place on the curve of her hips. He loved when she wore leggings, it was the closest he could get to feeling her-- the thinnest material aside from her jeans and sweats that she occasionally wore. 

Aspens tongue shyly twisted around Harrys. His lead was easy to follow, the messy movements still clean and sent chills down her spine. Her hands rested on his strong shoulders, feeling the occasional flex in his neck when he leaned in further to kiss her or when he tilted his head to deepen their kiss. 

Soon, his lips made their way from her lips to her cheek. He was slow, careful with the areas he planted his kisses. "Can I..." Harry’s voice was low, rough with desire as his hand moved to rest at the curve of her shoulder and neck, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin. "Can I kiss you here?"

Her heart raced at the question, her mind spinning as she weighed the request. Harry had always been so respectful, so careful, never pushing her beyond her comfort zone. The warmth in his gaze made her feel safe, like she could trust him with every vulnerable part of herself.

"Y-yes," she squeaked, the word barely audible as her teeth caught her bottom lip nervously.

Harry’s eyes darkened at the sight, a deep sigh escaping him as his thumb gently pulled her lip free. "God..." His voice was little more than a murmur before he leaned in to capture her lips in another kiss, slow and deliberate.

Harry took her chin between the bent of his index finger and thumb, his finger slowly pulling her bottom lip from her teeth so he could capture it in a softer kiss. He let her get warmed up once again, the hand on her hip slowly inching up to the hem of her shirt. Harrys hand was half under the thin material when his lips began to trail from her lips to her jaw.

His kisses were slow and lingered for specks of a moment. He carried his wet and warm kisses towards her pulse point. His plump red lips dragged lazily yet intentionally along her warm skin. Aspen tilted her head to the side for him to allow more access. 

His lips moved from hers to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, each kiss lingering just long enough to make her skin tingle. Aspen’s hands gripped his shoulders tighter, her breath hitching as his kisses grew more deliberate. When his lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot near her pulse point, a soft sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Harry smirked against her skin, his hands tightening slightly on her hips in response. "There we go," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he pressed another kiss to the spot that had drawn her reaction.

Harry trailed his lingering kisses back up to her lips to capture them in another deep kiss. His hand was now fully tucked under her shirt, his ring clad hand flush against her bare waist. He gave a firm yet gentle squeeze and pulled her closer, his other hand dropping to do the same. When he pulled away, he pecked her lips and then nose with a small smile breaking through his lips. She would never get tired of seeing it on him.

His hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, the cool metal of his rings brushing against her warm skin as his palms splayed against her waist. He pulled her closer, his fingers flexing slightly as if trying to memorize the feel of her.

Harry pulled back just enough to press a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, a soft smile spreading across his lips. "How was that, baby?" His pupils had been blown and his lips carried a red tint as well as the same wet sheen she was sure to have on her lips as well. She nodded carefully and swallowed lightly. "I-It was good." Harry gave a content hum, asking her again. "Did you like it? Did y'like what I did?" 

"I.. I did." With another inhale, Aspen felt a rush of bravery. Maybe it was because it was just Harry and her now, but she pushed the words out before she succummed to her shyness again. "Is it okay if I.. if I try?" Her eyes pleaded with his to understand what she meant without having to say it.

Harry was quick to catch on, his furrowed brows easing into another look. One that made Aspens stomach curl. He nodded and exhaled deeply through his nose, his thumbs brushing against her bare skin under her shirt. "Yeah? You want to do that f'me?" Harry sat up a bit more, adjusting the girl on his lap so she could be more comfortable. 

It wasn't long until their lips were locked again. She truly would never get over kissing Harry, the girl thought. Something about him was so addictive. She didn't have anything or anyone to compare it to but she knew whatever he made her feel was a hundred times better compared to whatever else was out in the world, and that she never needed to find out what came close to his competition because all she needed was him.

