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sinsofsummers · 10 months

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sensational

6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two

this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!

summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)

You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.

You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.

It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.

The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.

"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"

Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.

"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."

It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.

The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.

If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.

It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.

Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.

It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.

"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.

All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."

Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.

Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.

And this worked. Until it didn't.

-- -- --

It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.

More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.

Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.

His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.

You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.

"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"

You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"

Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"

The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.

When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.

Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"

"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."

His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"

Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."

He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."

"A rise?"

Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."

"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"

"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.

There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."

He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.

Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.

So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?

"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.

"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"

"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.

He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.

You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."

"I know."

Again, the silence. Infuriating.

Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"

Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.

The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.

Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."

He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."

The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.

When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.

"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.

He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."

"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.

He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.

"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."

"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."

You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"

He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."

-- -- --

Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.

That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.

He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.

The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.

Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"

"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."

This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.

The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.

But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.

He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.

But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.

He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.

-- -- --

"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.

"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.

One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.

And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.

You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.

"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."

The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.

"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.

I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.

He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.

As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:

"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."

It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.

"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."

He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.

"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."

Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."

Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"

If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.

The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"

"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.

He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."

"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."

Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."

"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."

He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"

Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."

Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."

By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.

When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.

He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."

"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."

"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.

Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.

"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."

The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."

"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"

He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."

Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.

"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.

You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"

-- -- --

If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.

If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.

"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"

-- -- --

You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."

He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."

He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.

Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.

"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.

But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.

You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."

He sighed. "You're right."

"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.

He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.

And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.

He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...

You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.

With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.

"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."

You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."

He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"

"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."

His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.

"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."

"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...

"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.

You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.

There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."

Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"

You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."

-- -- --

The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.

Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.

It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.

Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.

Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?

Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.

"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"

It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.

Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.

He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."

Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.

Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.

With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.

"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.

"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"

He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.

"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.

"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"

He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."

"Which is?"

Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.

It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.

"Joel—"

"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."

"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.

"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."

When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"

He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.

The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.

"Joel—"

"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"

You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.

Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.

You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.

If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.

Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.

Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.

"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.

Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.

You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"

"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."

Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."

You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—

Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.

"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."

His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.

"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"

Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.

Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.

"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."

tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!

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kalims · 11 days

Text

pop !

giving them a balloon with a confession in it and running away,

premise. out of confession ideas? sick of the pile of stupid papers crumpled up on the leg of your desk? or perhaps you're just in the 'you only live life once' mindset. since the school year is ending, why not get rid of the annoying feeling of him tingling your mind? (in the form of a balloon, you never said you were gonna stick around!)

characters. all sorted by dorm

content. mc runs away after giving it, based on a tiktok I stumbled across approximately a year ago... mentions of marriage (one sign and some were speeding through the future)

note. savanaclaws part hmmm yummy

heartslabyul

unsurprisingly, riddle gets a lot of bizarre things from students and professors alike. confessions are one thing but having one in this... circular, red, full of helium balloon is certainly a surprise. creative, he'll give them that. if anything he's just confused with it in his arms as you just sort of, shove it in his arms and run away. he recognizes you easily but once cater plucks it out of his grip and shows him the message he just turns red.

trey is the type of guy to accept whatever you give him, honestly. it doesn't matter if you give him the most random of items, he'll take it without a single word of query (unless it's really questionable.) you could hand him a bottle of mustard in class, trey'll just blink and hold onto it patiently. a pair of batteries? thanks he guesses. a red, inflated balloon? he spares you a questioning glance but you're already collecting dust with how fast you ran away so he turns it and resists a smile. clearly spotting the bold letters.

the opposite of clover, cater just doesn't take anything from you unless it piques his interest or is just a casual 'hold onto this for a few' like water or something. things bordering past unusual is what he'd hesitate to take, though less given he trusts you. sometimes he doesn't take it all together simply cause he doesn't feel like it. caters probably updated on everything so when you shove the balloon in his arms and beeline he's pulling out his phone ready to scream his ass off in his dump account. (also gotta magicam this, duh.)

will most likely just dump it on the ground without another thought. or hand it back to you. ace does not care about balloons, he might even pop it in your face. that is, if you stayed for more than a second. he feels more inclined to peer further cause you ran away so fast. you looked embarrassed, and he finds out quickly why you'd proceed to never show up to his face for the following week when he spots it. stares at it dumbly for like, a minute before taking off after you... be scared ig.

added to the top ten best moments of his life note on his phone. deuce silently highlights your name on it with the same angry, red bump on his forehead because he accidentally ran into a pole midst trying to find you around the campus. he had the same idea as ace (twins) which is finding you immediately except once he read the confession he promptly lost all his braincells in the process. so he's very excited, slash embarrassed, slash shy? and can't conjure any logic cause it's just your face.

savanaclaw

jokes on you. you think he's gonna make an effort to catch your stupid balloon? leona just watches it drop to the floor. the effort is only exerted when he's absolutely sure you've run away on your slow legs, he's not bashful—not at all. maybe that's just denial speaking though. he takes one look at the balloon, and pops it with a single dig of his nail. the stare is so brief that you'd doubt if he ever read it at all, when the evidence of your apparent love is now non-existent in the physical world, very much still lingering inside him. leona comes to the predicament that he can't seem to sleep days after.

ruggie is all too familiar with the lack of appreciation some folks hold towards cheaper material gifts. like a luxury jewel, a big, shiny lil' thing ultimately rotting in the closet of some soul cause its the 'price' that counts. he spots the words easily, discerning the black ink. not entirely formed with straight lines, the keen eyes of his spots the wriggles some hold. as though whoever wrote was nervous and he bores an impish grin. (and some back corner of his closet holds no big, pricey jewel, but the deflated balloon is worth all the more to him.)

more likely to leave it on accident. after falling victim to the annoying pranks his other first year 'friends' like to do, with him as the victim apparently. he's more suspicious of it than anything, jack does not want a face full of whipped cream once again. he stares at it like it's an alien and only goes for the initiative to take it into his hands when it rolls and showcases the very bold text, highlighted and straight to the point. jack inevitably ends up accidentally popping it due to the fear that some other person probably saw it, he did not mean to wreck it. atleast not with a messy chain of thoughts, but hey. atleast he got the message...

octavinelle

well versed in catching you in a gentle manner, if you ever slipped (he definitely did not practice.) so azul's reflexes respond quick enough to capture the red little thing with ease. he recognizes it as one of your antics, and he rarely doesn't humor them since it was harmless ones that don't really get under his skin, unlike that of the tweels... the curiosity of looking forward to whatever you had far outweighed any annoyance, and great sevens he might actually combust. ("JADE PREPARE THE LOUNGE—") <- absolutely ready to initiate the plans he had detailed through a script ages ago if this were to ever happen, with a red face. ha, ha.

either clueless, or already got an idea based entirely on the adorably stiff look on your face. jade easily puts two and two together, it's quite funny because he picks it up and doesn't spare a single look. stalking off to find you immediately, and only then does he take a peek as to whatever made the balloon special, right in front of you cause apparently he's gotta witness your raw embarrassment in the flesh?

floyd is likely not interested in the ball in the first place, he thinks you want to play catch so he runs after you with a laugh that... makes you a lot more concerned. he flings it uselessly to the face of some poor soul before he sprint after you, probably traumatizing them when they spot the 'I like you' on it, and when they realize they got it from the resident terrorist whose definition of 'I like you' is 'you're entertaining, I'm gonna keep on playing with you'. (only blinks when you tell him about it, seeing as he isn't close to releasing you anytime soon from his arms.) caught you!

scarabia

sparkles, around the sun... too bright... kalim's blinding everyone else with his obvious joy. almost immediately turns it and it's clear he saw something he really liked cause he has one of those grins, really wide, showing off his teeth and his face scrunches up to the point where you could barely spot the red irises of his eyes. his lips are wobbly too! and he thought the notion was simply too cute... (so much he just had to send it back, so you could feel what he felt too!) except it comes in a hundred times balloons inside your home.

really confused. is this supposed to be a new form of comfort in the era that he hasn't caught up with yet? jamil does nothing much to stop you from running away, yeah. that's your choice but it did strike an inkling of suspicion in him. with the way you aggressively shoved the balloon in his arms before you ran away makes him think it's contents are supposed to be for him only. seeing as you collected dust with that sprint, so he brings it home. and damn, thank god he did because seven forbid if anyone else actually saw the flicker of bashfullness in his expression, hopefully not his warming ears either.

pomefiore

you try to fool him by not rushing up to him, shoving it and then speeding away for once. but instead calmly placing it in his arms and then walking away like it might be the last time yall have a friendship haha (👀) vil sees right through you either way. dare I say he thinks the whole execution is strange, he means, you could literally just walk up to him and say the exact same thing written on the balloon and he would've loved it either way but eh, atleast you got it out!

don't walk into his room cause you will probably the very prominent place the balloon has in his room. rook surprisingly did not put it on a pedestal which is tame for his nature, but it does have a place in the corner of stuff he absolutely adores. you'd think you'd spared yourself from the embarrassment of seeing his reaction cause c'mon, that was a confession. it's nerve-wracking! but NO cause you spy him outside the window of your class and suffer a heart attack (3rd floor btw)

wherever he read that, epel's jaw drops. people would mistake him as someone who escaped from a mental asylum from the way he's gaping at a balloon like he just got told vil schoenheit got canceled on magicam for some controversy (he in fact, did not.) spends so much time staring at it, and the following where he's managed to snap out of it is spent also staring off into the distance *wedding bells ringing*

ignihyde

uuuuhhhhh... either send it to him digitally or shove it inside his room and dip?? if we're going with the latter, idia doesn't even notice until like, a day after cause he's been playing for. and it isn't even him who notices!! it's ortho!!! even if he did find it he would've ignored it, but behold, ortho, who reads the text in a hilariously flat tone. idia thought his brother was professing his love until the boy reveals it was from you. (nearly falls off the chair, then actually falls when he realizes it's been a day. imagine getting ghosted irl haha)

ortho could be the delivery boy if you're too embarrassed lmao. will help you in constructing a more poetic way with words but honestly the "YOU'RE CUTE LETS DATE" gets it done. boy probably doesn't understand why you don't wanna do it yourself, and records the entire thing, reaction of the person? forwarded to you until he leaves. but now you're suffering through wanting to watch, and not because you're too pussy to actually do it.

diasomnia

what... malleus is the equivalent of '???' like he's seen a few of these unique, forms but he never got the purpose of them. so he assumes it's like, some nice gift of human traditions question mark. so he appreciates it either way, he looks content honestly which is funny cause the terrifying wizard looks kinda silly holding that balloon like it's a child. actually you should've just gave him a blank balloon cause once he spots the confession, oh honey. are you fine with early marriage?

if you can't find lilia might as well yeet the balloon in the ceiling. chances are, he's there and he's gonna catch it. there's already a cheeky smile quirking up the ends of his lips, usually he'd have some sort of retaliation on the personal attack you inflicted on his heart but oh dear, it's strangely blank. he's humming, the round thing upside down as he rubs his chin in contemplation. everyone's just scared at the echoing giggles of the already dark hallway.

an attack? AN ATTACK! unlike lilia who knows how to use the figurative words youth joke about all the time, sebek is... hilariously serious about most things, if not so much that it strikes just a teeny tiny concern in your mind. honestly you didn't take much into account, not the fact that he might consider it as an assault or something because you're already speeding away. apparently not having gotten too far cause he catches up easily and holds you up by the back of your collar like a cat. (you'd most likely have to mention the words cause all he registered was the apparent attack, when he does check he goes redder in the face and accidentally drops you. nows your chance to run!!)

*angelic voice singing* silver, my boo boo, I mean what...? felt something soft being squeezed into his arms, he knew it was you but assumed it was a pillow so he just?? used it as a pillow?? under his head now?? most folks would be confused at the sight of the sleepy guy laying on a balloon cause, one, it might pop and startle everyone in vicinity, two, there's words scribbled on it. although cut off since his head is blocking the way, but the 'LIKE YOU' is really obvious. so he wakes up, glances at it and goes back to sleep, except he couldn't cause the balloon actually popped comically the same time he absorbed it in.

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peachesofteal · 5 months

Note

Can we please please please get some more Simon x single mother au? Possibly him helping in the garden/ keeping emmaline out of trouble while Mom works in the garden

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni / mild sexual content

“Ow! fuck!”

Your hand jerks, drawing back to your mouth with a hiss.

“What is it?” He forces himself still, staring daggers at where the tip of your finger has started to leak blood, a thick drop dripping down the side before you bring it to your mouth, lush lips wrapping around your injury. “Are you alright?” His tone is tightly controlled, even keeled, nonchalant, but on the inside, worry gnaws away at his stomach, chewing through the organ until it’s spilling free and running rampant through his body.

“There’s a piece of glass in here.” In the garden bed? “Some of the other tenants, hang around up here at night. They usually leave bottles or cans behind.” The worry turns to anger, a simple plan slowly taking shape in his mind, a strategy to find the rooftop partiers, and ensure they never leave glass in your garden again.

Emmaline cries, nose and brows wrinkled in irritation, and you turn to coo at her, finger still half in your mouth.

“It’s okay, little pea. Just give me a second.” She continues to fuss, and you sigh, wilting like one of your own little flowers, left too long in the sun without water. You blink, and it’s like you’ve shed your sunlit skin for an exhausted shell. Oh, sweetheart. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to do it on your own anymore.

I’m here now.

“Can I?” He asks softly, warming at how your face lights with relief.

“Yes, please.” You point to the bottle that’s tucked in the side of the backpack, and he unbuckles her from the bouncer that you lugged up the four flights of stairs earlier, even though he had texted you an hour before and politely suggested you wait for him to be finished his phone call, so he could help you.

You went up anyway, much to his displeasure. Displeasure, that he had to swallow, permanently.

You’re not his. Not yet. He can’t be disappointed by resistance or refusal when you don’t even know all the ways he can be there for you yet. He knows you’ll learn. You’re a smart girl. His smart girl.

Emmaline lays nestled in the crook of his elbow, slightly elevated on her back, and he pops the cap of the bottle easily, rubbing his index finger against her cheek to trigger the reflex that will open her mouth. When it does, he keeps it at the right angle to ensure the formula doesn’t flow too fast into her belly.

“You’ve done this before.” You murmur, reaching into the backpack for a band aid. You’re studying him, tracing over his face, his hands that are nearly the size of your baby, and he can feel the scrutiny, the curious intensity of your gaze.

“Had a nephew. I was around a lot, when he was this age.” He had a brother too. And a mother. A sister-in-law. A family.

Emmaline gurgles around the nipple, and he slips it free, sitting her mostly upright, giving her a gentle pat on the back amid her protestations, little grunts that he’s sure she means as ‘feed me’ and ‘more’. He waits for you to ask him the dreaded questions, the focus on the word had, the inevitable conversation about loss and family and pain, guilt and grief that can make a man feel like he’s been buried alive.

You don’t.

Instead, you simply say,

“Emmaline had a dad once, too.”

It’s nearly 2100 when you knock on his door later, baby monitor in one hand, two amber colored bottles in another.

“Hey. You busy?” His heart does a double tap inside his chest. Bad timing, the worst. Your sweet mouth is slightly open, hopeful, teeth parted just barely to reveal a flash of tongue, and his jaw clenches against the wild need that catapults through his veins to his cock. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? You motion to the monitor. “Just went down. Figure I have about an hour before I pass out myself and could use some adult time.” Shit. The duffel bag next to the door practically speaks for him, irritatingly reminding him he has a plane to catch in less than two hours.

“I can’t, I’m about to head out.” Your brow furrows, confusion churning into understanding within a moment, disappointment flickering across your expression before it smooths out.

“Right. Okay.”

“I want to.” He hurries the words. “But I travel… for work and I have to be on a flight in a few hours.” You’re already half turning away, slinking off to your apartment, giving him a soft agreement as you go.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Wait, sweetheart,” You startle at the pet name, eyes going wide at the inferred affection. “when I get back, let’s… have a drink.” You nod, and he smiles a real smile, barely tugging his lips upward, probably hardly visible to you. The kind of smile he’s been wearing around you these past two weeks, the kind of smile he tries to give Emmaline when she stares at him.

“Alright, sounds good then.” Your key finds your lock, and he steps out into the hallway, trapping your gaze with his own.

“You girls be good.” He says, a parting instruction, and a bashful, bewildered smile of your own curves across your mouth.

“We will.”

#light on #peaches asks #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #peaches writes

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 month

Text

12 / 1,147 words / for @141wh0re. happy birthday <3

nsfw, free use, rough sex, group sex ⬇

...

