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tarjapearce · 11 months

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Bad Teachings

College Professor AU! Miguel O'Hara x reader

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Smut (I tried my best, I swear ;w;) Mildly dubious-con. Age gap implied

Hope you like 🥹✨

The last semester felt impossibly harder, nerve wrecking and it was as usual chipping away the little social life you had. Not that you had many friends really, mostly of the people you hung out with, were people that always ended either paired with you or gathered in group works.

Sure you were invited to parties here and there, but nothing too concrete.

But right now, none of it mattered, as you sat before your teacher, Peter B. Parker, at the verge of tears.

"Look, I know it seems like you'll fail, but you still have a chance." He was packing up his things and then looked your way. " I know you care for the other classes, but this one is also important. I just can't help you out this time."

"It was just one assignment! Mr. Parker. One! I had none to drive me out to that place."

"What about your friends?"

"Just... Please?, This is my last class, I can't afford another semester here."

Peter was one of the few lax teachers out there that would help out here and there when he was able to. One of your favorites actually, contrary to what people said, he was a good teacher.

"I know, I know, kid. Just let me see what I can do ok? Im not promising anything, but I can try. Mr. O'Hara isn't that bad."

You groaned hopelessly.

"God, Im so dead"

"He's not that bad. He's all bark and no bite, I'm telling you"

"Not to question your decisions, Mr. Parker but from all the teachers you could've picked, why Mr. O'Hara?"

"Not up to me kid, administration's doing. Besides, I'll be gone just a couple of weeks. You'll do fine. I'll speak to him, okay?"

You just nodded, hope hanging on a thread.

-------

You were fucked . In fact, you could already picture your parents' mortified expression upon the news and the student loan could only stretch up so far . Miguel O'Hara was... brutal.

He took no shit from anyone, he had 'zero chill' or so you had heard among the other students that barely passed with him. However, you were learning what you needed and wanted to learn. He was demanding, but a great teacher.

"He's hot." One of your classmates admitted as you were gathered in study groups to do an assignment due in a couple of hours.

"I heard he's married."

"No, he's not. No kids, nothing."

"I heard his daughter died."

"He doesn't like talking about that, Jen."

You subtly glanced at him, so ever stoic, frowning and serious, checking and grading assignments like nothing. He was intimidating overall. Everyone behaved and actually studied when he teached.

Class ended shortly after you finished the study group. However you waited a bit longer when everyone had been out to submit your group's part. And also, probably have a chance to ask about your class status.

The first thing you couldn't help but notice was how snug the button t-shirt was on him, your nose detected a tingle of his cologne, His hair was long yet well kept and silky looking. Hell, he probably had a better hair routine than you. His hands movements were smooth and swift, as if they had memorized a pattern. He stopped and looked up to you. For being a man on his early forties he looked younger.

A chill ran down your spine.

"Leave it there." He went back to scribbling notes and you obeyed.

"Mr. O'Hara?"

"Hm?"

You sighed quietly, fearful he might sense your fear.

"Sorry to bother you, Um... I was wondering if-" you swallowed as he looked back at you with a slight frown in his face

"If Mr. Parker left any extra work for me?"

His brow raised in confusion

"I haven't seen Mr. Parker in months, niña. I was just called two days ago to cover up his spot."

Shit.

"R-Right. Uh, I just asked since he said he would-"

"Help you out? Yeah, that's not happening."

"I know it's just another day for you when students come here and cry-"

"You're not crying, so that's a first."

Your cheeks burned a little at his odd praising, but also you were embarrassed overall. Your favorite teacher had definitely forgot about you.

"Just... hear me out. This is my last class, my last semester's weeks And I truly cannot afford to repeat the class."

"And that is my problem because?"

Your lips tightened and soon your eyes turned glossy, but still you were determined to see it through.

"It's just 5 points I need to keep my score and have my record approved."

"The class ain't over yet. Better keep it up."

"Mr. O'Hara, pl-"

"No."

"I will buy you empanadas?" He snorted

"See you next semester, kid. Close the door when you're out."

His no was pretty much definitive. Sighing you marched away from the classroom and closed the door. You didn't cry. That was something.

----

The following days you spent holed up in the library, roomie to loud and messy to be around as you prepared for the pre evaluation for the finals, occasionally you caught a glimpse of Miguel O'Hara, working as usual in his favorite corner, un bothered.

What truly was pissing you is that some of your teammates hadn't submitted their part of the job, wich was due tomorrow. The whole report was half done and still it was alot left to do. You were trying. And just when you felt anxiety began worming it's way in you, the seat across you was dragged open and no other than Mr. Miguel O'Hara sat before you.

He looked at you with a blank yet curious gaze.

"You look like you're about to have a nervous wreck."

"I am."

"Right, here." He showed you a printed paper, "Meet me there, at 6. Don't make plans."

"What?" you squinted your eyes to read the information

"Thought you wanted help?" Exasperated at your obliviousness he huffed, "Guess not"

"Wait!" you snatched the paper out of his hands, "Sorry. Just.. Thank you" he smirked.

Your eyes lit up upon reading the paper and nodded. If it wasn't for you being so tired, and him being scary, you'd probably hug him.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" You spoke in between whispers.

"Si si, cállate. Look, it's a conference college is organizing, in a week, if you want those five extra, go. I'll be there. Don't make plans."

"Funny you think I have a social life, Mr. O'Hara. But thanks. I really appreciate it."

"At 6. Formal dress code."

"Gotcha." you nodded as you grinned. He left you alone.

----

You'd look like a liar if he saw you, a cocktail in your hand, chatting to a classmate that was nice enough talk to. It was a small celebration for a good score in the past assignment, you could breath a little, feel a bit hopeful.

"Did you saw Mr. O'Hara today? God..." the girl almost moaned in the spot.

"You kidding? He doesn't fuck his students."

"Who knows, I might be the first?"

"In getting reported maybe. Dude is scary. A friend of mine repeated twice with him."

"What about you, (Name)? I saw you in the library chatting with him."

The whole attention suddenly dropped on you.

"Ah, yeah he told me he'd see me next semester"

"Shut up. You're failing too?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure he's hot and stuff, but... yeah. I don't know how to tell my parents actually. Add me to the chat group, by the way"

Before the conversation turned into how half female college students wanted him, your classmate took you to another private spot. Mike Aguilar was his name, someone that like you, avoided unnecessary attention. What you didn't expect was that he stole a kiss from you. Between cocktails and making out with Mike for a long time, the loud music, it felt good. Felt good to experience the other side of broke colege student.

You ended up being taken to your room, railed up but Mike was gentleman enough to not indulge since you both were drunk. How long had been since someone actually indulged you? Even more so, that you had indulged yourself? You removed your pants.

You were alone, but locked up the door, and grabbed your phone. Looking up in the group chat you looked for Mike's contact and typed.

"Hey Miky"

He replied almost instantly

"Sup, hlt stuff?" He didn't care for the typos

"Wanna see aumthin?"

"*Something"

You giggled as he send a "🥴" emoji.

Biting your lip, you put the phone in a pillow and began recording. Hands trailing on your clothed breasts as you sat down and spreaded your legs. One of your hands dipped inside your panties as the other one uncovered your breast to then squeeze and toy with one.

Your mouth had shaped in an 'o' as you bucked your hips to ride slowly your own hand. Your moans were needy and they turned more wanton as you kept toying with your nipples and clit, soon gasping for air, coming undone.

You then brought your slicked fingers to your mouth and licked them clean with a groan. You then giggled and stopped recording. The alcohol buzzed fully in your system, not only clouding your judgment, but also firing up a dirty mind.

"For your eyes only"

You uploaded the video and pressed send.

Tossing the phone on your nightstand, you went back to keep indulging in yourself before your roomie could get back. But this time, you had in mind a very specific scary teacher to think about.

----

The constant beeping in your phone bolted you awake. You turned off the alarm and saw your phone. Your eyes went wide awake as dread crept up to you.

"So... What was that you wanted to show me?"

Oh no.

Panic surged through your body as seeing Mr. O'Hara's chat open with a 'video' description. Shaky fingers opened it up, only to reveal the 'seen' mark in the chat.

OH NO.

-----

Against all odds and what could go wrong, you showed up in class. Sure, sending a porn video of yourself to your scary teacher was a major fuck up. But failing class would be even a bigger fuck up of all times, You had one foot outside of it all. Once out of college you wouldn't see Mr. O'Hara, and eventually he'd forget it all. Besides, you were pretty sure that he'd receive that kind of messages on a daily basis.

Sighing, you entered the classroom and as quietly as you could you sat in the very back of it. Class went as normal as you could, but the feeling of being watched was always present. Thankfully class was over and just as you snuck to get in, you snuck out.

You couldn't look at him in the face, not after what you had done in that video. Another reason of why you didn't drink often. But now a new problem laid ahead. How would you face him on Saturday?

Talking about, you didn't even know what to wear. Maybe the universe was conspiring against you, but you were grateful enough that he didn't bring it up, maybe he didn't pay much attention. There were so many scenarios running your mind.

----

In the end, you wrote an apology. It was easier to just apologize without seeing his face, and maybe things would be buried and forgotten as days passed.

But no. He had requested to see you after class.

As you approached you squeezed the written apologize and sighed once you were before his desk, across him.

"I need you to sign here, to confirm your assistance tomorrow."

You gulped and took the pen, after sliding the letter to him. He cocked an eyebrow to you as you signed.

"What's this?" He took the crumpled paper and opened it up. Your eyes locked with his, and you could see, amusement in them. A knowing look seizing you.

"I'm so so sorry. The... The video I mean. It wasn't for you, I swear! But I was-"

"Drunk and stupid? Yeah. Noted." He tossed the letter in the trashbin and stood with his arms on his waist, "I thought you were better than that, (Name)"

Your eyes glossed over the disappointment in his tone.

"Has anyone else seen it?"

You shook your head.

His eyes glinted with something dark, something you couldn't actually pinpoint and to be honest you were too embarrassed to ask.

"Good. Anyway, 6 pm. Austen's Auditorium"

"T-That far?"

"Have a problem?"

"Uh, no. I'll be there. I'll call an Uber."

"I'll drive you."

"What? No! I mean, no. I'm uncomfortable enough as it is. Don't wanna make this even more awkward."

"Trust me, nothing that I haven't seen before, unfortunately."

"Yeah, no. I'll call an Uber. I'm financially fucked anyways. Thanks" His pupils dilated so ever softly at the way your lips muttered the word fucked. His face remained steely as usual, but his eyes gave away so much.

"Whatever. Meet me in the last row, second seat, then."

------

You showed up, high waisted, tight, black, upper knee length skirt with a small slit on the side, a cream colored blouse with matching bra and a black blazer with nude heels. It was the standar, and the only truly formal wear you had in your closet. Uber drove you to the venue and soon, you met Miguel and sat next to him. You could recognize some other students along some other teachers from other areas. Conference was about the new ways of teaching and learning, nothing too groundbreaking as you had originally thought.

The conference was two hours long and at the end, you signed up a paper sheet and was told to wait on the entrance as Miguel greeted and signed out.

"Let's go."

Miguel guided you by placing a hand on your lower back, and gave a gentle push for you to follow him.

"Car's on the third floor"

"I told you that I could get an Uber."

"And risk you to be kidnapped or something? Not a chance. Besides I wanna keep my job as much as I can."

"Gee, thanks for caring, Mr. O'Hara."

"Todo un placer, preciosa." He chuckled

Your knees trembled as he spoke in spanish, you were sat on the front seat and fastened your seatbelt. He started the engine but it just revved a couple of times before it went dead. And just when you thought nothing could go wrong, it started pouring. Hard.

"Shit."

You groaned in frustration and Miguel smirked.

"Why the rush? Have somewhere to go?"

"No, Mr. O'Hara. Just wanted to rest. I'm not used to wear heels actually."

"Thought you were meeting with that guy you were making out the other night"

Your eyes widened in utter embarrassment as he stretched in his seat.

"Jesus... this can't be even more embarrassing."

"As your teacher, I completely disapprove such behaviors. Specially with that cabrón. He's not a good person."

"What do you mean?"

"He's conditioned. Likes to spread out intimate content of girls he gets."

"How do you know this?"

"I told you, nothing I haven't seen before."

You sank in your seat, mulling over his words.

"Hate to admit but... Im kinda glad knowing this. I mean, I'm really embarrassed though, but-"

"You're glad that little video fell onto my hands and not someone else?"

You nodded, unable to look at him as your face flushed.

"Yes, what?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Must admit though." His hands on the wheel tightened. "It took me by surprise. Out of all the female students, you, did a whole show."

You gulped as your breath hitched. His eyes squinted and that dark tingle was back at it again

"Hands in those cute ass panties, riding your hand like it was the last thing you'd ever ride."

His hand pulled his hair back as he bit his lip so ever softly. You on the other hand were trembling, unable to look at him in the eye.

"Who were you thinking of?"

"N-None. I swear. This is... really really bad"

"Maybe, but so is sending really explicit videos to your teacher, preciosa."

You shut your mouth and looked at him, he leaned in and studied your face. His index and thumb taking your chin.

"You're trembling. Why? A pretty thing like you shouldn't fear me. I'm not gonna hurt you. Quite the opposite actually." His thumb caressed your cheek and his lips brushed over yours.

"I wanna make you feel as good as you did in that video." He kissed your cheek and bit softly at your earlobe earning a shudder. It was like if another person had took over him.

"Can I? You want me to make you feel good, muñeca?"

He was overwhelming your senses, then you felt him unbuttoning your shirt. You nodded.

"W-Wait... what if someone sees us?"

Miguel unbuckled your seat belt and pulled you for a deep kiss. Moaning, your hands raked down his chest, stopping at his belt.

"Don't worry on it. It's fucking pouring outside." He riled up your skirt up, exposing the fabric of your panties. His lips went to your neck and kissed a soft trail as his fingers dipped between clothed folds, earning a whimper. His free hand managed to pull out one of your breast and then rolled his tongue over it.

"So sensitive" His fingers rubbed in slow circles your little flesh mount. He took a moment to pull one of the windows two inches down, enough for air to seep in.

"Spread those legs for me, preciosa. Lemme see that pretty pussy." Your hips accommodated as your skirt was pushed upwards, he then removed your panties and smiled.

"Sit on the back seat. Can't taste you properly like that." With trembling hands you moved on the back leathery wide seat as he moved the front ones forward, leaving more space in the back. He removed his blazer and his tie. Your heels long forgotten in the front seat. He seemed like a caged animal in a tiny space, and you a small snack for him.

His hands kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs, you removed the blazer and soon he finished unbuttoning your shirt, your bra was unclasped, spilling your breast freely. He groaned and kissed you once more. In your haste you unbuckled his belt but he stopped you.

"Are you on contraceptives?"

His fingers spreaded your legs further, exposing your slick flesh. You just nodded dumbly.

"No habrá problema entonces." He muttered more to himself than anyone as he bend over, one of your thighs dangled in his left shoulder as he brought your slit closer to his mouth.

He did a small cross blessing on himself and a little prayer and licked his lips.

"We've got to be grateful for this meal." His tongue went flat against your slit and dragged it up. Your toes curled up and you groaned.

"Mira qué lindo coño tienes, mi amor." His lips focused in the little bundle of nerves, giving it soft suckles, kisses as his tongue dribbled in your inner folds.

"Podría comerte todo el día" He mumbled as he gave feathery bites on your plush flesh. His hands held your thighs, you were too enraptured in pleasure to mumble a coherent word. Instead your hands latched at his head softly and applied pressure only when he grew closer to that very sweet spot.

His tongue lapped up and soon his whole mouth disappeared between your folds. The obscene sound of his mouth working made your spine arch. He held you in place as his face kept buried between your legs. Your breath hitched as your body went taut. He switched in between devouring your clit and fucking you with his tongue.

"Y-Yes!" You hissed as searing pleasure crashed hard. Your toes curled in, and your body trembled, coming undone on his mouth. He made sure to clean you up before releasing your flesh with a wet pop. You pulled him for a kiss as the rain kept hitting the car, drowning any sound.

"Such a pretty and naughty baby." He cooed as he tied your hands behind your back with his neck tie, then pulled his pants down his knees and brought your knees close to your shoulders, exposing once more your puffed and wet cunt.

"Sending videos for me to watch" He pumped himself a couple of times before rubbing his flushed tip in your sopping folds. You moaned as he entered you slowly, feeling the good stretch of his cock in your walls and gasped.

Hearing your classmates talking about the possibilities of what Mr. O'Hara had between his legs was nothing compared to actually experiencing it as it dug deeper in your guts.

You gave a shaky whimper at how full you felt, and he was barely starting. You could only watch as his girth disappeared between your folds with ease.

"You're so tight, princesa." He kissed your temple, as you choked on a thrust he gave, shaking your whole body.

"Wanna be a good girl for me?" Nodding you groaned as he tangled one of his hands on your front bangs and held you still, to then ram his hips against yours. It earned him a sweet wail from you. He closed his eyes for a second, relishing at your warmth and tighteness

"So fucking good. Will give you a lil' present before you graduate." His hips slapped shamelessly and viciously, leaving you with little room to breathe properly. Your hands desperately trying to hold onto something

"Gonna miss you and this pussy when you're gone, you know that?" His voice rumbled through his chest between heavy pants and soft growls.

You were too cock drunk to actually speak, the lack of air was making you dizzy, soon you felt like a zombie, just grunting and moaning as his body crushed you, over and over, almost fucking you in to the seat. Miguel O'Hara was anything but gentle, in all sense of the word. The car shook softly and soon, you gritted your teeth as the pressure in your lower belly increased until you came on his cock. Gushing and clamping down hard.

Your body shook, and he cupped your cheeks, smiling at the debauched look on your face as you came, proud of himself. Your hands had numbed out, but he then untied them.

"Such a messy baby." His hips didn't stop, one of his hands snaked it's way to your neck and squeezed.

Your hands found a little strength to cling to his arm, his eyes never left you.

"Give me another one, mi amor"

He cooed as his hips fucked you silly, tears piling up at the corner of your eyes, overstimulation making a mess out of your senses. Your nails scratched his wrist as his thrust turned erratic, sloppier and finally he came as he cradled your limp body closer to his.

It was almost possessive. You gave a pathetic cry as you came with him. He kissed you softly and laid you gently.

He then pulled one of the windows down another couple of inches, letting air to refresh your burning body.

Your clothes were soiled, except for the blazer, the rest was drenched in sweat or covered in fluids. The good thing was that rain could cover up all evidence.

He looked at you in awe and pride.

----

"You look lovely in this one."

Mr. O'Hara's chat was opened, revealing a picture of you sucking his cock in his classroom with your graduation gown, looking at him with doe-like eyes.

"Thanks. You taste great, btw." You typed back, with a smirk

"Call me, Miguel, preciosa. I'm not your teacher anymore."

-----

Si si, cállate — "Yeah, yeah, shut up"

Todo un placer, preciosa - "My pleasure, gorgeous"

cabrón— Fucker

muñeca- Doll

No habrá problema entonces- "No problem then"

Mira qué lindo coño tienes, mi amor- "You have a pretty pussy, my love"

Podría comerte todo el día- "I could eat you all day"

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader

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minnieminshi · 2 months

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Pucking Chemistry

Summary: You never should’ve agreed to tutor the captain of the hockey team. Who shows up a full hour after the agreed meeting time? Choi Seungcheol, apparently as you’ve come to learn. And now you’re stuck tutoring him because for some reason, you're his last hope to pass chemistry so he’s eligible to play in an upcoming tournament.

Warnings: cursing because I can’t help myself lol, mentions of your father abandoning the family (it's minor and only mentioned like once)

Word Count: 9.9K (I was possessed lol)

Extra info: high school setting, Cheol uses the term "princess" a lot and I'm a sucker for calling people by their last name, mentions of Monsta X’s I.M (aka Changkyun) and Kard’s Somin (but she gets mentioned like once lol), your little brother’s name never gets mentioned but you do call him Frosty lol, and my knowledge of hockey is limited to watching Dr. Mike on yt talk about hockey injuries so there’s not a whole lot of hockey action in this fic lmao.

Author's Note: this fic made me realize my little brother is turning 13 this year and I can’t handle that because what do you mean he’s a teen now he literally turned one the other day and I think that shows in this fic lol. Also if I only count the days I actually sat down to write this fic it only took me 3 days lol, but I had 3 tests this week and had to be productive so that nerfed me. This is also the first fic I'm posting in this app so bare with me lol and in honor of Scoups and Jeonghan getting cleared to return to activities, I present the beginning of this series

Sporteen Masterlist

Sitting in the school’s library, all your chemistry notes laid out, you began to rethink agreeing to tutor the school’s hockey captain, Choi Seungcheol. With another glance to your phone, you sighed, ten minutes passed what the two of you agreed to meet at. If you didn’t like your chemistry teacher as much as you do, you would have never agreed to do this.

He’s a sweet guy, I’m sure he won’t give you any problems!

But it’s only ten minutes and sometimes things come up. Maybe he’d walk in after a few more minutes and then you two could finally start.

Except those ten minutes slowly morphed into thirty minutes, forty five minutes, and now suddenly it’s an hour and not a single word from Choi Seungcheol about where the hell he’s at.

And while having to wait an hour for someone to show up to something they needed sucked, that’s not what pissed you off. What pissed you off was the fact that after this tutoring session, you had a date with Changkyun, set up by your friend Somin, but thanks to the no show Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush home, get your little brother ready for the evening and get ready for your date. And while you could hypothetically get everything done in time, you would prefer it if you didn’t have to rush. Your little brother’s probably gonna complain about his quick dinner of chicken nuggets and macaroni after you promised him yesterday you’d make him what he called an “actual meal.” You reminded him that he was twelve and fully capable of cooking for himself and suddenly the quick meal was the best thing he’s ever eaten.

So he could survive a rushed meal, however getting ready for your date was a different story. Rushing to get ready in the morning for school was one thing. You could halfass an outfit and get your brother out the door in fifteen minutes flat if your mom was already at work, but you needed a little more time to actually look good enough for someone who wasn’t related to you or hasn’t seen you slumped over your desk with textbooks and notes sprawled all over the floor.

Now, because of Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush, something you wished wouldn’t happen.

“Sweet guy my ass,” you mutter under your breath as you begin shoving your things into your backpack. Just as you finished shoving the last textbook into your backpack, a deep voice caught you off guard before you rolled your eyes.

“Where’re you going princess, aren’t you gonna tutor me?”

Oh?

Letting out a low chuckle, you turn to face the captain who you wished you could smack that smirk off his face and crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the table. “Tutor you? I agreed to tutor you an hour ago, and since that’s passed, I’m heading home to go enjoy my evening.”

As you turned around to grab your backpack and go home, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see him holding onto you, a hesitant look in his eyes. Your brows furrowed as you shook his hand off.

“Look, I’m sorry about being late, but something came up.” He muttered, his hand falling to his side as he shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. You scoffed as you shouldered your bag. “Too busy to send a heads up?”

You look up to see a light blush dust his cheeks as he looks away from you, and if you weren’t so pissed at him, you’d find him kinda cute.

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed as you glance at the clock on the wall, and with a sigh, you turn to the hockey player. “Look, I have plans so I can give you 45 minutes.”

“Forty five minutes? That’s barely any time to learn anything,” he complained with a small pout on his lips as you rolled your eyes. “Take it or leave it Choi, you’re the one who was late.”

He let out a small huff before agreeing to the terms, pulling out a chair as you pulled out your phone, setting an alarm for exactly 45 minutes. Thankfully tutoring him wasn’t terrible, he actually seemed to listen to you and he even took notes while you explained the most recent lesson to him. Maybe if he was kind enough to send a message earlier you might actually feel bad about leaving, but alas that wasn’t the case.

With the default alarm ringing, you began packing up your things once again, this time, really just throwing everything with no regard as to how things landed in your bag. With a little speeding you should be able to make it home in about fifteen minutes which gives you about ten minutes to make your brother’s dinner and have about thirty minutes to get ready for your date. Perfect timing as long as you leave right now.

Just as you begin to walk away, pulling up your little brother’s contact to tell him you’re on your way, Seungcheol calls you out. “Are we still good for next week?” You freeze, slowly turning to look at him as your phone rings. “Next week? Listen Choi, I think it’s best if you find someone else to tutor you.”