Her hands gently brushed up his neck and towards the back to thread through the curls at the base of his neck. She tried her best to follow Harrys actions from her hazy memory. She let a soft giggle slip past her lips when Harrys hands brushed up against her sides in a ticklish manner before he planted them back onto her body. She dragged her lips like Harry did to her along his jaw and down the side of his neck. She kissed at his skin nice and slow with open kisses, allowing the warmth to close against his skin before she made her way down and around with more. 

Aspens hands slid down to his shoulders and he let out a soft groan of approval. His head was now leaned back to allow Aspen more space. She had to be heaven sent with the way these things came so naturally to her. His tongue wet his lips again, brushing along the metal lip ring.

Aspen hesitated for only a moment before leaning in, her lips finding his in a kiss that was hesitant but full of intent. Her fingers brushed against his neck before sliding up into the soft curls at the nape, earning a soft groan from Harry as he let her take the lead.

"Tha’s it, baby," he murmured against her lips, his hands guiding her hips gently. "You’re doing s'good. Feels so good." Harry's last words came out in a content sigh, gulping around the air to ease his dry mouth. There was no way she was this good. Or maybe it was just something about Aspen. Or both.

Aspen’s kisses grew braver as she followed his earlier movements, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down the side of his neck. Her heart pounded as she felt his breath hitch, his hands gripping her waist more firmly in encouragement.

"Swear you’re gonna be the end of me, Asp," Harry groaned, his head tilting back as her lips worked against his skin. His voice was rough, his words laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief. The cool air brushed along his damp neck while he pressed their lips together once again, a new need present. His hands squeezed her bare waist in approval before one of his hands slipped out to cup her chin and pull her away from his neck to tangle their tongues once more. 

Something about her bravery to do something like that back to him caused a shift in his hips. What he didn't expect was to Aspen shift her hips as well. He knew it was so she could adjust and get closer, but that didn't matter at all when he felt himself twitch in his jeans. He pulled away with a small gasp of air, his thumb back on her wet bottom lip. Harry's hand stilled her hips, swallowing slowly.

"Jesus, Asp. What the fuck."

Aspen tilted her head as she looked into his eyes through her lashes once more, her doe eyes taking form as if to question him. "Did.. did I mess up?"

Harry only groaned. "Fuck no." His green eyes, filled with need for the girl, scanned over her face once more. Her red cheeks were replaced with a more flustered look and her eyes had softened. Her lips became slick with spit over the red they wore from all the kissing they had done. 

"You jus' have no idea what you do t'me."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Aspen's soft eyes blinked to fight away the blazing sun through the crack in the curtain. Her arms reached out to stretch her small frame, her body going limp and falling further into the mattress once her body relaxed. Her eyes remained closed until she heard soft footsteps making their way closer. A small knock came on the door before it clicked open. Aspen rubbed the sleep from her eyes, sitting up slightly. When she fluttered her eyes back to normal, she saw Harry. 

A small smile fit on her face. "Hi," she muttered, sleep still heavy on her voice. She didn't even remember falling asleep. The last thing she really remembered was tucking herself back into Harry's warm side after her stomach filled with butterflies from his praises on how good she did for him.

"Good morning, sun," Harry leaned down to press a small kiss to her head. He sat down in front of her on his bed, admiring her sleepy state. He took note of her furrowed brows, which usually meant she was a little confused. Harry never minded explaining things to her.

"You fell asleep during Lady and the Tramp. So I took you up here to sleep. I took the couch," He told her, his fingers coming to adjust the metal ring looped through his lip. "You just looked so peaceful, so I didn't want to wake you to take you home. If you want me to next time, I--."

Aspen cut him off with a little giggle and a shake of her head. "No, no this was great. Thank you. Your bed is sooo comfy," Aspen sighed contently and fell back into it which drew a small chuckle from Harry. 

He looked not like he had just woken up, but he didn't look ready for anything either. He was in a simple pair of black sweats and a loose white tee, his curls brushed back and a new coat of black nail polish on his hands.

He had woken up around eight, whereas Aspen woke up closer to nine thirty. So, while he waited and gave her space, he decided to busy himself with a shower and redid his nails. He eventually got bored and wandered his way back to Aspen, who he checked on about five times since he woke up, and to his luck, she had been awake this time. 