"Shut your bloody mouth before you broadcast our hiding place to every tango in a mile radius," Ghost snaps. He's got you bent over a crate, your nails digging into the old wood for purchase as his hips grind against yours.

"Then don't be so fucking rough," you snap, though it sounds breathy and thin even to your ears. You shift, feeling his hands squeeze your hips in irritation.

Ghost doesn't falter, but his eyes glitter at your backtalk. He claps his gloved hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you're making. His other hand grips your thigh, forcing you onto one leg as he pushes your knee onto the top of the crate. He pulls out and slams back into you, getting back to railing you hard and fast.

“We need you on your sniper, Ghost,” Soap hisses from his spot at the far window. He’s peering down the scope of his own rifle. This building is only two stories high and small enough that any one of you could cross the room in three strides. The body heat alone is getting to you. Not to mention the way Ghost is fucking you like it'll save this mission, his pants pushed down to mid-thigh just as yours are.

"Get back to work, then, Ghost," Price tells him from the nearest window, eye leaving the scope of his rifle for a moment to take you in. "I don't need you two distracting my team."

Ghost grinds into you, a frustrated snarl muffled under his mask. You feel the muscles in his hands flex as he bites back his anger. "Fuck," he mutters. "Alright. Let's finish this."

On the other side of the cramped room, Gaz and Soap kneel at the largest window. They keep their focus, sniping marks with ruthless precision. As they do, Ghost's hips snap into you faster and harder. His teammates are focused on their task; he's focused solely on his.

"You're so tight," he growls. His hand slips away from your mouth, falling to your neck. "I've been wanting you since we--"

"Stop talking," you snap, hyperaware of the implicit warning in Price’s voice and the way Soap and Gaz are shifting in position, getting restless. You’re not sure if they’ve had enough, if they’re jealous, if they’d sooner throw you out the window than entertain another moment of this. "Get it done."

Ghost doesn't bother to argue. He pins you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he fucks you, unceremonious and primal.

You bite your lip and try to stay quiet as Price's judgmental gaze falls over you again. Ghost flattens you even more against the crate and slams into you so hard and fast it creaks and squeaks against the floor. You cry out, writhing. His hips stutter, and then he's coming, slamming into you until you can't think. Your clit catches the rough edge of the crate. The sudden, sharp jolt is too much. An unexpected orgasm crashes over you, and you groan pathetically, clenching around Ghost.

Ghost curses. He slows down, still panting, and slowly pulls out of you. He runs a gloved hand down your back in a quick—but still noticeable—gesture of appreciation.

"Nice," Price mutters in approval. "Good work."

"She’s a good teammate, ain’t she," Ghost says. "Always wet."

You shiver, their words shooting straight to your core. You're sure you should be insulted, not flattered. But your body doesn’t seem to understand that.

Gaz nudges Soap and they glance over their shoulders at you.

“How long was that one?” Gaz asks Soap.

“I’m busy at the moment. You think I bloody timed it?” Soap snaps.

Gaz looks amused. “Did you not?”

Soap swears under his breath, eye returning to his sniper scope. “Eleven minutes.”

Gaz scoffs. "Could do better."

“Alright, that’s enough,” Price says, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Ghost, take up position.”

He disappears from behind you. You pull yourself together and get to work.

...

This mission went tits up right out of the gate. If not for your teammates’ ludicrous skill and focus under pressure, you’d be dead. No doubt. But they’ve been in far worse binds than simply being pinned down inside a rickety, moldy shack by endless enemy gunfire.

Soon enough, the chaos is over, and no more shots ring out.

“Clear,” Soap says.

“Proper job,” Price says. “Regroup.”

You’re patching up a graze on Gaz’s forearm when Price returns three minutes later, frowning.

“Bad news. No exfil for another forty-five minutes.”

“How bloody long does it take to—” Ghost cuts himself off with a rough sigh. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere safer to wait it out.”

“After we regroup here, yeah?” Gaz says.

Ghost scoffs. “Why? You in the middle of something?”

“Oh, we’re about to be,” Soap retorts.

You’re hardly paying attention, fastening two butterfly bandages to Gaz’s laceration when Soap’s arm loops around your waist and drags you backward into his lap. He makes sure to drag your core over his thigh, knowing you’re still sensitive enough to feel it even through your pants. You grit your teeth, biting back a groan. He tugs the top half of your combat uniform apart and shoves his hand inside, groping your chest roughly. You gasp, grinding down on his lap unwittingly.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Soap’s breath is hot in your ear. “Real reliable.”

“We don’t have time for fun and games, Johnny,” Ghost says, sounding irritated.

“Easy for you to say. You had yours,” Gaz says. He slides closer to Soap, his eyes fixed on you.

Ghost throws a questioning look at Price. Price leans back on the crate you’d been bent over a few minutes ago. He shrugs, rolling around a fresh cigarette between his lips. “Not a bad place to sit tight. We’ve got a good view in all directions if more tangos approach. Relatively protected and exfil has a clear landing zone through those trees. We stay.”

“You heard him,” Gaz says.

“Arsewits, both of you,” Ghost mutters.

You’re staring at the cigarette in Price’s mouth, eyes half-lidded, when Gaz’s fingers take your chin and tilt your face toward him. “You don’t mind, love, do you?”

A frustrated growl rolls through Soap’s chest, but he pauses mid-squeeze to hear your answer too.

You stare at Gaz, then Ghost, then Price again. “Forty-five minutes?”

“We’ll make it work,” Soap says.

“I know.” You shift in his lap again. Your core is aching, your mind already clouded over with want. “Fine. If… if that’s what you need.”

Soap chuckles into your ear. “Away wi’ that. No pretendin’ you do this because it’s your job. You like it.”

“Fuck off,” you snap.

“Gettin’ to that.” Soap shifts you so he can get his pants and yours out of the way. He notices Gaz’s hand run down your neck enticingly, hears you sigh, and pushes Gaz’s hand away. “Wait your turn.”

Gaz scoffs. “You’ll hardly last long enough to wait on.”

“You can share,” Price tells them. Then he gives you a pointed look. “Saves time. You can rest on the bird, sweetheart.”

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

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livinginshambles · 8 months

Text

I want to be loved first | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Summary: Established relationship and angst: James still loves Lily, it's clear to you. You try to ignore the way your heart aches when you always seem to be second on his mind, knowing you will never compare to her and unsure how much more you can take.

Notes: Its happy ending again, sorry guys. I'd say no beta, we die like fred, but that feels too soon so anyway, spelling and grammar mistakes probably.

Masterlist

____________________________

People have often told you that you need to toughen up and grow a spine. That your lack of backbone had everyone trample on you like you were a crosswalk, and you could definitely say that they were right.

Perhaps that's why you were crying in the middle of the night because of James Potter. He was laying behind you, pressed against your back with an arm draped over you. His face was hidden in the back of your neck, breathing steadily against it as he slept peacefully, unaware of the heartache he was causing you when he whispered Lily's name. Again.

When he'd done it the first time, your blood had run cold, goosebumps showing up and littering your bare arms. Tears had prickled in your eyes at his barely audible, mumbled confession. "Love you so much Lily."

You had turned around to face him and your rustling had woken him up. Eyes still closed, he'd groggily shifted and pulled you against his chest. “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” you had responded in a small voice. Your answer had him finally open his eyes, somewhat concerned. He had lifted his arm to yawn against it and then settled it back on top of you in such a way that his hand had easy access to your nape, drawing circles in an attempt to calm you.

“I've got you, love. Nothing can hurt you, as long as I'm here,” he had assured you.

Ironic.

So now here you were lying down, your tears were freely rolling down your face and you were glad that the curtains of the bed were closed, leaving you in a private space, despite sleeping in the boy’s dormitory. It would be another sleepless night for you, it seemed.

When James stretched his arms to reach for you about four hours later, he frowned and sat up, confused at the lack of your presence. He pushed the red drapes aside and peeked into the room. Sirius was still asleep, face down. Peter was most likely curled up inside the pile of blankets on his bed and Remus was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap.

Even though it was the weekend, and you were anything but an early bird, you slipped out of bed in the early morning. You were sure that your eyes were red and puffy and didn’t want James to mention it.

He looked up when he heard James and raised his eyebrows in question when he noticed no one else behind him. “Have you seen Y/N?” James asked, sleep still heavily laced in his voice. Remus shook his head in thought. “No,” he whispered quietly, an eye on Sirius beside him. “I’ve been up since four in the morning though.”

James’ frown deepened. That meant that you had snuck out before that. But why? He got dressed impressively fast and descended the stairs to the common room. You were sitting at the tip of your chair, deeply engrossed into your transfiguration assignment, several books piled, some laying open, scattered across the small table.

You felt two arms securely wrap around you, almost melting in their designated position. “Morning,” James kissed your cheek.

You bit your lip, took a breath, and cast your hurt feelings aside. You turned your head and flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Jamie.” James took the opportunity of your head, tilted upwards at him, and dipped down to press his lips softly against yours, pecking you once, twice. “You’re up early,” he commented and nudged you. He slipped behind you, body fully relaxing into your back now.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied honestly and you leaned back into him. You laughed softly when you noticed his eyes drooping. “You’re tired, Jamie. Go back to sleep.” James made a sound but didn’t move, instead slouching even more against you.

“Hm, no, I missed you this morning. I’ll stay here,” he decided and drifted off to sleep. You didn’t doubt that he loved you.

“Go on a date with me next Friday,” James asked you while he was escorting you to your herbology class. You looked up at him surprised. “A date?” you dumbly repeated, trying not to be too excited about the prospect of a date. James usually ended up having things to do that he really couldn't get out of, so you would always end up canceling your dates.

James laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders. “Exactly. You and me alone. I was thinking of a picnic by the lake, no one else around, and maybe we could snog, but I’m also down to cuddle.” Your eyes crinkled up amusedly. “Don’t you have Quidditch, Jamie,” you raised your eyebrows. “You always have Quidditch practice after class,” you pointed out.

“Not next Friday. I already checked to make sure I didn't double book anything, and I warned Pads that I'm not taking on any new pranks until next week to avoid detention.” he grinned. “Friday will be one of those rare days when I have time to have my girl all to myself the entire afternoon.” His face then turned apologetic. “I know I don’t have much time to take you out, so Friday'll be perfect and I’ll make it up to you.” You threw your arms around his neck and hummed appreciatively in it. “I’d love that.”

James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a kiss. “Prongs!” Sirius shouted from a distance. “Everyone is already waiting for you for Quidditch practice, how far are you going to escort her? I mean the greenhouse is on the other side of Hogwarts, mate,” Sirius complained but he blew you a dramatic kiss that James waved away with a sour look.

“Go on,” you laughed and untangled yourself from his arms. He quickly pressed a kiss to your lips and sprinted off towards the Quidditch field.

James dropped into the seat next to you. “Long time no see, love,” he said. You snorted. “James, I saw you two hours ago.” James shrugged, and flirtily smiled. “I said what I said.”

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom and class started. You were jotting down everything she said in a neat handwriting, knowing that James would end up asking to lend your notes, of course by offering kisses in return.

You glanced beside you and were surprised to find him hunched over his notebook, scribbling away. Impressed at the thought that he was actually paying attention, you couldn’t help but peer down at his notes and saw that he was sketching a girl.

Though he wasn’t the greatest artist, you could clearly see that the girl on the paper looked nothing like you, and instead had features that were strikingly similar to Lily. When James looked up from his drawing and glanced to his right where she was sitting, her eyes focused on Professor McGonagall, you felt your heart constrict again, but still decided not to comment on it. He was free to draw whoever he felt like drawing, you reminded yourself.

Jealousy is ugly.

You were sitting in the library, helping a third year with Defense against the dark arts theory, when James barged in, earning several disturbed looks and a threatening glare from the librarian.

“James?” you called to him quietly and motioned for him. James’ eyes spotted you and he slid over to you, wringing his hands together, biting his lips and his eyes darting around.

“You’re nervous,” You remarked while you eyed him up and down. “Or you feel bad. What is it?”

James let out a deep sigh at your bluntness, though he supposed it would be better to get straight to the point. “We can’t go on a date next week, I’ve got prefect stuff, gotta patrol.” You stared at him, your disappointment was visible on your face and James looked at the ground.

“But you already had patrol this week? Isn’t it every other week?” You asked, a bummed out look on your face.

“Well, actually, Lily asked me if I could do rounds with her next week,” he admitted. “Her usual assigned partner was injured during Quidditch practice apparently.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You were pretty sure she could ask anyone else for next week or just do the rounds herself as you’ve seen James do it alone for two weeks too when his assigned partner had gone home for a family emergency.

“Is it really vital that you have to go?” You couldn’t help but ask.

"I already said yes." James offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We can go on a date the week after.” There was a pause and then, “Actually that’ll probably have to wait for the week after that.”

'Imagine having to schedule a simple date, three to four weeks in advance and even then not being guaranteed that nothing would come in between,' you sighed.

You shrugged, a sudden wave of defeat and exhaustion crashing over you. Why did you have to compete for your boyfriend in the first place? 'How tiring', you realized.

You waved him away. “It can’t be helped, I guess,” you somewhat coldly told him, and turned back to the student next to you who was awkwardly looking away. James stood next to you in silence for a moment, still looking at you. You looked up at the lack of the sound of receding footsteps and looked at him questioningly, waving your hand in a ‘what is it?’ manner.

“I can tell her no,” James said, something that looked like a pout on his face. He hated making you feel bad, despite constantly but unconsciously doing it.

“You don’t want to tell her no,” you retorted.

"I would for you.”

“Well, considering that you haven’t told her no by now and are instead here telling me that we have to rearrange our plans, I think you should just go help Lily with rounds.”

James was taken aback by your bitter tone, eyes immediately wide, alarmed that you were really affected by his decision. “Love, I-“

You waved your hand again. “No, I’m sorry,” you apologized before he could. You rubbed your eyes in an exhausted manner. Jealousy was not a good look, you reminded yourself again. “Just really looked forward to that picnic with just you and me.”

“We’ll still have that picnic another time though,” James tried to assure you, but you were no longer looking at him. He realized that the conversation was over and that you wanted to be left alone right now.

“I love you,” James tried one last time and you sighed. " I love you more.” Your words resonated even after James left, knowing that they might be more true than you wanted to admit. You cleared your throat and when you faced the girl next to you, she shot you a sympathetic look.

The last drop was during Potions class. Potions was something you were good at. Maybe not better than Severus Snape, but you did excel in it.

So, if there was one class in which you expected James to want to be your partner, it was Potions class. Perhaps it was arrogant of you to assume such a thing, because when Professor Slughorn had announced that everyone would be paired up, and asked James who he wanted to partner up with, you hadn't expected him to glance at Lily first, which resulted in Professor Slughorn pairing the two together before James could say your name, which in his defense, was what he was planning on saying.

Without sparing you a glace, he left your table to take the seat next to Lily's. Sure, it was mostly a miscommunication issue on Slughorn's part, but did James have to skip over so happily?

“Love you so much, Lily.”

The words repeated in your head when you saw him look at her so fondly and before you could stop yourself, you scribbled a message on a piece of paper, in which you asked him to meet you in the tower, before sending it his way.

You had clung onto James because you were absolutely in love with him and refused to lose him. But it really was a futile battle, you would never compare to her. His first crush, first love, first kiss if you count that one time during ‘spin the bottle’ and his first heartbreak. You’ll always be second, even if he genuinely loves you.

James snapped his head up at you from his attempted conversation with Lily when he got your note, suddenly remembering you, but you were laughing, engrossed in a conversation with a flustered Peter who had almost set the two of you on fire by adding the wrong ingredient. When you left class, you saw James and Lily still talking while calmly packing up.

James entered the tower, holding the note that you had passed him during class. He was smiling cheekily and quickly skipped over, arms ready to wrap around your waist as he leaned in for a kiss, no doubt thinking you asked him to sneak away for a snog.

“We need to talk,” you stopped him, and his grin fell from his face, a serious expression now adorning it. “Everything alright love?” he asked, an odd feeling growing inside of him at your tone. He was suddenly rather unsure if he really wanted to.

'Nothing better than to rip the band aid off', you thought.

“I want to break up.”

There was a long moment of silence while James was registering your words, repeating them in his head over and over again to see if there was any chance that he could have interpreted that incorrectly.