Before he can say anything, you cut him off. “Listen, I have things to take care of after school and I can’t wait for over an hour, wondering if you’ll show up. I’ll tell Ms. Park to find someone else and we don’t have to worry about seeing each other again.” With that, you walk out the library, your little brother having finally picked up and making things easier for you as he grabbed all the food you told him to.

Looks like things will be going back to normal after today, no more having to worry about Choi Seungcheol.

Or so you thought.

What you didn’t expect to see when coming to pick up your little brother from his little hockey club practice is Choi Seungcheol out on the ice, with your little brother excitedly talking to him about who knows what.

You internally groan, why, just why did he have to be the one to coach your little brother’s team. And why did you have to say you’d never see him again, it’s like you were asking for the universe to play a cruel prank on you by making sure this would happen to you.

Weeks ago, when your little brother asked you if you could start taking him to a hockey club he joined every Saturday, you didn’t see any issue with it initially. As long as he had the proper gear (that your guys’ mom provided) you thought it was great he found a sport he enjoyed after he burned through basketball, soccer, tennis, and baseball in a matter of a few years. Plus it meant you could have Saturday to yourself for a few hours while everyone else was out of the house. So a win-win in your book.

Or so it was a win before you were left in disbelief, standing off to the side as you watched him talk to Seungcheol. You shook your head, calling out his name as you made your way to the plexiglass wall, wanting to go home. You made the rookie mistake of walking into the rink with no jacket, thinking it would be a quick run of picking him up and going back home. How foolish of you to think things would work out for you.

You let out a small gasp as you made eye contact with your little brother, holding it for a few seconds, only to have him ignore you and continue to talk to his coach, who you knew was aware of your presence. You groan, grounding the heels of your palms into your eyes. Oh how you wished you were an only child in moments like this. Instead you were cursed to be a big sister to a little brother who made your life oh so difficult.

Calling out his name one more time, he finally looked over at you and started to make his way off the rink. You sighed, thankful you weren’t going to have to resort to actually going out on the ice to drag him out.

“Took you long enough, I’m freezing over here,” you said once he was at the wall, carefully stepping onto the non-frozen ground with his skates. “That’s on you for not bringing a jacket into the rink.”

“And that’s on you when all you get for dinner is a slice of bread,” you say when you hand him his sneakers that he had put on the seats before practice had started, and where his backpack was. “Can’t believe you feed me like I’m some paperboy from the 1900s,” he grumbled, but he took the shoes.

Before you could shoot back a reply, Seungcheol skates up to the wall, a smirk on his face. You roll your eyes, wishing he’d go back to doing figure eights or whatever the hell he does on the ice. He calls out your name but you choose to pretend you don’t hear him, instead leaning down to grab your brother’s backpack, a small groan leaving your lips from the sheer weight in his bag. It’s like he carries rocks in this thing, you complain as you shoulder the bag. He shoots you a look as if asking why are you carrying my backpack, but he doesn’t question it, you know the whole gift horse saying.

Just as he finishes tying his shoe, Seungcheol crosses the threshold, leaning against the door as he eyes you. You could feel your eye twitching as you watched him what looked like inspect you, and you fight back a groan when he smirks at you.

“What happened to never seeing each other again prin-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you grit out, hoping your little brother could help you if he truly cared about you. You glance over at him, and just from the look in his eyes, you know he’s not helping you out. It’s like his eyes are shining with awe just from being near Seungcheol and you wonder what your little brother sees in him.

He can’t be that great, you still– well hate’s not the word, that’s too strong, it’s more so you greatly dislike him for what he did a week ago. You still think it was shitty of him to not tell you anything about being late. And of course his cocky personality is really starting to get on your nerves, especially when he calls you princess, as if you two are that close. You’ve only spoken to him a handful of times and yet he calls you a petname as if you’ve known each other for ages. It just makes your skin crawl.

“You know each other?” Your brother asks, poking his head into the conversation as he looks between the two of you. Before you could say anything, Seungcheol butts in, “she tutors me.”

Your jaw drops as he smiles, as if he didn’t just lie to your little brother. It’s like every time he opens his mouth he finds a new way to piss you off. You dryly chuckle as you grab your brother’s shoulder, trying to guide him away so you can leave. “I don’t, now come on, I gotta start prepping dinner.”

“But it’s Saturday, we usually eat out today,” he says and you give him a tightlipped smile. “I just feel like cooking today so why don’t we go home now.”

At that, it seems like your brother finally puts the pieces together, and nods his head. Just as the two of you are about to leave the rink, Seungcheol calls out your name once again. Already knowing what he’s going to ask you shake your head. “I’ll tell Ms. Park on Monday to find someone else to help you.”

And with that, you’re gone and Seungcheol’s on his own again, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to get his chemistry grade up without your help.

“Do you hate Scoups hyung?” Your brother asks once you pull out of the parking lot, your car currently playing I’ll Make a Man Out of You as you let out a confused sound. “Scoups? Is that what you guys call him,” you chuckle, finding the nickname a little silly.

“He said he doesn’t like people calling him his full name,” he explains with a shrug. “Now, do you hate him?”

Wow, he’s really not letting this go.

You sigh as you look over to your right. He’s looking at you expectantly, as if there’s this great and terrible backstory to explain why you wanted to leave the rink as soon as the hockey player approached you. When you tell your brother what happened a few days ago between the two of you, he just rolls his eyes. Yes rolls his eyes, as if being forced to wait an hour for someone to show up isn’t a good enough reason to dislike a person.

“He apologized, what’s the big deal?” He asks, and it’s moments like this when you're reminded your brother is just a boy. “It’s the fact he made me wait an hour with no heads up that I’m still upset about.” Your brother looks over at you, a small smile on his face. “I think he’s a good guy, I’m sure he had a reason why he was late. I don’t think he meant to blow you off like that.”

You blink, letting his words sink in for a moment before shaking your head, focusing back on the road. “Let’s stop talking about Choi and focus back on planning your essay that you have due on Monday.”

He groans, throwing his head back onto the headrest, complaining about why his teacher needed them to write about an important person in their life. “I’m going to write about our dog,” he mutters once the two of you pull up into the parking lot of your apartment. You chuckle, locking the car as he holds open the elevator for you. “We don’t even have a dog.”

“Ms. Kang doesn’t know that.” He shrugs and sometimes you wonder how your brother’s made it this far. “Whatever you say Frosty, but that essay better be done by tomorrow since mom wants us to go out to eat for dinner.”

“Hey Frosty’s a pretty good name for a dog, you think I could use it for a husky?”

“You know what, go crazy dude.”

The last thing you expect when you were walking to the parking lot, heading over to the middle school to go pick up your brother, was to be pinned against a wall in the science building, much less to see Choi Seungcheol, on his knees, begging for you to not talk to Ms. Park.

You could only blink, wondering what the hell has gotten into him. Did he hit his head too hard from a fall on the ice or something? Feeling a little embarrassed, you try getting him back on his feet before anyone walks down the hall. Thankfully he gets up, but unfortunately he keeps you pinned to the wall, towering over you.

“Choi, what the fuck’s gotten into you,” you mutter, trying to push him slightly away from you, putting some breathing space between the two of you.

“Please don’t talk to Ms. Park to find a replacement tutor.” He quietly says and you could feel your jaw drop. No fucking way he’s still on this. You put your hands on his shoulders, effectively getting him to look at you. “You can’t be serious.”

He groans as he closes his eyes, as if he was thinking of what the best thing to say is. One of your eyebrows raise as you wait to see what he says, and what looks like great reluctance from him, he finally confesses his woes.

“There’s a big tournament coming up in a month and if I wanna play, I need to get my chem grade up.”

You stare at him for a few seconds. That’s it? Why would this concern you? Feeling a little nice, you don’t voice out your thoughts and instead ask, “so what does that have to do with me? You can just find another tutor.”

He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, now intrigued on what he could possibly say.

“You’re the only person who actually makes chemistry make sense so if I want a chance to pass this class,” he looks up and your breath hitches when you look into his eyes. You never noticed how pretty his eyes are, or how fucking long his eyelashes are. Shaking those thoughts away, you notice what looks like hope in his eyes, and you realize he really thinks you’ll help him. “I need your help.”

You blink, trying to weigh your options. While you still hold a grudge against him for the first tutoring session, this tournament’s important to him. The two of you are seniors, and depending on his plans for after graduation, this may be the last time he gets to play the sport. Then of course, you can’t stop thinking about what your brother said the other day, and unfortunately for you, you trust your brother’s judgment. And if Seungcheol’s ineligible to play, you really don’t want that to affect your brother’s team. He’s grown to love the sport in the weeks he’s played and you really don’t want him to lose his growing passion.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the wall. “Fine, I won’t talk to her.” He smiles and before he could thank you, you cut him off. “But just know I’m doing this for my brother, he really seems to like you and I don’t want you failing to affect your coaching.”

“I’ll take it as long as you’re agreeing to keep tutoring me,” he smiles and you’re stunned into silence for a few seconds when you see dimples dot his cheeks. You shake out of it and wiggle out of his grasp. “Yeah, just make sure you’re not late without a heads up, Choi.”

The next few weeks are filled with Choi Seungcheol, and you’re not sure how you feel about that statement just yet. In the beginning, you were still a bit reluctant, still fearing he’d be late with no excuse, but at your first tutoring session, he had arrived at the library before you. You were walking to some of the tables at the back of the library when you heard someone call your name, only to see it was Seungcheol, who had reserved a study room for the two of you and already had all of his notes out.

You felt a little bad even though you arrived on time. You had to drop your brother at home so you couldn’t meet right after school, but you did your best to get there as soon as possible.

He was very attentive while you explained everything to him and you wondered how he was failing chemistry in the first place when it seemed like he knew all the topics. It was when the two of you got to the practice problems did you see where the problems were coming from.

Your teacher, Ms. Park, has the tendency to make half of your homework situational problems, where you had to apply the basic knowledge that, on its own, was quite simple, but once put in a non-laboratory setting became a lot more difficult if one didn’t have a complete grasp on the concept. And that’s what you suspect is happening to Seungcheol, and the reason he was failing the class. Good thing you caught on in the beginning of these sessions and you could plan accordingly.

It was another tutoring session when your phone started ringing, you grabbed your phone, confused on who was calling you when you excused yourself, leaving him to work on a problem on his own while you stepped out into the study room next door to take the call.

Your eyes widen when you hear your little brother’s quiet voice on the other end, hoarse as he asks if you could come back home. You tell him you’re on your way before hanging up the call, and rushing into the study room you were just in.

Seungcheol jumped at your sudden intrusion, but before he could complain about you scaring him, you started to throw your things into your bag, grabbing your keys. “I’m sorry but my little brother’s sick so I gotta go take care of him.”

You were halfway through the door when you turned to look at him, “I’ll make it up to when he’s all better!” And just like that, you were out the door, apologizing to the little kid you almost bulldozed down in your rush to your car.

You make it back home in a new record, most definitely going past the speed limits as you skid into the parking spot in the parking garage, haphazardly raising your hand with your keys in hand in the air as you run towards the elevator, not double checking to see if you actually locked your car. If you didn’t live on the fifth floor, you’d actually consider taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, but alas, not even the haze of trying to get to your little brother was enough for you to suddenly have an increase in stamina.

Thankfully the elevator didn’t take long and you were able to make it to your apartment, throwing open the door as you tossed your backpack down the hallway. You rush into the living room to see your little brother laying across the couch, buried under a pile of blankets. He’s really out of it if he didn’t even bother to look up at all the noise you made trying to get in. You sigh before heading to the bathroom, looking for a thermometer and to check if there was anything you could give him over the counter.

Tsking at the 100.4° on the small screen, you wiped a damp towel over his forehead, wondering how he got this bad in the span of the 45 minutes that you were gone. He didn’t look too bad when you had picked him up from school, tired sure, but not knocking on death’s door like he is now. You were about to give him the medicine you found when there was a knock at the door. Not knowing who it could be, you quickly gave your brother the medicine and headed to the door.

You check through the peephole and take a step back, your jaw slacking as you realize who’s on the other side of your door.

Choi Seungcheol.

How the fuck did he figure out where you live? You don’t remember telling him and last time you checked, your address wasn’t public knowledge. Shaking off the initial shock, you open the door, now curious as to why he’s here. Before he could explain his sudden visit, you beat him to the punch. “How the hell do you know where I live?”

He pointed to the floor above you. “Jeonghan told me, plus it was listed on the emergency contacts your brother filled out.” You blinked at him, wondering why your upstairs neighbor would rat you out like that, or how he knew your exact unit number. Whatever, what’s done is done. You point at the convenience store bag in his hand, asking about what he has.

He brings his free hand to scratch the back on his neck, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips, avoiding eye contact. “I- uh got kinda worried and wanted to check up on you guys.” He brings the bag up, “I don’t know what he’s sick with so I just got the generic stuff and I brought snacks.”

You stare at him for a few moments before chuckling, thanking him as you take the bag from him and gesture for him to follow you into the apartment. He hesitates for a second before you nod at him, assuring him that it’s okay. He slips his shoes off and sets them down next to yours, following you into the apartment.

Your little brother looks a little better, actually looking up when the two of you walk into the living room (it’s only a few steps past the little entryway). He looks at the two of you for a second before laying back down. He shoots back up, as if wondering if Seungcheol is actually in your guys’ apartment.

“Real or am I hallucinating?”

You laugh as you adjust the towel over his forehead, “as crazy as it looks, he’s real. Now you should lie back down while I make you a porridge to eat.” He nods his head, laying back down as he adjusts the towel to sit over his eyes. You expected Seungcheol to stay in the living room with your brother, you didn’t expect him to follow you into the kitchen, asking if he could help you. Getting over the initial shock, something that keeps happening whenever you’re around him apparently, and start telling him to grab everything that you need.

It was funny to see him panic everytime you left him on his own to check on your brother, his eyes wide as his head kept snapping from the stove to you. Who knew the tough hockey captain could get so nervous by being left alone in the kitchen?

Thankfully it didn’t take long for the porridge to be made, and once you confirmed that your brother was able to keep his food down, you went back into the kitchen. “How do you like your ramen Choi?”

You turn to see him pouting and for some reason you feel the urge to poke his cheeks. Weird.

“Why do you keep calling me Choi?” He complains, leaning against the counter as he watches you take out another pot and two packages of your favorite ramen brand. You look over your shoulder, closing the cabinet before standing back up. “Would you prefer me calling you by your full name?” You tease, smiling as you see his cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. He stumbles over his words before you hear him mutter a quiet no, and you just laugh.

“I just don’t get why you call me by my last name instead of what everyone else calls me,” he says, handing you an egg when you ask for one. You shrug, “it started when you blew me off the first tutoring session and it kinda stuck.”

“What do I have to do for you to call me something other than my last name,” he begs, and you laugh at how serious this is for him. You didn’t think his name would be this sore spot for him, but it is amusing to see him so stressed over something so small. You look over at him while the water’s boiling, biting your lip as you pretend to think it over. “Get over a 90 on our next chem test and I might consider it.”

His jaw drops as he stands there frozen for a few seconds before groaning. “A 90? Listen, you're a great tutor but our next test is in literally three days and the best I’m getting is probably a mid 70.”

“Then Choi it is,” you reply, grabbing two bowls. At least he believes he can pass this next test, that’s some progress. Before he can start complaining, you both freeze when you hear your little brother yell out, “can you two stop flirting and get me another bowl of porridge,” and before you can yell at him for even saying that he throws in a little “please” at the end. Wow, how polite of him.

“We’re not flirting!” You say, walking into the living room to take his bowl, and as much as you want to tackle him to the ground for even suggesting you’re flirting with the hockey player, you decide to take pity on him, this time. He’s lucky his body failed him today.

Once your sickly brother is content with his second bowl of porridge, you take your and Seuncheol’s bowls to your small dining table. He follows and you go back for utensils, asking what he’d like to drink. Once everything is set on the table, the two of you start eating in a comfortable silence, the show your brother was watching filling the otherwise silent apartment. Your eyes fall to his backpack that was by the door and you swallow what’s in your mouth before motioning to his bag.

“Wanna continue with where we left off? I really think if we can get past this topic you can definitely score somewhere in the 80s.” His eyes follow at what you’re pointing at, and he nods, finishing his bowl before getting up to grab his backpack, and even getting your backpack that you had thrown earlier.

The two of you pick up where you left off, occasionally taking breaks when your little brother claims he needs your assistance with what he calls “surviving” when in all actuality it was just him wanting another refill of his water.

It was nearing 8 o’clock when the two of you were done for the day. As he was gathering his things, your brother got enough strength to get off the couch, heading to his room before waving bye to Seungcheol, telling him he’d definitely be good to go to practice on Saturday. The hockey player laughs as he leans over the table to fist bump him, telling him he better keep his word. You smile at the exchange, happy to see your brother doing better.

“Come on, I’ll see you down,” you say when he’s gotten all his things. Before he can argue with you about it being unnecessary, you wave him off, saying how it’s the least you could do after he came all the way over to check up on the two of you.

The two of you are in the elevator when he finally speaks again.

“Is it usually the two of you this late into the evening?” He asks, his eyes hesitantly flitting from your face to the wall next to your head. You hum, leaning against the railing with your eyes closed, “our mom works late at the hospital and…” You trail off, opening your eyes to see Seungcheol watching you, something in his eyes that makes you look away, the floor suddenly a lot more interesting to look at. Why does he look at you with so much care?

“Our dad left when my brother was a couple of months old so it's just been us three,” you say, not quite believing you're actually telling him this about yourself. Hell, you don’t even know if he has siblings and yet you’re out here telling him your family life. Crazy what some dimples and pretty brown eyes can do to a girl.

“Oh.”

Ah, probably should’ve lied about your absent father. Something about him working late should’ve been excuse enough. Well, too late for that you internally groan at. Before you can apologize for making things awkward, he interrupts you.

“Can we move our tutoring sessions to your place?”

Your jaw drops for a few seconds before you snap out of it, blinking to try to get your brain caught up to speed. “Why?”

He sighs, turning away to face the elevator doors and you’ve never been more thankful for someone to stop looking at you. “I kinda hate the idea of your little brother waiting at home by himself while you’re tutoring me.”

“He’s twelve, but as long as you don’t mind coming over here,” you say, glancing over at him, “then okay, we can move to our apartment.” He smiles and you feel this weird pang in your chest. The last time you felt this excited over a person was when you were getting ready for your date with Changkyun the other day. Does that mean you’re starting to actually enjoy Seungcheol’s company?

Bound to happen considering you spend your Monday and Wednesday afternoons with the guy. It’s just, it feels different than what you felt with Changkyun and part of you just wants to bury that thought away and focus on anything else. Thankfully the elevator ride didn’t last too long and you walked Seungcheol to his car, your chest feeling a little bit tighter as you watched him drive away.

It’s Saturday and you’re back at the rink to pick up your brother from practice. He’d gotten better and while you were hesitant to drop him off at practice, he insisted that he was all good to practice. You let him go, but not without texting Seungcheol before heading over to practice, asking him to keep an eye on your brother. This was the first time you texted him about something other than about your tutoring sessions and while your hands were shaking just thinking about talking to him about something other than chemistry, thankfully he agreed to keep an eye on your brother.

You grab a jacket from the backseat, not wanting to freeze while you wait for your brother. He always manages to be the last one out of the rink, always talking to Seungcheol while everyone else skates towards the door to change out of their skates and into their shoes.

And just like the past couple of weeks, your brother was still out on the ice, except instead of the two standing to the side talking about their practice, the two were skating over across the ice, the small black puck gliding between the two of them as they pass the puck amongst themselves. If you squint, you can see what you assumed is Seungcheol giving your brother tips because soon he nods and adjusts his hold on his stick.

Then, catching the two of you off guard, he steals the puck from the hockey player, successfully scoring a goal on the unguarded net. Your mouth falls open before cheering for your brother. Sure it wasn't a game changing play, but you were still proud of him. Upon hearing your cheering, your brother skates to the wall where you’re standing, the short wall and the plexiglass the only thing separating the two of you.

“Did you see that! I totally got him good!” He excitedly told you and you smiled. “Sure did dude, next time I think you should go for his knees, then you’d have no one stopping you,” you joke, smiling as your little brother laughs, complaining how that’s “not very good sportsmanship” but winks at you when Seungcheol skates over to the two of you, wiping off some of the ice shavings off his pants.

“I can’t believe you’re telling your brother to kill me, princess,” he pouts and you roll your eyes, glad it’s so cold in the rink you can’t tell if your face is burning from the petname or from the freezing temperatures. You roll your eyes, pulling the collar of your jacket higher in an effort to cover your face. “Isn’t that part of the sport Choi, pushing and shoving each other?”

He shrugs, a smile on his face. “Glad to see you know something about the sport, I see Frosty over has been teaching you.” Your brother groans when he hears his coach use the nickname you gave him once he started hockey. It started off as a small joke that somehow morphed to having the whole team only ever calling him Frosty. Hey, at least he’s already got a marketable name, you told him one day when you were driving back home after practice a few weeks ago.

You shrug, tugging your jacket tighter. In all actuality your brother hadn’t explained the sport all that much besides the occasional “you don’t do that” or “that’s a good thing” or other vague explanations when you ask him questions. Instead, after a tutoring session with Seungcheol, and as a way to procrastinate an essay you had to work on, you decided to look into the sport. It wasn’t much, just a quick google search about the rules that had you clicking off the site after a few paragraphs and instead watching a couple of matches on youtube. You had half the mind to ask Seungcheol but decided against it. You were just supposed to be tutoring him in chemistry and you thought learning more about the sport he put years in was a little much for you. (And the thought of him in his full uniform was starting to make your heart ache just a little much.)

“Might as well since I come here once a week,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles, and you wish he didn’t have such a cute smile. His gummy smile is going to be the death of you, you think as you look over to see if your brother’s got his shoes on.

You don’t know when you started to see Seungcheol in a different light. Probably around the time your brother got sick since that was the first time you got to see him not in a school setting. Or to be more exact, the moment he asked if your tutoring sessions could be moved to your apartment so you could watch over your brother. Whenever it was, you wished it didn’t happen.

After the results of the chemistry test the two of you have a week, your tutoring sessions would be over since by then you’d know whether or not he’d be good to compete in the tournament. While a part of you was sad to think about not being with him every Monday and Wednesday with him, you’re at least happy about the fact his grade’s would be doing better. And sure, at first you were helping him out reluctantly, but after spending so much time with him, you realized he was nothing like you originally thought he was like.

Your first meeting really was just a fluke, and he was just a nice guy. You actually had asked him after a few sessions why he was so late to the first tutoring session and you can remember the cute blush that grew on his face as he explained how he was planning the youth hockey team’s practice and lost track of the time. He looked so cute, his cheeks a rosy pink and a small pout on his lips, and that’s when you thought, yeah, he’s not that bad of a guy.

“Okay, I’m good to go,” your brother says, and you blink, snapping out of your thoughts. You nod, extending your hand to help him carry some of his gear. Noticing your empty motions, Seungcheol takes a step towards you but you shake your head. “I’ll see you on Monday Choi.”

“Yeah… see you later, princess.”

You’re really, truly fucked, you come to realize as you stare at your phone. Why, just why did you have to send that text?

Your friend, who was under the impression you still hated Seungcheol for blowing you off the first tutoring session, asked if there was a way you could set her up with him for a date. And you, still not wanting to admit the fact that you’ve definitely started catching feelings for the captain, agreed to set the two up. And trying to convince yourself that the warm feeling you get in your chest from just seeing him smile meant nothing, you sent a text wondering if he was down to meet with your friend over the weekend.

And now you’re waiting for a response, hoping that he won’t agree to the date. Hell, you’re on your knees hoping that even if he does say yes, that it goes horrible so they don’t keep meeting. Terrible, yes, but your heart can’t handle the idea of someone who isn’t you by his side. And yet you still won’t admit that you have a crush on him. (Denial is one hell of a drug.)

When you hear your phone go off from a notification, you push yourself off the floor, where you’ve made home the past couple of minutes. With a shaky hand, you flip your phone over, clicking on the notification.

Choi 🏒: tell her sorry, I’m not interested in dating right now 🫤

Oh.

He’s not interested in dating right now? For some reason that hurts more than if he said he is interested in the date. With a shaky inhale you text him back, letting him know you’ll let her know and you toss your phone away, burying your face against your knees.

