#If asked how I made these I would not be able to answer for most of them

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁��� I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can’t stop thinking the tall horror men of homicipher. I’m like 5ft something, so I know damn well these men tower over me…am I discovering something? Maybe 👀👀👀but I know I ain’t alone. TRUE STORY: Also there was this guy that came into my place of work moths ago with his family and he was TALL, bending down to get through the doorframe TALL but he was lovely.

So how do I imagine these boy would react if they see that you’re clearly ogling them for how tall they were.

Mr crawling

Given the fact that you’ve only seen him stand once, it was enough to have your jaw dropping to the floor. He was taller than the fucking doorway that he had to manoeuvre himself under it, and suddenly you’ve forgotten that you were being kidnapped by Mr Stitch, too intrigued by his height and now understanding why he had lied to you about his ability to stand.

He thought he would scare you but in fact made you feel the complete opposite, you loved how tall he was and you couldn’t get it out of your head, even when he’s back on his hands and knees to comfort you. The illusion had worn off and now you wanted to see him tall all the time, but you didn’t want to pressure him into doing so unless he felt comfortable.

‘You’re tall, really tall.’ You said in awe as Mr crawling coddled you against his chest.

‘Scared?’ He asked as though he was fearing your answer, which broke your heart as you nuzzled your face against his shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

‘No, handsome.’ You replied as Mr Crawling made chirps and purrs of happiness as he held you closer to him.

While he’s still not fond on standing to his full height, the fear of his intimating stature would chase you away one day embedded in his heavily, he would find some comfort in knowing that you loved his tall stature and love you even more for not forcing him to do something he clearly was uncomfortable with; preferring to shower him in kisses and remind him that whether he’s standing or on his hands and knees you loved him regardless.

Mr silvair

The man can feel your eyes on his back constantly. He knows he’s taller than most but the way you looked and admired his full height like you wouldn’t be able to anymore.

He wonders whether this was something only you seemed to have or whether other humans also felt possessed by the need to gawk at people above a certain height. Or was it just you that has this particular expression upon seeing his tall stature in general.

He would take notes of how his height seemingly did something to you that then triggered a chemical reaction within your brain to make you find his height appealing and possibly a requirement in finding your perfect romantic partner.

Or more specifically people of similar height to Mr Silvair himself or anyone close enough to his height to qualify. Mr Silvair soon deduced that you liked the domineering presence of someone much bigger than you, someone who’s able to drag you wherever as though you were nothing but weightless to them, almost like a ragdoll.

He’d soon find that this is in most cases considered a kink amongst you humans who found the height difference between partner rather erotic.

Mr Scarletella

Finds your content ogling of him flattering and thinks that it means that you were finally, finally reciprocating his obsession with you for your own obsession with him.

He’s another one who takes note of how you like how tall he is in comparison to you, always looking at him whenever he was entering the room, eyes widening when you see him having to bed down to get through the doorway, and your eyes never leave him even as he’s walking towards you; seemingly getting taller with each step until he’s in front of you and you’re looking at him in awe and hitched breath.

He’s obsessed with your expression each and every time and uses his height to his advantage. Such as doing things like putting his hand above your head and on the wall, looking down at you with those obsessive eyes of his as his smile seemed to widen upon hearing your breath hitch and eyes widen once more.

His height continued to elicit a reaction out of you that Mr Scarletella loved and adored and wanted to see more of in the future.

Mr Hood

Finds your constant ogling of his height interesting.

He didn’t know why you were so surprised he’s this tall, he’s been with you this entire time and it was only recently did your mind seemed to inform you of your Incredibly stark height difference, and bam! Suddenly he’s the subject of your constant staring and ogling as though it would be the last thing you did.

It was humorous to say the least and will earn you some head pats and cheek caresses that has you leaning towards his comforting and gentle touches.

It wasn’t something that you hide from him as half of the time you didn’t realise you were doing it until Mr Hood pointed it out with curiosity, meanwhile your left flustered as your mind held certain thoughts towards his legs, thighs and large hands.

Poor Mr Hood, he understood to some extent but after a certain point it’s better to explain to him that you find his height rather appealing to you in more ways than one.