“What?” He eventually said out loud in disbelief. Though he wanted to step forward, reach for you and hold you tightly as if to show that he wouldn’t let you go, his body was inwilling to move.

“Why are y-, I thought we were good?” The crack in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you. Your heart ached for him, but you were determined to stay strong and say your piece for once. To voice your thoughts and go through with tough decisions that you knew would be for the better.

“We’re not, James,” you sighed. “I know that you know that.”

James shook his head in denial. “No, I don’t know that,” he insisted. His brain was racking through all the instances where he did something wrong and - with the exception of next Friday's date - came up blank.

“But you love me,” he stated, mostly to himself, but it came out more of a question. “Of course,” you confirmed without hesitation.

James’ body finally unfroze, and he surged forward, his hands fumbled to hold your hands. “And I love you,” he stressed, panic starting to rise up. “I love you so much, I’ll take a Veritaserum potion if you want. I just, why would you-, I don’t understand the problem-,”

“I know you love me, James. The problem is that I love you so much more,” you calmly interrupted him. James’ eyes scanned your face to look for answers because none of it maded sense to him.

“I want someone who loves me as much as I love him. Someone who gives me all his love, not just a part that he managed to set apart for me too. And I want to be loved first. Not second. I don't want to be a consolation prize because your first option didn't work out.”

James’ eyes flickered in realization, but his head was still shaking in denial. “I am that someone,” he urged, trying to convince you. He shot you a pleading look. “I love you first, I swear.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and you pulled it away from his grasp.

“Not first,” you shook your head sadly. “Not when you call for Lily in your sleep, and whisper that you love her.” You watch as James’ frown deepened, mixed expressions crossing his face in surprise, confusion and even bewilderment.

Would he not even admit it?

“Not when you have us rearrange our plans for her, when you draw portraits of her during class, or when you practically jump to be her potions partner. I'm not stupid, James. I see the way you look at her.” You continued to list off the things that happened just this past week, not even bothering to mention all the things that bothered you the past months. Your eyes looked sad and tired, and you took another deep breath. “So, I want to break up.”

James felt like crying, his mind thinking back to everything you said, and knowing that you were right. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “I’m an absolute twat, I know that. I promise you I don’t love Lily, she’s just still very important to me.” You offered him a sympathetic smile.

“I know she’s important to you, I just think that maybe you don’t know what or who you want. And I won’t share my boyfriend anymore, I’m selfish like that,” You joked halfheartedly. James didn’t react, save for wrapping his arms around you. You allowed James to embrace you and he buried his head in your hair, his eyes closed as if he wanted to go to sleep and forget this was happening.

“Okay,” James whispered. What else was he supposed to say?

You closed yours as well. James would get over you in no time, you were certain. You two hadn’t been dating for that long, and perhaps James could find a happy ending in Lily after all.

James had sort of avoided you after that. You thought he was doing it because he was angry, but in reality, he was just scared that he would burst into tears the moment he saw you, and he refused to watch you laugh happily, swatting your friend while he wanted nothing more than to hold your hand again.

His mind had completely become occupied by you and he stayed in bed over the weekend, mostly wallowing in self-pity and misery.

When Monday started, he had skipped all classes and only dragged himself out of bed for Quidditch practice and patrol with Lily. Walking next to her in silence, occasionally glancing at her, he felt his stomach sink again. How ironic that when he looked at Lily, all he could think about was you.

James walked through the corridor on Friday, on his way to the courtyard to meet up with Lily again to do rounds with her. He hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully without you. At first, he had been thinking about every instance where he prioritized Lily over you, and it had him curse himself out in his pillow. He missed you. It was so ridiculous, but he missed you to the point that he would curl up in bed with a stomach ache.

He had finally drifted off when at some point in the middle of the night, he had been shaken awake by Sirius.

“What?” James had asked, his throat dry and raspy. He’d looked around, disoriented.

“Thought you were having a nightmare Prongs. You kept mumbling her name. How much you loved her,” Sirius had handed James a glass of water.

James became wide awake and sat up straight in panic. “Lily?” He had asked Sirius, his stomach turning with nausea. He still couldn’t believe that he really talked about Lily in his sleep when you were lying next to him.

“What? No, Y/N’s name of course.” Sirius had corrected him. 'Of course,' James shook his head at Sirius’ words. “Figured you were reliving your breakup,” Sirius had explained.

James was looking through the passing windows of the castle where he could see the lake in the far distance. Suddenly something in his brain clicked. What in Godrick's name was he doing, avoiding you? Why was he giving up on you without a fight? You both loved each other; he was just the idiot who couldn’t sort himself out. But it didn’t take him longer than a terrible week to open his eyes.

James’ pace increased and he ran through the corridor. “No running in the corridors young man,” a portrait commented, but he paid it no mind.

Lily was already waiting for him and raised her eyebrows at his disheveled state and the basket that he was carrying. “I can’t do rounds with you today,” he puffed out. “I told Y/N that I would take her out for a picnic and then you asked me if I could help, and I agreed, but it’s so stupid because I should be-, I am choosing her,” James ranted. “I’m not letting you come first, or even second.”

Lily wasn’t really sure what James was rambling on about but gave him a kind smile, nonetheless. “Well, what are you waiting for,” she encouraged him. “Sounds to me like you shouldn’t be here, but somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I definitely should.”

You sat by the lake, skipping stones from a sitting position, not that you were having any luck. You hadn't seen James in a while because he avoided you, and you felt sadness wash over you. You were sure that he would get over you quick enough, but you wondered how long would it take for you to get over him?

You heard rustling behind you but kept facing forward. It was only when a delicious smell reached you, that you turned around, slightly annoyed that someone would really choose this spot to have an afternoon meal at when they could’ve sat literally anywhere else near the lake, as well as choose this moment when you wanted to act like a depressed main protagonist gazing in the distance.

You were, however, not prepared to see James stand behind you, out of breath and making his way over to you, a blanket and food spread out behind him. He didn’t really need to say anything. You understood from the way he showed up here, a hopeful expression on his face.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you got up, dusting yourself off.

"Hi," James breathed. An unsure smile formed on his face when you waved back. "I uh, I brought food." He awkwardly motioned to the picnic behind him and you couldn't help but smile at his adorableness.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else,” you couldn’t help but lightheartedly remark. James let out an airy chuckle, immediately relaxing at your open demeanor.

“100% sure I’m where I should be,” he affirmed. He considered his words and corrected himself. "Where I want to be."

His words had you take off in a sprint towards him and James opened his arms to catch you when you jumped, locking your legs around him. Ironically enough, it felt as if a weight had fallen off of James. His head fell against your shoulder and he shakily laughed while your blouse stained with tears of relief.

"I'm really sorry," he looked up at you, still holding you steadily. You leaned down to press your forehead against his, and your hands came up to his cheeks. "You made up your mind," you said, but it came out like a question, and James nodded hastily.

"And you'll make it up to me."

"Of course," he earnestly replied. "I want us. I'll fight for us." You closed the gap between the two of you.

“I love you,” he whispered breathlessly against your lips.

Not first or second, not more, most or less. He just loves you.

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pucksandpower · 1 month

Text

Blackmail Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you love your boyfriend more than life itself but who can blame you for keeping a folder of all the blackmail material he has given you over the years … just in case

You hear a bloodcurdling scream from the other room. “Y/N! Come quick!” Charles yells.

You rush over to find him standing on top of the couch, a look of sheer terror on his face. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

He points a shaky finger at the floor. “Sp-spider!”

You look down to see a tiny little spider no bigger than a blueberry crawling across the hardwood. You have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of your brave Formula 1 driver boyfriend absolutely losing it over this tiny critter.

“Really? That’s what all the fuss is about?” You don’t bother to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Don’t laugh!” He says indignantly. “It’s a monster! Kill it, please!”

You kneel down and take a closer look at the offending arachnid. “Aww, it’s just a little jumping spider,” you say. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

Charles makes a strangled sound of disbelief. “Cute? It’s a beast from the depths of hell! I want it gone!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “You race cars at over 300 kilometers per hour, but you’re scared of a little spider barely bigger than a piece of lint?”

“Yes! Spiders are my worst fear. Now stop teasing me and get rid of it!” He gives you his best pleading look from his perch on top of the couch.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, grabbing an empty glass from the coffee table. You gently trap the spider under it and slide a piece of cardstock underneath, trapping the spider safely.

“Is it dead? Please tell me you killed it,” Charles asks hopefully.

“Of course not, I’m just going to let it go outside. Spiders are good, they eat other bugs.”

Charles visibly shudders. “Well get it out of here! I don’t want to see it ever again.”

You carry the spider carefully to the sliding door and release it on the balcony. When you come back inside, Charles is still standing on the couch looking suspiciously around at the floor.

“The horrible beast has been banished, you can come down now,” you say.

He hesitantly steps back down onto the floor. “Are you sure it’s gone? You didn’t just give it free reign to run wild in the apartment?”

You try and fail to hold back a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. Your life is no longer in peril.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “This isn’t funny! Spiders are evil creatures with too many legs and eyes. They should not exist.”

You go over and wrap your arms around him comfortingly, though you’re still struggling not to giggle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. But you have to admit, it’s kind of silly that someone who races cars at death-defying speeds could be so terrified of a tiny spider.”

He huffs indignantly. “It’s a completely rational fear. They’re all legs and eyes and they move so fast and erratically and some of them can be venomous. Absolutely horrifying.”

You smile indulgently and kiss his cheek. “Okay, I get it. I promise I’ll protect you if any more evil spiders invade our home.”

“Thank you,” he says, finally relaxing into your arms now that the threat has passed.

But you just can’t resist teasing him a little more. “It was just so small!”

He pulls back and gives you an unamused look. “You’re not going to let this go anytime soon, are you?”

You grin impishly. “Letting my big macho boyfriend stand on the couch and scream because of a teeny tiny spider? Yeah, probably not gonna let you live this one down for a while.”

Charles groans. “This is so unfair. The guys will never let me hear the end of it if they find out.”

You pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that Charles Leclerc is terrified of itsy bitsy spiders.”

And if you happened to save evidence of his freak out just in case? Well … it’s not technically telling anyone unless you share the video.

***

You can’t help but grin as Charles paces back and forth in your New York hotel room, running his hands through his hair in distress.

“Chill out babe, I’m sure the airline will find your luggage soon,” you try to soothe him.

Charles whips around, eyes wide. “Chill out? How can I chill out when my La Mer is missing? Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect my skincare routine?”

You stifle a laugh at his dramatics. “I mean, it’s just skincare products. Not the end of the world.”

“Just skincare products?” Charles looks at you in horror. “That’s like saying a Ferrari is just a car! La Mer is the cream of the crop, the holy grail of skin care! My face needs it to survive!”

You can’t hold back your grin anymore. “Wow, didn’t realize I was dating such a high maintenance diva,” you tease.

Charles huffs, crossing his arms. “I am not high maintenance, I just have discerning taste and an appreciation for quality.”

“Uh huh, sure,” you say. “Is that why you made us stop at three different Whole Foods on the way here from the airport until you found your favorite protein shake?”

“That is completely different,” Charles protests. “My skin is very sensitive, I can’t just use any old drugstore products.”

You laugh and pull Charles onto the couch next to you. “You’re cute when you pout.”

He tries to keep a straight face but ends up cracking a smile. “I can’t help it, I’m freaking out! Do you know how dry airplanes are? My skin is going to be a flaky desert by tomorrow.”

You run a hand through his hair. “Aww poor baby. However will you cope without your six hundred dollar moisturizer?”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “You joke, but this is serious stuff. Do you want a boyfriend with wrinkles and acne?”

“I mean, a few wrinkles never hurt anyone,” you say, kissing his cheek.

He gasps dramatically. “Don’t even joke about that! I’ll be twenty seven soon, wrinkle prevention needs to start now.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Most twenty seven year olds aren’t this worried about wrinkles. But I guess Formula 1 drivers really are high maintenance.”

“With good reason! We can’t have crows feet interfering with our vision,” Charles says matter-of-factly.

You give him a look. “You’re just making things up now.”

Charles holds your hands, looking deeply into your eyes. “Mon amour, you must understand. Athletes age in dog years. We need anti-aging products just to keep up.”

You burst out laughing, shoving him playfully. “You’re so full of it!”

Charles grins cheekily. “But you love me anyway.”

You lean in and give him a soft kiss. “Yeah I do. Even if you are a high maintenance diva.”

Charles puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I thought girlfriends were supposed to be supportive! My skincare is obviously very important to me.”

You snuggle up next to him, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Tell me all about this super special moisturizer.”

His eyes light up. “Well first of all it contains like crushed up diamonds or something. And they freeze each jar before shipping it to keep the ingredients ultra fresh.”

You make a mental note to Google this later, since it sounds completely absurd that diamonds would be an effective skincare ingredient. Though with Charles, you can never be too sure.

“Uh huh, diamonds. That’s totally normal,” you say, playing along.

“Exactly! And the founder makes sure each jar charges under the energy of a full moon before it’s sold. It’s really an intricate artisanal process.” Charles sighs longingly.

You smile and kiss his pouting lips. “You’re cute. I promise your skin will survive one night without magic moon diamonds.”

Charles snuggles against your shoulder. “I know, I know. Skincare is just part of my routine, it makes me feel relaxed and put together. And smelling like citrus blossoms is an added bonus.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I get that. Hopefully the airline finds your stuff soon. But in the meantime, want me to see if anyone sells La Mer nearby?”

Charles perks up. “Ooh yes, let’s check! I saw they have a Dior down the block too.”

You laugh and take his hand. “Of course they do. Come on, let’s go spoil you with new overpriced skincare products until yours turn up.”

***

You walk into the kitchen and see your boyfriend standing at the counter, a pile of uncooked spaghetti next to him. He takes a portion in his hand … which he proceeds to snap in half before dropping it into the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Charles! What are you doing?” You exclaim in shock.

He turns to you, confused. “What do you mean? I’m just making sure the pasta will fit better in the pot.”

“But you can’t break spaghetti before cooking it!” You say incredulously. “That’s like a cardinal sin in Italy!”

Charles laughs. “Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal. The pasta will cook just fine this way.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Il Predestinato is out here breaking pasta. Do you have any idea how offensive Italians would find this?”

“I’m sure they will survive the absolute tragedy of some broken spaghetti,” he jokes.

You nod to your phone. “It’s a good thing I’m recording this for posterity then. The whole country needs to know about this travesty.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. “What? No, don’t record me!” He reaches for your phone but you spin away, giggling.

“The people of Italy deserve to know the truth about their hero!” You declare dramatically.

“Mon ange, please give me the phone,” he pleads, trying to grab your arm. You dance out of reach.

“Truth and justice will prevail!” You continue recording as Charles chases you around the kitchen island.

��Come on, delete it! This could start an international incident if it gets out!”

You pause to catch your breath, phone held high. “An international inchident? Wow, look at you being all dramatic now. I thought it wasn’t a big deal?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I didn’t think you’d actually record it as blackmail material! Please, mon amour, I’m begging you, delete the video.”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmm I don’t know … this seems like prime viral video content. Scuderia Ferrari Driver Destroys Pasta, Enrages Italy. Can you imagine the views it would get?”

“Y/N!” Charles lunges forward and tackles you onto the living room couch. You shriek with laughter as he tries to pry the phone from your grip.

“Noooo my video!” You yell dramatically.

Charles pins your arms above your head with one hand and reaches for the phone with the other. “Give it to me!”

You squirm underneath him. “Never!”

He leans down until his face is just inches from yours. “What’s it going to take for you to delete that video, huh?” His voice is low and gravelly.

You catch your breath, hyper aware of his body pressing against yours. “I don’t know, what are you offering?” You ask cheekily.

Charles brushes his nose against yours. “What if I made you your favorite dinner tomorrow night?”

You tilt your chin up in defiance. “That’s all I get for deleting potential internet gold? I don’t think so.”

He moves even closer, his lips just barely grazing your cheek. “Okay, what if I take you out for a nice date too? Dinner and a show at the opera, your choice.” His breath is warm against your skin.

You close your eyes for a second, affected by his closeness but not ready to give in yet. “Tempting, but I think this video is worth even more than that.”

Charles makes a small noise of frustration before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You melt into it for a blissful moment before pulling back slightly.

“Well that’s certainly a start,” you murmur, your heart racing.

Charles lets go of your hands to cradle your face tenderly. “Mon cœur, please delete the video. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

You search his eyes intently. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he confirms fervently before kissing you again, deeper this time.

You wrap your arms around his neck and give yourself over to the kiss. After several heated moments, you gently break away.