"Alright, sugar. C'mon and get up. Let's get you home before Isobel calls."

And just on cue, Aspen's phone rang to life with Isobel's contact name and photo flashing across her screen on Harry's bedside table.

Gosh dang it, Aspen thought to herself. Could Zayn really not have tired her out some more so she could sleep in? Aspen was in for a loooong day with Isobel. 

Harry only snickered, tossing his hands up in innocence. She only shot a playful glare before answering the dreaded call.

[incognitoleeknow]

The College Blonde

Synopsis:

After getting stuck trying make your assignment deadline, you find your life taking a quick turn for the pleasurable when you meet a stunning blonde who seems to be just the thing you needed to reignite your creativity.

Pairing: Dom!Femreader x Sub!Felix

Genre: Porn w/o plot, smut

Word count: 3.2k

College AU. Porn without plot. Lust at first sight. Strangers to lovers. Jeongin makes a cameo in the beginning as MC's best friend. Pleasure-dom reader. Submissive Felix. Mommy kink (Felix calls reader "mommy" once). Slight dacryphilia. Light orgasm denial. Reader uses nicknames like "good boy, kitten". Body worship. Blowjob (Male receiving). Corruption kink. Exhibitionism (sex in public). Y/N POV.

A/n: This is my first time writing a fic so be as brutal as you wish. Also, I'm not a native english speaker and I spell like a rake so grammatical errors and spelling errors are bound to be found. You have been warned. Enjoy!

Explicit content, adult themes, suitable for 18+ only.

This is an original work. Do not repost, re-upload or otherwise redistribute.

© Novemer 2024 by IncognitoLeeKnow.

Last updated: April, 2025. (Spelling check)

"Thank you for cheering me up today. I honestly don't know what I would do without you." 

You took an elongated sip from your americano, sighing in delight as you felt the icy liquid pass your tongue, temporarily relieving you from the blistering summer heat. 

"You didn't leave me much of a choice now, did you?" Jeongin said as a playful smirk creeped up the corners of his mouth.   

"Oh, Yeah?" You looked up with a raised eyebrow, taking a small break from the date with your iced americano. 

"We both know you could never say 'no' to me." You flickered your eyebrows in a playful display of challenge, a satisfactory smile taking form on your plump lips. 

Sighing in defeat, Jeongin leaned back into the soft leather cushions of the Cafe chair. Followed by a soft chuckle as he said,

"Yeah well, you got me there I guess. So how's the paper coming along?" Concern in his voice apparent, albeit unnecessary. 

You knew he was referring to this semester's paper. And even though it started off as a fun and easy assignment, you had now hit the dreaded fictional wall. Apparently any topic could get you feeling bored and filled with anxiety, given lack of creativity. 

A small bump in the road, you were sure. The typical cycle of creative progress. For inspiration surely is lucrative albeit a fleeting thing, and you suppose you would have to simply wait, until creativity decided to grace your mind with its presence once again. 

Insert Jeongin and your eager request to meet him for coffee. You were best friends and had been since the second week of college. You had been late, as you usually were, running across campus with hurried steps in futile hopes of getting to the lecture hall before your professor. 

That same morning, however, your sleep ridden brain failed to remember how to tie your shoelaces. Instead opting for the much faster approach of simply tucking said laces into the sides, between your shoe and your feet. Resulting in the typical sitcom fall-over-your-own-feet plot, successfully yeeting your body towards the ground at a horrifying speed. 

Standing just a few feet away observing the borderline comical fall, Jeongin hurried over to you and asked if you were okay. 

A quick visit to the nurses office, thanks to repeatedly insisting on Jeongin's part, you found yourself earning a sprained wrist along with your first college friend. 

"Y/N?" Jeongin asked with slight concern. 

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I must've spaced out for a second. What was the question again?" You asked as you shook your head, slowly blinking your eyes, trying to snap back to reality. 

"You seem stressed, are you okay?" He said as he leaned forward, taking your hands in his own. 