Okay so maybe you do have a crush on Seungcheol, big fucking hurray.

You’re walking back to your car when you hear someone calling out your name. You recognize the voice and freeze, wondering what Seungcheol wants with you and wishing he’d just leave you alone. Despite him doing nothing wrong, you really don’t want to see him right now, especially since you were going to use the drive back home to prepare yourself for your tutoring session with him.

He runs up to you, a smile on his face as he blocks you from opening the driver’s side. You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. “What’s up Choi?”

“I came by to tell you that I can’t make it to today’s session.” He explains and you notice how his cheeks are tinted pink. Just how far was he running from? You give him a look as you lean against your car. “So why didn’t you just text me then?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Your eyes widen as you turn to face him fully. You feel your face burn as you try unsuccessfully to say something in return. He smiles and you want nothing more than to wipe his adorable smile off his face. The fact he doesn’t even know the emotional turmoil he’s putting you through is insane and you wish he didn’t have this much power over you. You try coughing, covering your face as you look away from him. “Yeah, whatever, is that all you have to say?”

He nods and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats and still with that frustratingly cute smile, his stupid dimples on full display, “I’m still good for Wednesday though, I want to celebrate our last session before the test Friday.” You nod, a tight lipped smile on display as you wave him goodbye.

Once in the comfort of your car, you groan, dropping your head on the steering wheel, wishing you weren’t so crushed over this. Things come up all the time, it’s not a big deal he can’t make it today. If anything you can just use this time to get your homework done for the week so you don’t have to worry about it later. Maybe instead of groveling over a guy you could actually be productive for once.

Wednesday rolls around and you don’t think you’ve given yourself a chance to think about Seungcheol. How could you when you’ve been busy doing your homework, planning what you’d cover in today’s session, helping your brother with his homework, doing all the chores around the apartment, and if you weren’t busy with all that you had your headphones on, not even giving yourself the chance to think. Who needs to think when you’ve been so busy?

You pull out of the parking lot of the middle school, your little brother grabbing your phone to change the song that was playing. Sticking to a song that you hoped wouldn’t show up on your spotify wrapped, you keep driving, your thoughts starting to drift off to Seungcheol. Catching yourself, you will yourself to listen to the song your brother chose, and you wonder which was worse for your mental health.

Once in the comfort of your apartment, your little brother heads off to his room claiming how he doesn’t want to watch his older sister flirt with his hockey coach while he does his homework. At first you’d argue that you weren’t but as of late you knew there was no saving yourself and didn’t even try to fight back anymore, only groaning as you started to set the table.

A few minutes later you hear someone at the door and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to get through your last session and as a way to prepare your heart for the inevitable. Seungcheol smiles as he steps inside, slipping off his shoes as he places them next to yours. You turn around and your eyes widen as your face heats up as you take in his appearance. He was just wearing a pair of sweats and a black shirt and yet you could feel your heartbeat race at the sight. You quickly turn around, pretending to adjust your notebook as you try to calm your beating heart. He’s worn that outfit combo tons of times and yet now your heart decides to give you trouble.

If he notices your internal struggle, he doesn’t say anything. He takes his seat at the table, taking out his things as you finally look at him to start. Hopefully your heart can take the next few hours, if not, thankfully your mom’s a registered nurse.

“Hey princess,” he starts and you, against your better judgment, smile at the petname, “can I ask you something.” You put your pencil down, turning to face him as he put his pencil down, the problem you had given him to work on an afterthought. “Sure, go ahead.”

“If I ace this test will you come watch me play in my tournament?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with hope and you find yourself leaning against your hand to cover your mouth so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face. “When you say ace, how high of a score are we talking here,” you tease. You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from but if it helps you from burning away in your seat, you’ll take it.

He smirks, leaning close to you and your breath hitches, freezing in your seat. “I say at least a mid 90.” You chuckle, leaning in close as you internally scream at yourself to back the fuck away from him. “Sure, you got yourself a deal, but I’m expecting the best from you Choi.” You say, beginning to turn away so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face.

“Of course, can't disappoint my princess, can I?” His pointer finger and thumb gently hold your chin, making you look at him and his stupid smug face that you so desperately want to kiss.

Oh yeah, your heart’s definitely going to explode.

You think you mutter something along the lines of “in your dreams Choi” but at this point you’re not even sure you can still rangle up enough brain cells to formulate a coherent thought. Heat floods your cheeks as he still holds your face and you swear you see his eyes fall to your lips, or at least you think they do. You’re too busy staring at his lips to really be too sure.

Somehow your one brain cell manages to scramble enough thoughts to control your body, except it makes you lean in closer to him, close enough you can feel his breath hover over your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and just when you think everything is going great you hear your little brother yell your name from his room and that’s enough to snap the two of you out of the daze you’re in. You clear your throat, excusing yourself as you push out your chair and head to your brother’s room, wondering what the hell he needs that he just needs you right now.

“What do you want?” You hiss out, leaning against the doorframe of his room. He looks up from his desk, papers scattered across the wooden surface as he turns his swivel chair to face you. He shrugs, “I felt this weird disturbance in the force and called you over here.”

It takes everything in you to not throw him across his room. You sigh, “yeah that disturbance was born twelve years ago.”

“Hey!” He throws a pokemon plushie, piplup if you remember correctly, at you. You duck and the plushie hits your bedroom door behind you. You turn around to pick it up, only to immediately throw it back at him, and successfully manage to hit him in the head with it. He stumbles back in his chair and you laugh at him. He glares at you for a moment before breaking out into laughter as well. “Okay fine good aim, I’ll give it to you,” he acknowledges with a surrender of his hands, the plushie back on his shelves, joining the rest of his collection. “Now go back to tutoring Scoups hyung so you can make dinner.”

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. “You can always make dinner, you should probably start now since I’ll be going off to coll-”

“Don’t say the c word!” He interrupts, a new pokemon plushie in hand. His eyes are wide and your smile softens before it’s turning into a small pout. The past year you’ve been trying to teach your brother how to take care of things around the apartment since soon it’ll just be him waiting for your mom to come home, but each time he always changes the subject, or even resorting to throwing his plushies to stop the conversation. In that moment you don’t see your twelve year old brother who loves to get on your nerves, instead you see your baby brother who never left your side for anything. Your other half despite the six year difference between the two of you.

Before you know it, your throat tightens up as you watch him lower the plushie, turned away so he’s not looking at you. “Um… you should probably go back to Scoups hyung.” His voice is small, like if speaks any louder and he might start crying.

You nod, slowly backing out of his room, “yeah, just let me know if you need anything.” You turn to walk out when you turn back to face him, “I’ll make your favorite for dinner tonight.” His head perks up and you smile at him, to which he returns.

You make it back to the living room to see Seungcheol working on the problems you had left him. You let out a small chuckle, and he looks up, smiling when he notices your back. “Everything okay?”

You nod, “he’s fine, he was just a little bored.” He smiles and the two of you get back to your homework. Soon enough, the two of you finish, even with the practice you gave him to really prepare him for your upcoming test, and you relax in your seat, a smile on your face. Seungcheol faces you, his smile growing as he looks from his papers to you. “Thank you, I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

You wave his compliment off, your smile perpetually stuck on your face when you're around him. “Nope, it’s all you Choi, I’m simply here to help you. Now you’ve gotta ace this test so I can go watch you win this tournament.” He smiles and you don’t think you’d ever find dimples this cute on another person in your life.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You’re walking out of your last period class when you hear Seungcheol call your name out. You turn around, already smiling since you know what this is going to be about, and judging by his voice, it’s going to be good news.

He runs up to you, stapled papers in hand and you just know it’s his chemistry test. He makes it infront of you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders in an effort to stabilize himself, his test pressing against your shoulder. “I got my results back!”

You laugh, your hands coming up to rest over his, smiling and feeling heat begin to creep up your face at the close proximity. “I can tell, but come on I’m dying to know what you got Choi.” A light blush grows on his face as his smile grows, his hands moving away from your shoulders as he straightens up his test since it had gotten crumpled during everything.

Once it was straightened out, he flipped it over, handing the test to you. You take the test and your eyes widen when you see the large 100 written next to his name. You look up to see him smiling and in your excitement, you pull him into a hug. “Oh my god! I knew you could do it, this is amazing!” He tightens his hold on you, picking you off the ground to spin you in a hug. You’re laughing as he gently sets you down, you’re smiling so much your cheeks are starting to hurt but you don’t even care right now. You’re just so happy for Seungcheol, happy that this means he gets to play in his tournament.

He pulls you into another hug, muttering into your hair, “thank you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” You pull him closer, “of course Cheol.”

The day of the tournament arrived and you don’t know why you’re so nervous. Seungcheol and the team have been doing great all day, moving farther and farther up the rackets, and yet you’re still nervous. It probably has to deal with the fact neither of you really discussed what happened last week, the whole really intimate hug in the middle of the hallway and all that. You two actually were texting back and forth the past week, and yet neither of you dared to talk about the hallway incident.

Just like how neither one of you spoke about the almost kiss back in your apartment.

So your nerves are most definitely tied to whatever you got going on with the captain of the hockey, the very same captain who’s leading his team to victory. This is the first time you’re seeing Seungcheol in his full uniform and damn, he looks good in his uniform. Something about how it makes him look larger just makes your heart beat faster every time he skates by where you’re sitting.

The first time he skated by, you watched as he did a double-take before smiling his gummy smile, dimples on full display and waving at you and your brother, who insisted on coming along. (You weren’t going to tell him no, of course you’re going to bring him along.) Occasionally, he’d shoot you a look, smiling at you and you’d wave at him, feeling your face burn up every time.

It’s the final match of the day, and you don’t think you’ve screamed this much in your life. You always make sure to cheer for Seungcheol every time he makes a goal, and halfway through the day, it turns into a competition between you and your brother on who could cheer the loudest for him. And you’re not about to lose against your brother.

Somehow the match had gone into overtime due to the teams being tied and you’re at the edge of your seat, your little brother in the same position. At some point he grabbed your gloved hand, squeezing tight as they entered the sudden death overtime. (Why the hell is it called that?) You squeeze his hand as you watch Seungcheol go head to head against someone on the other team and you hold your breath watching as the two try to steal the puck from the other.

Just when it looks like the other guy’s about to steal the puck, Seungcheol finds an opening, sending the puck into the unguarded goal, making the winning shot.

You and your brother shoot up in your seats, and you pull him into a hug as you both jump in excitement and happiness. Seungcheol gets affectionately tackled by his teammates as they swarm him, and you can hear them chanting their captain’s name as the announcer relays the winning team. You look over once you’ve calmed down a bit and somehow manage to make eye contact with him. You smile and you mouth “I’m so proud of you," hoping he’d be able to understand you.

It seems like he does because soon enough it looks like he mouths something along the lines of, “all for you, princess.”

The tournament’s over now and you’re waiting for your little brother to finish in the restroom before you two head back home. A part of you wishes you’d get to see Seungcheol before leaving but he’s probably busy with after game things and celebrating that you’ll just settle with talking to him some other time.

You’re about to text your brother to ask him where he’s at when you feel someone come up from behind you, spinning you around. You shriek, holding your phone close to your chest, about to curse out whoever it was when you hear the person laughing and you immediately soften, knowing exactly who it is.

He sets you back down, turning you to face him. You smile and before you can even open your mouth to congratulate him on winning his senior tournament, he cups your face, leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes widen at the contact before they flutter shut, your own hands coming up to rest over his. His hands are freezing but you don’t mind, not when your face is burning up enough you’re sure you could warm up his hands in minutes. Your hands drift from his to rest over his shoulders, pulling him closer as you lean slightly back, with him following. He pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, causing you to chase after his lips, already missing the pillowy feeling of them on your own. He chuckles before dipping down to kiss you again when someone clears their throat.

You groan, already knowing who it is, dreading whatever comment he has to say. You look over your shoulder, only to see your little brother smiling. You definitely expected him to be pulling some disgusted face to make fun of you. Instead he was smiling, smiling so big you would think he just won a year’s supply of his favorite food.

“If you’re done making out with your boyfriend, do you wanna ask him if he wants to join us for dinner?”

Seungcheol's hand slips into your own, squeezing your gloved hand as you look up at him. His smile is so big and his cheeks are a pretty pink blush. “I really like the sound of that, what do you think princess?”

You like that a lot, you think, squeezing his hand as you drag him to follow you and your brother, laughing when you hear his teammates cheering for their captain, for finally getting his girl.

Maybe tutoring the captain wasn’t so bad after all.

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ruskaroma · 11 months

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could you do a little drabble of an au of the reader and jw on their wedding night and tbe reader is like pure and naive and loosing her virginity to john 🤭🤍🪷

oh my god.. can i shake this up a little bit?

arranged marriage with john wick.

let’s say you’re the only child of a very powerful mob syndicate, and all your parents wanted is the best for you, so they don’t want you going around fucking with other guys that are below they’re status because it might ruin the reputation they’ve worked so hard to achieve.

so they kept you isolated.

you’re homeschooled, the only friends you have are the maids, the children of those maids and gardeners, you rarely go outside – and if you do, you have a bunch of bodyguards following you around everywhere you go.

of course, you don’t question it. you know your parents only want the best for you, and you know how dangerous it is to live in a world like this. you can’t exactly blame your parents.

when you turned 20, your father introduced you to a man named john wick.

he’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome you keep reading about in the books. late forties or mid fifties, you don’t exactly know. you just know that he’s a lot older and probably knows better.

your father had explained how you’re going to be marrying john and you were beyond ecstatic upon hearing the news. having a companion in life could open up to so many different opportunities. it didn’t matter that you just met this man. there’s so much time to learn about each other as you two plan for the wedding.

you didn’t ask your parents why they’re suddenly letting you marry a man because simply don’t care. too naïve for your own good. you didn’t know that your parents are only paying their debt to john and you were the only thing in their life that they could just simply give away.

fast forward to the night of your wedding day, let’s say that you aren’t expecting john to be so... rough during your lovemaking.

his actions are rough but his words are soft. it’s confusing you. you thought honeymoons are supposed to be sweet and slow, yet here you are getting fucked on the bed like some kind of cheap whore as john pulls your hair from behind and whispers filthy praises in your ear like there’s no tomorrow.

“my pretty little wife,” john grunts, snapping his hips against your ass, burying his cock so far deep into your little cunt that you could feel it in your stomach. you drool, stumbling over your words. “my wife got the best pussy – so fucking tight and pink. i bet you’ve never let anyone touch you like this before, hm? only me? only your husband?”

“y-yes – yes, john, o-only you!” you sob, clutching the bedsheets in your first as your pussy clench around his dick. “f-feel so full, j-john, feel s-so full – so big.”

“that means you’re doing a great job, baby,” he praises, letting go of your hair to drop his head on your neck, peppering kisses all over as his beard tickles your skin. “my little wife is taking my cock so well. you’re gonna have to get used to it, baby, because i can assure you that i’ll be fucking your sweet little cunt every single day that i come back home. gonna get you so nice and full again like this.”

#ask #drabble #concept #my works #THIS IS RUSHED IM SAWRY #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick imagine #john wick smut #john wick #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves smut #jw

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callsign-joyride · 1 month

Text

Slice of Your Pie - Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob moves into your neighborhood and you bake him a pie as a welcome gift. He comes over to thank you for it, and doesn't end up leaving your house until morning.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader

Content warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fingering, grinding, unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control), fluff

The nieghborhood that you lived in was small enough that you always knew when someone was moving in. You were enjoying your coffee on your porch when you saw a few trucks pull into the recently sold house right nextdoor. A few people stepped out of the first car, and some good looking guys got out of the moving trucks. You tried to subtly watch as they unloaded things into the house before walking down your driveway to get the mail. As you were checking the stack for anything that might’ve been junk mail, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Bob. My friends are helping me move in, but I wanted to introduce myself before you went back inside,” he said. You smiled and introduced yourself, tucking the mail under one of your arms to shake his hand. You learned that he was in the Navy, and that he loved Star Wars. That fact made you smile, since your pajamas were currently a Princess Leia shirt and athletic shorts.

“Hurry up, Bob! This couch isn’t gonna unload itself!” Someone yelled.

“That’s Coyote. I gotta go, but it was nice talking to you.”

“Wait, Bob, do you like pie? I can make you one if you want.”

“Sure! Key lime is my favorite.”

“That’s perfect. I have a lime tree in my backyard. Oh, and my lemon tree occasionally hangs over your property so feel free to pick a few lemons whenever.”

“Thanks! I have a really good lemonade recipe so I might have to take you up on that.”

You went back inside and looked at the recipe in your grandmother’s cookbook and realized that you didn’t have the right limes for the pie. Getting them was easy, though, it just took a trip to the grocery store. The good thing was that it was a Saturday, so you had the day off from running your family’s business. It was a bookstore and cafe, and all of the pastries came from your grandmother’s cookbook. There had been talks of turning it into a bar at night, but that was going to be a long process.

Making the pie only took about forty minutes, but you had to let it cool in the fridge for at least a few hours. All of the moving trucks were gone, now replaced with a few cars in the driveway. You could hear laughter coming from the backyard, and it made you happy, because the last neighbors were close to the end of their lives and didn’t have guests over very often.

You were able to drop the pie off at around 6, and Bob had mentioned that everyone was getting ready to eat and that it would be the perfect desert. He even invited you to join the cookout, but you had already ordered a pizza and the delivery driver was on their way. You exchanged numbers before you went back to your house so that you could keep talking. Once you had disappeared from ear shot, Fanboy started talking about how hot he thought you were.

“Don’t make it weird. She probably has a boyfriend or something,” Bob said.

“I don’t think so. She spent her day making you a pie. A day that she could’ve spent with her boyfriend, might I add,” Phoenix said.

“But that’s the neighborly thing to do. Bring the new neighbor a pie or casserole. My mom always did it for our neighbors.”

“Most people aren’t working on Saturdays. I’m just saying that if I didn’t have to work and I had a boyfriend or girlfriend, I’d be spending my day with them. Anyway, let’s try this pie.”

Everyone had a slice of it after they finished with dinner. Even Hangman, who didn’t really like desert to begin with. Rooster thought it was so good that he kept coming back for seconds and thirds, soon passing out on Bob’s couch from all of the food that he ate. Bob waited for mostly everyone to leave before he texted you to see if you were still awake, since it was almost midnight. To his surprise, you responded that you were still awake, and you got too invested in your book so you lost track of time. He was at your door within five minutes, and you had a different set of pajamas on.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for the pie that you made. My friends and I thought it was delicious.”

“You’re welcome! Would you like to come in for a drink? I was just about to pour myself another glass of wine.”

“Sure.”

Bob followed you inside and took his shoes off by the door. You poured him a glass of wine before sitting on the couch and using your phone to play soft music. As you got to know each other more, you discovered that you had a lot in common, and you were both single. The dim lighting of the living room, combined with the wine and music, made the sexual tension stronger. He told a bad joke, but you started laughing anyways. He used that as his moment to gently kiss you.

You were into it right away, pulling him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned into the kiss as he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you started grinding on his hard cock. He broke the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off, and you quickly followed. He put his hands on your tits as you continued to grind on his cock.

“I’d love to continue this, but can we go to your bed? I’ve never really been a fan of having sex on a couch,” he said. You chuckled and grabbed his hand, leading him upstairs to your bedroom. He laid you on the bed, continuing to kiss you as he took your shorts and underwear off. He rubbed your clit and started to finger you while you were moaning and writhing underneath him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he said.

“It’s all for you. Holy shit, it feels so good,” you moaned.

Once he figured out that you were ready enough for him, he took his shorts off and threw them by the bed.

“I don’t have a-,”

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.”

“Okay. You ready?”

You nodded and felt him slowly push himself into you. You moaned in pleasure and pulled him down to kiss you as he started thrusting faster. You could tell that he was close as he started rubbing your clit so that you could both release at around the same time. The fire in your stomach was burning hotter until you finally released, and Bob quickly pulled out before releasing on your stomach. He rolled over and reached for the box of tissues that you kept by your bed before cleaning both of you up.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked. He chuckled and nodded his head, cuddling with you until both of you fell asleep. When you woke up the next morning from your alarm going off, Bob was still holding onto you.

“I have to be at work in an hour and a half,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to make you something to eat or some coffee?”

“No, I usually have my breakfast at work. Thanks for the offer, though. Do you want to shower together?”

Bob nodded his head and followed you to the bathroom. The shower was intimate, but not sexual, something that you enjoyed.

With your bag over your shoulder, you stepped outside of the house and walked to your car.

“I really enjoyed last night. Maybe we could go out on an actual date next time, though,” you said. Bob started blushing, and he stammered out a “yes” while nodding his head. You chuckled and got into your car to go to work. The day went by quickly as you did multiple things around the little bookstore. Not very many customers came in, but it was a Sunday, so people were usually doing other things. You heard the bell of the door ring as someone walked in, so you finished putting copies of Frankenstein on the shelves before heading to the front of the store.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” You asked as you walked to the register. Bob was standing there, smiling.

“I didn’t know that you worked here,” he said as he tried not to laugh.

“I own the place, it’s my family’s business.”

“Oh, nice. I guess I’ll have to come by more often, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

Taglist:

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Taglist form (Google form, email is not asked)

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #top gun maverick #x reader #reader insert #tgm #dagger squad

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1-ker0sene-1 · 2 months

Note

i’m the era of disabled!reader, would you write something for reader who has epilepsy? 🥺 can’t find any fics in my chosen fandom with epileptic reader (or oc) and it makes me sad 🥺

{I hope you don't mind me pairing with Simon on this one ♥️ I hope you enjoy! And please if I get anything wrong lemme know! I'm more than willing to come back and edit!}

CW: improper seizure safety (not by you or Simon), epilepsy seizure description

In full honesty, Simon didn't know if he could do it in the beginning of your relationship. He didn't think he could handle your seizures.. Of course now- having been properly educated about it. He would absolutely scold himself for thinking that, you just need a little bit of help sometimes. You aren't a damn charity case and he hates when people treat you like it. You deserve to be comfortable and safe, not pitied and prodded at. Not only is he your partner and best friend, Simon has become your biggest advocate. Of support for your condition, but also your independence.

One of the first things you both sat down and talked about when getting serious, was seizure safety. Simon needed to know how to help, at least as much as he possibly could without hurting you. He also learned throughout this, that not all seizures are the same. Sometimes you're just.. Absent, with a flutter of your eyes or a quiet mumble as your gaze flickers to nowhere. You just seem lost for a couple minutes. Other times it's the seizures everyone thinks of, where you stiffen, twitch and seize, sometimes even falling to the floor. How can he help? He's a little stressed when learning that there's not much he can do but carefully maneuver you into a recovery position, put something under your head, and just be there for you.

Simon won't ever forget your scariest seizure, you two were just shopping. Simple. He left your side for forty-eight seconds. Exactly forty-eight, he remembers. He just went to grab something you forgot in a different aisle. Picking up a box of chicken stock for dinner, he hears the slam of your body hitting the floor. He remembers the feeling of his stomach twisting into knots, dropping the container and making a run back to your aisle when he hears someone call out.

It's not you calling, you're far into the seizing, a citizen found you before Simon did. Now it's not the bastards fault, this stranger didn't know how to help you, so in the panic the man was holding your shoulders down trying to still you. Simons hackles raise, words ripped from the masked mans throat instantly.

"Off her- NOW."

Simon didn't think, he just moved, his big meaty hand grabbed the man by the back of the neck and threw him away from you. He's honestly been nicer to enemy soldiers. He didn't even spare the stranger another glance, falling hard to his knees next to you.

" 'm right here baby.. Right here.."

He rips the balaclava off his head, definitely taking a tuff of hair from his scalp. Not that he would notice right now. Simon carefully lifted your head just to slip it under, the softer fabric better than the hard floor. Stroking your hair away from your face, he doesn't hold you down- but his hands are close to you, resting featherlight on your cheek.

"You're safe doll.. I'm right here.. it'll pass."

He murmurs to you, unsure if you're hearing, but either way he keeps talking you through. Now, his arms gently hook under your leg, being as gentle as he can- his hands position you to your recovery position and on your side. Fishing out his phone quickly, he's already got the timer going. Less than five minutes. Please be less than five minutes.

"I have you sweetheart.."

Simon is right by you, watching your every movement closely. He's shoved away any items, just you and him on the floor.

"Should we call an ambulance?"