“Okay fine, I’ll delete the video on one condition.”

Charles looks at you warily. “Name it.”

“You have to let me drive your Ferrari.”

Charles groans and drops his head against your shoulder. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

You laugh and pat his head consolingly. “Those are my terms.”

He lifts his head to grin ruefully at you. “You drive a hard bargain. But for the sake of Italian nonnas everywhere, I accept your deal.”

You lift up your phone and pretend to wipe away a tear. “The souls of broken spaghetti can finally rest easy.”

Charles just shakes his head before leaning down to silence you with another deep kiss. As you lose yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, you quietly move the video into an encrypted folder. After all, you never know when it might come in handy.

***

You raise an eyebrow as you watch Charles carefully pour Red Bull into his Ferrari water bottle. “Do you buy those in bulk?” You ask with a laugh.

Charles gasps in exaggerated outrage. “Buy from the enemy? Never!” He screws the cap on tightly and gives you a sly grin. “Max and I have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” You echo in surprise. This is news to you.

Charles nods, looking pleased with himself. “Yes, a secret trade deal. I provide him cappuccinos from the Ferrari cafe and Max supplies me with as much Red Bull as I need.”

You burst out laughing. “Are you serious? You and Max smuggle each other contraband caffeinated drinks?”

“Shh, not so loud!” Charles glances around furtively, but the motorhome is empty except for the two of you. “It must remain a secret.”

Still chuckling, you lower your voice conspiratorially. “So the great Charles Leclerc betrays his team for energy drinks. The Tifosi would riot if they knew!”

Charles winces dramatically. “Do not say such things! It is not betrayal, merely … creative problem solving.” He takes a long swig of Red Bull and grins. “The taste of the enemy is sweet.”

“I can’t believe you drink that stuff. And I can’t believe Max is your supplier!” You shake your head in amusement. “Does anyone else know about this arrangement of yours?”

“Only Lando. We needed a neutral third party to broker the deal and make the exchanges.” Charles leans in with a playful smile. “So do not be getting any ideas about exposing our scheme, yes?”

You mimic zipping your lips. “My lips are sealed … as long as you share some of that!”

Charles pretends to think about it for a second before breaking into a grin and handing you the bottle. The carbonated liquid fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, the familiar flavor mingling with the surrealness of drinking Red Bull from a Ferrari bottle. You take one more sip then hand it back to Charles.

“Just don’t let Fred or Christian find out,” you warn teasingly. “Pretty sure this counts as treason.”

Charles just laughs. “They turn a blind eye. The team knows I perform best when properly caffeinated.” He caps the bottle and adds, “But no more for you, ma belle. I only have a limited supply!”

You pout dramatically. “Fine, keep your precious Red Bull. I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone what’s really in your water bottle!”

The can of Red Bull that Charles rushes to give you tastes even sweeter than usual.

2K notes · View notes

mournings-stars · 2 months

Note

Maybe the wrapping wings around heddies but the reader wraps their wings around the characters?

okay i rly like this but what about with characters that don’t have wings?? (lmk if yall want characters w wings cus this is kinda silly funny haha)

charlie

she loves when your wings wrap around her — every time she hugs you, she’s waiting for that extra warmth and when it comes she just hugs you even tighter

she wouldn’t ask you to do it, but if you put a wing around her in public she’s trying not to get too excited

cuddling is a must for wings. you’re sitting on the couch? she wants a nice feathery blanket. lying in bed? same thing. watching a scary movie? she’s using your wings as a shield to duck under anytime theres a jump scare

if you asked her if she’d like a wing, she’s the happiest you’ve ever seen her

“im starting to wonder if you’re just dating me for my wings,” you’d joke and she’d laugh and say, “they’re definitely a plus” while running her finger over the top of one (this girl likes to tease i know it)

she loves when you cuddle up to her and wrap your wings around her, like she just melts

she does not let anyone play with them. ever. if niffty tried to go scurrying around them, she’s taking her away faster than she can blink

your wings are hers as much as they are yours, but that’s a silent rule between you two that she doesn’t plan on voicing

she just gives “let me be your wings” from thumbelina vibes like you would have a duet like that

alastor

now if you ever need to gossip, he’s clearing his throat and you’re shielding your conversation with your wings while you two laugh and whisper

he does not want anyone touching him but if you put a wing around him he knows you guys have some important business to talk about

sometimes you throw up your wing, whisper, and he has to stop himself from laughing when you quickly put your wing down, alastor batting it with his microphone as you laughed

now if he’s ever hurt, that’s when your wings go around him, making sure no one sees so he can escape to saftey

you’d always come to his rescue even if he got mad at you for it, wings wrapping around him as you struck his attacker faster than he could summon his shadows (and he definitely gets pissed about it but hey what are … friends …. for!)

wings are for shit talking and the occasional life saver when it comes to al

angel dust

he loves the security of your wings

after a long day, you’d just lie in his room, wings wrapped around him as he held you close — he’d either fall asleep or want to sit in silence like that, but either way you were happy to help

sometimes you’d just sit at the bar, wing around him as you talked and laughed together

whenever you went out together, your wings were a strict barrier that no one dared to cross. you put a wing in front of angel when some guy approaches him? he and every other demon are backing off for the rest of the night. you’re walking down the street? wing around him and no one is approaching you

he definitely asks you to do it (in his own very special way) and he likes to tease you when you’re around other people

but you both know he treasures the safety your wings give him

pentious

my boy pentious 100% thinks you’ve turned against him the first time you drape your wings over him — you could’ve literally been sleeping and he’d accuse you of trying to smother him

“i was sleeping!” “your subconscious mind plans to kill me, too!”

he warms up to it though because the next time it happens you’re fast asleep and theres no attempt to block his airways, or whatever he thought you’d do, so he snuggles into the warmth

being a snake (i love snakes im gonna b a lil nerdy about this one) pen likes to burrow. especially at night. he’d start to curl up under the warmth of your wings and rest there until you eventually moved

some days you’d wake up and he’d be completely hidden beneath your wings. if you lift one, he’d very quickly tug it back (definitely how he found out about sensitive wings)

he felt very bad :(

cherri

wings are for parties!

they give you the best dance numbers — dramatic reveal, awesome poses, super dope flying routine…!

then they’re for comedowns because once you’re home from the club shit hits the fan and you’re wrapping your wings around her so she can even try to sleep

but then the morning comes and you brush it off cus it’s time to blow shit up!

definitely using your wings as a shield though — they’re probably dyed pink and red by now, with all the times you’ve had to cover the two of you from explosives

but she finds it super hot so…

velvette

she likes to fuck with you

1000% uses them as her personal armor — you’re basically a body guard

she’ll wrap them around herself while looking in the mirror, modeling your wings like a feather coat

“my wings are not going in your collection,” you’d have to tell her, still pulling her closer with them as you met her eyes in the mirror

“yeah, guess you’re right. can’t have anyone else getting a hold of these, can we?”

she loves being wrapped in them while she sleeps — she loves you sleeping next her, cause then she can lay them however she wants

it’s always best when you’re wings fold in and bring her closer though

definitely been used for a private moment in the office

she says they’re your best asset

vox

now this man is, under no circumstances, letting you wrap your wings around him

in public? absolutely not…

in private? well…. no! totally not!

at least not until you’re asleep and he’s situating himself beneath them. it’s not his fault a feather blanket helps him fall asleep

you’ve definitely waited until he fell asleep, draped you wings over him, and watched him relax into them

he’s not slick

like at all

not even in public

he’ll touch them and the minute one even wraps around him, his screen is buffering

speaking of in public… just wait til you’re at a party. he’s drunk and all over you, touching your wings, handling them like their his own, you have to use them to shield the two of you when he gets too handsy, and he loves it; pushing your buttons until your wings are around him and being more than satisfied by that

niffty

girl is crazy

she cleans them, climbs on them, inspects them (almost rips the fuck out of your feathers)

there’s no way you can wrap that girl up, she’s too quick

but she would love petting them and thats why shes here

1K notes · View notes

jk97 · 3 months

Text

Unprofessional Attraction | ONE

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 13K ♡ series synopsis - There's no such thing as a coincidence, right? CollegeSenior!Reader (22) and linguistics teacher Yunho Jeong (27) indulge in an entanglement of inappropriate gravitation. It's risky and it's wrong, but listening to one's better judgment never leads to anything as intoxicating. When someone threatens this secret relationship with blackmail to expose the truth, things take a turn for the worse. Graduation can't seem to come fast enough. ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff and explicit content (mdni), slight age gap, teacher/student relationship, other members are featured, pining, some obsessive behavior and manipulation (mainly from reader), drinking alcohol, inebriated driving (big no no frens!) perverted!yunho, bigdick!yunho, sprinkles of praise, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (mention of bc pill tho), porn with plot ♡ A/N - part one is kinda tame, the next two parts will have more explicit scenes. I hope you enjoy, and please look forward to the rest! I haven't posted a fic on tumblr in many years so pls be kind ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | ?

Yeosang is too attentive, especially when it comes to his best friend.

That’s why he knows you well enough to call you out when he whispers, “You’re staring again.”

“I’m staring at the whiteboard, pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do in class,” you argue, not bothering to even glance at him. It’s quite obvious that your eyes are too busy soaking in things that don’t have to do with phonology.

Your linguistics teacher, Yunho Jeong, is dressed particularly charmingly today. Something about the tight-fitting white polo shirt and chocolate brown slacks he has on this class is too distracting. It doesn’t help that his hair is a little more messy than usual, you wonder if he was running late this morning. Linguistics has nothing to do with your major, however, for your final semester in college, you simply needed a filler class for your last few credits. Yeosang suggested joining him in this class so you could both support each other, but he never factored in the fact that you’d be too distracted by the teacher to do anything of use for him. There weren’t many younger teachers such as Yunho at your university; in fact, you were pretty sure this was only his second semester teaching in general. He was generally a mild-mannered and easygoing teacher, but he was also able to command a room when necessary.

A minute later, Yunho offers everyone a 10-minute break since the last section of his lecture lasted a little longer than he anticipated, and the class immediately breaks out into chatter.

“He’s single, you know,” Yeosang turns towards you and props up his head on his palm, “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Don’t tell me things like that, you’ll make me delusional.”

He doesn’t miss the goofy smile tugging at your lips as you stretch your tired limbs from too much sitting. The lectures for this class were two hours long, but they were only twice a week on Wednesdays and Fridays, so you couldn’t complain too much.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That I might have a chance with him,” you nudge him playfully.

“I’m not sure he’d want to date someone barely passing his own class,” Yeosang quips quickly, subsequently squeezing his eyes shut when you flick his forehead in response.

“Watch your mouth, I am not ‘barely passing’!” You return your eyes to the subject of your conversation, slowly taking in his form, “For the record, I could definitely pull him if I tried to. You think he likes younger women?”

“That is a terrible idea,” your best friend immediately shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Surely I would be guaranteed to pass then though, no?” you offer instead, half-joking.

“You haven’t gotten laid in the last month and this is the first person that comes to your mind to fix that?” Yeosang scoffs incredulously.

“I wouldn’t just be in it for the sex,” you clarify. Your keen eyes watch his every move, from the way that his large hands flex as he thumbs at his phone to the way he purses his lips in curiosity at whatever he’s looking up. Like a lion stalking a gazelle before pouncing. “He’s quite literally perfect. Tall, smart, handsome, financially stable… the whole package. I deserve a man like that, right Yeo?”

You meet Yeosang’s eyes curiously, and he reminds you, “I think you’re forgetting he’s our teacher .”

“We graduate soon,” you whine, “Act now, worry later. I could graduate with a boyfriend already lined up the minute I get handed my degree.”

“You’re playing with fire, ____,” he holds his hands up in surrender. As your best friend, he knows you’re not joking, despite how much you might play it off later. He knows that once you set your mind on something, you generally don’t stop until it’s achieved, “Let’s see you try, though. It’ll be entertaining.”

When class resumes, you listen to the rest of his lecture with renewed cravings and an unusually optimistic disposition Yeosang has never seen you hold for this subject.

From that moment forward, every instance you “stumbled” across your teacher was planned. You figured out which parking lot he parked his car on during the day and bought a proper parking pass for that lot, now alternating between taking the shuttle and your car to the university. Your schedules crossed occasionally on your driving days, and you’d simply offer warm greetings or cheerful send-offs depending on the time of day. Yunho was a man of habit who visited the same campus restaurant nearly every day he worked during lunchtime in between his midday classes. It didn’t take much energy to stop by a couple of days a week and run into Yunho, giving you the ability to strike up a conversation or two when asking for recommendations on what you should order. These instances were simply to put you more on his radar, instead of just being a face in the sea of students in his class.

He seems to be good friends with two other teachers who are also around his age, teachers Seonghwa Park and San Choi. You wonder if getting in their good graces would somehow transfer to your teacher, by word of mouth. Luckily, you have a friend who has Mr. Park for a history seminar. On a Sunday night, you shoot a text to set the stage.

[Y/N: Jongho!!!! It’s been so long since we’ve hung out :(( Can I swing by your class tomorrow and pick you up? Let’s get lunch!]

When 2 PM rolls around on Monday, you make the mistake of trusting the shuttle to come on time. It’s nearly 3 PM when you get to the necessary building, and you’re sure Jongho’s class ended close to half an hour ago. The plan to run across Mr. Park is thrown completely out of the window, you are only worried about Jongho being upset with you. You know he’d never, but still. Being late to something planned ahead of time always upsets you to no end. You curse at yourself over and over every stride down the hall, and it’s good that the hallways are virtually empty or else you’d probably look crazy. Eventually, you make it to your destination.

You’re just about to blindly call out an apology to Jongho but end up stopping dead in your tracks as soon as you enter the door; not only is Mr. Park in the room seated at his desk, but he’s also accompanied by Mr. Choi and Mr. Jeong. They’re huddled together, Yunho leaning against the whiteboard leisurely with a cup of coffee in his hand while intently listening to Seonghwa complain about the registrar’s office fucking up another one of his student’s enrollment for his class.

“There she is,” Jongho sighs this aloud as if his prayers have been answered.

He didn’t know if you were going to still make it and he’s dying of hunger from skipping breakfast. Immediately, all three men’s eyes turn towards the entrance. You pray to God that your face isn’t flushed with how hot you feel being the fixation of so many eyes. Or maybe it’s more so how handsome the men are that those eyes are coming from. This surely isn’t the time to have such a weakness for a strapping man in a button-up and crisp slacks.

“Hello, ____,” Yunho is the first of the three to speak. Subsequently, San amiably nods toward you in acknowledgment.

“Good afternoon all,” you greet everyone, bashfully adding, “I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Not interrupting at all,” Seonghwa waves his hands, dispelling those fears, “We were curious why Jongho was sticking back so late. He assured us a friend was coming to get him and we just chose not to leave him.”

Well, this is embarrassing. You nod hastily and glance toward Jongho, who is practically skipping down the lecture hall’s steps. Yunho wants to crack a joke about seeing you everywhere, about how you both must be magnets or something else silly, but he decides to keep that to himself. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s keeping track of course, even if he is.

Instead, he affirms to the other men, “This is a student of mine.”

Admittedly, your ears had tuned every other word out except “mine”, and you nodded a little too enthusiastically. You haven’t been this discomposed in a long time, too bashful to look any of them in the eyes, and you pray it’s not showing too much elsewhere. Jongho’s friendly hand landing on your shoulder grounds you.

“You ready?”

“Absolutely,” you puff out.

“Don’t cause too much trouble for her, Jongho,” Seonghwa pokes a bit of fun at one of his top students, who replies by waving him away and scoffing. They seem to be relaxed with each other— this is something you desire to achieve with Yunho soon. You snatch up your friend’s hand and finally move to leave for lunch, if it could even be considered that now with how late it is.

“See you Wednesday, Mr. Jeong,” you look back and shoot him a wave, accompanied by a charming smile. He nods back, offering you his own as well.

Unbeknownst to you, San’s eyes follow you out the door with Jongho, especially surveying the plush of your thighs rubbing together as you walk. Such as yourself, skirts are surely a weakness of his.

“She’s a senior, right?” he murmurs, half-jokingly.

“Stop it,” Yunho promptly elbows San in the arm, earning a stifled laugh from Seonghwa.

Yunho has heard stories about San’s slight affinity with the pretty college women when he goes out to bars on the weekends. Nobody from his own classes, of course. Needless to say, Yunho would not let him even think about you that way. No way in hell.