"Nah, it's not as bad as it might appear. I think I just need to blow off some steam, you know?" You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, thankful for his genuine concern. 

"Some steam, ey?" Mischievous smile returning to his lips along with a playful eyebrow raise. 

"Oh come on, you know what I mean. I just need to have a night out with friends or something." You said, shaking off Jeongin's suggestive sarcasm.

 Although you would have lied if you would have said that the thought of a steamy night with a stranger did not intrigue you. 

To be completely honest with yourself, the thought alone made you clench around nothing. But where would you even find someone? On campus? Not a fucking chance. 

***

With a huge smile on your lips, you waved goodbye to your friend, feeling somewhat relieved for the first time in a hot minute. 

You took a deep breath, letting the scent of greenery and sunshine envelope your senses. You could feel your muscles slowly relaxing as you stretched your body, arms high above your head. 

With a newly given optimism and drive, courtesy of your bff, you decided to take the opportunity to go to the campus library, in hopes of finding some additional inspiration for your paper. 

Walking with slow, unhurried steps you went through the campus park, taking in the scenery around you, coming to a stop before the fountain placed in the center of the grounds. 

You had always liked this fountain and the majestic water display it provided. 

Taking a few minutes to admire the way the water elegantly sprayed from the unpolished steel structure. Your mood brightened by the way the droplets formed an array of colors in the sunlight, gleefully watching as they bounced playfully against the wet surface and reconnected with the marbled pool at the base. 

Indeed, the soothing sound of water hitting the wet surface was your favorite. Surely nothing could be more relaxing than this. 

Closing your eyes, you let the world disappear into the background as time seemingly came to a halt around you. 

Ah, piece of mind...

You exhaled a deep breath with the feeling of an oncoming gentle, warm summer breeze. 

The presence of another soul beside you, made you quickly snap back to reality however, effectively bursting the ethereal bubble you created with a loud 'pop'. 

A hint of annoyance crossed your features, as you slowly cracked an eye open to see the person responsible. 

Your annoyance was quickly replaced by sheer astonishment followed by a hushed gasp as your eyes took in the creature standing beside you. If you did not know any better, you would have sworn you were looking at an angel. He was long, muscular in built with broad shoulders and long, blond traces elegantly falling along his sharp jawline. Beautiful, wooden eyes and a galaxy of freckles displayed across rose tinted cheeks. He was staring ahead, at the fountain no doubt, seemingly oblivious to your less than stellar reaction to his visuals. 

You forced yourself out of your trance. Feeling somewhat embarrassed by your blatant display of lack of self-control. You absent-mindedly looked at your watch trying to, unsuccessfully, appear unaffected by the stunning stranger. 

"Shit!" 

Your sudden exclamation startles the poor boy beside you, making his eyes follow you in confused horror as you took off sprinting towards the library, remembering your upcoming assignment deadline.

***

Time sure flies fast when you are looking at a whole God damn meal. Unfortunately time moves slower than a fucking snail when you are doing an assignment you do not have even the 10th of as much of an interest doing.

With the deadline for your paper being only a couple of weeks away, you felt the pressure of adulthood on you. With a sigh, you closed yet another book you found failed to provide you with the information you needed. Pushing back your chair, you got up to start the umpteenth round of browsing the many sections of the library. 

You walked towards the deepest end of the library, the part reserved for professors who once or twice a year came to refresh their memory of some long forgotten trivia or, the occasional horny campus couple looking to spice up their sexual endeavors. You suppose it was the perfect place for privacy, given the lack of sunlight as well as the lack of efficient lighting of space. Leaving visitors with less than pleasant experience, at least if you were actually looking for something. 

You went from hardback to hardback, squinting your eyes trying to decipher the titles, looking for that one book Jeongin said "will definitely help you". 

Trolleys with books crammed the aisle, no doubt to the fault of the newly appointed campus librarian who always seemed to be more interested in hitting on whatever cute girl walked past, instead of actually doing his job. You made a mental note to remind him of his duties at a later time. 