A stranger asks, Simon shakes his head. Never taking his eyes off you. You just had to go through it. If it's not a long one you should recover alright.

"I have her. Just stay back and move on-"

He snaps, he's stressed, he knows they're just concerned but he doesn't want anyone fucking with you right now. Simons eyes light up as the seizing calms, under two minutes, you're coming back to him. He finally lets out the massive breath he's been holding in. His thumb caresses your cheek.

"You're alright.. there you are.. you're okay."

Simon curls himself closer to you, stroking your cheek as your eyes slowly start adjusting back. You're foggy, confused, he's holding you a little closer and whispering softly.

"it's Simon, love.. Your Simons right here. You're right here.. we're in the store baby."

Now that you were coming back from it, Simon slips himself behind you as he moves you to lay against his chest. It's a while before you're able to be moved, waiting until you're fully alert again, he's taking it slow carrying you back to the car and getting you home. The rest of the week is spent easing you through the recovery. Low lights, he knows your head is aching. Lots. Absolutely lots of sweet talking. His strong girl.. he calls you. Making sure you take your meds on time and get plenty of rest.

"I'm sorry Si.. I didn't mean to scare you.."

You mumble, in bed together. Simon is sat up against the headboard, holding you close on his lap. His hand strokes locks of your hair, shaking his head sternly.

"Don't be apologizin' for anything. Didn't do a damn thing wrong-"

His hand slips to hold your chin, making you lock eyes with him.

"Hear me? Nothin'. I got you.. I'll always have my girl."

#disabled reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost imagine #cod ghost x you #cod ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod x reader

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headspace-hotel · 9 months

Text

I've been able to neither read nor write stories in a long time. Poetry too, for the most part. I guess what I mean is that the art of the written word has become a stranger to me.

I hate what poetry classes did to my writing. Yes, the Wikipedia poems, but they are easier because they're not my own words, and I have gotten so many comments on those saying they are powerful pieces of art, but for me personally they're a way of hiding from the awfulness of trying to assemble my own words into poetry.

I hate the poems I wrote in poetry classes. I hate the version of me I showed others in those classes. I hate the way poetry classes taught me to draw from my own experiences and thoughts for poetry. I hate everything I learned about how to interpret poetry, the eye with which I learned to read poetry, and the vocabulary I learned to talk about poetry, and ultimately, I hate "literary" poetry.

"Literary," by the way, is the category of art that has more meaning, value and legitimacy than the "other" category, which is not "literary." A "literary" poem is published in special, fancy "literary" magazines and almost invariably written by a person with a MFA or PhD in poetry.

You could say that the distinguishing feature of "literary" art is its overwhelming sense of legitimacy. A "literary" poem is a poem in the same way that a nonprofit organization is charitable, that a CEO is rich, or that an SAT score demonstrates your academic prowess. It is a poem completely immune to the possibility that someone will think it sucks. It expects to be absorbed, analyzed, studied, and discoursed upon because something feels "official" about whatever designates it as Good Art.

Literary poems are not only written by and for a special subset of people that have been formally taught to read and interpret poetry, they are written exclusively for audiences that will automatically assume they are Good Art; beautiful, meaningful, and worth interpreting. Because of this, most literary poems are literal incomprehensible nonsense.

Just take this one:

Say I climb the ladder of wheat/and at the top there is a faucet dripping beads of water/but the water takes a year to turn into an eagle/and the sky's forty-three shades of gray pierce/the first inflection of my heart, the point where the signals/throw grass into the river. Say the river sags/and the horizon sucks the lance out of the ghost's hands/like the moment of being born, the point where a shadow's/tongue slides through the faultline./Grace. Sunlight, cherries.

(it continues like this)

And conceptually, I love art as collaboration between the creator and viewer, where abstract, indeterminate and murky things are forced to take shape through the participation of the viewer as they interpret and associate things that stand out to them in the work! The "aliveness" of art in the abyss between what the artist attempts to communicate and what the viewer feels is the coolest thing to me!

But this philosophy of art is incompatible with the idea that there is an elite category of art that is worthy of interpretation, analysis, and reverence. I can fuck around with this random word generator and get something that is roughly as meaningful as the above. I don't mean that as demeaning to the poem, I mean that I feel demeaned by the poem, because its linguistic play and experimentation is something that everybody can do, that everyone should try doing, but this poem has been designated as something exceptionally meaningful and worthy and its writer teaches writing at the University of Chicago. You can click through that website for hours and not find a single soul without a MFA or above in poetry or creative writing.

For me, the world of "literary" writing was like a room with a splatter of vomit across the floor that no one else would acknowledge. The ability to formally study poetry in college was a privilege, but I was constantly aware of privilege, and the thing about privilege is the more you have, the less you think about it. What of the ability to pursue a PhD in poetry? What small fraction of people could expend so much time and money on something that didn't really have a career associated with it? And of that fraction, which fraction would be seen as "good enough" to publish poetry books and to teach? With poetry this indeterminate, how were the "good" poets selected at all?

Literary writing excludes poor people, and the existence of published literary poets who are immigrants or minorities doesn't negate this. Increasingly, published writing in general excludes poor people. A LOT of popular authors graduated from very elite schools!

But literary poetry I hate especially, because it puffs itself up on unlocking the universe and human experience and pain, as if insight into those things is a seldom-appearing gift instead of something many people have, except they don't have the time and money to train themselves into expressing it in a way that appears Literary.

The "literary" vs. "non-literary" paradigm had an inescapable rottenness to it. I couldn't stop thinking about the luminous conversations I'd had with people who lacked the formal training to express ideas in a "literary" manner, but still showed me something vital about the universe.

I've been bitching about literary poetry for like two years now, and really, I just hate what studying all that shit has done to my own writing style. It's so frustrating that the joy and playfulness won't come back.

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crushmeeren · 5 months

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Gojo/Fem Reader Drabble

Warnings; age gap (you’re 24, Gojo is 40), major daddy kink, praise kink, vaginal sex, anal sex dirty talk, cursing, Gojo really gets turned on by the fact you’re younger than him—as do you

Note; God. This turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. It’s probably about 1000 ish words? Probably less, I’m not sure, but it’s an AU where Gojo is the definition of a single DILF & you are his new babysitter. Things progress from there..enjoy 💕

When you first got recommended to babysit for Gojo Satoru—you hadn’t thought much of it. You needed the money and you had a great track record. You had heard good things about the man in the circles of moms, but you had never met him yourself.

You heard how ethereal the man is, but you just brushed it off as exaggeration of bored housewives. Either way, the other families you had worked for gave you glowing recommendations. The only thing you felt was out of place was that he was a single dad.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you just usually deal with the moms. Whatever, no skin off your back—it’d be fine.

To your immense satisfaction, it was. It is. Gojo has the most wonderful four year old little boy—Megumi. You love that kid as if he’s your own and he loves you. But, the moms were not wrong—Gojo is angelic. Snowy white hair, clear blue eyes. Tall as fuck.

You were not even the least bit surprised when your thoughts started turning wildly sexual towards him. Hell, he’s a DILF if there ever was one. You did feel a bit guilty though. You’re not here to lust after your boss. You tried to squash those thoughts for a long time.

Nevertheless you couldn’t get used to his god like stature. Only made infinitely worse by the fact that he’s pushing forty—and you’re only 24.

When you learned that tid bit of information, you shamefully rubbed fast circles into your clit after you got home that night just to the thought of calling him daddy while he fucked you. If it’s not obvious—you have a huge daddy kink.

After almost a year of your pathetic, overwhelming pining for the man, your stomach fell out of your ass when you learned the white haired man had the same—if not more lewd thoughts/feelings about you.

He had invited you stay late one night after Megumi had gone to sleep, watch a movie, drink some wine. You agreed, because well at this point you were past the point of friends and it was the weekend. Plus, you were very close to both of them.

The two of you had drank enough wine to loosen your lips. Not sloppy, but enough for the lines to get blurred. For you to start calling him Satoru. Enjoying the way it made him blush.

For Satoru to drunkenly admit he’s been shamefully lusting after you for months. For him to almost forget he was telling his deep dark secret to the person it’s about.

You sat side by side on his fluffly couch, thighs pressed together, heads fuzzy. Satoru had his head thunked back onto the sofa, eyes closed while you admired how long & lean his legs really were.

When the man just blurted the words into existence—no prompting needed.

“I’m a terrible person,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. You hummed in question, focusing intently on his snowy eyelashes. “I think—no I know, I have feelings for you. I feel so guilty for wanting to have sex with someone so much younger than me—so fucking bad,” he slurred, shifting his head and opening his eyes to look into yours.

Warmth instantly curled in your gut, you felt the enticing burn of arousal blistering through your limbs. Your pussy involuntarily throbbed.

You quietly admitted that you felt the same way, cheeks burning as you confessed to touching yourself thinking about him. Satoru leaned in close, giggling.

“Don’t worry little one, I stroke my cock daydreaming about how your tight, young pussy would feel hugging my cock. Bout how much I could show ya. Bet you don’t have that much experience do ya little girl?” Satoru drawls, wolfish grin on his lips.

You could only whimper at the filthy words, shifting your thighs as he trailed the soft pads of his fingers up the sensitive skin of your forearm, over the inner crease of you elbow, tickling the underside of your bicep. The thick, heady tension between you two pulsing through the air.

You don’t know who leaned in first for the kiss, but now you’re in Satoru’s bed—wine long forgotten. Both of you bare ass naked, tangled in his blankets.

Satoru has a large, sweaty hand clamped over your mouth, trying to keep your whines muffled in his palm.

You’re trying not to wake up Megumi as Satoru has you ride his cock. Pussy stretched open blissfully, so slick—Satoru’s cock kissing your cervix.

Satoru is sitting up, back against the headboard. Knees bent, feet planted so his thighs act as a cradle for you to rock your hips back and forth against.

He’s making you work for your third orgasm. He was eating your pussy not even five minutes ago. Now, Satoru trails his free hand down your spine, following the knobs down to the crease of your ass.

You squeal a surprised, muffled version of his name into his palm as he presses the pad of his pointer finger against the pink, taught skin of your asshole. Your hips stutter.

Satoru’s eyes brighten as if he’s just tried a new sweet and loved it. He tilts his head at your reaction. He shakes his head condescendingly, making a tsk noise when you stop moving.

“That’s not my name is it sweet pea?” He teases, pressing his finger harder against your rim. Your eyes flutter shut and you shake your head no, low moan escaping you. “Tell me what it is,” he demands, blue eyes piercing. He takes his hand from your mouth.

“Daddy,” you choke out softly, nails digging into his shoulders as he continues to loosen the ring of muscle. You’ve come to a stand still in his lap, unused to the sensation.

“That’s it, what a good girl for daddy,” Satoru purrs. “Say babygirl, has anyone ever fucked that pretty ass of yours?” He muses, raising one eyebrow and biting the tip of his tongue.

“No daddy,” you whimper. His cock twitches inside you.

“You gonna let daddy be the first one?” He presses harder on your rim, tip of his finger sinking in. You yelp. “Promise daddy’ll make ya cum like you couldn’t believe,” he coos.

You feel a bit nervous, worried about the pain, but after so long you trust Satoru. You nod your head, happy to give him this first. His head thumps against the headboard as he groans. The hand not in your ass squeezing your waist violently.

Quickly Satoru helps you rise off his cock manhandling you until your cheek rests on the sheets and your ass is in the air. Satoru steps off the bed to grab lube from nearby.

Your belly flutters, pussy clenching when you admire just how tall he really is. How his cock is glistening from your pussy.

He’s behind you again before you can think, rubbing your lower back soothingly as he slowly presses one lubed finger into your ass. You gasp, fingers clenching the sheets shakily. The sensation unfamiliar, burning, uncomfortable.

“Shh, it’s okay little girl, I’ll make you feel good,” he soothes, pumping his finger in and out for a couple minutes. You take a deep breath, relaxing as Satoru presses his middle finger in along his first finger, all the way to his knuckle.

“Daddy!” You squeal, forgetting to be quiet. The stretch is overwhelming, a mix of a dull ache and pleasure. Satoru bends over your back, gripping your hair and shoving your face into the mattress.

“Hush,” he hisses, stretching you open with his fingers, scissoring them. You nod, almost sobbing in the sheets. He lets go of your hair and you keep yourself muzzled. You hang on, thighs twitching as Satoru works a third finger in, loosening your rim to his satisfaction.

You don’t even notice at first there’s three, it’s starting to feel amazing. So yes, you do whine when he pulls free, empty sensation almost unbearable. Satoru chuckles, lining up his slick cock with your ass.

“Don’t be like that sweet pea, daddy’s just gonna use his cock to fuck you now, mkay?” He teases, rubbing his tip over the soft, warm skin of your rim. You turn your head, whispering your yearning to him.

He wastes no time, gripping the base of his shaft and pressing forward, tip popping in past your rim. The sharp sting causing you to tense up, before it fades to a dull ache.

Satoru lets out a twisted version of a whine, carving a space in your ass with his cock until his curly white pubes brush your ass.

“Okay little one?” Satoru pants, petting your lower back, straining with the effort to stay still.

“M’okay daddy,” you whimper softly, ass clenching rhythmically around the thick cock splitting you.

Satoru sucks in a breath through his teeth—ass sucking his cock in so well. He grips the fleshy area at the crease of your hips and thighs, nails digging brutally.

Satoru starts with a teasing backwards pull of his hips, until his tip remains. He smoothly pushes all the way in and that’s when you understand. It clicks in your mind.

The pleasure from anal sex is divine, brain melting as he rocks his hips back and forth, creating a smooth, fast paced rhythm. It’s intense, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

A warmth burns violently in your lower belly like you’ve never been pleasured before. It’s so fucking good, you immediately know you’ll be addicted to having his cock in your ass. Your grip doesn’t loosen on the sheets below you.

“Daddy,” you moan after a few moments. Trying to be as quiet as you can, wanting Satoru’s attention. Hearing the skin of his pelvis clapping wetly against your ass has you already on the verge of cumming.

“What baby? Daddy’s cock feeling too good?” He teases, breathlessly. He watches his cock disappear into your puffy rim as he waits for your answer.

“Mhmm,” you whine. “M’gonna cum already.” You muffle your sob in the blankets. Satoru laughs meanly behind you, but he thrusts harder at your words.

“Already?” He questions incredulously. “That was fast” He purrs, tilting his hips so he’s hitting your sweet spot through your ass. You’re letting out continuous ah sounds as your orgasm winds up tight, the intensity of it making your heart rate spike.

“Daddy—cumming,” you manage to squeak. Going silent as your orgasm pulses through your entire body. The blood in your veins thrums at a dizzying pace. You almost feel high as Satoru fucks you through it.

“Oh god. Yes, fuck—just like that, my sweet little girl,” Satoru groans through clenched teeth, raining his palm down harshly on your ass. You cry out, feeling your ass jiggle from the spank.

Your thighs start to shake as Satoru doesn’t let up in his movements, but you start to float down from your high, still getting railed by Satoru.

“Daddy,” you slur, trying not to scream into the sheets as he chases his own orgasm. “Can’t take it, no more please,” you whine, trying to move forward. He just giggles, gripping your hips and pulling you back into his thrusts—he knows you don’t mean it.

“Just a lil longer sugar, mkay? Daddy’ll paint your back white, promise,” he coos, sounding blissed out. You nod, taking in breaths that rattle your chest.

Satoru throws all his weight into the next few thrusts, forcing a wail out of you that neither of you pay any mind to. Lost in the bliss.

“Fuck fuck fuck, daddy’s g’nna cum sugar,” Satoru whines, yanking his cock out of your ass—which causes your rim to clench painfully.

He fists his cock twice before he lets out a strangled sound. You feel long ribbons of warm cum all over your back—even up to your shoulder blades.

Satoru lets go of his cock, sitting back on his heels, panting. He pulls your legs out from under you so you can rest on your belly.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so satiated in your life. Every inch of you feels like jello. Neither of you speak for a moment, getting your bearings. You still can’t breathe yet.

Eventually, Satoru pats your ass comfortingly before standing from his bed to get a damp wash cloth to clean you with. You lay there limp as he wipes his release from your skin. He pokes your rib playfully but you only twitch, opening one eye to look at him.

“You alright little one? Did daddy fuck you too well?” He teases, giggling. You hum, nodding your head. He actually laughs this time, head tilting backwards.

A soft knock on Satoru’s door makes the two of you jump in surprise. Your heart skips a beat and you raise up to sit on your knees.

“Daddy?” Megumi’s tiny voice calls out softly. “Are you in there?” You and Satoru share a panicked look. Thank God you locked the door.

“What is it my love? Are you okay?” Satoru calls out fondly. You’re shocked he’s able to keep a steady voice.

“Come lay with me daddy, I had a bad dream,” Megumi whines, little sniffles coming through the door. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest from the little boys sad voice. Satoru’s eyebrows scrunch in concern.

“I’m sorry you had a bad dream Gumi, I’ll be there in a second to lay with you bubba, go lay back down,” Satoru soothes.

“Mkay.” Megumi’s soft footsteps fade away as he makes his way back to his room. Satoru looks at you guilty but you give him a sweet smile.

“Go, it’s okay—poor Gumi, I hope we didn’t wake him,” you whisper, feeling bad. Satoru looks at you like he’s in love—he is, and kisses your forehead.

“I’ll be back, then we have to discuss how to tell Megumi we’re dating tomorrow. He’s gonna be surprised to see you so early.” Satoru pulls on a pair of loose sweats and heads towards his door.

You hum in agreement, something warm and sweet settling in your heart that Satoru already assumes you’re dating—which you’re not complaining.

You watch the door shut behind him and you shift around pulling on the t-shirt Satoru was wearing, snuggling under his sheets and promptly pass out. You sleep peacefully knowing Satoru will return soon to wrap his arms around you and hold you tight.

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rogueddie · 4 months

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Disabled Steve / Eddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🦻

give me a sign

findmeinthewychelm

It was sweet torture the way Steve was pining over him. Robin was sick of listening to him talk about Eddie, but she also hadn’t stopped him yet.

Words : 4,235 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

what would you trade the pain for (i'm not sure)

Library_of_Gage

Steve doesn't bother anyone with his chronic pain; it's something he'd rather keep to himself. And then it spikes in the Upside Down, in front of Eddie Munson, and Steve slowly starts to learn that, sometimes, sharing what hurts does help.

Words : 8,230 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Our Love is Shown in the Letting Go

Xxbottlecapxx

Steve’s mother comes home and has to deal with the fact that she has no idea who her son is, and maybe never will.

Words : 10,189 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Not Rated

AO3 : x

Who Am I to Say What Any of This Means?

IndigoFudge

Eddie’s eyebrows are raised. He’s speaking deliberately. “My first grade teacher set up a meeting with Wayne and told him she thought I had autism. So Wayne took me to the doctors and it turned out she was right.”

He is still looking at Steve. Oh. Steve’s been staring at him like an idiot for forty seconds instead of acknowledging this important, incredibly personal detail that he has just shared. Steve remembers eye contact––one, two, three––then answers. “That’s cool.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, carefully. “Have you ever been tested? Because I’ve been noticing… When I look at you, I kinda see some signs.”

Words : 7,371 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

she'll know me crazy, soothe me daily (better yet, she wouldn't care)

jewishrat420

Eddie doesn’t really cry about this anymore. He’s long since shed his own personal tears of pity, spent enough time mourning a different life. He’s accepted it, for the most part, doesn’t really give a shit about being normal or whatever. No one’s normal.

But this…Eddie’s not used to this. He’s never had someone hold his face in their hands, look him dead in the eyes and say, “Eddie Munson. For better or for worse, and fuck, I know this is worse, I want to know you.”

Words : 3,988 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

the beginning of a bad joke

alligator_writes

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

Words : 7,083 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

I Took The Good Times, I’ll Take The Bad Times (I Take You Just The Way You Are)

steddieeddie

In 1984, Eddie Munson told Steve he was going to marry him one day laying in the quiet confines of Steve’s room.

In 1985, they broke up. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because Steve thought they had to. They spent almost an entire year apart, hurting, wondering about what could have been.

In 1986, Steve Harrington was almost fatally injured in the final attack against The Upside Down, against Vecna. He spent seventy six days comatose, and then almost an entire year in the hospital learning how to be a person again. He learns how to open and close his hands, hold things, and how to feed himself again. Steve learns how to stand, how to walk, going from walker to cane by the time he is allowed to go home.

In 1987, he did just that. He goes home.

It was a slow process. Way slower than Steve wanted it to be, but it was worth it.

Sure, his hands were never going to work the same, there was constant pain in his arms and left leg, and he would never walk without a cane, but at least he’s alive.

He made it.

That was what mattered.

Words : 30,101 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

357 notes · View notes

larluce · 1 month

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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys I already had this part made, I may as well publish it ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 , PART 13 (You're here) , PART 14

Arthur and Merlin first fight and a bit more of jealous Arthur

In Arthur's chambers.

Merlin: I'm telling you! He had nothing to do with Nimueh. He's innocent! It was all just a big misunderstanding!

Arthur: (not looking up from his papers) I heard you.

Merlin: Then why is Lancelot still in the dungeons?

Arthur: He could be dangerous.

Merlin: What are you talking about? He tried to help me! He saved my life!

Arthur: (finally looking up from his papers and standing up in anger) No, you put yourself in unnecessary danger again! After I told you not go alone, you did! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What's your obssession with confronting monsters and evil sorcerers all on your own?! You're no knight, no soldier. How can you be so ridiculously reckless?!

Merlin: (in realisation, indredulous) You're keeping Lancelot in the dungeons just because you're mad at me?

Arthur: (shouts) Yes! (thinking) Among other things (says) Maybe that way you'll learn your acts have consecuences.

Merlin: You can't do that!

Arthur: I'm the prince, so yes I can!

Merlin: (shouts, mad) You childish, spoiled, arrogant brat!

Arthur: Insult all you want. Lancelot is staying there. End of discussion.

Merlin: (pauses, disappointed) Then you're not the prince I thought you were (leaves).

Arthur: (affected by his words, makes a move to go to him, but stops himself, remaining furious) Childish he says. I'm mentally forty years old! I'm not childish! (sees a chair nearby and kicks it)

Time skip. Merlin venting to Gwen.

Merlin: That's what he told me! He's taking it out on Lancelot just to get to me! Can you believe it?!

Gwen: (sarcastic) On the man he found you with in his arms and alone in the woods? What a surprise.

Merlin: (doesn't notice the sarcasm and keeps on his rant) Oh, but let's see what he thinks when all his clothes are ripped and all his food ends up smashed on his face!

Gwen: Now you're being childish.

Merlin: Then what am I supposed to do? He's refusing to let Lancelot free no matter what I say!

Gwen: That's because you haven't tried everything.

Merlin: I did try everything!

Gwen: Really? Have you tried 'sweet persuasion'?

Merlin: ... What? 🤨

Gwen: Sweet persuasion 💁‍♀️. Is what we women do to get what we want and survive in a world ruled by men.

Merlin: But I'm a man.

Gwen: Doesn't mean you can't sweet persuade Arthur to get him to do what you want. 😏

Merlin: (unsure, but curious) What does it consist about?

Gwen: Well, first, you'd have to apologise and tell him that he's right for doing what he did.

Merlin: But he's not!

Gwen: You know that, I know that, but if we wait for him to realise that, Lancelot is going to stay in the dungeons till next solstice.

Merlin: (sighs) Okay, then what?

Gwen: Man love to be the center of attention, above all, they love to be their lov-people's hereos. Just play the defensless victim and act as he was your saviour. Praise him. And you'll have him at your feet.

Merlin: And then I'd ask him to free Lancelot?

Gwen: No, no, no. You shouldn't mention Lancelot all. You'd have to make this about Arthur and you alone.

Merlin: I don't know. That's sounds kind of humiliating.

Gwen: See? That's the problem with you men. You're too prideful to give in or recognise you're wrong, when actually success lies in knowing when to give in or better, letting the other believe he won.

Merlin: (still doubtful)...

Gwen: Just think about it (leaves).

Time skip. In the training grounds. Merlin goes to Arthur.

Arthur: (avoiding his eyes, still mad) Finally coming to do your chores?

Merlin: I wanted to speak with you.

Arthur: I'm not setting Lancelot free.

Merlin: It's not about that. I just wanted to say... that I'm sorry.