“I was just asking, Jesus.”

Seonghwa stretches his limbs from his chair, “It’s never ‘just asking’ with you.”

“You buy a table of women drinks one time and your friends never let you hear the end of it,” he groans with a roll of his eyes, “God you guys are the worst.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what it is,” Seonghwa concedes sarcastically.

“Just don’t make any unannounced visits to my classroom anytime soon, you buffoon,” Yunho chastises him while pressing his cup to his lips, “And I’m serious.”

“You got that,” San yields, “Wouldn’t wanna be a cock-block.”

Yunho nearly spits his coffee, “I beg your pardon?”

San nearly doubles over in laughter and, to Yunho’s surprise, Seonghwa has joined in. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the look they’re sharing and it makes the back of his neck burn with heat. Yunho doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed but he steers the conversation away from discussing you any further. He ignores the feeling of indignation and possessiveness pooling in the pit of his stomach.

It doesn’t take long for you to decide you’ve done what needed to be done outside of the classroom; the cherry on top now was simply to get him alone more privately.

You didn’t have to try very hard for this to happen; your work on your paper outline was already sub-par at best. You did fairly well on the quizzes and packets he passed out once a week, but that final paper preparation was surely going to be a challenge. When you find enough courage in yourself to email him about seeing him during his office hours for extra academic help on formatting your paper and choosing a more concise topic, he replies quickly and enthusiastically. According to your syllabus, the topic should relate to what you’re studying for your degree, but the real meat and potatoes of the paper should incorporate an aspect of linguistics in relation to your career path. Yunho understands how something like this can be difficult to tackle, so he assures you not to worry and that you both will work on perfecting it in no time.

“Mr. Jeong, do you mind if I text you instead? It’s more convenient for me than to email,” you end up asking him at the end of class on a Friday.

Yunho doesn’t mind this and he says so; he's put his phone number on the syllabus for situations like this. Moreover, he doesn’t think anything of it when he receives a text from you the morning of your first session telling him good morning and saying that you’re excited to finally get some guidance. You follow up by asking how he likes his coffee, and if he prefers muffins or donuts. Even after this indicator, he’s still surprised that you show up at his office right on time at 10 AM on Monday with two fresh cups of coffee and a couple of things from the campus bakery.

His office is fairly small, but not enough to feel uncomfortable. He’s decorated it to his liking though to make it feel a little more homely on the days he has to stay late for one reason or another. He watches you marvel at his space before you set down everything in your hands and relieve yourself of your backpack.

“Good morning!”

“Good morning ____, welcome in,” Yunho smiles. “You’re very punctual.”

“Of course, I meant what I said about being excited,” you tell him honestly, settling into the seat in front of his desk, “The right one is yours, by the way.”

Yunho timidly thanks you before sliding it closer to himself. He’s never had a student do something for him like this, then again he hasn’t been teaching that long to begin with. Regardless, he appreciates it and the gesture goes straight to his heart. He takes a sip to emphasize this.

“I’m all ready when you are,” you proclaim, clasping your hands together.

With that, he begins to look through his folders for your class number and finds the topic idea and outlines you’ve submitted previously. He doesn’t even have to look for your name specifically, you always tend to write his name and your class section in a particular way on the top of your work that is very appealing and oddly unique.

“You have really pretty handwriting,” Yunho murmurs out absentmindedly when he finds it. When he lifts his head to see your intrigued eyes gazing back at him, he clears his throat and adds, “Mine looks like chicken scratch so I’m always fascinated by others.”

“As long as it’s legible, that’s all that matters,” you hum with a smile, “And I can read yours just fine, so you’re fine.”

Yunho’s not sure why that mild compliment, something that should probably be insignificant, steals his words from him for a moment. Instead, he offers a hum in place of thanks while quickly taking another sip of his coffee. He glances at his notes before speaking again.

“Okay, so when I reviewed your work, it seems like you generally have a solid topic,” he begins, “It’s definitely something that can be a bit more concise, but it’s fine. The problem is that you’re trying to incorporate too much into the paper as a whole.”

You nod in understanding, so he takes a sip of coffee and continues.

“That’s good and bad, for a couple of reasons. It’s good that you’re being ambitious and trying to give lots of information. This shows me that you’re planning on doing a lot of research and you’re going to be very knowledgeable about your topic,” Yunho cocks his head, “If you set yourself up like this, though, your paper will end up being over twenty pages easily. And we both don’t want that, right?”

He gives you a knowing look, and you can’t help the candid snort you let out at his frankness, “Definitely not, oh God. I’m so sorry.”

“Precisely. So, let’s work on cutting some of these sections out and conjoining some of these bullet points in others. Sound good?” He holds out his hand with a grin as if to make it a deal, and you grant him a firm shake.

After a considerable amount of time figuring out which parts of your paper to chop without losing the vision, Yunho feels his limbs tighten from sitting too long. He’s been in this chair since 9 AM, so he asks, “Can we take a quick break? I need to stretch a bit.”

“Of course!”

When he stands to full height and stretches his arms, your eyes inconspicuously survey the way the edge of the desk lines up right with his pelvis. Perfect height for extracurricular activities… You wonder if he’s the type of guy to be open to something like that, fucking his lover in his office. Surely this thing is sturdy enough to withstand it, you muse. The thought of him bending you over the desk just to prove how sturdy it is makes you rub your thighs together. You decide to chug the rest of your now-cold coffee to get your brain back on track. Yunho collapses back into his office chair gently and lets you know he’s ready to resume. The rest of the time is spent setting up a list of some things you could tweak when you go home on your own and prepare for him to view in a couple of days.

On Wednesday, for your second meeting, you both convene at his office directly after your class with him in the afternoon. You smell especially good today, a mix of jasmine, vanilla, and something else he can’t put his tongue on… but it’s got Yunho’s head a bit foggy. Still, the meeting is engaging and brimming with useful help just as the last. Leaning back in his chair, he takes a brief moment to review a printout of what you’ve implemented into your outline from your last meeting discussions. It’s definitely already an improvement, but there are still a few things that could be tweaked in terms of sectioning. He grabs his favorite pen and lays your papers out in front of you, leaning forward to mark things you should be mindful of. A circle here, a quick jotted note there—his soothing voice explains each eagerly, and you can tell just how much he loves this subject by his enthusiasm. You reply to all of his criticism and suggestions with just as much enthusiasm. Yunho finds himself leaning in a little closer than might be suitable for the circumstances, but his brain is still ensnared by your perfume. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, truthfully, but it doesn’t bother you a bit. In fact, you’re a little too enamored with watching his large hands grip his pen and flex while writing to notice he’s calling your name.

“____?” he calls for a second time, to which you finally meet his gaze while blinking bashfully. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry, I think I spaced out for a second,” you answer honestly. He is absolutely too close to you right now and the way you can see the details in his eyes is making your brain short-circuit. He finally sits back in his chair and chuckles warmly.

“We have been working for quite a while today, I’m sure it’s a lot of information. Maybe we should wrap up for the day and meet again next week? I’m a bit tied up on Friday,” he ponders. You can’t help the hint of disappointment that makes its way onto your face, and he notices. There’s this unusual feeling in his chest right now; why does he feel regret for his stupid schedule? He leans forward on his elbows and cocks his head, “You’re doing very well, you know that? We’ve made a lot of progress after only a couple of meetings. I’m very excited to see how this comes together at the end of the semester.”

“I’m very self-conscious about my writing, so I appreciate that, Mr. Jeong,” you confess with a sheepish smile.

“You have nothing to be stressed about, I love what I’ve seen so far,” he continues his praise, “And I’m very happy you’re in my class, ____.”

The smile he gives you after such a statement manifests dozens of butterflies in your stomach, and you can’t help but match it. These one-on-one sessions go on 2-3 days a week for about two more weeks, loosening him up to you. He successfully becomes much more casual and unfiltered in your presence before you decide to up the ante. The following Tuesday of the next week, you remain on campus fairly late after classes end for the day, seated on a bench near the parking lot you both share. It’s warm outside even with the sun gradually setting, and you spend the time mentally rehearsing exactly what you planned on saying when he arrives to leave for home. He should be here any minute now–

“_____?”

You spin around at the familiar voice calling out your name. It’s him, of course, coming from the staff meeting you found out was being held this evening. Finally , you think. He stops just short of where you’re perched on the bench.

“Oh, hello Mr. Jeong.”

“What are you doing out here so late?” He inquires quickly, and there’s a tinge of concern laced in his voice. However, he realizes that asking this might be out of the realm of things he should know, you’re a grown woman after all. So, he follows up with an excuse, “It’s getting pretty dark out.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” you mutter, glancing away from his gaze.

Yunho can’t deny, he’s a bit mesmerized by the way you look tonight. He’s never seen you with your make-up done up like this, or your hair styled so charmingly. When you glance back at him again with those long, fluttering lashes of yours, he feels the back of his neck turn hot.

“You can tell me anything, you already know,” he reminds you, “I won’t judge and I’m always available to listen.”

“Well… I have a reservation for dinner with someone at six… but it seems they stood me up,” you reveal while mindlessly fiddling with a frayed string on the skirt of your dress. Yunho glances down at his watch: it’s 5:48 PM. “They were supposed to pick me up a while ago. I was trying to hold out some hope, but… I’m just being stupid.”

Yunho furrows his brows; why would someone stand a girl like you up? You’re beautiful and exceptionally smart (despite any kind of trouble you may have had with your paper). You’re also one of the sweetest people he’s ever crossed paths with in life. Many of those paths having been crossed within the last month, of course. Still, he can’t fathom it.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, ____,” he tells you truthfully. Then, he thinks about how your car isn’t here, and how the shuttle won’t be around until 6:30 PM. He’s slightly apprehensive before offering, “Do you want a ride home?”

You give him a winsome smile that pierces into his heart with an invisible arrow, “You don’t have to do that. I appreciate the offer though.”

“No, really, I don’t mind at all,” he says with more confidence. The idea of him being your knight in shining armor, buried deep in the back of his head, is shouting at him. That’s when you decide it’s time to take your shot, for better or worse.

“Well, in that case, would you like to accompany me to the restaurant instead?” you inquire, glancing up at him curiously. “I already paid for the spot, so I wouldn’t want the reservation to go to waste.”

Normally, you’d follow up a statement like that with a: “But it’s okay if not.”

Not tonight.

You didn’t want to give him an out to this proposal willingly. You can see the mild indecisiveness in his face anyway, all the way down to how Yunho’s hand tightens around the handle of his briefcase. You did get all dolled up for whoever you were supposed to be spending the evening with, and he’ll feel awfully bad letting you go back home to take it all off for no reason. It’s just a dinner, he tells himself.

“Sure,” Yunho finally says in an exhale, “Let me pull around my car.”

While he walks off into the parking lot towards his car, you bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the dishonest smile that’s threatening to spread across your face. Was it all a bald-faced lie? Of course it was! But, sometimes it takes some white lies to get to what you want, and what you wanted was no longer that far out of reach if tonight was anything to go by.

When he finally pulls around to pick you up, you allow yourself to slip into the mode you usually go to on dates. It doesn’t hurt to pretend tonight, it’s like manifesting your reality. You thrum your fingers against your bare thighs, to no particular beat, while staring out of the car window at other passing cars during your brief trip on the highway.

“Is this a restaurant you’ve been to before? It looked really nice online,” Yunho eventually says into the silence, trying to make small talk. He had briefly skimmed the reviews while plugging the address in on his phone.

“I haven’t, actually,” you divulge, going further, “I’m a bit of a foodie, you know? I like to try new places occasionally.”

That conversation flows smoothly for the rest of the drive, and even smoother when you both are seated and eating dinner in a booth towards the back of the restaurant. It’s nice to see him in a more relaxed setting.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Mr. Jeong.” You offer him some well-deserved gratitude as you wipe your mouth, signaling the end of your eating. “Makes things a lot less embarrassing tonight for sure.”

“No need to thank me, I enjoyed your company,” he smiles. He doesn’t even hesitate this time before adding, “That bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

The bubbly laugh and adorable smile you grant him the experience of witnessing enraptures him, the tips of his ears burning at the thought of how he wants to be able to produce that from you again and again. Yunho hasn’t been on a date in a while, so he’s sure this feeling is just because he’s attention-deprived. Still, it’s something he notes mentally. And, even though some might consider it inappropriate, you and your teacher both began having dinner occasionally, just like that. Platonically, of course.

“We can go over my questions for my paper topic here rather than in that cramped office of yours, you know?”

Surprisingly when you proposed this, he showed little resistance to the idea. Yunho enjoyed getting out of the house for the evenings he usually spent alone with a few beers and a Netflix series. He enjoyed having a pretty girl keep him company even more. He reminds himself every time he picks you up, though, that this is simply work and nothing more. Just some overtime—helping a student who enjoyed his class get better at the material. It’s not meant to be enjoyable.

But after the first few times of these “informational paper related” meetings, conversations involving anything to do with linguistics slowly molded into Yunho placing a nimble finger to his lips to say a silent shhh, followed by, “Let’s not talk about schoolwork tonight, okay?”

That moment, when you noticed that slight shift in Yunho’s energy, the atmosphere from there turned more informal. You become more conscious of those important invisible lines between student and teacher— or even more teacher and friend— that have begun to blur significantly. “Good evening Mr. Jeong,” became, “Le’me taste your food, Yunho?”

To which he never declines, naturally.

Tonight, on the 5th dinner, the climate between you both plows further into the downward spiral of informality, warm and fairly flirtatious. At least, that’s what you surmise by the way he keeps openly teasing you this evening. It’s all innocuous banter, but that doesn’t quell the adoration you hold for him in the pit of your stomach. It’s enough to make your thighs clench together underneath the table. You finally decide to shamelessly reciprocate, teasing him about the way his hair is going every which way tonight. You emphasize how the style is still very handsome despite him looking like he’s been through hell and back.

“I was having a pretty bad day today until I remembered where I was going tonight actually,” Yunho divulges, pushing the wrinkly sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He truly has been through hell and back today, between snooty older teachers and idiot freshmen both treating him like he’s a student just because of his age, “These kinds of nights with you always make my day, so it’s been saved.”

A playful smile tugs at your lips as you cock your head, “Is it the food or is it the company?”

He leans forward on his forearms with a prepossessing smile, one that makes your heart thump loudly in your ears.

“Both, of course,” he teases again, “I suppose the food is just a bonus, though.”

He takes notice of the way your cheeks are dusted in pink as you shyly avert your eyes and locks that innocent image into a deep chamber of his mind along with all the others. He practically has a photo album saved mentally. It’s not too long until the food comes, and things become all about eating. A fair amount of time into your dinner, you decide to add a new element to your dynamic.

“Do you mind if I drink a little tonight?” you inquire quietly while your eyes skim the wine menu briefly. Not like you were going to care about his answer, but it was simply fun to ask. He chuckles.

“You’re an adult,” he points out instead. You smile to yourself before meeting his eyes from behind the menu. There’s something especially curious tonight behind those dark irises of his. The unfamiliar stare he gives you from behind his bangs is accompanied by a subtle smirk that makes your stomach tie into tight knots.

You turn away your eyes until you’re able to catch the attention of your waiter once more. In the process of requesting a glass of some Cabernet Sauvignon, you hesitate before saying the name of which brand because of the price tag for one glass, but most risks are pricey and tonight you felt like splurging for the reward in return: releasing your inhibitions. The waiter turns towards Yunho to confirm if he’d like to add anything before he leaves.

“Bring a bottle of that instead, please. We’ll share,” he requests alternatively. It takes all of your strength not to look at him like he’s crazy as the waiter nods and heads off to fetch it.

“It’s on me tonight,” Yunho beats you to the punch on declaring anything about his decisions.

“You don’t even know the price of it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he quips back with a chuckle, “Are you suggesting I can’t afford it?”

“Yunho…”

“Don’t even give me that, ____.”

The way he blithely says your first name with a different warmth now always causes your heart to swell in your chest. All formality is truly gone between you two. You both share matching smiles in place of any further words about the matter.

When the waiter returns briefly with a freshly opened bottle of wine and two glasses, you both offer him words of gratitude before he slips away once more. Yunho wastes no time pouring you both a proper amount, sighing contently when finished. You lift your glass towards him and grin once more, “Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

Yunho surely got his money’s worth, because the bottle is gone between you both quickly, signaling the end of your dinner as well. You don’t feel the few glasses fully set in until Yunho is helping you out of the booth, your legs feeling akin to a newborn baby deer as you bashfully stumble into his arms. You suppose your food wasn’t as carb-heavy as usual tonight. You’re not drunk, but surely you’re not sober either. He doesn’t mind holding you steady on the way out of the restaurant, a guiding hand timidly pressed to the small of your back.