Without much attention spared to the snug space that surrounded you, you found yourself coming to a sudden halt as your face connected with something halfway through the giant bookshelf. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you" You said reflexively as you lifted your gaze to meet the person in front of you. 

"No worries, mate" the deep voiced, blonde stranger replied, flashing an innocent smile that might as well have blinded you. 

You instantly recognized him, and of course anyone would. The beauty of this man was unforgettable, to say the least. You were a bit taken aback by his deep voice, the depth of it unexpected, given his angelic face. 

You gave a polite nod his way and he smiled as he returned to reading the book in his hands. 

Not wanting to disturb his reading session, you quietly moved to get past him, to continue your search. The small passageway and seemingly endlessly littered books and trolleys making your efforts damn near impossible. 

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but I really need to get to the other side" you flashed an apologetic smile while pointing past the blonde with your finger as if the reason for you needing to get past him was not blithely clear already. 

He followed the gesture of your hand, and quickly answered.

"Oh, Yeah. Of course, go ahead. Miss...?" 

"Y/N." You quickly finished his sentence. "And you are..?" 

"I'm Felix, nice to meet you Y/N." he smiled as he turned, pressing his body as tightly as he could against one of the bookshelves, signaling with his hands for you to go past him. 

"Thank you." You said gratefully, adding a small head-bow. As you took a step closer, you angled your body, making pulling it flush against his, thinking it to be the lesser of two evils. 

Your bodies painfully flushed together as you tried to wiggle your way past him and the unfortunately placed trolly, that for whatever reason seemed to be welded to the floor. His hands moved to hold the sides of your t-shirt in an attempt to help stabilize your steps. 

His cologne engulfed your senses with the close proximity, making you clench around nothing as you could feel wetness starting to form between your legs as your body unconsciously moved an inch closer to the man in front of you. 

You dared a glance at him, pleasantly surprised at the sight you were met with. 

Felix's cheeks had flushed a pink hue, eyes closed in an apparent attempt at self-restraint, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

Cute... 

Your body moved as if on cue, your mind not even registering your movements before your hands made contact with the flushed blonde before you, tracing feather light, experimental touches across the sides of his torso, gliding up to settle on the pecks of his chest. His grip on your shirt tightened as a barely audible whimper escaped his lips. 

The delighted smirk on your face met by his surprised one. Seemingly unable to register the sound that had previously escaped him. 

"I- I'm Sorry..." he cleared his throat, embarrassed eyes turning away as his small voice trailed off mid-sentence. 

Perfect... 

A wicked smile on your lips, you leaned into his ear and whispered,

"That's one hell of a delicious sound you got there, Kitten" you leaned back to look at him as his eyes snapped back to meet yours, unsure if he had heard you right. 

Your lustful eyes made him swallow thickly. You felt his cock twitch against your core and the color of his cheeks turned from pink to a deep crimson, spreading all the way to his ears. You licked your lips. His breath hitching in anticipation as you moved to close the distance between you.  

You raised your hands to cup his burning cheeks, trapping him in a passionate kiss, taking away whatever little resolve he had as he melted into your touch. 

One hand taking a firm grip of the roots of his hair, gently pulling him back, deepening the kiss, the other tracing down his chest, past his chiseled abs, stopping at the apparent bulge to stroke some much needed relief over his strained core. The sound of wet kisses and whimpers filling the tight space between bookshelves. 

You broke the kiss to give room for a much needed oxygen boost. Your lungs desperately deprived of air, and by the looks of it, you were not the only one. Felix was panting helplessly, pleading eyes begging you not to stop. 

"Tell me what you want" voice hushed and sultry, devilish eyes meeting his hooded ones. Felix broke eye contact, seemingly embarrassed of the thought of voicing his desires. You pressed your chest to his, your warm breath making him shutter as it fanned over the shell of his ear.

"Use your words Kitten, and I'll make you feel real good, yeah?"

Moving slowly downward, you let your tongue taste his neck before leaving a trail of wet kisses along his collarbone. 

You unbuttoned his pants, letting your hand slip inside the leathery material. Teasingly stroking his length as you coaxed the boy to speak. 