Arthur: (turns to him, surprised)... what?

Merlin: You're right. It was reckless and stupid of me to follow Nimueh by myself. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted to be more brave and strong... like you.

Arthur: (smiles smugly, flattered) You think I'm brave and strong?

Merlin: I've seen you fight (pats his arm). And you didn't hesitate to come after me, a servant. Nobody else would have cared. I'm so glad you did, Arthur. Fortunately, everything turned out alright, but what if it hadn't? If Nimueh had managed to kill me or do something worse to me? Or if nobody else had found me? (hugs himself, looking vulnerable) I was so scared.

Arthur: (puts a hand on Merlin's arm and begins to caress it with his thumb lovinly) Oh, Merlin. You don't have to be scared. I will always come for you. Always.

Merlin: (blushes a little, but keeps on his act) So you're not mad at me anymore? Will you forgive me? 🥺(puppy eyes)

Arthur: (smiles, touched) Only if you promise not to do it again.

Merlin: (celebrating inside, but disimulates) Of course! Thank you, Arthur. I know you'll always do what's right.

And shortly after Lancelot is set free.

Merlin: (in disbelief) I can't believe it worked.

Gwen: I told you. 😏

Merlin: Gwen, you're a genius! Where were this advice in my other life?

Gwen: What?

Merlin: Nothing. (cofs) Well, I'll see you later. I promised Lancelot I'll show him my room today.

Gwen: Why are you showing him your room?

Merlin: Oh, I invited him to sleep there since he doesn't have where to go.

Gwen: (scandalised) What?! 😨 Merlin, I don't think is a good idea to invite other man to sleep in your room.

Merlin: Why? He helped me and then spend days in the dungeons because of me. I think is the least I can do.

Gwen: I'm sure he's a nice person. (thinking) And a very handsome one. (says) I just don't think the prince is going to be okay with that.

Merlin: Why would he care who I bring to my room?

Gwen: Because he's...! very protective of you. And he is clearly not very fond of Lancelot.

Merlin: (skeptical) Right (rolls his eyes). I think I can handle one man and who I bring to my room is not his royal business (leaves).

Gwen: (puts a hand on her forehead, sighing) These two are going to be the death of me.

Time skip. In Merlin's room.

Merlin: (enters with Lancelot) Here. I know it's not much, but-

Lancelot: It's perfect (smiles, kindly) Thank you, Merlin. (looks at the lily near the bed) And that's a nice touch.

Merlin: Thank you! 😄 Arthur gave it to me 🥰

Lancelot: The prince?

Merlin: Yes.

Lancelot: Oh, you two are...

Merlin: (laughs) No, nothing like that. I told him there weren't many purple flowers and the prat just wanted to prove me wrong. It was a nice gesture though. (looks at the flower lovinly)

Lancelot: (thinking) Oh, gods, he doesn't know, does he? (says) Uh... Merlin? Does the prince know I'm staying here?

Merlin: Well, in fact-

Arthur: (suddenly enters) In fact, no. I didn't know. 😑

Merlin: (almost jumps out of his skin and smiles nervously) Arthur! What are you doing here? 😅

Arthur: You brought a stranger into your room?

Merlin: He's not a stranger, he's my friend.

Arthur: You just met him 3 days ago!

Merlin: (crosses his arms) Well, we got along quickly.

Arthur: I don't care if you're best friends now. He is not staying here.

Merlin: (raises his voice) You don't have a say in that! 😠

Arthur: (raises his voice too) I'm the prince!😠

Merlin: This is my room!😡

Arthur: This is my castle!😡

Lancelot: I'll just go. 😅

Arthur: Yeah, you better.😠

Merlin: No, you stay. 😠

Lancelot: (not knowing whether to stay or leave) Eh...

Merlin: See? Now you made him uncomfortable.

Arthur: Like he was going to be comfortable in this poky excuse of a room. There's barely space for one. Where was he going to sleep, uh? The floor?

Merlin: We were going to share the bed.

Arthur: WHAT?!!😨😤

Lancelot: (thinking) It's over. I'm dead. I need to prepare my will. "For the nice old man that show me the way to the citidel I want to...

Arthur: Over my dead body!😡

Merlin: Oh, come on. It's not so bad. If we snuggle together-

Arthur: NO!😡

Lancelot: (thinking) "...and for the lovily and kind maidservant, Guinevere, that brought me food while I was still in the dungeons, I know it's not much but I want her to have..."

Merlin: (remembering 'sweet persuasion') I get why you're worried, my lord. You only think in what's best for me and you don't know how much I appreciate it. But I also know you're a benevolent man who cares deeply for his people. You wouldn't leave a poor subject in need to fend for himself, would you? Please, let him stay.🥺(puppy eyes)

Arthur: (tries to resist the puppy eyes, but sighs) Fine. He can stay.

Merlin: Yay! Thank so much you, sire! 😊

Arthur: With one condition.

Merlin: Sure, anything!

Arthur: You'll move to the chambers next to mine.

Merlin: (in shock) ... what? 😧

Arthur: That way you can sleep more comfortably and Lancelot too. Problem solved.

Merlin: (Between happy, stunned and conflicted) It's really generous of you, sire. But... I like my room. And... I'm also Gaius apprentice. He needs me here. (thinking) And how am I suppossed to practice my magic If I sleep in the chambers right next to yours?

Arthur: The distance you walk to attend me and then help Gaius would be the same. As my personal manservant, you should have moved there from the start, anyways. So, what do you say?

Merlin: (trying to find a reason to deny but he's actually quite excited to have a new room) Does it have a bigger bed?

Arthur: (smirks) It has a bigger everything.

Merlin: (smiles brightly) I better start moving then, my lord. (Picks up the pot with the lily and leaves, happily).

Arthur: (looks where Merlin went with heart eyes and then turns to Lancelot with a serious face)

Lancelot: (awkward and nervous) Ahm... your generosity knows no boundaries, my lo-Ow! (exclaims when Arthur punches him in the face)

Arthur: I never said you'll stay here for free 😑. You can start by cleaning out the stables. (leaves)

Lancelot: (rubs his face and sighs) So much for being a knight.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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freedomfireflies · 10 months

Text

Lost

Summary: An extra for Mine*

Harry's worst nightmare has finally come true:

You've been taken.

And he plans to do everything in his power to find you.

Word Count: 3.4k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

It’s been two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were kidnapped in the middle of your living room.

Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were placed in this warehouse, strapped to a chair, with nothing but some stale bread and a bit of water.

Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you’ve last seen him.

Harry.

About the only thing you’ve been able to think about since they threw a bag over your head and bound your hands behind your back. The only name, the only constant.

Harry.

Your one saving grace in this endless abyss of terror and intimidation. The idea of him. The idea that he’s out there, looking for you, and most likely tearing the Earth in two just to find you.

You spend a lot of time alone. Or rather, lonely. You’re constantly surrounded by guards, but they’re posted around the room, and they’re not exactly chatty.

You replay old memories of the two of you. Replay the day you met. Replay how he looks in the morning, curls disheveled, and skin fresh. Replay the sound of his voice. Over and over and over.

You imagine him talking to you now. Imagine him helping you through the problem, whispering delicately into your ear. A conversation meant to save you.

Doing so good, mama. You’re okay. Promise. They’re not gonna fucking touch you. I’m gonna find you.

“I know,” you murmur quietly to yourself. “Really wish you’d hurry.”

I know, sugar. But I’ll be there. You’ll see. And I’ll take you home. Never gonna let you go again.

“What if you can’t find me?”

I will. Rip through every goddamn corner of the Earth to find you.

“I don’t know what they’re gonna do with me.”

They won’t do a fucking thing. I promise. I’ll be there. I’ll find you.

“I miss you.”

I’ll find you.

You choose to believe the voice in your head. Choose to believe that he’s already on his way. That he’ll be here. That he’ll find you.

I’ll find you.

The sound of the large double doors being thrown open forces you to jolt in your chair, eyes flying forward.

The man who took you—whose name you refuse to learn—strides in, attention on you as though he’s coming to collect a prize.

You’ve imagined this scenario before. The moment you learn Harry was unsuccessful. That he was taken hostage.

Or worse.

You don’t like this shit-eating grin your captor wears. Don’t like the way he beams with pride or the way he rubs his hands together as if to warm himself up.

You recoil in your seat, attempting to disappear altogether.

“My dear,” he calls, stopping only a few feet away from where you sit. “I come with excellent news.”

No, no, no, you think, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach.

“It seems our guest of honor has finally accepted my invitation,” the man proceeds, palms smacking together gleefully. “Lucky for you, as my patience was growing thin.”

He sweeps around the back of your chair, the unsettling and putrid smell of his aftershave assaulting your senses as you grimace.

“So we’re gonna make a deal, my dear,” he continues, dipping down until his mouth can settle near your ear. “I’m gonna let him walk in here. I’m gonna let him think he’s saved you. And I’m gonna give him exactly two minutes to feel like he actually did his job.”

You know what comes next, and the soft trickle of air near your cheek makes your muscles stiffen.

“And then…I’m gonna end him.”

With that, the rival leader snaps his fingers, and leads his guards out through the double doors.

Leaving you truly alone.

About two minutes pass before you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the warehouse, and through your watery eyes, you manage to make out a familiar shape.

It sneaks through a back door and begins running toward you, the gaussian blurred hair and black attire making your lungs ache.

“Hey, hey. Okay, okay, all right.” Hands cautiously scope your trembling frame, hovering near your shoulders, hips, legs, and cheeks as they search for something. “Honey, I need you to look at me. Look at me, sugar, please.”

You think you already are but can’t see past these tears. Can’t understand anything past what the nasty man said to you. Can’t comprehend what you have to do.

Fingers begin pulling on the ropes around your hands, desperate to undo them and set you free.

“I’ve got you,” the voice says, and it sounds like honey. Sweet and heavy, dripping down your ears and making you feel warm. “I’ve got you, okay? Gonna get you out of here, I promise. Just look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me, baby.”

“Harry?”

The sound of his name cracking from your dry throat seems to gut him, and his entire expression falls as he nods.

“Yeah, mama,” he murmurs, pressing a palm to your jaw. “S’me. I’m here. And I’m gonna take you home, okay? Gonna get you out of here—”

“Harry,” you repeat, but it sounds weak and fragile. Can’t display the urgency you’re trying to convey. “Harry—”

“I know, baby. I know. It’s me, I’m here,” he repeats, returning his focus to undoing your restraints. He works fast, tugging hard and with all his strength as the first one finally loosens. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe—”

“Harry.” The whimper bleeds from your throat, a fresh wave of desperation rolling down your face as you try to capture his attention. “Harry, no—”

“Shh, honey. You’re okay, I promise. Gonna make it better, I swear—”

“Harry, please—”

“I know, mama. I know, it’s okay—”

“No. Go—”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go. We’ll go, sugar—”

“No.”

The hushed but urgent silence is broken by the piercing decibels of your cry. The loudest noise you’ve made in days, and it echoes around the warehouse as he stills.

Blinking, his hands slow. “What? What’s wrong, am I hurting you? Did they hurt you—”

“No.” It seems as though it’s all you can say, chest heaving with anxious breaths. “No. Harry…go. Go, you have to go—”

He looks wounded. Eyes softening as he begins to shake his head. “M’not going,” he whispers, trying to cradle your cheek once more. “I know I left you, but I never meant for this. Baby, I swear. I did everything—”

“Harry,” you try again. “Go—”

“No.” His jaw is clenched but his frown is obvious. “No. I won’t leave you. I know you have every right to make me, but I can’t. I can’t do it—”

“Harry—”

“Please.” It’s loud but so incredibly scared. Mimicking the expression on his face. “Please. I can’t go. Can’t leave you—”

“You have to,” you try again, struggling to speak in the way you want. “You have to, he’s coming back—”

“Let him,” Harry growls, and your stomach wrenches. “Fucking let him come back, and I’ll show him exactly how I fucking feel about him touching what’s mine.”

“No,” you nearly sob, arms tugging on the rope as you desperately attempt to reach for him. “Harry, no—”

The double doors fling open as the unnamed man and his army storm the building.

They shout, and they raise their weapons, and they encircle where you and Harry are settled in the middle of the warehouse.

Harry is already on his knees from trying to break your ties, but as the guard’s approach, they scream at him to get down. Surrender. Raise his hands and keep them high.

His malice is evident. Lids narrowed, teeth grinding together, and body practically trembling with rage as he slowly lifts his arms above his head.

“Harry,” you whisper, chest aching in a way you’ve never felt before.

He looks at you. Despite all the noise, the chaos, the fear. He looks at you and he mouths, “I love you.”

You have to resist the urge to scream.

“And there he is,” comes the cruel taunt of the man behind you. “After all this time, this is what it took to break you.”

Harry’s jaw raises defiantly as he shoots daggers toward your captor. He says nothing. Remains perfectly still as the intimidating weapons crawl closer to his head.

“Did you realize how weak you were?” the man goads him. “Is that why you kept her locked away? Is that why you tried to run? Because you knew you had nothing if you didn’t have her? To use as a bargaining chip?”

A hand is suddenly attaching to the roots of your hair and yanking so hard, you see stars.

Your head drops back, following the assault as you gasp, and Harry curses from his place a few feet away.

“Don’t fucking touch—”

“Easy,” the man warns, and you look up to see him shoot Harry a cocked brow of warning. “Move one fucking inch and she’s done.”

Harry stills, settling back onto his knees as the barrel of a gun digs into the side of his skull.

“Where is it?” comes the next question, sneered, and filled with years’ worth of vengeance as he tugs again on your hair. “Where?”

Harry is quiet, studying your reaction closely as he contemplates his answer. “Jersey.”

An answer given so quickly and without argument that you feel slightly shocked.

“Jersey…” the man repeats slowly. “You think that’s the truth I’ll buy?”

“I don’t fucking care whether you buy it or not,” Harry retorts coldly. “The shipment is in Jersey. You asked, I answered.”

A beat as the warehouse fills with an eerie silence.

“Far too quickly,” is the reply. “Considering how precious those items are to you. And you’d be willing to offer up their location without so much as a conversation?”

“She’s not a bargaining chip,” Harry hisses, yet he’s strangely calm. “Her life is more precious to me than anything in those fucking containers. I don’t care what you take, but you give her back to me.”

A cruel chuckle reverberates around the large, somewhat empty space as the fingers tangled in your roots go slack. “Funny…you think I’m here to make a trade.”

Harry leans back. Takes a breath. Locks eyes on the man towering above him. “Three.”

The man’s smirk widens. “She might not be your bargaining chip, but she is mine. You didn’t think I called you here just to chat, did you?”

Harry’s chest heaves. “Two.”

“I invited you here…because I want you to watch…what it looks like…when you lose…” the man continues, dipping down, “…everything you love.”

Harry’s lip curls up with disdain. “One.”

Suddenly, a small red dot appears on the man’s forehead. Directly in the middle, like a fresh zit ready to be popped. It shines brighter than anything in the room, and before you have a chance to recognize its importance…the sound of a gun goes off.

Everything happens so quickly. Harry lunges at you, pulling you from the chair as the ropes he’d already loosened fall away. He cradles you to his chest, cocooning his body around you as he pulls you to the floor and keeps you hidden.

And it’s so loud. Guns, yelling, anger. So much violence, it makes your stomach feel queasy.

But all you can focus on…is him.

Harry.

He found you, and he’s here, and he smells the way he always does. It’s strong, and safe, and you bury your face in his shirt as you attempt to crawl through his arms as if to live in his ribcage.

“It’s okay,” you vaguely hear him murmur, lips pressed directly to your ear. “It’s okay, mama, I’ve got you. Close your eyes, okay? Gonna be over soon. Gonna take you home.”

Home.

You aren’t helpless, but you feel helpless, and the sound of all this chaos isn’t helping. And almost as if left with no other choice…you disappear.

So tired, and hungry, and scared, and done that your body completely submits to the weight on your chest, and it carries you away.

You revert back to a state of mind that feels the most secure, and everything else…is just a blur.

Time passes. You aren’t sure how much. You keep your eyes closed and your focus on Harry’s voice. On his instructions. His praise. His promise that he’s gonna take you out of here. Never let you go.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Another voice. Familiar. Far away.

You hear Harry huff. “No, she’s not fucking okay. She’s scared, and she’s shaking, and he fucking touched her—”

“Easy. Okay, all right.” You feel a third presence approach, and you warily crack an eye open to see Asher approaching, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I mean, is she physically okay? Is she hurt, is something broken?”

Harry’s head shakes, his curls tickling your cheek. “She’s fine, I think. But she won’t stop shaking. I don’t think she’s eaten in days, and I don’t think she wants to see me—”

“Don’t do that,” Asher warns darkly, frowning some. “We just need to get her home. We’ll get her home, and it’ll be okay—”

“But it’s not her home anymore,” Harry nearly growls. “I have to completely uproot her. Again. And take her somewhere she doesn’t recognize, and she’s gonna be scared, and sad, and she’s gonna fucking hate me—”

“Boss.” Asher crouches down, palm squeezing the back of Harry’s neck. “Can’t do that. Not right now. Not here. You just need to go. Take her and go. The boys and I will clean this up…just make her feel safe again, okay?”

A long stretch of silence passes between this instruction and when Harry finally concedes and begins to stand up.

Two pairs of hands help bring you to your feet, with Asher’s familiar cologne drifting past your nose as he leans over to whisper, “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

Harry leads you out of the warehouse and toward his car. He keeps your face tucked into his shoulder as if to shield you from the bodies and the harsh light outside.

You don’t complain.

You drive for quite a while. Just you and him. No Paul. You drive until you don’t recognize where you are, and your eyelids grow heavy as the vibrations from the ride lull you to sleep.

When you wake next, you’re in a bed. You don’t know how you got there, what time it is, or where Harry might be.

But you don’t have the strength to argue.

You wrangle yourself upright, muscles sore, and head pounding. But the moment you push up, a soft lamp is flicking on, and Harry is rushing to your side.

“Easy, easy, okay,” he whispers when you sway a bit from the residual effects of your exhaustion. “You’re okay. M’right here.”

“Harry,” you breathe, cheek pressing into his palm as he cups your face and crawls onto the mattress beside you.

“Yeah, baby,” he says softly, tugging you back into his body. “It’s me.”

You take him into your lungs, inhaling his serenity until it becomes your own.

Your fingers trail up his shirt, mindlessly playing with the fabric as you work through the plethora of questions accumulating now that you’re beginning to return to yourself.

“Where are we?”

“In a safe house,” he replies quietly, nuzzling into your forehead. “Nobody knows the location but me. Not even Asher.”

You nod once. “How long have we been here?”

“Few hours.”

“How long are we staying?”

A beat.

“As long as we need to.”

You tug a bit harder on the fabric. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“…are you okay?”

You feel him go deathly still beneath you as he slowly rolls his head back to meet your eye. “Did you seriously just ask me that?”

You nod again, scooting up to level the playing field. “Of course. I know that must have been hard on you. Especially switching locations so fast. And I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything, which is bad, because you should—”

“Baby.” The loving nickname that he only uses in times he needs you to know how much of his heart you really have is ushered in silent reverie. “How…how can you ask me that?”

You blink. “Because I love you? And I’m worried about you? And I know you don’t take care of yourself when you’re stressed—”

“Baby—” He sounds wounded. Almost aghast by the question as he begins shaking his head and taking your face in his hands. “You don’t…don’t. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t about me, this is about you. This is about what I let happen to you, and you don’t ever have to worry about me, okay? Especially right now—”

“Harry,” you whisper, squeezing his wrists to keep him close. “I’m always gonna worry about you.”

It’s like you’ve slapped him across the face, his features twisting into a pained wince as he curses and squeezes his eyes shut. “It is my job to take care of you. To protect you. Keep you safe. And I fucking failed.”

“No. You didn’t fail. They found the rare window of opportunity and it happened,” you argue. “You’ve always told me that nothing is certain in this field. There’s no way you could have kept me hidden through every second of every day—”

“I should have,” he retorts. “I should have done more. Should have been there—”

“You can’t be with me all the time—”

“Why the fuck not? If I had been, none of this would have happened—”

“But it did, and it’s over. It’s okay. You’re okay—”

“I fucking lost you—”

“But you found me.”

This seems to be the only thing that reaches him. In a moment so vulnerable, it catches you off guard.

He breaks.

His hands fall to your lap, his entire expression crumbles, his body wilts before you. You rush to take hold of him, fingers in his hair, tugging him closer until he can press his nose into your neck and hide.

He shakes with ragged breaths and the tears he’s trying so hard to fight. They’re hot, wet, and they seem to burn him like acid as they slide down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s so very broken. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

You shush him. Repeat his name like a mantra until he settles. Promise him that he’s okay. You’re okay. Everything…is okay.

It takes almost an hour for him to finally feel brave enough to lean back. But when he does, you kiss all over his forehead, and remind him that you’re here. That all you have to do now…is get better.

You nurse each other back to health. He takes you to the kitchen and cooks you your favorite meal: nachos.

You tease him about the cheese dripping down his chin and he tosses an olive at you. You watch TV just to forget. And eventually, you make your way for the bath.

You both sit in the tub for way longer than you probably should. Until the water has run cold, and the bubbles have dissipated.

But it’s nice. Sitting with him between your legs, his back against your chest as he hesitantly asks you what happened.

You tell him, keeping the details vague. You don’t want to scare him. The important thing is you’re both okay.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, and you refuse to start the next day until way after noon.

He tries to argue a bit more about how wrong he was to leave you. How he needs to do better. How you deserve better than what he’s given you, and you spend just as much time arguing that it couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’s the only reason you’re safe at all.

He concedes but you know it’s because he intends to punish himself for the remainder of the day. Maybe week. Month.

But you’ll fight him on that another time.

You spend some of your day on the couch, flipping through magazines you found and reading an old book.

Harry spends his time on the phone, yelling with nearly every member of his team. You don’t interfere. You know it won’t do any good.

But then…something changes.

His entire demeanor shifts before he turns to look at you, eyes narrowed and hatred evident. You don’t hear what he says, don’t understand the context. But the look on his face alone is enough to tell you that something is very wrong.

When he finally hangs up the phone and steps closer, your heart drops.

You sit up. “What?”

He takes a deep breath, and says only one thing:

“Asher.”

Next Part:

~ Found (Lost pt. 2)

Previous Part:

~ Remedy* (A Mine Extra)

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist (If you ever need or want to be taken off, or simply excluded from certain fics like this one, please let me know!! 💞) : @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @vamprry @fdl305 @acesofspadess @stylesfever @narry-heart @virqinvirgo

1K notes · View notes

rottenblur · 9 months

Text

study break part two|J.MILLER

gif credits to @shirks-all-responsibilities not mine!!!

bestfriends dad!joel 3.3k. part one is pinned on my page

Summary; A awkward breakfast after your previous, steamy makeout sesh the night before. Luckily sarah is long gone at some cowboys house party, leaving you and joel alone. When he interrupts your study session to have a conversation more touching than talking happens.

WARNINGS: girthy age gap, reader is in 20’s, joel in late forties, head m (joel) receiving, fingering f receiving (reader) ,virgin reader (implied), best friendsdad!joel, make out sesh, grinding, lots of praise, use of darlin’, unrequited pining by tommy, alcohol use (not reader) smut, to be honest actually the filthiest thing I’ve wrote. way too many cherry popping references BLAME TOMMY NOT ME!! (legit said twice out of the whole god damn thing im being dramatic) handjob HEHE, joel being possessive. slightly inexperienced reader or maybe shes just shy bout it? face fucking major dirty talk

You sit down for breakfast at the cold, marble island in the middle of Joel's kitchen, the quietness of the early morning making you remember everything from last night. The feeling of Joel's warm lips against your cold skin, his body pressed up to yours, echoing of "good girl" fills your ears, the feeling of his-. Your thoughts are bluntly cut off, the sound of two pittering footsteps coming down the stairs. You gaze over, it's Sarah.

With a full outfit and makeup on even though it's just 8AM. Bubbly as always, you learned from your times sharing an apartment off campus with her that she is, genuinely the biggest morning person to exist. Her soft footsteps are followed by heavy ones as Sarah jumps off the last step, Joel appears In all of his morning glory. Messy salt and pepper hair, heavy eyes, a tight black shirt, and grey fucking sweatpants. He's just teasing you at this point if you weren't already blushing from those thoughts from just a couple minutes ago about him you would definitely be blushing now.