As much as you despise the thought of driving under the influence, it’s pouring an insane amount of rain upon exit of the restaurant and Yunho insists he’s fine enough to drive. The dilemma that arises is how your place is further than he has confidence in making it to in this storm while inebriated. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way he’s driving you home tonight.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he begins, and glances over at you, hoping you understand what he means because he’s not sober enough to come up with the words to ask you otherwise. The pouring water is making it hard for him to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t miss the feigning look of indecision in your eyes. He tries to ignore the way the rain has soaked through your dress enough to make it plaster your body. It accentuates every contour of your figure, from the rounds of your breasts down to your supple thighs. When the boom of thunder somewhere far off fills the silence after his proposal faster than you do, he panics slightly.

“I can get you an Uber if—”

“You already paid for an expensive bottle tonight, don’t waste more money on an Uber,” you grasp onto his arm fondly, sopping breasts squished into his bicep. Your lips curl into a soft smile at his attempt at chivalry though, “I’ll be fine. Let’s hurry though, okay? I’m cold.”

That statement is followed by a sharp shiver running down your back, and that’s enough for him to drag you along with him to his car with quick, but careful, steps.

Surprisingly, Yunho lives in a townhouse. You’re very thankful not to have to walk up the stairs of a condo. He thanks God there’s an empty parking space in front of his house, he hates when the tiny lot fills up before he gets home. You both prepare yourselves before rushing out of the car and to his front door.

Your hazy eyes train themselves on his pretty, slender fingers fiddling with the doorknob before he finally gets it open. Those same fingers grab your hand and pull you through his front door with him mindlessly. Another chill immediately runs down your spine at the cool AC blasting through his home, which he immediately runs off to turn down.

“Both bedrooms have bathrooms with showers,” Yunho sputters while quickly heading off to find you a towel and some spare clothes for which you could sleep in.

While you’re still peeling your drenched shoes and socks off, he settles on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants since it’s still a bit chilly in the house. You try not to track too much water through his home while you journey through his living room and meet him halfway.

“I’ll shower in the guest room,” you tell him, taking the items.

He runs an anxious hand through the wet hair sticking to his forehead, “I can also dry your clothes if you leave them on the bed.”

“Fuck, that’s great,” you sigh with a smile, stepping past him but cocking your head back to add, “Wait about five minutes before you come grab them, I should be in the shower by then.”

Just as you requested, Yunho comes into the room a little over five minutes later when he hears the shower running. His eyes confirm that the bathroom door is closed for your privacy before grabbing your wet clothes and retreating to his laundry room down the hall. He chucks them all in his dryer and runs it on medium heat and maximum dryness. While that’s running, he busies himself with running to his bedroom and speedrunning his shower to ensure he’s out before you. He’s a man on a mission, pulling on clothes and towel-drying his hair before rushing to the laundry room to get your clothes.

Yunho pulls your garments from the dryer one by one, making sure there’s nothing left wet. He stops when he pulls something out that catches his eyes. Your underwear. He’s quite enticed by them, even if they were pastel pink with turtles... Hot, he thinks sarcastically. Yunho eyes the crotch curiously and remembers that technically he didn’t wash your clothes at all. It’s been a while since he’s had a girl over his home and that, on top of the thought of even holding your underwear, is taking a small toll on him. He gives in and puts them to his nose, breathing in deeply.

Oh God … Even after they've been soaked in rain, your scent is still heavy on the fabric. He groans, why did you have to smell so fucking good? He remembers that you are quite literally right down the hall while he's here sniffing your underwear like a pervert. It’s your fault, right? Yeah, it’s your fault for trusting him with such a sensitive piece of clothing by himself. It’s your fault for smelling so good and looking so pretty and—

He gives up on rationalizing it and presses the clothing fully onto his face again, inhaling heavily and feeling himself grow harder and harder by the second. His arousal grows worse and worse, precum dampening his underwear with every deep inhale and fluttering thought of what you probably taste like… He finds his hand mindlessly palming himself, and luckily his groans are muffled by the underwear bunched up in his face. That’s when he hears the water shut off.

Yunho whispers a handful of obscenities as he hurries to the room to place your dried clothes on the bed while you’re still in the bathroom, closing the door behind him softly. He’s long gone by the time you step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

Normally, you’d stay in the shower until your fingertips are pruney, but you suppose being a good guest includes not using up all of his hot water. There were more pressing things to attend to anyway, like the tall attractive man patiently awaiting your presence outside of this room. So, when you tug on your now dry panties and his previously provided clothing, you quickly make your way out of the room and to the living room. You’re not exactly sure what you expected upon seeing him, but he’s indeed still exceptionally handsome freshly out of the shower. Those same curious eyes gaze at you behind his shaggy bangs, still in the process of drying. Clad in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, his biceps and strong thighs are fully on display as he lounges on the couch. The way his long legs are man-spread now that he’s comfortable in his own abode makes you swallow a little harder than usual. Still, you meander over and sit on the other side of the couch, not too far away.

“Your place is very nice,” you state absentmindedly, glancing around at the walls of his home. “Very fit for a bachelor.”

Without you noticing, Yunho’s eyes skillfully study the way you’re so casually in his clothing. You’re too busy glancing around at unnecessary things anyway; he wonders if you’re rambling about his decor because you’re nervous. He’s nervous too, but not for the right reasons. Regardless, seeing you in his clothing is taking an additional toll on his mental health. How did you both end up in this situation together… This is wrong, he thinks. He shakes his head to try and clear those corrupted thoughts from his mind. It isn’t until you realize he hasn’t replied to anything in a couple of minutes of you jabbering that you finally peer over at him. His eyes are trained on the short distance between the both of you, mindlessly chewing on the nail of his thumb.

“You okay?” you ask, finally catching his attention.

He nods hastily, “Definitely. Sorry, it’s been a long day. Mind is on empty.”

“You’re fine, no worries.”

It’s uncomfortably quiet for a moment as you both exchange stares. You’re seconds away from breaking the silence before Yunho steals the chance.

“I’m sure you’re tired, so we can head to bed,” he suddenly exhales, hands clasping his thighs, “The guest room is all yours for as long as you need it.”

You take the chance and lean forward toward him on your palms at this statement, slightly sinking into the couch while you gaze at him, “Is that what you really want, Yunho?”

There’s now an even longer moment of silence where you both stare each other in the eyes again and the room is unbearably quiet. Yunho finally breaks it after his Adam’s apple bobs uneasily.

“Of course,” he awkwardly chuckles with furrowed brows, “What do you mean, ____?”

Your heart deflates. For a second, you wonder if maybe you’ve been reading his body language incorrectly the entire night. There’s a flare of embarrassment that ignites on your cheeks as you immediately retract yourself.

“I suck at making jokes,” you match his chuckle nervously, “Don’t mind me.” He cocks his head at you curiously and you stand to your feet before he can catch the way your face is lighting on fire with every passing second. You avoid looking at him as you begin striding back to the guest room, “Goodnight Yunho, see you in the morning!”

Yunho is left alone to his own devices once he hears the sound of the door to the guest room closing down the hall. Sitting alone on a large bed in your teacher’s home feels surreal, and all too disappointing the same. You press your palms to your eyes to try and settle the embarrassment that keeps washing over you every time you think back to your impromptu attempt at making an advance toward him. God this fucking sucks…

After a few minutes of setting up some alarms on your phone for the next morning, you decide you need to go get some water and wash away tonight from your mind forever. Yunho Jeong doesn’t like you more than a friend, it’s time to accept your fate and that you failed at attracting him. To be fair, it all was a shot in the dark to begin with. You try not to be too hard on yourself and hope that he’s already in his room by now.

But, if that’s all truly the case, then why is Yunho standing in front of the guest room door when you open it? His arm is positioned as if he was about to knock. Yunho had been standing there for quite some minutes, debating his next actions in his head, overthinking as usual. Though, could it be considered overthinking if the consequences of his actions could lead to delinquency? Had you not opened the door to go get water, albeit unknowingly, he probably would’ve psyched himself out.

“Oh– Did you need something?” you mumble and look up inquisitively at him. His mouth lingers open for a few seconds before he learns how to speak again.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course.” You can’t help the hint of confusion gracing your face as you step aside and allow him inside the room, “Is everything okay?”

When you close the door and face him, he looks distraught. Everything was indeed not okay.

“Are you still drunk?” He asks first.

“I don’t really think I was ever drunk,” you tell him, “But no.”

“Neither am I.”

At first, it doesn’t click about why he’s confirming this. You also don’t notice the way he gradually takes tentative steps forward—or the way you’re equally taking steps back—until your back hits the bedroom door. He’s so close that you can smell the minty mouthwash still fresh on his breath unfurling over your face. Still, he looks hesitant about his actions.

“I’m sorry, I was just… nervous before,” he swallows. He watches your face shift from confusion to realization; he’s referring to his response when you shot your shot. You relax against the door.

“About?” Is all you can ask in a soft voice, left hand daringly reaching up and cupping his cheek.

“About drunken words,” he continues, his voice just above a whisper. You can see the stutter of his heart against his chest. “And my feelings.”

Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, “What are you feeling, Yunho?”

In a moment of fleeting courage, he gently grabs your right hand and leads it to settle below his groin, pressing it against him a bit for good measure.

“What does it feel like I’m feeling to you?”

Your cheeks heat up at the feeling of him in your palm; you didn’t expect him to be so forward about it out of nowhere. The overall anticipation of the situation is killing you, even though everything feels like it’s moving too slowly and too fast all at the same time. All of your effort was leading to this point and yet, somehow, you still don’t feel nearly as prepared as you thought you were to finally fuck him, to finally fuck your teacher. That doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around nothing at all at his words alone, because this is definitely what you’ve wanted so badly for weeks.

You try to swallow even though your throat feels parched, mindlessly whispering, “Oh my God…”

Then, you give him an experimental squeeze which has his eyelids fluttering closed, and a deep grunt leaving his flared nostrils.

“Fuck …” he groans. It’s too natural, the way you subconsciously run your hand up and down the bulge, feeling it harden even further. Yunho is at his wit's end. “I need you to tell me exactly what you want ____,” he reminds you.

You get it, he’s covering his bases because of his relation to you outside of this bedroom. Consent is sexy regardless, so you grant that to him.

“I really, really want you to fuck me Yunho,” you purr as your hands creep up his chest until you can wrap your arms around his neck, “And I think you want the same, right?”

Yunho’s hands sneak under the t-shirt on you and he massages the flesh of your sides, fingertips ghosting up your skin until they reach your breasts. His thumbs brushing against your hard nipples involuntarily make you whimper his name, and this is all Yunho needs to hear to proceed without such caution. The moment he leans down and smashes his lips to yours, time stops.

It’s nasty, the way your tongues are dragging against each other, spreading trails of saliva everywhere.

It’s nasty, the way he can’t help but drag that same tongue down your neck, sullying your freshly washed skin with spit.

It’s even nastier, the way he moans out your name, shamelessly grinding his clothed boner into your crotch, searching for friction because he’s touch-starved.

“A-Ah—wait! Bed, please,” you let out a broken moan at the way he sucks and bites on your neck. Yunho grunts in agreement, spinning you around and forcefully guiding you back until you both reach the bed. You can’t help but giggle when you fall back on the mattress— he’s so hungry for it, for you. And you’re more than ready to give it to him.

“Can I take them off?” He still asks like a gentleman, though his fingers are impatiently already tugging at the bottom of your sweatpants. You nod with fervor.

The moment he tosses them away, the situation begins to feel a bit more real to you both. Maybe it’s because you’re sopping wet and semi-exposed, and he’s not, so you become bashful and self-conscious.

“Take yours off too?”

Yunho doesn’t hesitate to oblige you. He peels off his shirt and shoves his shorts away easily. There’s a brief second where he hesitates before also pulling his boxer briefs down and finally fully exposing himself to you in all his nude glory. Yunho hasn’t slept with a woman in a while, but he’s never had complaints about anything, and especially not his size. He can tell by how your eyes are drinking him in, that you won’t have any either.

“You’re so handsome, you know that?” you murmur, eyes hazy as they rake over him from his broad chest to his defined abs, then his defined hips to his heavy cock. There’s a cute hue of pink dusting his cheeks at the compliment.

Yunho doesn’t give you a chance to stare at him very much longer before he’s finally ridding you of your shirt, lips meeting yours again the moment it’s tossed. It’s not long before that naughty mouth of his indulges in your breasts, licking and sucking on your hardened nipples like they’re the only thing that will keep him grounded to earth. You’re a moaning mess underneath of him, hands carding through his tresses and lips struggling with telling him how much you love his mouth. He could suck on your beautiful breasts all day but there are more pressing matters at this time.

His eyes never leave yours as he kisses all the way down the expanse of your stomach to the waistband of your panties. Only then does he close his eyes to bury his face in your clothed cunt and take a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're about to burst. He’s so content that now he can do it knowing the real thing is right underneath. It gets him hard all the same as the laundry room. You watch him grind himself into the mattress for some relief just at the smell of you.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” he divulges, pressing heated kisses into the skin of your sensitive thighs.

“What, eating pussy?” you tease to ease his nerves. He stares pointedly at you from behind your mound.

“You know what I mean.”

Your hand reaches down to find a comforting purchase in his hair, “Neither have I, Yu.”

Yunho can feel himself falling apart faster and faster, and the nickname is not helping him keep it together at all. He hooks his fingers in your panties and gently tugs them down your legs, joining the rest of the discarded clothing on the floor. Your cheeks tingle with heat when his hands spread your legs wider, eyes seemingly mesmerized.

“Such a pretty pussy…” he whispers, marveling at the way your sticky lips tremble when you clench around nothing.

He solves that by pushing in two of those pretty fingers of his, all the way down to the last knuckles. The desperate moan that flies from your lips sends him into a depraved headspace. He immediately latches his mouth onto your throbbing clit and sets to work, thrusting into your squelching squeezing heat and sucking to his heart’s content. Yunho loves eating pussy, truly. There’s something truly cathartic to him about holding a woman’s legs down while she twitches and grinds against his face as he’s slurping up every bit of essence that seeps from her greedy hole. He even removes his fingers and opts for lapping at your heat like a starved man instead. Up and down, left and right… His tongue leaves no inch of your heat untouched. He loves the feeling of your slick coating his face when he pushes his tongue as deep as he can into your hole. He feels your hands yank him by his hair before he can even get to the fun part. He gazes up at you in confusion, mouth messy and eyes indubitably pussy-drunk.

“Please,” you beg, chest heaving, “I want you inside.”

Yunho licks his lips clean before crawling back up your body to fulfill your request. You’re right honestly, there’s only so much grinding he can do into the mattress to ease the ache of his hard cock. He leans over to grab a condom from the nightstand but you pull him back over, mumbling about how you’re on the pill and that it’s fine.

He’s so big, the way he’s engulfing your whole body with you caged between his arms like this. Gazing into your eyes, he drags the blunt tip of his cock back and forth through your dripping folds, occasionally pressing it hard against that clit that he’s taken such a liking to sucking on.

“Hey,” you mumble against his lips, catching the full attention of his blown-out irises. “I can tell you’re nervous. Just relax and lose control, for me. Okay?”

Yunho’s last rope of restraint snaps.

The moment you feel his tip finally breach your entrance, you squeeze your eyes shut and mewl at the feeling of his thick cock sliding into its rightful place. Yes, obviously he’s meant just for your cunt, because you fit like a glove when you're swallowing him in so badly the deeper he pushes. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, despite your squirming and twitching underneath him at the feeling of being so full.

“I’m about to move,” he pants, adjusting to the feeling of your warm walls squeezing his cock, “Holy fuck.”

When you nod, he finally lets go of his inhibitions. He begins to roll his hips at a nice steady pace, large hands clasped to the backs of your thighs as he pushes them towards your torso. His mouth hangs open in ecstasy and his eyelids lower lazily at the way your walls suck in his cock so tightly and squeeze it like they’re begging to be filled to the brim. You reach up and latch onto his arms to ground yourself, head dizzy and overwhelmed at the feeling of him starting to snap his hips just a little faster now that you’re stretched out a bit more to accommodate him.

“Yunho, fuck, you’re so big,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. Yunho grinds his pelvis into you at this remark, rubbing against your clit with his happy trail.