"I want to... ah... t-touch you." he finally mustered between staggered breaths. His husky, submissive tone sent a shot of electricity straight to your core, making your cunt throb.

"If you want to touch me, you'll have to

earn it, Kitten." Crouching down to your knees, you placed your hands on the back of his thighs. Stroking reassuring circles with your thumbs before teasing digits followed the outline of his clothed muscles, stopping by the hem of his pants. 

You swiftly removed the piece of clothing, freeing his cock with a slight bounce and left the fabric to pool around his ankles. 

His breath clung to his lungs, turning into a relieved moan as he felt you wrap your hand around his base, gently gripping him. His muscles tensed beneath your hand as you applied a bit more pressure. You kept eye contact with him as you reached out to taste his twitching cock. Going base to tip in one painfully slow drag with your hot, wet tongue, you eventually shut your eyes. A satisfied hum escaped your throat as the salty precum connected with your taste buds.

As you opened your eyes to reap the fruits of your labor, you felt his member twitch expectantly in your hands as your eyes met. Hooded eyes filled with lustful anticipation, his body trembled with your every touch in the most delicious display of sinful submission. 

Oh, what a delectable scene to behold. 

You moved to grip the hem of his shirt pulling it upwards, exposing his sculpture abs with it. You took your time admiring the way his honey glossed skin prickled as you applied feather light kisses to them. He really must have been hand crafted by Venus herself. His waist was slim, shoulder wide. He was not just pretty, he was gorgeous. You had to mentally slap yourself to keep yourself focused. 

"Here Kitten, be a good boy and hold this in your mouth for me." Felix wasted no time following your command, his hand trembled as he reached to take the fabric out of your way. 

"Words Kitten..." you commanded, voice low and hushed. 

"Y-yes, Mommy" he breathlessly stifled out as he placed the fabric between his teeth. 

The sudden impromptu nickname surprised you.

It was an unexpected answer to say the least, albeit not entirely unwelcome. You would not have guessed he had it in him based on your first impression of him, but then again, you would not have guessed him to be this submissive either, so you supposed you should not be so taken aback by it. You should never judge a book by its cover after all. 

You scuffed. A subtle pleased smirk gracing your features before responding to his enthusiasm with a faint,

"Good boy." 

You wrapped your plump lips around his length, slowly lowering yourself over him, swirling your tongue around the tip as you went down.

You moved your hand to cup his balls, gently playing with them before you started to apply gentle pressure, stroking the underside of his length. 

"I-I can't... ah... so.. so good!" Subtle beads of pleasure starting to form at the corners of his eyes. 

Felix leaned his head back against the heavy bookshelf as his hands gently fell to the top of your head, his fingers intertwining with the strands of your hair. He offered no pressure, no aim to guide your movements. His shaky hands only set out to find a place of rest in a desperate attempt to ground himself. His hips squirmed helplessly with the building pleasure of the tortuous assault of your mouth to his core. 

You let his cock fall out of your mouth with a noticeable 'pop' and Felix looked like he was ready to do the same. His hands were trembling as he desperately tried to hold on to what little sanity he had left. 

"No cumming now, Kitten. You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" Your hands continued to teasingly stroke his cock as you spoke, making it difficult for the poor boy to form a coherent answer. 

"I-... ah.. I can't..." gentle tears blurred his vision. He could feel the unsought of his release creeping menacingly close, as he struggled to get away from your touch, not wanting the pleasure to end. 

You quickly released your grip of him and watched him whimper as the sudden inaction chased his high away. His chest heaved with want, its color matching the flush of his pretty star sprinkled cheeks as he tried to break through the fog of unadulterated bliss. 

"P-please.." Felix managed to let out between sobs, voice small and pleading. Bringing your tongue back to the tip of his cock, you teased him with small, wet Kitten licks before taking the length of him into your mouth. You bobbed your head in a hurried fashion, feeling his soft head bouncing off the back of your throat. 

Felix moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion, making the shirt fall from his mouth. He quickly replaced it with his fist in a desperate, albeit futile, attempt to hold back screams while the other gripped his shirt anew, unable to handle the pleasure your mouth conditioned him with. 