You stare for a minute too long as he yawns, Sarah spins you around in your chair. Giving you a quick peck on your cheek as Joel drifts over to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water and sipping it, while leaning against the counter. Sarah hugs you tightly, then looks at you "Sleep okay?" she says. You nod and she smiles, Joel clears his throat, and Sarah sits next to you.

“What’d you girls want for breakfast?" he said with the most breathtaking, attractive morning voice. Sarah must have woken him up, Sarah thinks for a minute then decides. "Pancakes with whipped cream?"

Joel goes to the fridge to see if they have all the ingredients for the meal, and they do. He puts on a pot of coffee while you and Sarah talk about boys and college. Gazing over at Joel every couple of minutes, you're met with his very own eyes staring at you. Every time you caught him staring he looked back down at the pancakes he was whipping up, and a tint of red comes to his cheeks. He sips his coffee and waits for the pancakes to cook. He looked so domesticated like this, with messy hair

the smell of coffee in the air, dripping coffee falling onto the counter creating a ring around the mug. The smell of pancakes as he hunches over the stove checking to see if they are done. Glances back to you to see if you're looking at him, to see if you're real. If last night was real.

The last pancake was at last done. Joel calls out for Tommy to let him know breakfast is ready. oh god, Tommy. fuck. you think to yourself Sarah interrupts your thoughts of him staring at your ass last night. "Oh I forgot to mention, Tommy is my uncle he lives here." Joel turns around with a smirk "Oh they've met." Placing the pancakes in front of the two of you then goes to the fridge to put the whipped cream on top. Tommy races up the stairs from the basement and walks into the kitchen glancing at Joel and then at you, for a minute too long. "Good morning" Sarah says the same back, then he looks down at the pancakes, sitting next to you."pancakes whipped cream on top with no cherry" he remarks.

Joel notices the wordplay on it before you do, the look on Joel's face towards Tommy makes you really know what he meant. You just reply with a nervous laugh and dig into your pancakes. Tommy and Joel in unison stare at the way the cream is messily pouring over your lips and dripping down your chin.

Later on, at about 9PM, you are watching a new film with Sarah in her bedroom. her bedroom looks as if it hasn't changed since she was a preteen the baby pink walls match her sheer curtains.

Stuffed animals still litter her bed with a large purple duvet covering it, tiny wollen blankets kicked down to the bottom. Her phone dings and she looks at the notification and immediately sits up with a smile-ridden giggle, you look at her with a puzzled look. "GUESS WHO JUST GOT INVITED TO A HOUSE PARTY" she almost practically yells.

She rolls around on her bed and jumps up running over to her closet." good for you, whose party?" You ask as she strips down, trying on different outfit options." Remember that guy from our history course?" You tilt your head. "Wanna try to be a little more specific?" She looks almost insulted, "The whole yee-haw cowboy guy"

You scrunch your face up he wasn't hot but Sarah had a weird taste."Good luck with your cowboys I guess" she throws on one more outfit, smiling and jumping up and down."You're invited I know that like-" you cut her off "yeah I'm not going to some cowboy house party no. fucking. thank you." She smiles

"I assume this big girl can handle fending for herself, if not my dad and Tommy are at the bar in the basement. Don't be shy" She hugs you and leaves her room. You follow her out and walk her out the door.

Before you go upstairs to study you think it might be a good idea to at least, notify Joel that she was going out, in case she needed a ride. Maybe you just wanted to speak to him, even just glance at him.

You walk down the lit-up steps going down to the basement. A very modern house, "did he do the remodeling?" you think to yourself.

You reach the bar and are met straight away with the sound of music booming out of a speaker. Joel and Tommy hunched over the bar counter. You clear your throat, and they turn around in unison Joel's eyes soften and Tommy's go dark with need." You need anythin' darlin' er just looking for a drink. He holds his glass of whiskey to u, the ice jingles.

You smile then look to your feet, "Sarah went out thought I'd let ya know in case she needs a ride later or something." He smiles and before Joel can speak Tommy interrupts him, "Ah what a sweet girl, lookin' out for her girl always isn't that right sweetheart?"

Joel punches him on his thigh as a way to say knock it off, he laughs and holds his arms up in defense. He's long gone from what you can tell. "I guess" you awkwardly say, Tommy gets up and stumbles making a fool out of himself. You hold back a laugh and start to walk away "Jesus Tommy the fuck is wrong with you scaring the poor girl". You hear Joel say, as you walk back up the stairs.

You're long in concentration typing, writing notes with music playing in your earphones. A song plays and it reminds you of Joel you smile to yourself and try to get him out of your head.

You stretch your back then stand up pulling off your pants and stripping your sweater off to just be left in your white tank top and white panties, lace around the edges to match your tank top.

You sit back down, putting your headphones back in. You continue studying for another good twenty minutes, and when you feel a large hand touches your shoulder you jump.

The hand pulls back and grips the chair behind you. Pulling out your earphones and turning to look who it was, a relief it's Joel. "Didn't mean to scare ya darlin' just wanted to check-" he takes a glance down at your body, slower than he has before then back up to your face. "-To see how you're doing without Sarah here, didn't mean to interrupt your studying".

You smile, copying him looking him up and down you stop at the slowly building tent in his pants you quickly look back up at him with a blush, he smiles knowing exactly what you were blushing at. "Uh I needed a study break anyways". You stand up and walk over to the bed sitting on the end. Joel's gaze follows you then his body.

He stands in front of you just admiring you. "I'm doing okay not like we were really doing much, not really a cowboy party kind of p-" He sighs and takes a step closer, your knees touching his legs now."God if I thought that lil pajama set was skimpy, I can't 'magine what you'd call what ya wearin' right now." The last part almost came out as a growl.

The harshness of his words, how close he is to you is damping your panties. He reaches to touch the lace strap on your top, completely melting into his touch.

He pushes your knees apart with his own, the denim rubbing against your bare skin. He looks down, you hide your face with your arm, if you weren't blushing before you'd definitely be purely red up to the top of your ears now.

Your knees are so weak you think if you had to stand up right now you fall straight to the floor.

A smirk comes to his face, and he moves your arm away holding it tightly on the bed."My my darlin' those pretty little panties are ruined, such an easy thing you are." It's hard to breathe now, your hands fists the blanket. Joel reaches down touching slit to clit over your soaked panties.

you let out a soft quiet whimper of his name. He pulls his hand away, and you sigh at the loss. He furrows his eyebrows looking at your open mouth, putting his wet fingers into his mouth and sucking. Pulling them out with a pop followed by a grown, the smirk coming back to his face bigger than before." such a good girl being this wet for be 'nd I've barely touched ya."

You whimper at his words "Please touch me joel, I need you." He laughs slightly at your words then unbuckled his belt pulling it off with one hand, the other reaching out to hold your face.

He unbuttons and pulls the zipper down, revealing a sliver of skin and his dark blue boxers. He tilts your head up, and you can see the need in his face way more prominently than Tommy's need earlier. you almost moan at how hot it is.

You swear you're dripping onto the bed by now creating a puddle of your own need and you're just sitting in it, for him.

"Do you want this baby?" He pulls his jeans down slightly revealing the tent in his boxers, it looks way bigger not being trapped in his pants the tip leaking precum, wetting a spot on his boxers.

You nod he shakes his head and grips his bludge "I needa yes darlin'" you smile. "I want it Joel, I haven't stopped thinking 'bout it since last night"

You put your hand on his he pulls his away, you pull down his boxers to below his balls then he sits next to you.

"God. Holy fucking Jesus." You thought.

You'd felt it in his jeans rubbing against you. He was massive then and now with it actually exposed, you couldn't put into words how big he was. Harder than last night, precum dripping out the warm red tip, thick veins covering his length. The girth alone has your mouth watering.

"Holy fuck Joel it's so-" he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear then gets close to your ear to whisper "Big? ya think you can take it sweet thing? Want me to stretch out that sweet little pussy of yours."

All you can manage is a whimper then he grabs your face and kisses you.

Starting out slow and sweet then the more moans and whimpers that are shared, it heats up. Getting rougher, more aggressive.

You pull away to spit on your hand, and he watches you "Uh uh no spit. I want you to stick those pretty little fingers into those soaked panties and use you."

He takes your hand wiping it on his jeans, pulled down to his mid-thighs. You look to him as you embarrassingly lower your hand, he nods when your hand finally dips into your panties feeling around to collect some of your wetness he groans muttering "fuck" under his breath.

You pull your hand out making your panties snap back at you, Joel's eyes are stuck on your dripping fingers.

you grip Joel rubbing the tip with your thump, then moving your hand down to his base coating every last inch with you.

Your fingers don't touch around his girth. "Good girl" A moan slips out. You quicken your pace "good fucking girl" a whimper slips out this time, you focus your hand around the tip moving your hand up and down. Occasionally just rubbing the red dripping tip.

"Ah just like that..ugh don't stop." His breathing is heavier, his head thrown back only coming back down to look at you and your hands wrapped around him. If he stared at you the whole time he would cum right there and then.

You decide to add your other hand to focus better on all of his length or at least as much as your two fist covers, three hands would cover him fully but you don't have that.

Adding the second hand was the best idea you ever came up with in your life, the whimpers outweighing the moans and the mindless words coming out of him right now are fucking. golden.

"Oh fuck look at ya, your ugh sweet ah lil hands are barely fittin' around me." He jerks his hips up into your hands.

"Just like that.. oh you sweet fuckin' thing." Another hip buck this time he looks at your hands wrapped around him, his face screws up a loud whimper followed by a moan falls out.

"Just like that ohh darlin' I love your fuckin' hands" He jerks into your hands a couple times in a row desperately.

His breathing is at an all time high, sweat is forming on his forehead the whimpers don't stop.

"Ah darling fuck, fuckin' god 'm gonna ugh". You pull your hands away, looking up at him. "Darlin' why'd you stop-" You stop his words by putting his leaking tip into your mouth, sucking it, and swirling your tongue.

"Fuckkk your mouth is straight fuckin' gold" You start bobbing up and down, taking only about a quarter of his length into your mouth, working the rest with your hand.

Joel groans grabbing your hair, he fucks into your mouth the tip hitting the back of your throat makes you gag.

He groans, starting to face fucking into you making you repeatedly choke and gag on him. "mm listen to my good girl choking 'nd gagging all over my dick, I love your throat darlin', such a ugh good fuckin' girl".

You pull back slightly and he pulls you right back down, pushing him even deeper into your throat. The loudest moan you've heard slipped out of him.

His pace quickens, roughly fucking down your throat. "Ah fuck 'm gonna cum, all down this sweet fucking throat."

He grabs your throat feeling himself fuck into your throat, squeezing it to get an even tighter grip around him.

A grunt followed by warm ropes being shot down your throat, with one last thrust and he pulls you off with a pop. You look up at him with teary eyes, spit ropes connecting you to him. "you look so fucking sweet like this, all fucked out by me, all fucking mine."

He tucks himself back into his boxers, sheds his pants, and climbs up on the bed. You follow him, straddling him and pulling him into a kiss.

He holds your hips grinding you on him, deepening the kiss. Teeth and spit are frequent in your inability to focus with how needy you are.

He flips you over kissing you for a couple seconds longer before pulling away and him adjusting to lay on his side facing you. Pulling your top off and discarding it on the floor, his face falling into your neck, he kisses and sucks, a moan falls from your lips.

He moves further down littering your collarbones and chest with dark purple hickeys. "I want everyone to know you're mine. Fuckin' Tommy can't hold himself back from what is mine, you're mine ya hear me?"

You whimper at his words, clenching your thighs together, he moves his hand down to grope your chest. "Yes Joel, ah all yours"

He's pleased with your response, he attaches his lips to your chest, moving his hands down your body memorizing every spot that he touches, that makes you squirm.

Reaching your panties he gets back on top of you, kneeling between your legs and grabbing your panties, you lift your hips for him and he tugs them off faster than you can think right now.

He eyes your dripping core almost drooling. "Look at that pretty little pussy all ready and beggin' for me."

He leans forward dragging two thick fingers over your aching clit, you whimper at his touch. Dragging lazy quick circles on it, your back is already arching at his experienced digits.

"Next time I'm fuckin' devouring this sweet pussy of yours." Drawing out a moan from you that you tried to suppress with no luck.

He quickens his pace on your clit, putting his other hand to your fluttering hole. He drags his fingers around your slit before entering, his two digits enter stretching you out deliciously.

You gasp, and your back arches as he starts to pump them in and out of you. "Jesus you're so fuckin' tight, nothin' but you has been in here am I right baby?"

You nod, you're so fucked dumb right now. All from just his fingers.

His eyes are glued to the way your hole eats his fingers right up, his fingers keeping a steading pace pumping in and out of you, the circles he's rubbing all on your clit.

You feel your orgasm building, but before you even say anything Joel is already saying it for you.

"Good fucking girl, already fluttering around my fingers, clenching them right tight, I know baby let it go. Cum for me." He inserts a third finger into you the stretch is insane, his fingers reaching places you could never no matter hard you would try.

He hits that soft spongy part in you, absolutely throwing you over the edge. You throw your head back and clenching your thighs together, but he keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

Joel's fingers have put you in a haze, you never wanna come out of, a feeling you never want to end.

He pulls his hands away, kissing you till your breathing slows down. The haze wearing off, and you're now wrapped up in Joel's arms laying on his chest.

When the sound of buzzing comes from Joel's jeans pocket, on the floor you lift your head up to look at him. He slowly gets up to check it showing it to you.

He answers it you can hear the muffled sound of drunk Sarah. "Sarah?' Joel says getting up, putting on his jean as he tucks his phone between his face and shoulder. "Dadddddddd, I'm fucking wasted come pick me up please, thank you WITH a cherry on top." He laughs. "Okay, text me where you are."

He hangs up, pocketing the phone then leans over to kiss you on your forehead.

"Good luck she's gonna beg you for food all the way home" he smirks "Oh I know." You give him a hug, a tight one.

"You did great darlin' get some sleep now, only sweet dreams for the sweetest girl."

You smile and nod, He leaves. Shutting the door, tip-toeing down the stairs. You get the energy to get a shower, put on some clothes before tucking yourself into bed and closing your eyes.

you do have the sweetest dreams ,, dream about joel all in your guts. if that counts.

part three: here

Check out my javi fic linked in my masterlist

an!!!! god OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDD. the amount of "good girl" in this fic makes me kinda think the reader might be a good girl?? I think I might have early on arthritis from this lmao. I stared this yesterday morning took about a ten hour break and only finished it TODAY at 9AM after pulling a all nighter. writing this fueled by many large iced coffees and the support of my friends, will now be working on my boyfriends!dad joel fic now might be a couple days before the next chapter comes out. reader giving that SLOPPY TOPPY lots of smut too much smut.

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sattlersquarry · 8 months

Text

orange juice (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU) Steve's world changes in the worst way when he loses you. He struggles to move on...but he learns he might not have to when he miraculously gets a second chance with you.

Word Count: ~8k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, death, grief, alcoholism, mentions of sex, mention of alcohol poisoning, and an allusion to a suicide attempt (in a miscommunication!!!! no one actually tried). the reader is presumed dead after the events of season 4. lots of angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending bc if I ever wrote something without a happy ending my identity has been stolen. inspired by "orange juice" by noah kahan with some other references to his music sprinkled throughout.

a/n: i've been bouncing between this and bloom for the past few months and they are two very different fics tonally, but i hope you enjoy. please let me know if i missed any warnings because this one is kind of heavy.

🍊🍊🍊

ORANGE JUICE

MAY 1986

A ringing phone rouses Steve from a restless sleep.

A near-empty bottle of gin rests on the floor by his bed. He doesn’t remember drinking it, nor does he remember anything else from last night.

It’s been two months since you died. Steve’s not taking it well.

That horrible day, Steve, Nancy, and Robin ran from the Creel House and found Eddie and Dustin sobbing over you, your eyes lifeless and the wounds on your abdomen weeping.

I’m so s-sorry, Steve, Dustin had said through sobs. W-we tried to save her!

An aftershock of the initial gate-opening earthquake caused panic amongst their group. Steve wanted to carry your body back to the real world for a proper burial, but there was no time before the aftershock got much too intense. Dustin and Robin refused to leave the Upside Down without him. He wasn’t going to let them get hurt, so despite the fact it broke his soul in half to do so, he allowed his friends to drag him back to the gate in the Upside Down’s version of the Munson trailer, leaving you behind.

When the dust settled and reality set in that Steve was going to have to move on without you, grief overtook him. He turned to alcohol as a welcome distraction. He’s been consistently ignoring Robin’s desperate pleas for him to talk to a professional, to drink less, to try and really process his pain.

Steve should listen, but he won’t. Instead, he’ll grieve. He’ll wallow. He’d rather wither away into nothing than work on bettering himself, because you died and that’s not fair. To you, to him. To everyone who loves you.

Steve groans, a deep rumbling thing from deep in chest, as he stretches and rubs sleep out of his eyes. He blindly reaches for the phone on his nightstand.

“Hello?” he mumbles.

“Steve, hey.”

Steve sits up like a rocket at the tremble in Robin’s voice.

“Robin? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, kind of. I mean, yes! But no. Sorry, I just—can you come to Hopper’s?”

“What is it?” Steve asks. He staggers to his feet, getting tangled in the phone cord. “Is it Vecna? Shit, who did he take?”

“No one!” Robin says, voice way too high to be believable. “Please just come over when you can.”

Steve drives over to their basecamp at Hopper’s cabin, a million bad scenarios racing through his head. What if Vecna cursed Dustin? Or Nancy, or any of the others?

What if somehow he got El, and the Hawkins’ team was really doomed?

It takes Steve almost forty minutes to get to Hopper’s, due to earthquake damage and military roadblocks all over town. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it swings open before he can.

Joyce smiles at him, but her eyes are mournful.

“Hi, Steve,” she says warmly. “Please, come inside.”

This isn’t what Steve expected. Hopper, El, Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin are sitting on various chairs and couches in the cabin’s main room. Usually, it’s frantic around here: everyone running around with mixtapes, weapons, and crudely drawn maps of the town with markings where the most frequent monster attacks are. It’s never this still.

When Steve and Joyce walk in, everyone looks at him, sympathy in their eyes.

Steve’s first thought: Shit, is this an intervention?

Before he can ask, Hopper says: “The gates are closed, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth twists into a frown, heart pounding in his chest. That wasn’t the plan.

“Wait, what? How?”

“We’re not sure,” Joyce says. “But Will—”

“I can’t feel Vecna anymore,” Will explains. “And El checked this morning, and she found Vecna in the Void and…”

“He’s gone,” El says quietly. “Dead. Finally.”

Steve sinks onto a couch cushion. That should be good news. Steve should be celebrating, toasting to the death of the bastard that ruined his life and took you away by way of the demobats. But—

“We were supposed to go back,” Steve says. The back of his throat burns when he swallows hard, trying to choke down the sensation of nausea that’s either from his hangover or his panic. Or both. “We were going to go back and get Y/N’s body.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Jonathan says, looking down at his feet.

Steve whirls to Hopper, eyes blazing with a flash of anger that never seems to leave him these days.

“You promised!” he yells. “You promised that we’d go back for her!”

“I know,” Hopper says, keeping his voice even. “But something—or someone—killed Vecna in the Upside Down and the gates closed. The fight is done. It’s over.”

Steve’s lip wobbles. He won’t cry in front of them. He won’t. But his head spins.

“What am I going to tell her parents?” Steve says, voice cracking.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Steve,” Nancy says. She reaches a hand to touch his shoulder and Steve bats it away. “Steve—”

“This is such bullshit,” Steve snaps, turning to Hopper again. “If you had let me go back down there before, I could have brought her body back. We could’ve given her a proper funeral. Given her parents closure! But you made me wait!”

“It was the right choice,” Hopper says firmly. “I didn’t want to invoke another Vecna attack on Hawkins until we were ready to fight.”

“Maybe there’s a gate that we missed and—”

“We checked the gates this morning,” Robin says softly. “They’re all closed.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But it’s over.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. He storms out of the cabin, ignoring Robin’s pleas to come back, to not be alone right now. Steve drives back home, not without stopping at the liquor store first and loading up on various spirits to numb the pain.

Over the next week, you go from declared missing to officially declared dead. Steve can’t let on to your parents that he had known for months, and Hopper doesn’t want him to tell them the truth about Vecna, demobats, and the Upside Down. It kills Steve to lie to their faces, to attend the funeral where they bury an empty casket, knowing what he knows. Knowing that your body is trapped in another dimension. Dead and alone.

🍊🍊🍊

NOVEMBER 1986

“Y/N wouldn’t want this.”

Robin’s words echo in Steve’s mind hours after she’s fallen asleep in the uncomfortable armchair next to his hospital bed.

An overindulgence forced Steve to spend his Thanksgiving in a hospital—not that he had any plans with his family to get ruined anyway. Although he had been invited to Thanksgiving with the Buckleys, Wheelers, Hopper-Byerses, Sinclairs, Hendersons, Mayfields, and Munsons, Steve declined every invitation. He resigned himself to a holiday alone without you, got heavy handed with a bottle of whiskey, and passed out in the neighbor’s lawn.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital. Joyce and Robin were there, the former fretting over him and the latter chewing him out for being such a dingus and scaring her so badly on a holiday.

Like a broken record in his head of the worst song Steve’s ever heard: Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this.

Robin didn’t say it to be mean. She said it to get him to wake up. To cool it with the drinking, because if he kept going at the rate he was going, he’d meet a worse fate than a pumped stomach.

Joyce quietly reenters the room and smiles.

“Oh, you’re still up!” she says. “I thought for sure you’d try to get some sleep.”

Steve shrugs.

“I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up.”

Joyce settles on the chair next to Robin’s, ignoring the sleeping girl’s loud snores.

“When I can’t stop replaying the past in my mind,” Joyce says, “I try to think about my future instead. What are my aspirations and goals? What can I do differently to achieve them?”

Steve chews his bottom lip.

“Is it bad if I have no goals?” he says, feeling quite sorry for himself.

“Why do you think that is?” Joyce asks gently.

Steve shrugs again, before rubbing his eyes.

“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve spent the past 3 years on edge thinking I’m going to get killed at any minute?”

Steve barks out a hollow laugh. “Or maybe it’s because 2 years ago I met someone who turned my life completely around, and she did get killed, and I wasn’t there to save her or be with her when she died. And I couldn’t give her or her parents a proper end and every time I close my eyes, I see her laying there. And I don’t know what my future looks like without her. I don’t even think I want one.”

Steve hates crying in front of other people. But when Joyce wraps an arm around his shoulders, he breaks down.

“It’s going to be all right, Steve,” she says. She squeezes him a little tighter. “I know it’s hard moving on from loss, but you do have a future. You have so many people that love you and are going to help you figure it out. And Y/N would want you to keep going. She’d want you to go off and do wonderful things.”

Joyce was right. If roles were reversed, Steve would want you to keep going without him. Not waste away and drink yourself into a coma.

Steve’s life is changing. And despite everything, things might be looking up.

🍊🍊🍊

FEBRUARY 1987

There is a beautiful girl in Steve’s bed and she’s touching him all the ways he likes to be touched—but he can’t even enjoy it because she’s not you.

He tries to clear his mind of all distraction. The girl with him—Molly—is very, very hot. And the feeling of her hands all over him should be sufficient to keep him focused on the moment. But his mind keeps wandering to you.

You were the last person he was truly intimate with. Sure, he’s kissed girls at parties. But that’s different than what’s happening now. Different than being in bed with Molly and her wandering hands, her gentle touches, her salacious whispers.

Steve thinks maybe he’s finally done it. Found a girl that can help him move on from you, the girl to help him feel whole again. To not feel so alone.

But then, overcome with sensation, Steve makes the worst possible faux pas in bed: he moans the wrong name.

Molly ceases kissing him.

“What did you just call me?” she asks, sitting up suddenly with narrowed eyes.

Steve sits up as well, resting against his headboard and floundering for a response that won’t make him sound like a douchebag.

“I just, uh, well—”

“Who is she?” Molly asks. She widens her eyes in horror. “Oh my god, are you seeing someone else? Am I ‘the other woman’?!”

“It’s nothing like that,” Steve rushes to assure her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“Caught up in the moment thinking of someone else when I was about to blow you!” Molly snaps. She stomps off the bed and grumbles as she pulls her jeans and sweatshirt back on.