“And you’re taking me so well,” Yunho praises with a lopsided grin, “Feels good?”

“So fucking good.”

Yunho pushes your legs back even further as he leans in to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss. You’re so pretty with those glassy eyes and those flushed cheeks of yours, but there’s something about that that quivering bottom lip that makes him want to suck every sound from you himself. He finds himself bucking faster and faster, unable to maintain any kind of self-control.

He breaks away to catch his breath, eyes lazy as he groans, “Let me hear you. This is what you wanted, yeah?”

“Mhm, yes, yes,” you whine desperately, “I wanted it so bad. Wanted you so bad.”

You grant him a flurry of shameless bitten-off moans, egging him on further and further. Yunho buries his face into the crook of your neck, making your skin damp between his own warm gasps and grunting obscenities. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this aroused before; yes, he’s so painfully hard at the fleeting thoughts of how inappropriate everything is. He’s your linguistics teacher—he’s not supposed to be teaching your cunt how to mold to the shape of his cock. He’s not supposed to be massaging your clit and babbling nonsense about how he’s going to lick your pussy clean when you cum. How can he say that to a student? However, his eyes roll back at that thought.

“I’m going crazy,” he groans into your skin, mindlessly speaking his thoughts aloud. “I’m so close.”

You’d say the same if you could, but your mouth can’t form proper words with the way his long fingers are rubbing quick messy circles around your clit. Instead, you put your mouth on the shell of his ear and say his name in a filthy mewl. Your legs tense up and your toes curl; Yunho can feel you cum around his cock a beat later, encouraging your convulsing and whimpering. He can only manage to give you a few more rough thrusts before he pulls himself out and allows himself to empty his balls in quick spurts all over your torso, a mix of “fuck” and “____” leaking from his mouth at how filthy the action is, dirtying you like this. He’s a man of his word though, quickly hefting himself back down to your sopping cunt and diving face first to taste everything he missed tasting earlier. The groan of pure bliss he lets out into your sensitive cunt has you squirming away, much to his dismay. But he finds himself chuckling anyway—he got to taste your cum and, even if it was for only a few seconds, he’s satisfied.

Cleaning up and cuddling after is far from awkward, Yunho feels comfortable with his arms wrapped around you and head on your chest. You find yourself mindlessly scratching his scalp and playing with his messy hair, while his large hands massage the muscles of your thighs. It’s immensely intimate, and this scares Yunho deep inside. Unbeknownst to his stress, you’re settling into a mental state of bliss; you can’t wait to see where this night leads you after, even if it might be a little awkward back in the classroom at first. He tries not to dwell on such thoughts for too long, eventually falling asleep under your touch.

Yunho wakes up to a cold, empty bed. Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand, he catches some time he can’t be bothered with reading fully, nine-something-in-the-morning. He groans internally at the bittersweet arrival of the morning. After a few seconds of just lying there, bleary eyes staring at anything and everything, he remembers that he’s not supposed to be alone right now. The grimace that crosses his face is heavy.

He lugs himself up and out of bed to find his phone, which he’s left God knows where. After a bit of searching, he’s even more upset to see a lack of text from you about leaving. Leaving with no word after sex… Yunho has been in this position before and it makes him feel like shit. It feels even worse considering that this is not just some random woman, you are his student. He’s a chronic overthinker, he knows he is. Yet, he can’t stop his mind from filling with a plethora of miserable thoughts about what this could mean.

Did you simply want to fuck him and nothing more?

Did you regret sleeping with him and want to leave without confrontation?

Did you sleep with him to then leave and tell someone, maybe to humiliate him?

All of these thoughts scream at Yunho until he finds himself clenching his jaw, and tears are pricking at his eyes. He hates this feeling every time it happens; it makes him feel like he’s not good enough. In a moment of brief irrationality, Yunho debates if he should outright block you.

He’s impulsive like that when he’s worked up. However, after a few minutes of begging himself to calm down, he tossed his phone away and went on to make a cup of tea to ease his agitation. He knew this was a mistake from the start and he still did it.

He doesn’t get a text from you until after 11 AM.

[Y/N: sorry for leaving without saying anything!! I forgot I had prior commitments this morning, didn’t wanna text you until I was sure you’d be up. hope you slept well :)]

Yunho doesn’t know what to think. Prior commitments? Surely this would’ve been something you would’ve mentioned before he drove you to his home last night. It is Saturday though, so it’s plausible. He opens the message and leaves you on read instead.

Earlier this morning, you were certain Yunho must have completely tired himself out after sleeping with you because he failed to wake up when your alarms went off. You make a mental note that it only takes him cumming once to make him go comatose (and maybe a little wine to boot). You had left his place with no ill intentions, and your message was truthful. So, when you get left on read by him, it ignites a small flame of insecurity in you. You’re never one to double-text a man, but considering this is something you put a great amount of effort into getting to happen, you put your pride aside when you don't get a reply by the next day.

[Y/N: Wondering if you want to try a new restaurant after work tomorrow… Let me know if you’re interested!]

To your surprise, Yunho replies that he’s too busy. He doesn’t offer to reschedule for a better day, which isn’t like him. Instead of taking it too seriously and replying something disheartened, you let him know that you understand and to let you know if anything changes. He opens this message and doesn’t reply. You try again on Tuesday. This time, your inquiry is more succinct, no fluff.

[Y/N: Are you free Wednesday?]

He answers this similarly to the last attempt, maintaining that he’s too busy to see you that day as well. However, this text is more curt than the last. When you cave in and ask him which days he’s not busy, he leaves you on read, again.

[Y/N: Do you have a free moment to talk then?]

Yunho doesn’t open this text altogether, and the disgruntlement this stirs within you lingers in your system all day, even when you decide to go out with your friends to clear your mind.

Throughout his class with you the following day, you endure Yunho’s eyes practically boring into you at various points in time. It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched, nagging at your scalp while you keep your head downcast towards your laptop. Thoroughly, as distractions do, it keeps you on edge and unfocused throughout the whole lecture. It doesn’t help that Yeosang is out today, so you feel alone even surrounded by so many people.

At some point, during a quiet moment of everyone completing an individual assignment he had handed out, you glance up over the screen of your laptop and catch his attentive eyes gazing back. He gnaws on the nail of this thumb as he usually does when his brain is on overdrive, his eyes calmly lingering on the fixation of all his thoughts. Eventually, he turns them away and decides to focus on something else irrelevant involving his phone. Anything to take you off of his mind.

You quietly snicker to yourself and roll your eyes. So, he can play on his phone just fine during class but can’t find the time to text you and talk? Men will be men… If he just wanted to sleep with you and leave at that, he could at least tell you, you brood. You try not to let it get to you, but it’s hard to focus on anything for the last half hour of class. You don’t bother sticking around after and instead, preoccupy yourself by striking up a conversation with another acquaintance on the way out of the doors. Yunho notices the way you act like he doesn’t exist while leaving and it makes him a bit bitter. He knows it’s irrational, but you’ve really done a number on him, so he can’t help it.

On Thursday, you’re sick of the games altogether. Being the super sleuth you were at the beginning of this mess, you knew when Yunho typically went to his office in between classes to get grading done that he couldn’t do throughout the day. So, when you finish your mathematics class, you pack up your things quickly, knowing he should be roaming this same hall in very little time. There’s one thing–or person, you suppose–that you didn’t account for in this plan.

“You’re terrible at covering hickeys, you know,” Hongjoong chides, eyeing your messy job at applying makeup to your neck.

To be fair to yourself, you hadn’t realized Yunho had sucked one onto your skin the night you both slept together, and the dark blotch was too annoying to deal with every single day. You bruise too easily and they don’t go away fast enough. Admittedly, you had slacked off on the cover-up today. You chalk it up to secretly being in Fight Club, which you remind him, the number rule is to never talk about Fight Club! That, of course, was not a good enough reason for Hongjoong, and you regret that you didn’t acknowledge beforehand he would surely grill you endlessly about your recreational pastimes.

“Okay seriously, I just wore my choker too tight yesterday and it pinched my neck, that's all,” you explain as he quickly follows you out of the classroom. He squints at you with skeptical eyes, as if he is not believing any of the piping hot shit you’re serving him on a platter. Phase two was to gaze at him with winsome eyes, ones he was definitely familiar with. They always worked on Yeosang, but Hongjoong was harder to subdue.

“Don’t.”

“Joong, I’m telling you, there’s nothing more for me to answer here.”

You employ a small pout to boot.

“And you think I believe that?”

“I think you should believe it.”

He rolls his eyes in annoyance. Meanwhile, your eyes inconspicuously search for Yunho in the sea of classmates flooding the hallway; there was a very important conversation you had hyped yourself up to finally have with him. One that surely would not be done if it didn’t get done today, at this very moment. That would obviously fail to happen if Hongjoong kept pestering you with his concerns. Suddenly, your eyes spot the tail end of Yunho’s styled hair turning the corner and leaving the hallway. Goddammit!

“Joong, I really gotta go,” you say frantically and secure your backpack onto your back. His lips open slightly in puzzlement, but there’s nothing he can say before you’re already shoving people out of the way to make it through the hallway to follow him to his office.

You take the stairs while he takes the elevator to waste some time; hopefully, he'll be set up and comfortable by the time you get to his floor. When you make it to his office, he’s indeed already seated and filtering through sheets of work from students during the last class. You don’t bother knocking before entering; he hadn’t afforded you the comfort of manners lately, so neither would you.

Honestly, had anyone else burst into his office so unannounced like this, he might've cussed them out by accident. But before he can get any words out, you can see the physical shift from annoyance to puzzlement wash over his face as he realizes it’s you, then, genuine dread graces his face before downcasting his gaze.

“I need to talk to you,” you insist, “Now.”

He’s having a hard time even meeting your eyes when you’re speaking and it’s pissing you off tremendously.

“I’m a bit busy right now,” he sighs, now in the process of looking through his desk for a pen that works. “It’ll have to wait for another time.”

You ignore him entirely, “Why are you avoiding me, Yunho?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Yunho quickly objects. “I’m just–”

“You’ve blown me off twice this week already,” you counter. “Now I can’t even come see you at your office?”

Yunho puts his head in his hands and tries to collect his thoughts. He’s too sensitive to handle this conversation with no preparation beforehand. Then again, the longer he keeps isolating, the longer he’s going to keep feeling like shit. He can hear the undertone of hurt in your words, but he’s only doing what’s best for you, right?

“The least you could do is give me a real reason,” you continue. He finally lifts his head and meets your frustrated eyes. “Just give me a real reason to and I’ll fuck-off all you want.”

“____, that night was a mistake,” he tells you simply. The look in his eyes says otherwise. You know he’s lying but it still feels like a punch in the gut.

“A mistake?”

“It’s something that shouldn’t have happened, and it was inappropriate of me to do that with you. Let’s just forget about it and move on, please.”

You furrow your brows in agitation, “You really feel that way?”

“I do,” he murmurs, eyes falling back to the papers in front of him. He visibly hesitates for the briefest moment before picking up his pen and resuming his grading. This feeling of rejection hurts a little more than usual. Why do you feel like a failure? Why do you feel like a fuck-up? Maybe it’s because of the effort you put into this man, unlike many others. You stand there in his doorway uncomfortably silent until you find it in yourself to offer some final words.

“We’re both adults, Yunho,” you remind him in a voice that airs on the more serious side of yourself. He’s never heard you sound such a way with him. “No one has to know what two grown adults do in their free time. And you don’t owe anyone any explanations.”

When he doesn’t look up from his paperwork anymore, you finally leave and gently close the door behind you.

Nearly a week after that day, your phone begins to ring while you’re out at a bar with friends. Yeosang’s nosy eyes catch the name on the screen and he gives you an incredulous look. His name still has a heart beside it and you haven’t updated him on anything regarding Yunho since telling him that you both were texting each other outside of class.

“What is he doing calling you at 9 PM, miss?” he teases as you move your phone to your lap, “Booty call?”

“Would you like to ask him yourself?” you snort.

“Boo, why can I never know anything–”

“Oh but when I mention the obvious hickey, I’m imagining things, huh?” Hongjoong interjects with narrowed eyes when he overhears you both bickering. “Who’s the mystery man?”

“It’s nobody,” both you and Yeosang say in unison.

Hongjoong quirks a brow at how you both are gazing at him with matching smiles, suspiciously. He lets it go quickly and instead butts into Mingi and his girlfriend’s conversation. By the time you glance at your phone, Yunho’s call has already gone fully unanswered. Subsequently, you chose not to return the call later when you’re done and home. You didn’t necessarily want to talk to someone who called such an intimate moment with you a mistake. And especially not intoxicated. If he wants to talk to me that bad, he’d just send whatever he needs to say in a text, you tell yourself. But, of course, those texts don’t come. Yunho doesn’t know how to express himself like that over message. However, after getting wasted, it takes everything within you not to text him first in a fit of overwhelming horniness. What’s the worst that could come from letting him know that you’re craving the feeling of that thick cock of his splitting you open, or how maybe this time you should test out your gag reflex? Yeosang knows you well enough to take your phone from you after a certain amount of shots, so you don’t get that opportunity anyway. God bless your best friend.

A couple of days later, you still find yourself unable to let things go. How can you when Yeosang brings it up any time you speak alone? For someone so sure you were making a huge mistake, he sure is desperate for the tea. It’s like he’s your frontline cheerleader (which he usually is anyway). If he found out you both fucked, surely he’d lose his mind.

“You can’t keep me in the dark, I’m still dying to know how much progress you’re making with Mr. Jeong after seeing him call you that night,” Yeosang pleads, “Have you both met up in private off of campus yet?”

“That’s classified info,” you state and try to stifle your subsequent laughter when you hear him grumble. You still hadn’t found it within yourself yet to tell him that your plan had failed. “You’ll know by if I pass this class or not.”

“Just a little hint, please? I’m on my knees.”

“Progress is being made, Yeo,” you disclose in a sing-song voice. Surely a little white lie wouldn’t hurt in the meantime, “He’s a very good conversationalist, you know. With that deep voice of his, and especially late at night.”

Yeosang groans in annoyance, “You’re killing me ____, I’m too curious! You didn’t entertain a single man at the bar, something juicy has to be happening.”

You debate on at least telling him about the extra study sessions you and Yunho had been having before things were soiled, the innocent stuff that he could gush and tease you over. But, just as you’re about to say something, he cuts you off unknowingly.

“Shit, Mingi’s calling. Le’me call you back,” Yeosang groans, and you offer a hum of affirmation before the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best that you had been interrupted before you put your foot in your mouth.

You quickly fill the silence by shuffling one of your ‘Doing Chores’ playlists and focusing your mind on cooking the remainder of your dinner. A couple of minutes later, the chime of your phone interrupts your music. You continue to focus on stirring while your other hand carelessly presses the answer option.

“That was quick,” you giggle.

“Felt like forever to me,” a familiar, deep voice replies. You freeze and glance over to see Yunho’s name on the screen of your phone in place of your best friend’s.

Fuck.

“Good evening, Mr. Jeong,” you reply instead. “I thought you were someone else, my apologies.”

“Have we really already reverted back to the formalities?” he sighs and his voice already sounds a bit defeated.

You roll your eyes, “I’m a bit preoccupied right now. So unless you’d like to discuss my class work, I don’t have time to entertain this.”

“Just give me five minutes, please.”

You turn off the stove and snatch up your phone before ambling to your bedroom.

“Spit it out already, Yunho.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you ____,” he admits.

Hearing you say his first name makes him feel a smidge better, even if it’s in irritation. He wonders if you can feel his heart pounding through the speaker or the way it makes his fingers tremble while holding the phone. “I was just scared, you have to understand that at least. I told you I’ve never done that kind of thing before, ever.”

“Thought it was a mistake–”

“I only said that because you left without saying anything. I thought you regretted it!”

“I literally told you why I did that, you decided to not believe me apparently,” you counter, voice laced with the slightest bit of frustration as you sit on your bed. Then you add in a mutter, “Instead of talking with me like an adult.”

There’s a long moment of silence. He doesn’t hang up though, so neither do you. You stare at the timer under his name, continuing to count up seconds full of emptiness.

“I’m really sorry,” Yunho finally sighs. “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. I was just scared.” You remain silent and it eats at his confidence slowly. He’s desperate and doesn’t really care if it shows at this point, so he goes on to fill the silence again, “You were right, we’re adults. It’s not anybody else’s business what happens outside of campus. That’s why I’m trying to fix things now. Please.”