His beautiful moans and hitched breaths spurring you on as you quickened your ministries. You could feel the wetness dripping from your neglected sex, unable to deny the effects his pleas had on you. 

"Cum for me Kitten" you said breathlessly, before returning to suck on his length with newly found determination. 

That was seemingly all the permission Felix needed, making his walls of fragile attempt to restrain come crashing down before your very eyes. Cumming with the most deliciously sinful broken moans you had ever heard. 

His orgasm sent electricity flowing through every nerve, muscles flexing and relaxing by their own accord as pearls of sweat dripped from his temples, down to his chiseled pecs. White flashes of hot bliss washing over him in waves. Cock twitching violently, coating your mouth with stripes of warm, delectable release. 

You sucked him through his high, making sure to milk every last drop of his essence before swallowing, unwilling to let any of his delicious nectar go to waste.

You stood from your kneeling position, legs a tad shaky from the tiring position and carpeted concrete. You used your thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, before licking it clean. 

Felix looked at your suggestive move, lingering chock and exhaustion from his intensive release, apparent on his stunning features. 

He looked like he was going to cum again, cock unrelentingly hard, twitching as a result of your blatant display of insatiable lust. 

"Thanks for the meal, Kitten." You winked before leaving to get your things. 

What the fuck did I just do?

***

Thank you so much for reading my fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it by reblogging and liking my post. Be sure to let me know if you'd like a part two.

Stay dark my friends.

[sturniolo04]

Panic Attack M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

You were never the anxious type. For as long a s you could remember you didn't have anxious bone in your body. You constantly carried yourself with pure joy, contentment, and happiness. So, when you started dating Matt, you couldn't always relate and understand the anxious and sometimes depressive highs and lows he would go through but being his girlfriend, you really tried to understand and help as best as you could through the lows especially when they got really low.

This brings you to now, you are currently sitting on the couch in your apartment next to Matt, studying for another medical exam you have to take to pass this class to get you one step to majoring and having a career as a pediatrician, it being your dream, since your mom is one and you always looked up to her. You let out what you thought was a normal deep breath.

"you okay"

matt asks simply glancing over to you.

"yeah why wouldnt I be"

you slightly giggle out as Matt shakes his head playfully.

"no reason"

he replys shrugging his shoulders fixating his attention back on his computer in front of him.

" i mean i am almost done with studying I am going to get through this exam I think"

you hesitantly squeal out not being fully aware of the toll the work was getting to you and your mental state just yet.

"okay thats good im glad you feel confident about it. Are you ready to take a break and go get lunch."

matt asks as you huff out and agreement as he stands up and extends his hand out to you to help you get off of the couch.

You two hopped into his car and headed to a Chickfila to get lunch.

"you want to go in or drive thru"

matt as you two were stopped at the red light before the left turn in the parking lot. You were fixates on scrolling through a series of exams and essays you had no idea were even on your plate to complete within the next couple of months before the fall semester is over.

"baby"

matt stated gaining your attention back to reality.

"huh oh yeah um drive thru actually"

you speak up trying to forget about what you saw on your phone and that you were beginning to freak out due to the fact you have yet to write the first sentence of.

"okay are you here with me"

matt chuckles out as he reaches over running his palm on your leg in the passenger seat as he pulls up to the ordering screen in the drive thru.

"yeah sorry i just didnt realize i had more essays to write otherwise I would have said we could go in but"

you simply state out as matt start rubbing you thigh comfortably, already sensing a little bit of overwhelm that was completely going unnotice by his very own girlfriend.

"yeah its okay i get that we will get our food and head back to your place and get them done okay"

he reassures as you sigh out again.

"plus we also still have dinner with Chris Nick and Madison Beer so and that's not until later so we will still go out to eat today"

he chuckles out as he places his hand to thread through your head as you hum out in contentment.

Time Skip

you guys had made it back to your apartment with lunch and you two were sitting at the table you neatly placed in the kitchen area. You were hyperfocused on starting the essays going into hyper focus completely forget the concept of time.