“Wait, hold on!” Steve says. He struggles to put a pair of sweatpants on, hopping around frantically one-footed to pull them up as Molly grabs her purse and yanks open Steve’s bedroom door. “Please don’t leave, Y/N—ah, Molly!”

“Unbelievable!” Molly scoffs as she stomps down the staircase of the townhome Steve shares with three other students at the University of Indiana.

Molly gets to the front door but stops, whipping around to face Steve as he catches up to her.

“Who is she?” she demands. “An ex-girlfriend?”

“In a sense, yeah, but—”

“If you’re still so hung up on her, maybe you should ask her to blow you instead!”

Steve thinks about being an asshole. About letting the anger that simmers in his bloodstream 24/7 rear its ugly head. About snapping at Molly, telling her that yeah, totally, he’d love to get a blowjob from a corpse stuck in an alternate dimension.

But then Molly would feel bad and give him the pitying look Steve hates. So instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ll do that. See you in class.”

Molly huffs before giving Steve’s cheek a sharp smack! He doesn’t wince. Upset at his lack of reaction, Molly storms out.

Just as well. Remembering how the love of his life is dead is a real mood killer.

Steve rubs his forehead and heads to the kitchen. He eyes the six pack in the fridge. He hasn’t touched alcohol in three months. The temptation causes his hand to graze a beer can, but he quickly pivots to a cartoon of orange juice.

He chugs the drink before stalking up the steps to his room. Steve drops to his knees and blindly reaches in the dusty space under his bed. He grips the corner of a box and drags it to the middle of the floor.

Once opened, two black button eyes stare back up at Steve. It’s Lambchop, a stuffed animal lamb that your parents gave him. After your parents held a small funeral and buried that empty casket, they gave Steve this box of your things.

Lambchop here was her favorite toy, your mother had said at the time, eyes glistening with tears. She always hoped to pass it on to her own children one day. I think she’d want you to have it.

Steve thanked your mother and father, gave his condolences, went home, drank enough whiskey to fell a horse, and passed out.

Shaking himself out of the memory, Steve climbs onto the bed and places the lamb on the pillow next to him. It’s one of few connections to you that he has left, so he’ll cherish it, even if it’s a little silly.

What Steve doesn’t realize is that in another dimension, the very person he’s yearning for lays in the version of her bedroom created by the Upside Down, holds a dirty version of Lambchop, and yearns for Steve right back.

🍊🍊🍊

MAY 1987

You and Steve used to have your futures mapped out: start at U of I together in fall of ’86. Move in together after your freshman year of college. Get engaged by fall of ’89, married in fall of ’90, and have two kids by ’95. Spend the rest of your lives together, happy and healthy, with the horrors of Hawkins far behind you.

That was before Steve’s world changed in the worst way. Before you died in the Upside Down, when you drew the bats away from the gate. You were a hero, trying to keep them from flying into your version of Hawkins and destroying it.

Steve struggled for a long time. He’s still struggling, but in a slightly better place.

He’s sober six months now. He thinks of you often, but he tries to focus less on how he desperately misses you and more on how you wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life miserable and drunk.

But he does miss you so, so desperately. And he would give anything to have you back.

It hurts being reminded of you, so Steve stays away from Hawkins. But he can’t say no when Mrs. Henderson invites him to Dustin’s sweet sixteen birthday party, so he makes the trek back.

“Steve!” Mrs. Henderson coos, opening the front door with a beaming smile. “Welcome!”

“Hi, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve says. She pulls him into a hug and he adds, “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s so lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Henderson says. She leads Steve through the house. “Please, come in! You can put Dusty-Bun’s gift on the dining room table. I have strawberry wine in the kitchen—ah, and orange juice, or lemonade. It’s yours if you want it!”

Mrs. Henderson pivoted to juice awfully fast. She must have found out about Steve’s Thanksgiving Break bender. Steve tamps down the feeling of shame worming its way through his mind and body, instead offering her another small smile before turning to the dining room to drop off Dustin’s gift.

Dustin and the rest of the Hellfire Club are in the den, playing a one-shot campaign that Eddie planned. When Dustin sees Steve, his face lights up.

“Steve! You made it!” he says, rushing over and giving him a bear hug.

“Hey buddy,” Steve says, hugging him back. “Happy birthday, Henderson.”

Dustin grins, and it lifts Steve’s mood immensely.

Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, and Erica greet him next, along with Eddie and his Corroded Coffin buddies. Eddie can barely look Steve in the eye, guilt from not being able to save you eating away at him. Steve’s told him multiple times not to feel bad about it—he knows Eddie and Dustin tried their best.

“Want to join the campaign?” Dustin asks Steve.

“Oh, I don’t know how to play,” Steve says. “I’ll just watch, okay bud?”

A short while later, Robin arrives. Once the campaign ends, Mrs. Henderson brings out the cake, and then gifts are opened.

“He looks really happy, huh?” Robin whispers to Steve, nudging him gently with her elbow.

Steve nods with a smile. Dustin took your death really hard—the two of you had been close ever since you helped him, Steve, Lucas, and Max fight the demodogs in the junkyard. Seeing Dustin smiling and laughing with his closest friends on his birthday makes Steve really, really happy.

Still, Steve’s heart aches. You should be here. You should be smiling as Dustin opens his gifts. You should be getting cake frosting on your nose, playing along with the campaign although you have no clue what’s going on.

Ice grips Steve’s chest. He gets a flashback of you lying on the cold ground, unmoving, and—

“You okay?” Robin whispers, brow furrowed. How the hell can she tell that he’s upset? It’s frightening how observant she is.

“Fine,” Steve says, throat tightening. He’s not. But he isn’t going to let his grief ruin Dustin’s big day.

At the end of the night, Dustin asks Steve when he’ll be back to visit again.

“My summer classes end in August,” Steve says. “I’ll come by then. Maybe we can hit the pool?”

Dustin seems disappointed that it’ll be a while before he sees Steve again, but he doesn’t push.

However, Steve ends up coming back to Hawkins much sooner. Three weeks after Dustin’s birthday party, Eleven calls Steve and tells him something that makes his heart stop:

“Steve, it’s about Y/N.”

🍊🍊🍊

Steve is a frantic mess.

He sits in the Byers-Hopper basement, knee bouncing as he intently watches El try to find you in the Void again.

El had told him that she’d sometimes look for you in the Void, hoping to give him some semblance of closure. However, she claims that a few hours ago, she finally found you for the first time and saw you not as a corpse, but fully alive. It’s a hope that Steve didn’t dare hold onto before, not until now.

As soon as she called, Steve got in his car and drove to Hawkins, going ten over the speed limit the whole time. He picked up Robin and Nancy along the way to El, Will, and Jonathan’s, and (unfortunately) Mike tagged along.

“Do you see her?” Steve asks, voice cracking.

“No talking, please,” El says, tightening her blindfold.

Steve purses his lips. Will gives him an apologetic smile and Robin squeezes his arm to offer a semblance of comfort. Jonathan looks between Steve and El, an uneasy expression on his face.

“I see her,” El whispers after a few minutes.

Nancy gasps. Mike’s eyes widen. Steve staggers to his feet.

“She’s okay?” Steve asks. “Where is she?!”

“I can’t tell,” El says. “But she’s holding a small, white fuzzy animal. Wait, is it dead?”

“Lambchop,” Steve says.

“Come again?” Nancy asks.

“Lambchop is her favorite stuffed animal,” Steve explains. His heart pounds in his chest at the realization that holy shit, you really are alive. “She must be in the Upside Down version of her house.”

“Y/N!” El calls. “Y/N!”

After a few more minutes of calling to you, El pulls off the blindfold and wipes her nosebleed away.

“She can’t hear me,” El says with a sigh.

“Maybe because the gates are closed,” Nancy offers.

“But if you open another gate,” Steve says, “we can get back through and find her. Right?”

“Hold on a minute,” Jonathan says, holding a hand up like a traffic cop. “Is that such a good idea?”

Steve narrows his eyes.

“Is it such a good idea to save my girlfriend’s life? Yeah, I think so, Byers.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

“Relax?” Steve says, voice rising in volume with every word. “Relax?! You want me to relax? What about this fucked-up situation is relaxing! My girlfriend has been stuck in literal hell for over a fucking year! We’re going to rescue her, no matter what!”

“But opening a new gate could have major repercussions!” Mike protests.

“Screw the repercussions,” Steve snaps, glowering. “We can’t just leave Y/N down there to rot!”

“None of us want to do that, Steve,” Nancy says, keeping her voice level and calm. “But what if this is a trick from Vecna?”

“It’s not,” Will says. “If it was, I would feel his presence. I don’t anymore.”

“Boom!” Robin says, snapping her fingers. “If our human monster detector doesn’t sense any bad vibes, then we should be good to proceed.”

“Maybe we should ask El what she wants to do before we make any plans to open new gates,” Jonathan points out.

“Exactly,” Mike says. “El, what do you want to do?”

El looks down at her lap, before looking up. She locks eyes with Steve.

“I’ll do it. I’ll open the gate.”

Relief floods Steve’s whole being. He feels lighter. More hopeful than he has in a long time. But it all comes crashing down when—

“That’s not happening.”

The group turns to see Hopper and Joyce on the basement steps. Joyce looks worried, face twisted into a frown. Hopper looks angry, with his brow furrowed.

“But Dad—” El says.

“No buts,” Hopper says. “You are forbidden to open a new gate. You hear me?”

Joyce places a hand on her husband’s shoulder and says, “Now, Hop…”

Steve interrupts, walking over to the older man with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. “Hopper, please. Y/N is still alive in the Upside Down. We just need one gate so I can go through and bring her back. Please.” Hopper fixes Steve with a sorrowful stare, the smallest bit of guilt etched on his features. Still, he remains steadfast.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper says. “I’m not putting my daughter at risk. She won’t do it.”

El, Robin, and Will all try to convince Hopper otherwise, their arguments overlapping into a cacophony. Nancy, Mike, and Jonathan share uneasy looks.

Steve can’t listen to this anymore. He quietly excuses himself, darting past Hopper up the steps and stepping into the backyard.

He sinks on the porch stoop and stares off into the quiet, cool night. He understands Hopper’s reasoning, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s spent over a year mourning you, only to discover he might be able to get you back—for that hope to be dashed as quickly as it blossomed.

Steve picks a point in the tree line and focuses on it, putting all his energy into watching it so he doesn’t break down or cause any more of a scene than he already has.

He hears the squeak of the back door and Robin’s tentative, “Hey, how you doing?”

Steve shrugs absentmindedly, continuing to stare. Robin lowers herself onto the stoop next to him.

For a few blissful minutes, she doesn’t speak. She just rests her head on his shoulder and lets him stew in silence.

The spell is broken when she blurts out, “You’re not going to break your sobriety, are you?”

“Jesus Christ, Robin,” Steve grumbles, nudging her slightly so she’ll sit up. “You don’t have to ask that every time I’m in a bad mood.”

“Sorry,” she says. She picks at her fingernails. “Sorry. I just worry about you, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says softly. “I worry about you too.”

“Me?” Robin says. “No, no. I’m fine.”

Steve eyes the way her hands fidget. Before he can say anything, she blurts out, “I just don’t want a repeat of Thanksgiving. I mean, you almost died of alcohol poisoning. They pumped your stomach!”

“I know. I was there.”

“No!” Robin snaps, sounding awfully harsh despite the tears welling in her eyes. It breaks Steve’s heart to see. “You were unconscious! And it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, including all the torture and monsters, because I thought I was going to lose another best friend. I already lost Y/N. I can’t lose you too.”

She sniffles and Steve pulls her in for a hug. He can’t stop a few stray tears from falling down his own face as well.

“You won’t lose me,” Steve says, voice thick. “I promise, Robin. I’m not going to do that again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, hugging him tighter. “I love you, dingus.”

“I love you, Rob.”

“That’s not fair,” Robin says, pulling away and wiping her tears on her sleeve. “You have to call me a mean nickname back or I just look like an asshole.”

Steve barks out a laugh and shakes his head.

“You are an asshole.”

“Perfect,” Robin says with a small smile. “Now we’re equally jerks. Just the way I like it.”

The back door opens and Will steps out.

“Hopper changed his mind!” he says with a grin.

Hope pumps like blood through Steve’s cold, shrunken heart. He’s going to see you again. Fuck, he’s going to see you again.

🍊🍊🍊

The next day, the group stands in the basement once more, this time making their plan for a rescue mission. Mike squealed to Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Max about what’s going on, and they all showed up wanting to help too.

“Not happening!” Hopper barks, a fierce look on his face. “New rule: you have to be 18 to come along.”

Eddie pumps his fist in victory, thrilled that he gets to come and try to make things right after losing you the first time. The younger teens grumble.

“But El is going!” Dustin complains.

“El is going to stay in the Lab with Joyce,” Hopper says. “She’ll open the gate for us and wait.”

“I can keep the gate open for one hour,” El says.

“That’s plenty of time to find Y/N!” Robin says brightly. “We already know she’s probably at her house.”

“And she lives close to Hawkins Lab,” Jonathan says, pointing to a map of Hawkins. “So we’ll be in and out.”

“It’ll be easy!” Eddie says.

“Don’t jinx it,” Hopper warns.

Nancy turns to Steve and pats his shoulder.

“You feeling good about this?” she asks quietly.

He nods. Although, truthfully, he’s terrified. If they come all this way, only for him to lose you again…he’s not sure he’d be able to handle that.

🍊🍊🍊

The Upside Down is not what Steve remembers.

The alternate dimension used to be dank and cold, like an endless winter’s night. Now with Vecna gone, it’s brighter, with a yellow sky and actual green foliage, not the moldy, dry shit from before. It seems less dangerous than last time.

No matter how much it’s changed, the thought that you’ve been here alone for over a year makes Steve’s blood run ice cold.

“This way!” Hopper barks, tracing his finger on his map of Hawkins and leading the group toward your house.

Jonathan and Nancy walk side-by-side with Hopper, glancing around at the tree lines constantly for any sign of danger. Eddie and Robin hang back, Steve walking slightly in front of them. He hears them whispering about something, but when he turns his head to try and listen, they quiet down.

He’s not an idiot. He knows what they’re worrying about: if they can’t find you, will Steve have another breakdown? Go on another bender? Would Steve even survive it?

Steve’s been wondering the same things himself. But for now, he stays positive, his optimism increasing tenfold when the six of them turn onto your street.

He can’t help but pick up speed, jogging past Hopper and causing the older man to snap, “Hey, stay behind me!”

Steve ignores his protests, shouting your name and pushing through the front door of your house.

He’s been here many, many times. He’s walked the pathway from your front door to your bedroom over and over again. Steve walks that path for the first time in over a year, charging up the steps and tuning out the concerned warnings from his friends.

He bursts into your bedroom, calling your name. He doesn’t see you, but maybe you hid when you heard the front door open. So he checks the closet, the ensuite bathroom, under the bed, to no avail.

Steve’s eyes sweep the space for any clues of your whereabouts. Most of the room seems untouched, except for your bed, where the sheets are rumpled and a grimy Lambchop the Stuffed Lamb sits primly on your pillow with her soft hooves crossed over her lap.

Steve picks up the toy, heart stuttering at the sight. You were sleeping here last night. You must have been. But where are you now?

“Steve!” Robin calls from down the hall, bringing him back to the present. “We found something!”

Steve gently places Lambchop back on the pillow—arranging her the way you always do, because anything else seems disrespectful—and heads back downstairs.

Hopper, Jonathan, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin are crowded around the kitchen table. On it is a sheet of paper with a rudimentary sketch of the town.

“Check it out,” Jonathan says. He traces his finger across the drawn lines. “It’s a record of where the gates originally opened.”

Sure enough, there are big stars drawn over Hawkins Lab, Eddie’s trailer, the road by the trailer park, Lover’s Lake, and the Creel House.

“That’s why she’s not here,” Nancy says. “She’s out searching for an opening.”

“We don’t have long,” Hopper barks, glancing at his watch with a grimace. “El can only keep the gate open for an hour. We have forty-one minutes to get back to the Lab.”

“We could split off into teams,” Nancy says. “Jonathan and I can go to Lover’s Lake.”

“Steve and I will hit the trailer park and the highway,” Robin adds. “Eddie and Hop, you can go to the Creel House.”

“We find Y/N,” Hopper says, “and we head back to the Lab. No wasting time. We move fast, we stay vigilant. Got it?”

The younger adults all nod and agree to stay on their walkies in case anyone needs to get in touch. Then, they split off to their destinations.

As Steve and Robin sprint toward the trailer park, Steve can’t stop panic from enveloping him head to toe. What if they’re too late? What if you’re dead—again? What if you don’t remember him somehow. What if—

“Look!” Robin says, throwing out an arm to stop Steve in his tracks. He skids to a stop and sees where she’s pointing.

Behind the closed curtains of the Munson trailer is the beam of a flashlight moving around. Steve’s heartbeat quickens.

“Okay,” she whispers as the duo slinks toward the trailer. “We need to think about this carefully, and make a plan to—wait, Steve!”

He charges into the trailer.

A figure flinches and whips around, hunting knife raised. Steve almost falls to his knees in shock at the sight. It’s really happening.

“Steve?” you whisper, voice cracking. He stands in front of you, hands raised and eyes flicking between your face and your knife. The corners of his eyes burn, tears starting to form.

He says your name, and the look on your face cracks his heart into seventeen pieces. He starts to step toward you, but—

“You’re not real,” you say quietly. “You can’t be.”

“No, I’m real!” Steve says. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Steve. We’re here to take you home.”

You step back, still pointing your weapon at him.

“Don’t come any closer!” you shout.

“Okay, okay!” Steve says. He steps back, slowly.

“Steve!” Robin shouts from outside. “What’s going on in—”

“Stay outside, Robin!” Steve yells, voice wavering as he eyes your knife.

“But—”

Steve swiftly locks the trailer door without turning away from you.

The two of you ignore Robin’s knocks and protests. Eventually, she gives up, and Steve hears the crackle of her walkie-talkie.

“You can’t be Steve,” you say, shaking your head frantically.

“I am,” Steve begs. “And I’ve missed you so much—”

“You can’t be Steve because there’s no way into the Upside Down!” you say. He notices your arm start to shake. “Trust me, I’ve checked and checked and checked and there’s no gates anymore. And since my Steve isn’t a corpse at the Creel House, I know Vecna didn’t kill him and he’s back in the real world. If you’re not Steve, who the hell are you?”

Steve swallows hard. The back of his throat tastes acidic and he feels desperation wrench its way through every cell in his body. When he imagined his reunion with you, he didn’t anticipate this conversation.

“El reopened a gate for us,” Steve explains patiently. “We thought you were dead. But El looked for you and saw you were still alive, so we came to rescue you.” He glances at his watch and his brows furrow. “But we don’t have a lot of time. We need to head back to the Lab because she can’t keep it open forever.”

“How can I trust you?” you say. “How do I know you aren’t a trick?!”

“I’m really me, I promise,” Steve says. He hesitates before stepping closer to you once more. This time, you don’t move away. “We’re safe now, because Vecna’s dead.”

“I know. I killed him.”

Steve’s eyes widen a fraction.

“You what?”

“I had to,” you say. You shrug and look a little delirious. How much sleep have you gotten in the last year, Steve wonders. “Vecna brought me back. He would've flayed me and sent me to spy on and kill all of you if I didn’t kill him first.”

Steve almost falls over. The haunting fact that you had to fight Vecna alone makes his stomach turn.

The pained look on Steve’s face seems to shake something deep down in you. Any resolve you had crumbles. You heave out a sob, dropping the knife to the ground. Your knees buckle.

In seconds, Steve wraps you in his arms as you sink to the ground.

You cry, limp in his hold. Steve cries too, choking on encouraging words and apologies and everything he’s wanted to say to you since March 1986, when he thought he’d never speak to you again.

The door rattles. You startle and Steve holds you a little tighter.

“HARRINGTON!” Hopper barks. “Get a move on!”

“We have to go,” Steve says, urgent yet gentle. “We can talk more when we’re home. Okay?”

You nod, standing on unsteady legs.

Steve squeezes your hand before leading you out the door.

The whole rescue squad is out there, and you look wholly overwhelmed at seeing everyone after so long alone.

“No time for pleasantries,” Hopper says. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes to get through that gate.”

“Or it’s a slumber party at Y/N’s,” Eddie jokes. He playfully knocks his shoulder against yours and you gasp at the sudden contact. “Oh, sorry—”

“RUN!” Hopper yells, clapping his hands.

Everyone bolts toward the Lab. Steve and you run side-by-side, hands intertwined.

Shock envelops Steve’s senses, but he keeps running. The one thing racing through his mind is to get you back to safety.

The Lab’s gate is not the gaping maw it once was. It’s about the height of a minivan door, but its width is quite smaller—and slowly but surely shrinking.

El and Joyce stand on the gate’s other side, looking relieved to see everyone.

“Hurry!” Joyce says, waving you forward first. You hesitate, but Steve says, “We’re right behind you. Go on.”

You crawl through the gate and stumble to your feet on the right side of the universe. Steve would normally let everyone else go in front of him, but he wastes no time following behind you. Next comes Robin, then Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie and Hopper bring up the rear.

As soon as Hopper’s crawled through the gate, El drops her hand and it sews itself up—for the final time.

Steve and the others swarm you, all speaking too fast and asking a million questions. Joyce opens a first-aid kid and tries to sit you down and asses your various cuts and bruises. They hurt Steve to see.

“Look at her! She needs more than bandaids and alcohol wipes,” Eddie says, nodding in your direction.

“He’s right,” Jonathan says. “Mom, we need to take her to the hospital—”

“No!” you say. You stumble toward the staircase. “I need to go home. I need to see my parents, let them know I’m alive. How long have I been down there? I’ve been keeping track, and it has to be at least ten weeks, right?”

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. You look at him, eyes wild. “Y/N,” he says softly, “it’s been 15 months.”

That seems to be your final straw. Steve catches you as you pass out.

🍊🍊🍊

SIX HOURS LATER

While you get checked over by Dr. Owens and his people, Steve paces the hospital waiting room. Robin chews her thumbnail and watches the doors to the ER. Nancy and Jonathan bend their heads together and whisper, and Eddie attempts to distract Dustin and the other teenagers by juggling snacks from the vending machine.

After you fainted, Steve didn’t want to leave your side, but Hopper said everyone except himself and Joyce had to go home.

If our entire merry band shows up at Hawkins Mercy Hospital with a presumed-dead girl, it’ll look too damn suspicious, Hopper had said. Go home. Clean up. Wait three hours, and then you can come check on her. We’ll keep you updated.

In exactly 180 minutes, Steve and the others charge into the ER asking the nurse on duty about you.

“She’s still being looked over,” the nurse tells them. “Her parents and the Chief are with her now. You can wait over there and we’ll call you when she’s able to have visitors.”

Another 180 minutes go by. Now, everyone’s getting antsy. Steve has half a mind to charge into the ER and find you himself.

“Simmer down, Steve,” Robin says, noticing the way he’s squeezing the lilac teddy bear he bought you at the gift shop. “You’re choking the life out of that thing.”

“Why haven’t we heard anything from Hopper?” Steve asks. He checks his pager for the fiftieth time. “He said he’d keep us updated.”

“She’s probably going through a psych eval or something,” Max says.

“Or an interrogation,” Mike says darkly. “Maybe they think she had something to do with the murders last year.”

“Shut up, Mike!” Nancy hisses.

Steve curses and pinches his nose. Last year, a cruel man named Colonel Sullivan swept into Hawkins, searching for the real culprit behind Vecna’s kills after Eddie was proven innocent (thanks to a bogus alibi cooked up by Owens’ team). Steve was one of the unlucky few questioned, due to his connection as Jason’s former basketball captain. The thought of you, disoriented from so long in that shithole, handcuffed to a hospital bed while Sullivan grills you makes him see red.

Another sinking realization hits Steve: he’s changed since last year. What if you don’t like him anymore, once you realize how much of a mess he became when he lost you?

Hopper emerges through a set of double doors. Steve’s charging over to him in seconds, the rest of his friends piling behind and all talking at once.

Hopper holds up his hands to silence the group.

“Owens wants to run some more tests,” Hopper says. “They’re checking for contaminants in her bloodstream. You all can see her soon.”