[wandaslittlelove]

yo what about like a nightmare rio or agathario fic that’s got biblical fluff cause i need to go touch some grass and have a cig after watching those last two episodes

Nightmare

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader Warnings: Nightmares

Having nightmares was a common occurrence for you. Most of the time you had to quietly slip out of bed without waking Rio or Agatha (which was hard considering you were in the middle) and would just sit on the couch with a cup of tea for a while. Then when the sun began to rise you slipped back into bed before they noticed.

Tonight was the same. Your dreams were plagued with dreams. Dreams from before you were saved by Agatha and Rio. The feeling of cold metal chains wrapped around your arms and legs. A hand gripping your face roughly. 

Tonight was a night like no other. You wake up startled with heavy breaths as you look around the darkroom, your face wet with tears.. You can feel Agatha and Rio sleeping peacefully next to you. Agatha with her hand resting on your waist and Rio with her face buried in the back of your neck. Taking a few deep breaths you slowly try and untangle yourself from the two. Only tonight their grip on you seems tighter. Rio lets out a soft whine as she pushes herself further against you while Agatha's arm tightens on your waist. 

“Stay” Rio whispers, her hand coming up to brush some hair away from your face and neck but stopping when she feels that your face is wet. “Princesa? What’s wrong” She asks as she sits up. With a flick of her wrist the lamp beside the bed turns on. Agatha stirs awake and as she sleepily opens her eyes they fall to your face. Her brows furrowed as she gently wipes away the tears.

You shake your head not wanting to answer and burden them. “Nothing. I- I just need a drink so you two can go back to bed.” You try to get out of bed again but Agatha holds you down. Your breath hitches and your mind goes back to the dream. Noticing how your body stiffens Agatha quickly removes her hand. 

“Breath my love.” Agatha speaks. She goes to reach out again but pauses remembering your reaction but is surprised when you throw yourself into her arms. You bury your face in her neck as sobs begin to escape you. Her and Rio share a look and Rio gets out of bed to grab you a glass of water.

You both sit like that for a minute until your sobs calm down and Rio walks back in with the water. She settles behind you and you reluctantly let go of Agatha so you can drink some water.

“Want to tell us what happened?” RIo asks as she rubs small circles on your back. Agatha holds you rocking gently.

“Nightmare” Was all you were able to mutter. They didn’t press further and instead took to just comforting. With Agatha whispering ‘it’s okay. You're okay.” And Rio saying ‘You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

Eventually they were able to calm you down enough to try and get some sleep. Your head rested on Agatha’s chest as you listened to her heart beat. The sound soothing you and making you feel safe while Rio draped an arm over you and over to hold Agatha’s hand.  Rio placed soft kisses on your shoulder while Agatha kissed your forehead.

They both stayed up until you fell asleep and made sure no more nightmares would plague you tonight before they finally let themselves sleep.

[antimonyandthyme]

2k, paul/carlos

(written after the c2 / paul vid, and this post came out with the brilliant @formulahs suggesting an auction LMAO)

He goes without the expectation of buying anything. He looks forward to a good time, even with all the cameras around. The shoes his stylist wants him to go in are fanciful, shiny monstrosities, and he nearly insists for the sneakers to stay on. Then he remembers that he’s technically there for Ferrari, and dutifully swaps them out.

Technically. Paul can go for other reasons too. Charles is lovely, if a little vacant around him. Carlos is. Carlos is, he’s—

It’s early days and Paul isn’t one for poetry, and yet here he is. He hopes to god he isn’t being obvious. Not to the staff when he spots Carlos and lights up like a schoolboy with a crush. Not to Charles, when he holds on to Carlos for a handshake that’s a little longer than necessary. Definitely not obvious to whoever watches these videos, when he mouths all of the answers to Carlos.

Can’t deny having a favourite. He can turn his nose up all he wants at the reputation that follows any young actor these days, but he can’t deny his appreciation for nice things. There are no trophies in his world—yet, just good food, good drink, good people. Beautiful people. For the third time since they rolled cameras, Paul is caught staring. Carlos always looks slightly lost, staring back, like he’s trying to figure Paul out, before he ducks his head and curls up. Large hands clasped in his lap. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little pleased.

“He’s a little expensive,” Charles says, “but you should be able to afford him.”