"baby its time to get ready dinner is at 7pm"

matt speaks up as he closes his computer and stands up from his seat head over to you placing his hands on your shoulders, lovingly.

" matt i have to finish these essays though can we-"

you whine out slowly looking up at him.

"can we reschedule or cancel tonight"

you question sheepishly as matt begins to chuckle.

"baby no we haven't been out of the house since early this afternoon and it 5:50pm, plus it will be fun"

he persuades and reasons with you. You agreed and headed up to your room to get dressed for dinner tonight *outfit reference* As you were getting ready you felt this constant strain on your chest which again was abnormal for your so you simply blow it off considering it was probably nothing.

"you ready"

att simply asks you as you finally made your way back downstairs, sensing that same feeling of overwhelm and anxiousness on you that he sensed earlier that day.

"ye-yeah just was feeling like some tightness in my chest but I am ready lets go"

you quickly reply out, grabbing your shoes so you can put them on in the car.

"are you sure that it was nothing"

matt asks you again showing his concern of you not acknowledging you being stressed over the essays and exams you have yet to finish and study for before the semester is over in 2 months.

"yeah i promise im okay"

you simply replied ad you and him walked out the door.

Time Skip

You and Matt connected with Nick Chris and Madison at the restaurant and everything was great. You guys were catching up on everything that was going on in life which kind of allowed you to forget all about your essay and exam you had yet to finish and study for for a little bit.

"so how has med school been"

Madison asks you, shifting the conversation.

"yeah its going for sure"

you huff out as the tightness slightly returning back in your chest at the very thought and mention of school. as if school couldn't get any better you get a notification on your phone that was saying that basically your professor is deciding to have grades finalized this upcoming month instead of the following month after the next month and its march 30th already.

You start feeling like the walls were closing in on you as if you were stuck in a box and couldn't find a way out. You begin to feel the tightness in your chest become more apparent making it hard to breathe to the point where you couldn't seem to get any air in or out of your body and lungs.

"hey you okay"

Chris ask from across the table noticing you place a hand on your chest as if to make sure your alive.

"hey let's go outside for a minute yeah"

matt calmly suggests knowing exactly whats happening and because he didn't want everyone in the restaurant to focus their attention towards you. You nodded you head barely giving him the approval for him to guide you outside in the parking lot.

"i-i matt"

you shakily strain out as you place a shaky on the brick wall of the exterior of the restaurant to help you sit on the floor.

"hey hey"

matt soothes walking over to you.

"tell me whats going on"

"i i cant breathe matt w-whats happening to me"

you exclaims uncontrollably sobbing, as matt kneels in front of you placing his forehead on your bring one of your hands to his chest to give you the awareness that you were still alive and that he was there with you.

"yes you can. Youre having a panic attack love its okay match my breathing"

He softly speaks as he begins inhaling and exhaling deeply, as you slowly follow along.

"there you go"

he whispers seeing your normal state of breathing return to normal, he moves from kneeling to sit next you.

"that was really scary thats never happened to me before"

you softly speak out as you lean your head on his shoulder.

"yeah i think school caught up to you didn't it"

he questions as you slightly sigh and nod you head not daring to speak on that topic currently.

"can we just go home i want to get some sleep"

you calmly ask, looking up at matt.

"of course lets go tell everyone bye then"

he replies helping you to stand up.

"hey are you okay"

nick asks you softly

"yeah"

you softly let out.

"i think we are going to head out she's not feeling the best so I am going to take her to get some rest"

matt chimes in as he brings you into his side rubbing your arm softly.

"aw okay we will see you guys soon its okay"

madison replies getting up and hugging the pair along with chris and nick following.

"feel better and we will see you at home I guess matt right"

chris states and asks.

"maybe i will text you if i end up staying at her place"

matt simply replies to his brother.

"fine by us"

nick chimes in as you two finally leave and get in the car.

You guys barely even made it out of the parking lot before you were already fast asleep in the passenger seat.

Taglist

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