He points at Steve. “Except she’s asking for you right now. You ready?”

Steve nods and squeezes your new teddy bear again. He gives Robin a panicked look, and she gives him a quick hug.

“Go get her,” Robin says with an encouraging smile.

Steve smiles back before following Hopper down the hall. Joyce stands outside your hospital room and smiles when she sees Hopper and Steve approach. Steve freezes.

Through the plane of glass in the door, he sees you with your parents. All three of you are crying.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Steve says, backing away from the door. Before he can fully chicken out, Hopper bursts in and says, “Hey, look who came by.”

You and your parents look up. At the sight of him, your mother and father beam.

“Hello, Steve!” your mother says, sweeping him into a hug. “Can you believe she’s back?!”

“It’s a goddamn miracle,” your dad says, wiping tears on his sleeve. “We’ve been praying for this for so long.”

“Let’s leave these two alone to catch up,” Joyce says. “Grace, Roger, why don’t we pick up some food for Y/N?”

Your parents agree and step out with Joyce and Hopper. When it’s just you and Steve, all either of you can do is stare at each other with awkward smiles.

You clear your throat and point to the teddy bear.

“Is that little guy for me?”

“Yes!” Steve says. “Uh, sorry.”

He hands it to you. When your fingers brush, it feels electric. Still, after so long apart—no matter how much he’s dreamed of what it would be like if he somehow saw you again—everything feels stiff. You’re the love of his life and he can’t think of one thing to say.

“How have you been?” you ask quietly, seemingly just as uncomfortable as Steve.

Steve can’t help but laugh and says, “Terrible. I mean, shit. I know what you went through is way worse—”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you say sharply. Steve recoils and you wince. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just—I’ve been through this like five times with Owens’ guys, and over a cover story two more times with the cops. I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear about you. What’s been going on?”

Steve wants to know more about what happened. About how you killed Vecna. About how you survived. But he doesn’t. He would never push you to discuss anything you didn’t want to, but he hopes that one day you’ll feel ready to open up to him.

Right now, you want to hear about his life. Where to begin. Steve thinks of sugar-coating the truth but doesn’t when he admits: “For starters, I almost died last year.”

You gasp and sit up a little straighter.

“What? Oh my god, what happened?”

“I’m fine now,” Steve says, waving away your concerns.

“Was it Vecna?”

“No, nothing like that. I really missed you, and I was in a bad place.”

You swallow hard, eyes turning glassy.

“Oh, Steve. Please don’t tell me you tried to—”

“No!” he says quickly. “It was alcohol poisoning. I drank too much being too lonely on Thanksgiving. Had to get my stomach pumped. It wasn’t all bad, though. Robin and I watched ‘A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving’ on the hospital room TV and Joyce snuck in some pie for me.”

You ignore his attempts and lightening the mood and wave him even closer to you. He cautiously approaches and intertwines your fingers when you reach for his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like it’s my fault—”

“Stop it.”

“Steve…”

“No!” Steve says. He shakes his head vehemently. “Don’t think like that. I just…struggled without you. But it’s not your fault that I’m a basket case.”

“You’re not a basket case,” you say. You squeeze his hand. “You’re the hero that crossed dimensions to come rescue me.”

You kiss his palm before scooching over on the hospital bed. You pat the spot next to you.

“What if your parents come back?” Steve asks.

“I’m not trying to hook up right now,” you say with an eye roll. “I just want you to lay with me.”

Steve is happy to oblige. He settles next to you. You rest your head on his shoulder and hug the teddy bear he brought you.

“So, you didn’t move on?” you ask quietly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “Find a new girlfriend?”

“What?!” Steve asks, looking down at you, jaw dropped. “You really think I found someone else?”

You nod, fidgeting with the bow around your bear’s neck.

“15 months is a long time,” you whisper. “I don’t want to stand in the way if you're with someone else.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve says. He rests a hand on your knee cautiously. When you don’t flinch or move away, he keeps it there. “Y/N, I don’t want anyone else. I only want you, if you’ll still have me.”

You look up at him, noses practically brushing. The close proximity makes Steve’s cheeks flush rosy pink.

“You mean that?” you ask.

Steve nods. It seems to placate you, because in seconds, you’re lifting your chin to kiss him.

It’s a soft, gentle thing. An innocent brush of lips, like the kisses you shared very early in your relationship. Not the passionate “welcome home” kiss that Steve wants to give you, but he understands if you need to take things slow. He’ll move as slow as you need.

For the first time in months, Steve feels hopeful about his future again. Steve’s world is changing once more, in all the right ways.

🍊🍊🍊

EPILOGUE

You and Steve have your futures mapped out: after six months of physical and emotional healing, move in with Steve and join him at U of I in spring of ’88. Get engaged and subsequently married sometime within five years. No kids—at least, not biological ones, because your time in the Upside Down has caused lasting physiological effects that you don’t want to pass on to children. Maybe you’ll adopt a kid, or some dogs.

It's less of a map and more of an amorphous outline of what you two want to happen. All you two know for sure is that you never want to be apart that long ever again.

Steve’s heart and soul have changed, but they belong to you, and yours to him. Always.

🍊🍊🍊

a/n please lmk what you thought 🧡

tag list; @hollandweather @starry-eyed-steve @aloneinthehellfire @tvandfanfic @a-dealwith-god @stevebabey @keerysquinn @spoookysix @inkluvs

#st fic: oj #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic

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honeyedmiller · 8 months

Text

Law of Attraction — Chapter One: Rough Draft

series masterlist | next chapter

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: Professor!Joel, reader is self conscious for a bit, reader is mentioned to be plus sized, no outbreak au, smut (fingering, thigh riding, f oral receiving, unprotected piv), pet names, age gap (joel is in his mid forties and reader is in late twenties), no use of y/n.

word count: 4.4k

chapter synopsis: you need help with a paper you’re writing for Professor Miller’s class, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

Professor Miller’s class was your favorite.

Criminal Law was your favorite subject, and Professor Miller made learning about it sound like the most interesting thing in the world (which to you, it truly was).

Although the class itself was a bit monotonous, you got to look at the most handsome Professor on the University of Austin’s campus. It was no secret that people only joined Professor Miller’s class just to ogle over him and his ruggedly handsome looks.

You, on the other hand, needed this class to graduate. Which means you needed to try. You were a good student; A’s and B’s as your final grades at the end of each semester, took good notes, studied hard, and asked for help when you needed it. However, you found it to be a bit difficult to do so for Professor Miller.

Even just being around him made you unintentionally blush. His eyes always tended to land on yours because you sat up front, and, well, tried to pay attention to the lesson. So, when you weren’t exactly confident in the rough draft of a paper you wrote for his class, you’d emailed him for help.

to: [email protected]

Good evening Professor Miller,

I was just wondering if I could have you read through the rough draft of my paper. I seem to be struggling a bit with this particular section of the course, and would like some feedback to see what I need to change or can improve.

Thank you and kind regards.

You held your breath as you clicked ‘send’, and in less than five minutes, he replied to you. Your heart leaped into your throat when you saw his name on the screen, and you rolled your eyes at yourself for getting so worked up over a man that you’d never be able to have, regardless if you were well above a legal age.

from: [email protected]

Of course. Meet me after class tomorrow and we can go over it in my office during my office hours.

Have a good night.

Professor M

You often thought of Professor Miller outside of class, and, sometimes, you’d let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Places like what it’d feel like for him to run his hands over you, fingers in you, him moaning because of you.

Your thoughts always quickly dissipated though when reality sunk in. Surely he’d want someone his own age, not a student of his, and someone who was… well, thinner. You were a bigger girl and you’d struggled with your image a lot, especially because trauma from your childhood from being made fun of constantly haunted you into your adulthood.

It wasn’t easy not caring what people thought of you, especially since you weren’t society’s “standard” beauty. You were curvy, yes, but you didn’t have a flat tummy like other women. You’ve been on a journey of self love and healing for a long time, and you've come a long way. You've had a newfound confidence spring within you, but you just couldn't help the thought loom in the back of your mind as you fantasized about your unfairly gorgeous professor.

So, as it was, you went to bed that night fucking yourself with your fingers, wishing they were his instead as a ghost of his name was whispered from your lips.

It was unusually hot in Austin the next day, which resulted in you wearing a pencil skirt that came just above the knees, a button down shirt with the first couple of buttons undone, and strap back kitten heels. You had a presentation in your first class with a team to act as if you were profilers giving a profile on a high stakes case. So, naturally, you had to dress the part.

What you didn't take in account is the fact that several of your classmate's eyes landed on you as you walked into Professor Miller's class a few minutes before it started. Professor Miller's eyes snapped up and looked at you, taking in your professional attire. You felt your face get hot as you tried to subtly head to your desk in the front, but your heels clicking against the floor didn't help.

Joel cleared his throat as he typed something on his computer, turning on the projector so the screen could display today's lesson. Joel got up from his desk and trudged over to yours, knocking on it twice. Your head was already buried in the notes from the previous lessons, so his presence startled you.

"I remembered your email from yesterday. See me after class today if you can." He pauses, taking a moment to look over your features, pretty face was perfectly on display for him. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your doe eyes scanned his face, lips in a soft pout, and your chest was rising and falling faster than usual. The way he looked at you made you squeeze your legs together, and Joel noticed.

"For my paper." You stated matter-of-factly, rather than questioning it. He nodded, and you mirrored his actions once before he stalked back to his desk. He greeted the class shortly after, beginning the lesson almost immediately.

Class lasted the two hours as usual, and as everyone gathered their stuff, you stay put. You’d crossed your leg over one another because the heavy feeling of arousal just wasn’t going away.

Professor Miller looked particularly good today, with his hair done up and a tight cotton green button down hugging the muscles in his arms. You always admired his husky build, and this shirt he wore with the fitted denim jeans he had on accentuated it perfectly.

“So what exactly are you struggling with?” Professor Miller cuts to the chase, prompting you to come up to his desk. You clear your throat as you pull the rough draft from your folder, sliding out of your desk. You walk over to him, heels still clicking onto the floor with purpose. You hand him the paper and he takes it from you gently.

“I’m having trouble with the case study here,” You lean over his desk slightly, a perfectly manicured finger of yours pointing at the third paragraph on the first page. “I don’t know if I should apply or dispute it.” You chew on your bottom lip nervously, not realizing how incredibly sexy you look to your dear professor right now.

One of your hands was hooked to the edge of his desk, gripping on it to balance yourself as you leaned over giving him a slight peep of the very top of the soft flesh of your breasts. You biting your lip like that didn’t make things any better. Joel felt his cock twitch in his jeans, and he wanted to groan.

Joel’s admired your curviness since the first day you walked into his classroom. He always found plus size women attractive, so naturally, he felt more drawn to you. He knew you were a consenting adult and a grown woman at that, so he truthfully didn’t feel too guilty for unashamedly checking you out. You just never noticed.

Joel’s eyes snapped back to your paper, reading over the section you pointed at. “You should apply the argument,” Joel said, writing next to the printed words with red ink. “Everything looks good, though. Just apply the argument and assess the similarities between the two cases and you’re golden.” He hands you back the paper after writing his feedback.

“Great. Thank you for your help, Professor.”

“Call me Joel.”

You look at him a little confused. “Sir?” The word just slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t realize what you’d just said until after the fact. Joel exhaled shakily out of his nose.

To change the subject, he took in your attire again. “What’ya doin’ dressed up all fancy like that?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He was trying to distract his own mind from wandering places that it shouldn’t with you.

“Oh,” You laugh, and fuck if that wasn’t one of Joel’s new favorite sounds. “I have Professor Sanchez’s class before this. We had a group presentation today,” You turn away from him to put the paper back in your folder, so your back was facing him. You heard Joel get up from his chair, but his footsteps didn’t go far. It sounded like he was leaning up against his desk. “We basically had to give out a profile for a mock high stakes case.”

Joel hummed, and you whirred around to face him. His body looked elongated the way he leaned so cooly up against his mahogany desk, legs extended but crossed as his boots touched the ground, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked like a tall glass of water and you’d be damned if you didn’t get a sip.

“Professor Sanchez’s class sounds fun.” Joel quips, tilting his head.

“Yours is better.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?” He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off of his desk, analyzing your body language again. He can tell by the way your legs are pressed together and the rising of your chest that you’re nervous, which makes him nearly smirk.

“More fun to learn about.” You shrug, trying to play it cool. You were certain he could see right through you, though, but neither of you were doing anything about it. You couldn’t help but have a hunch that Professor Miller might just want you the same way you want him. Maybe.

He huffs a chuckle and looks down at the linoleum tile on the floor, biting his tongue. You know he wants to say something, but he’s hesitant. So, you took the initiative and took a step closer to him, taking in his broad frame.

“Look, darlin’,” He starts, and your stomach flutters at the nickname. “I know you’re a grown woman and all, but you’re still my student.”

You tilt your head to the side in wonder, a ghost of a smirk on your lips. “What ever are you talking about, sir?” You’re playing with fire now as you take a step forward, just inches away from the man you’ve wanted to ruin you for so long.

“You know exactly–” He paused as you dragged your index finger down the side of his neck, to his exposed collarbone. “What I’m talkin’ about.”

“As far as I’m concerned, sir, we’re both consenting adults.” You drop your hand and shrug, your eyes feening innocence.

He sighs defeatedly, shaking his head.

“You’re not wrong about that. You don’t know how hard it’s been trying to keep my eyes to myself every time you walk into my classroom. And then you come in here looking like this?” Joel gestures to your whole body, and your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Never thought you’d look at me that way, Professor.” You confess.

“You kiddin’ me? You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life,” He scoffs as if he can’t believe you don’t see yourself in the same light that he does. He thinks for a moment before opening his mouth, then clamping it shut. It seems that he made a final decision when he sighs and closes his eyes, opening them to look directly into yours. His brown eyes were so mesmerizing, you almost didn’t hear him say his next words. “If you really want this, want me, follow me into my office.” He whispers, and you nod with subtle eagerness.

Holy fuck. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You trailed not too far behind him with your book bag slung over your shoulder, heels clicking against the floor in anticipation as you tried to keep up with his wide strides. You walked through a door in the classroom that led to a hallway with another door at the end. Joel unlocked the door and opened it for you, letting you in first. He trailed in hot on your heels and shut the door. He locked it and swiftly grabbed the softness of your hips, pushing you up against the door. You gasp softly, hands landing on his broad chest.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.” Was all he said before he crashed his lips with yours, gripping one of your thighs and bringing it up to wrap around his waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as your skirt rode to your hips, leaving you to feel just how hard Joel’s cock was getting.

You moaned into his mouth and tangled your fingers into his slightly graying hair, tugging the slightest bit. He pushed you even further into the door, grinding his hips into yours. You left out a soft whimper into his mouth, but he swallowed it right up when he swept his tongue over your bottom lip. You didn’t hesitate to let his tongue explore your mouth.

You both were clearly so ravenous for each other, and the clashing of tongues and teeth proved that. You gripped at each other like you’d both disappear and this would’ve been a sad, unfulfilling dream.

Joel pulled apart from your lips as he trailed his warm lips down your throat and to your collar bone, his hot tongue poking out to soothe tiny bites he made along the way.

“Joel, please.” You beg, not really sure for what though. You want him everywhere on you all at once. You wanted to drink him in like he was the last fucking water source in the world. You wanted to feel his burly muscles rippling beneath your hands as you became full of him, stretching you out so heavenly that you couldn’t even comprehend what was going on around you.

He moaned at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, and he pulled apart from you. He dragged you over to his desk, where he sat down in his large office chair and pulled you down to straddle one thigh of his.

“Go on, baby, use me.” He breathed, brushing the curve of your cheekbone softly. You leaned forward to kiss him again, finally registering what he meant. You settled your clothed core over his jean-clad thigh, grinding yourself onto him slowly at first. The friction was heavenly and you knew you were already close.

So many days and nights of fantasizing about this and how it’d go down, only for it to come true in the end, was truly otherworldly. His large hands moved down to unbutton a couple of more buttons on your shirt before moving down the curves of your body to rest on your ass, giving it a squeeze. You brought your hands onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you began to really ride his thigh.

You moaned softly and your eyebrows threaded together, the friction becoming nearly unbearable.

“Fuck.” You muttered, jaw going slack. Joel watched you in pure lust and amusement, waiting for you to soak a spot into his jeans. Seeing you like this, on top of him, riding his thigh, getting off because of him… made his head swirl with euphoria.

“That’s it, angel. C’mon. Give it to me, baby.” Joel encouraged, softly forcing his hands against your ass to get you to rut your hips a little faster.

“Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna– fuck!” You came hard on his thigh, and he nearly came in his pants at the sight. He felt the warm slick on his thigh, and he needed to get a taste of you.

“So good for me, sweet girl,” He murmured as he lifted you by your hips and set you down on his neat desk. Your skirt was already up to your hips, so Joel swiftly removed your soaked panties and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Let me just get a taste.” He said, looking down at you. Your cunt clenched around nothing at his words, silently begging him to devour you like you were his last meal.

He got down on his knees and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the desk by your thighs, hooking them around his shoulders as he came face-to-face with your glistening heat. “So fuckin’ pretty. This pussy’s mine.” Joel mewled, calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs once more as his tongue circled your clit.

The drag of his muscle was slow, teasing. He took his time just to hear you beg for his mouth. He needed to hear it.

“Sir, please.” You softly whimper, and his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head. His ran his tongue up and down your folds, swirling it a few times before it prodded your entrance. He delved his tongue inside of you, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth in order to keep from screaming.

His tongue felt so warm and wet and heavenly in you and around your aching cunt, just begging to be devoured until you reach another orgasm. Joel is was moaning against you, and the vibrations shot straight up your core. It made your toes curl in your heels, and your hips buck up from the desk. He folded his hands on top of your stomach to keep you locked down, and you whined at the sensation.

You were panting heavily beneath your hand, trying to muffle the loud whines and moans that you emitted. Joel’s tongue kept working against you as he lapped up your slick, drinking you in like he was dehydrated in the desert. You tasted so good to him; like nectarine from the ripest peach.

He then solely focused his tongue on your clit, flicking over it rapidly before using his lips to lightly suck on it. Your nails from your free hand clawed at the desk, the feeling of overstimulation creeping in. You felt that low burning sensation in your core as your next orgasm began to build up. As if on cue, Joel swiftly detached his mouth from you as he gathered your slick on his middle finger, followed by his ring. He pushed his two fingers into your entrance slowly, relishing the tightness around his digits.

He latched his mouth back onto your clit, interchanging between licking and sucking. Your shaky thighs began to squeeze Joel’s head as your orgasm was about to peak.

Joel hummed against you as he curled his fingers , hitting that spongy spot inside of your cunt that had you rolling your eyes back as your body shook through your climax. You whimpered as he detached his mouth and removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. The whole bottom half of his face was covered in your arousal, and he looked down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“So sweet f’me, baby. Could eat that perfect pussy all day.” He tossed you a shit-eating grin, and your thighs clamped shut as you tried to regain your breath. He leaned down to give you a kiss, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth. You could feel his painfully hard erection against your thigh, so you tried to muster up as much energy as you could to start taking off his belt.

Joel helped you by taking the rest of his belt off after you undid the buckle. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down just below his ass. He tugged his boxers down too so he could free his erection. Your mouth watered at the sight of his erect cock, head weeping and leaking pre cum.

“L’me taste you.” You managed to say in your already fucked-out state, but Joel shook his head.

“Next time, baby,” Next time. You pouted at him and he chuckled, cradling your face. “Now if you need to tap out, give me two hard taps on my thigh, okay angel?” You swallowed and nodded at his directions, and once again, you clenched around nothing.

“I’m– I have an IUD.” You say, and Joel looks down at you.

“Good.” Was all he said before putting both of his hands by your head, leaning down to kiss you gently. Without removing his lips from yours, he took one hand and guided the head of his cock over your aching folds. You were buzzing with anticipation, because the need to have him in you was almost unbearable.

He slowly prodded your entrance, then pushed himself in. You nearly choke on a gasp as he fills you up. You felt every ridge and vein on his silky, girthy flesh and you closed your eyes in pure ecstasy at the feeling. His cock was heavy in you, the weight adding to the extra pleasure you were already experiencing.

Joel looked at your face, admiring how it was contorted in pleasure and slight pain before he leaned down again to bite the soft flesh of your breast as he adjusted to your tightness.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” Joel moaned, standing upright after littering a few more kisses on your chest.

“Please move, Joel.” Was all you said before he began to rock his hips steadily. His thrusts were slow at first, but you tried to grind your hips against his for more friction. A few times your clit met the coarse hair at the base of his cock, and that gave you the friction you needed to clench around him so deliciously.

“This pretty pussy is all mine, y’hear me? So fuckin’ wet and tight, darlin’. Have me fuckin’ losin’ my mind,” Joel picks up his pace, slamming into you at an impossible rate. “Say it.” He warns, taking your breasts out from the cup of your bra.

“It’s–fuck, it’s all yours sir. All yours.” You couldn’t believe how good he felt as he fucked you like this, feverishly and buried to the hilt every single time.

“Good girl.” You moaned at the praise, and he leaned down to capture a swollen bud into his mouth. His hot tongue swirled around your flesh, sucking it and ever so slightly nipping it with his teeth. You hissed at the feeling, but it only spurred your arousal on further.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he fucked you, but he stood up and removed your legs from him and put them over his shoulders instead. The new angle made it easier for him to fuck you deeper. A dark glint passed in Joel’s eyes as you moaned loudly.

He gathered both of your wrists into one of his, pinning them above your head. The pace of his hips picked up, and all that was heard in the windowless room was the sound of skin on skin slapping together, your wonton moans, and Joel’s grunts. He moved his other hand over your throat, wrapping around it and giving the sides a squeeze as he fucked you senselessly. You felt that tight coil in the pit of your core once more, and you were writhing beneath Joel the best you could.

“Fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“Go ‘head angel, cum f’me.” His deep Southern drawl is what sent you over the edge, crumbling down and shattering all at once as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, and Joel quickly removed his hand from your throat and kissed you urgently, but the pace of his hips didn’t let up. He released your wrists next and your hands found purchase in his hair, raking their way down his back as you desperately tried to grab a hold on him.

It resulted in your nails scratching down his back, which he hissed at but didn’t seem to mind overall. Joel was chasing his own release as your slick cunt gripped him so desperately.

“C’mon baby, give me one more.” He grunted, gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there were going to be bruises. As if on command, your body beckoned to his call and you found yourself orgasming for the fourth time that day. A gush of liquid expelled from your overstimulated cunt, and a strangled cry left your mouth.

Joel was teetering on the edge, teeth clenched and brow furrowed. “Where do you want me, angel?” His voice was strangulated and desperate, both of you gasping for air.

“In me, Joel, please.” You cry, gently gripping at his hair as his head dropped to your shoulder, warm spurts of cum shooting into you. He groaned into your ear, cursing under his breath as he filled you to the brim.

He collapsed onto you, cradling the side of your face as he kissed you passionately.

“So good f’me, sweet girl. Y’did so well.” He praises, kissing your lips once more before standing up slowly and pulling himself out of your sensitive cunt.

You hummed as you tried to relish in the feeling of being so fucked out by one of the hottest men you’ve ever come to know in your life. You couldn’t believe that just happened, and your mind was swirling with a million thoughts per minute.

Joel helped you up onto shaky legs, grinning to himself at how fucked out you looked. He was sure he looked the same way, but he couldn’t care less.

“You have any classes after this, baby?” Joel asks as he buttons up your shirt for you. You shake your head no, your voice not quite caught up to you just yet.

“‘M going home to sleep. Im exhausted.” You sigh, leaning against him. He chuckles and kisses the top of your head, smoothing out any stray hairs that were misplaced from your activities.

“Get some rest, baby. Here. Take my number and I’ll call you.” He rips a piece of paper from a notebook laying nearby, scribbling his number on it before tucking it into the breast pocket of your shirt. You beam up at him, hand trailing up his torso to rest on his chest. Your other hand found purchase on the back of his neck, softly tugging him down to kiss him once more.

“Mm. Will do, Professor.” You playfully wink at him, and he taps your ass playfully before you unlock the door to his office.

He half smiled as he watched you walk away, admiring your beautiful body from behind. He called out to you one last time, hoping you’d text him asap that night.

“Don’t forget to fix your rough draft!”

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