You sigh heavily while stroking your temples. This conversation is not something you had prepared yourself for, but the desperation in his voice is hitting you right in the gut. You know he’s being sincere, but it’s just hard to make yourself that vulnerable as well. You both know the truth is that it’s not okay, none of this is. It’s all extremely inappropriate. What you are doing with each other could ruin both of your lives if found out before you graduate. It’s risky; and yet, you still find yourself saying a sentence you definitely shouldn’t be saying:

“Listen, I genuinely like you Yunho.”

“And I genuinely like you too, ____. So let me take you on a proper date,” he says a little too hastily, but he can’t stop himself from the excitement that bubbles inside of him, stemming solely from you even reciprocating his feelings, “And not just a dinner like usual, I mean something thoughtful.”

“Something thoughtful…” you repeat after him, accidentally punctuating it with a giggle at how foolish the whole situation seems. “Are you serious about that?”

“Absolutely,” he assures you, “Only if you want to, of course.”

You sigh and smile to yourself at how heartfelt he sounds. Sure, there are millions of ways this could go extremely wrong, but you decide to ignore those thoughts and take him up on his offer. If you were one to listen to the better part of your judgment, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into this situation in the first place. It would be a shame to let that work you put in go to waste just because of a little hiccup in the road. Besides, Yunho was surely the best fuck you had received in quite some time. There was plenty of time through the rest of the semester to explore that side of him again as well. The conversation ends with you both agreeing to meet with each other in a few days, Yunho promising to make it enjoyable even though it’ll be discrete.

♡ taglist for those who replied to my interest post: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr

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joelmillerisapunk · 2 months

Text

unbelievable

mechanic!Joel x f!reader

masterlist

wordcount: 4,489

summary: the 'It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?' Trope

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, lots of fingering, there's a joint, lots of 'sweetheart', some aftercare but like a bit different (I don't wanna spoil it) mentions of anxiety (bc I'm an anxious bltch and this would happen to me) fluffy smut?

notes: hiii 🥰 I hope you like mechanicJoel because I fell in love with him so fast, he has no right being so hot 🙃 The title is unbelievable by diamond rio, it felt pretty accurate to my inner Joel dialogue. a big thank you to @saradika-graphics & @firefly-graphics for the dividers (graphic designers deserve the world honestly)

You've always had a thing for rugged men, and Joel Miller is the epitome of a handsome, rough-around-the-edges mechanic. His strong hands, grease-stained clothes, and confident demeanor make your heart race every time you see him, which has been a lot recently since your old car has been having its fair share of problems.

It's a hot summer day, and you decide to visit the garage where Joel works, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. As you walk in, the smell of oil and gasoline fills your nostrils, making you feel a little lightheaded. But then, you see him. He's hunched over a car engine, his muscular arms covered in sweat and grime. Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him.

You approach Joel, trying to act cool and collected, even though your insides are turning to jelly. "Hey, Joel," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was wondering if you could help me with my car again. It's been making a weird noise, and I don't know what to do."

Joel looks up at you, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease on his face. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he says with an almost knowing grin. You've been coming to see him every couple of weeks for the past few months. "Let me take a look for you, darlin."

As Joel inspects your car, you can't help but steal glances at his muscular physique. You imagine what it would be like to run your hands over his firm chest and his stomach, to feel his stubble scratch against your skin as he kisses you. The thought makes you wet, and you squirm, trying to hide your arousal.

But Joel notices. He looks up at you, his gaze intense and seductive. "You seem a little flustered, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "Is there something on your mind?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your nerves. The heat in the garage is making you feel more and more flustered, and the idea of Joel noticing your arousal only adds to your embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, I guess so," you manage to reply.

Joel's eyes rake over your body, taking in the way your shirt clings to your body and the way your nipples are hardening under the hot conditions. "I can tell you've been coming to see me for a while now. It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?"

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammer, trying to deny the truth even to yourself.

But Joel isn't backing down. He steps closer to you, his body towering over yours. "I can help you with your car, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low growl. "But if you're looking for something else, something a little more personal, I can do that too."

Your mind is racing as you try to figure out what to do. On one hand, you've always had a thing for rough-and-tumble men like Joel, and the idea of being with him is almost too much to bear. On the other hand, you're not sure if you're ready for something like that with someone you're not even dating. As you stand there, frozen in indecision, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to decide right now. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Joel continues working on your car, he takes his time, making sure to do everything a little slower. He runs his hand over the engine, and with every turn of the wrench and every adjustment of parts, you can't help but feel your heart race, your skin tingle, and your body heat up. He's wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug his thighs, and every time he bends over the car, you catch a glimpse of the outline of his bulge. You wonder what it would feel like to touch him there, to feel him hard and ready against your skin. Your mind races with fantasies of him taking you, claiming you, making you his in ways that go far beyond the mechanical fixings of a car.

Joel takes a bit of a break from your car, and you think he's about to tell you what was wrong with it. "You know, sweetheart, I could fix more than just your car," he repeats himself again, " I could fix all your problems, make you feel good in ways you've never felt before."

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "What do you mean?"

Joel grins, a knowing look in his eyes. "I mean, I could show you the kind of fixings that only a man like me can provide," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Make you mine, take you right here. I promise you, it's something you'd never forget.”

“Oh, uh I, uhm I need to -” You pause, looking at your phone, “I have a thing soon. So I should uh go when you're done.” You can barely keep yourself together as you fumble through your sentence.

Joel smirks, "Of course, sweetheart," he says, his voice reassuring. "When you're ready, I'll be here.”

As you exit the garage, you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through your veins. Joel's words have left you feeling both turned on and terrified at the same time.

You spend the next few hours trying to shake off the encounter, but your mind keeps wandering back to Joel's words and the way his body made you feel. You can't stop thinking about the way his muscles bulged under his tight jeans, or the way his hair curled, his strong jawline, or the way those lips would part everytime he would focus on your car. You want to touch him, taste him, feel him- anything. And you're desperate to hear him speak that sexy accent of his once again.

When you finally arrive home, you let yourself into your apartment and immediately head straight for your bedroom. You shed your clothes as fast as possible, trying to rid your entire day from your skin. After your shower, you pull on a pair of shorts, your favorite oversized t shirt before padding barefoot across the carpeted floor of your room.

Just as you're opening your bedroom door to get a snack, your phone rings. You glance at your screen - a number with no name showing up - before answering the call, your heart pounding in anticipation. “Hello?”

You can hear a woman's voice in the background, "I told you not to come in my office. You can't just call random clients." Then you hear a muffled males voice and the woman again. "Yes... I understand she hasnt paid, but we don't contact clients until the end of the month."

You sit there unsure of what to do, should you say something? Should you hang up? Should you ignore her? Suddenly, you hear yelling. "Out - now!" she exclaims before apologizing for the misunderstanding and hanging up the phone on you. As you hang up the phone, you can't help but feel a sense of confusion and disappointment wash over you. You had been hoping that it was Joel on the other end of the line and that he was calling to follow up on his earlier proposition. But instead, it seems like you were caught in the middle of a heated exchange between a man and a woman, and you can't help but wonder what it all means.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You know that you can't let yourself get too caught up in the idea of Joel. You need to focus on yourself and your own needs rather than getting swept up in the allure of a man you barely know. You've got plenty of people who love you, and it's better to prioritize your relationships than get carried away with a man like Joel. You know you wouldn't be able to handle it.

But then suddenly here you are. You take a deep breath and steel yourself as you walk back into the garage, hoping to catch Joel before he leaves for the day. The receptionist gives you a disapproving look as you enter, but you ignore her and make your way towards Joel, who has just finished up with a customer. As you approach, Joel looks up and sees you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Hey there, sweetheart," he says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I, uh, I had some questions about my car," you say, trying to sound casual. "I figured I'd come down and ask you in person."

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods towards the back of the garage, inviting you to follow him. As you walk, you can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple under his shirt or the way his jeans hug his hips. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and you hope he doesn't notice.

Once you're in the back, Joel crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a serious expression. "Listen, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I know what you're doing, and I want you to know that it's not going to work."

You furrow your brow, confused. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Joel takes a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean that I know you're trying to avoid what's going on between us," he says, his voice softening. "And I get it. I know I'm not the easiest person to be around." You open your mouth to protest, but Joel holds up a hand to stop you. "But I also know that there's something between us, something real and intense," he continues. "And I don't want to ignore it anymore."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "What are you saying?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel takes another step closer to you, his body almost touching yours. "I'm saying that I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I want to make you feel good, to show you things you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as you try to process what Joel is saying. On one hand, you're terrified of the intensity of your feelings for him so soon, of the way he makes your heart race and your skin tingle. On the other hand, you can't deny the attraction you feel towards him, the way your body responds to his voice alone.

As you stand there, frozen, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring.

You know that you have a choice to make, a decision to make about what you want and what you're ready for. And as you stand there, looking into Joel's beautiful brown eyes, you know that you're ready. Without saying a word, you lean in and press your lips to Joel's, feeling the heat and passion of his kiss. Joel responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You can feel the strength and power of his body. As Joel deepens the kiss, he reaches down and gently lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you over to a nearby workbench. He sets you down gently, cupping your face in his hands, "Be right back, sweetheart, don't go anywhere.”

Just as Joel turns to lock up, the receptionist calls out, "Joel, she can't stay here. She's not an employee."

Joel turns to her, his expression stern. "I'll take care of it, Linda," he says. "Just go home."

Linda looks taken aback, but she doesn't argue. She grabs her things and leaves the garage, shooting you a disapproving look as she goes.

Once she's gone and the doors are locked,Joel walks back over to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pulls a small joint out of his pocket and holds it up for you to see. "Ever tried this before, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

You shake your head, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "No, I haven't," you admit.

Joel grins, lighting the joint and taking a deep drag. He holds it out to you, his eyes locked on yours. "Here, let me show you," he says.

You lean in, taking a tentative puff on the joint. The smoke is harsh and unfamiliar, but the sensation of Joel's hand on your back, guiding you, is intoxicating. You feel a warm, tingly sensation spreading through your body. He pulls back, his eyes shining with desire as he takes another drag. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to speak. You've never smoked weed before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels intimate and exciting, like you're sharing a secret that only the two of you know. For a while, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away, like you're the only two people in the entire world, and it's a feeling you never want to let go of.

But eventually, the joint burns down to nothing, and the two of you are forced to come back to reality. Joel grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his lips are soft and gentle, his tongue exploring your mouth as he deepens the kiss. You can feel the warmth of the weed spreading through your body, making you feel relaxed and happy.

As you kiss, Joel's hands roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and the swell of your breasts. You moan softly, your body responding to his touch. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your clit throbbing with desire.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I want to make you feel good.” You nod, your body trembling with anticipation. You want him too, more than anything. You want to feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You want to feel him inside you, filling you up and making you his.

Joel's fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your head. He tosses it aside, his eyes raking over your body. You're wearing a lacy bra, the color of pale pink. Joel's fingers trace the lines of your bra, his touch gentle and teasing. You can feel your nipples hardening under the lace, your body begging for more.

"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," Joel says, his voice low and husky. "I can't wait to taste you." With a quick motion, he removes your bra, throwing it to the floor.

He leans in, his mouth closing over one of your nipples. His tongue flicks at the hard peak, making you gasp with pleasure. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, his fingers tracing the lines of your lacy panties. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's fingers find the edge of your panties, tugging them aside. His fingers trace the outer lips of your pussy, his touch gentle and teasing.

Joel's fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you with ease. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. He starts to move his fingers inside you, faster, his touch more urgent. You can feel the orgasm building inside you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, so fuckin' tight," Joel growls.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel's fingers continue to work their magic.

And then, suddenly, you're there.

You cry out as you come, your orgasm ripping through you like wildfire. Joel's fingers continue, drawing out your pleasure until you're left weak and trembling in his arms. “S'okay baby, s'okay, you did so so good for me sweetheart.”

As your orgasm subsides, Joel pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes dark with desire. He licks his fingers clean, his tongue tracing the lines of your juices. You watch him, your mouth parted like you just watched him lick the tastiest ice cream cone.

Joel reaches down, his fingers finding the button of his jeans. He undoes it, tugging his jeans down over his hips. He's not wearing any underwear, and his cock springs free, hard and ready.

You can't help but stare, your eyes wide with desire. Joel's cock is long and thick, the head dark and swollen. You can see a drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip, and you can't wait to taste it. Joel steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your thigh. You can feel the heat of it, the hardness. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the shaft. Joel groans, his head falling back as you start to stroke him. You can feel his body trembling, his cock twitching in your hand. You stroke him faster, your hand moving up and down the shaft. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, tugging your panties off in one swift motion.

You're completely exposed now, your pussy on full display. Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his cock throbbing in your hand.

"Fuck, you look so hot," Joel growls.

You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Joel, it feels right. It feels exciting and thrilling, he reaches down, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub, his touch gentle and teasing.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" Joel asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to speak. "You're so fucking hot,," Joel growls. "I can't wait to taste you."

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. He reaches up, his fingers tracing your inner thighs. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's tongue finds your clit, gentle and teasing. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel's tongue moves lower, tracing the outer lips of your pussy. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside you. You can feel him exploring his tongue, tracing your walls. Joel's fingers find your clit again, rubbing in time with his tongue.

"Fuck, Joel, m’gonna come," you cry out grabbing onto his hair.

Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing, his eyes don't leave yours, it makes him almost painfully hard watching you come. You cry out as you come. Joel's tongue continues to lick at your pussy, drawing out your pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart," Joel growls, standing up.

He steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your entrance. Joel's hands find your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. "You ready for me sweetheart?

"Yes, please, Joel." He pushes inside you, his cock filling you up completely. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel starts to move, his hips thrusting against you. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you with every stroke. Joel reaches down, his fingers finding your. You can feel your body trembling, your pleasure building higher and higher.

"Fuck, Joel, I'm gonna come again," you cry out, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his fingers moving faster. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with pleasure until you come again. Joel's thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he reaches his own release. He groans, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills you with his seed.

The two of you lie there, panting and sated, your bodies still tangled together. Joel's forehead is pressed against yours, his eyes shining with desire and affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the beating of his heart against your chest.

"You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You smile, feeling a sense of contentment. But even as those thoughts run through your mind, you also know that you can't let yourself get carried away. You barely know Joel, and there are things about him that you don't know. Important things.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you have to do. "Joel, I... I need to go," you say, your voice soft but firm.

Joel's expression changes, a hint of sadness and disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Suddenly, the walls feel like they're closing in on you, and you can't catch your breath. "I-I can't breathe," you manage to say, your voice shaking.

Joel's face falls, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Just breathe with me, in and out. You're safe, I've got you."

You focus on Joel's voice, trying to match your breathing to his. Slowly, the panic begins to recede, and you can feel your heart rate returning to normal. "I'm so sorry," you say, your voice still shaking. "I don't know what came over me."

Joel shushes you, his hand tracing circles on your back. "It's okay," he says. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot today. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

You nod, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You wanted to be strong, to be brave, but instead, you fell apart.

Joel must sense your embarrassment because he pulls back and looks at you with a serious expression. "Hey, listen to me," he says, his voice firm. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're allowed to feel however you feel, and I'm here, no matter what. Okay?"

You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding, even for someone who knows nothing about you and you can't help but feel drawn to him.

"Come on, sweetheart," Joel says, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here and into some fresh air. How about we go to my place and spend the night? I promise, no funny business."

You know it sounds crazy but a sense of relief washes over you as you agree. You don't want to be alone right now, and the thought of spending the night with Joel is weirdly comforting. As much as you know, you should probably just go home. Joel helps you get dressed, his hands gentle and reassuring. Once you're both dressed, he leads you outside and into his truck. He drives you to his house, his hand resting on yours the entire time. When you arrive, Joel leads you inside and shows you to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers and helps you climb into bed, tucking you in like a child. "Just rest, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft. "I'll be right back."

You nod, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over you. Joel returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. He helps you sit up and take a sip of water, then lays down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's soothing, and you can feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

"Thank you, Joel," you murmur, your voice sleepy.

Joel kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Anytime, sweetheart," he says. "I'm always here for you."

As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe, and you know that everything is going to be okay.

As you sleep, Joel watches over you, his eyes full of affection and concern. He's fallen for you, hard.

As the night wears on, Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you. He knows that you're not ready for anything serious, and he's okay with that. For now, he's just happy to be with you, to be there for you, to comfort you, and to make you happy.

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