Paul attempts to tamper his face into something palatable. Ungracious of Charles to lay out his desires so plainly. And then in the same breath insinuate that his ability to pay might not stack up. Somewhere past Paul’s eyeline, Carlos is returning his mic to the staff with a relieved smile. Unpacking his spine into something looser, now that the cameras are off. He tips his head at Paul, eyes inquisitive, as if guessing that they were discussing him.

Paul has to look away, guilty.

“I didn’t plan on buying,” he says. It’s the truth. Mostly. In his defense, it wasn’t like Ferrari were being subtle about shoving them in a room together, especially after they made this tradition known. It’s like asking someone not to think of elephants. On command, a safari blooms open in Paul’s mind.

Charles shrugs. “We’ll have another event later. Someone else probably will.”

The flippant way Charles speaks about it grates against Paul’s skin. He can’t tell if Charles is trying to rile him up. The thought of Carlos having to hang off a faceless person’s arm makes distaste churn so violently in his belly that it manifests into an ache.

“Carlos wouldn’t mind, if it’s you.”

“How would you know,” Paul grits out. The mental fidget spinner he has for Charles keeps going around in circles, flickering from Empty to Dickhead to Helpful, maybe?

“Ah, he’s used to it no? People looking at him like that.” Charles’s voice dips low, like he’s sharing a secret. Paul’s an actor for fuck’s sake. He knows when someone’s selling him something, a mediocre contract, a shitty line. Still, he can’t help leaning in closer, puts his ear right next to Charles’s mouth.

Further away, Carlos’s mouth twists down, his gaze shutters. Just a minute, baby, Paul wants to tell him. Just—give me a minute.

“He looks back, when it’s you,” Charles says, and Paul’s done convincing himself otherwise.

--

They tell him, in one of the most bewildering conversations Paul’s ever had, that Carlos will be delivered in the evening, at whatever time suits Paul best. Delivered, like he’s some kind of package. What the fuck, sings one part of his brain. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what have you just done. The other part, the part that’s mostly primitive and hedonistic, somehow takes charge and sends him off on multiple errands. He gets his hair trimmed, just a little at the sides. He buys some wine. He changes into the sneakers. He considers getting another tattoo, before he snaps himself out of it.

Poetry and tattoos. Paul’s lost his mind.

The time in between gives him room to vacillate between wanting to feed the open maw within him and growing shamefully aware about the shape of his yearning. He hadn’t realized he had enough space within his ribcage to stuff another man entire. There are so many other ways he could have gone about this. But he doesn’t have Carlos’s number. He can’t text. Even if he could, Paul wouldn’t know what to say.

Tick tock, tick tock. Paul rearranges furniture, door dashes some flowers, after spending half an hour reading up on flower language, interspersed with vapid scrolling of his socials. Tick tock.

By the time Carlos arrives, he’s in a bit of a wreck. People who move in Carlos’s world would certainly be familiar with Ferrari’s clauses, and would know how to act. The muted greeting Carlos gives doesn’t help either. He’s dressed up but down, in a plain, almost translucent shirt that leaves little to imagination. He toes off his shoes with an unconscious gracefulness, and comes to stand in front of Paul. He’s waxed, which Paul knows, just from being so close to him this afternoon, had to have happened in that space where Paul was questioning all his life choices. He looks wonderful, except for the fact that he looks so visibly uncomfortable.

“Do you,” Paul starts. Swallowing around the dry lump in his throat. “Do you want something to drink?”

Carlos fidgets. “If you’d like,” he says.

That’s, ow.

They’d assured him, again and again, that Carlos always had the final say, but his teeth are buried in his lower lip, hard enough to blanch, and his toes dig into the carpet like a lifeline. It’s not like Paul’s hung out with Carlos more than a handful of times, but it’s hard to ever picture him in such distress. Carlos is—larger, than what he’d ever seen on screen. You have to witness him in person, to understand.

Faced with this shrunken version of Carlos, Paul can’t bring himself to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I really am. I assumed you’d want—I’m sorry.”

Carlos flinches, jerks his head up. “Wait.”

“It’s alright,” Paul says. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You could just leave. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait,” Carlos says, more urgently. “I don’t want to—” His voice grows small. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not,” Paul nearly yelps. “But you’re. You’re…”

Carlos’s cheeks are very pink. His toes tap an erratic beat on the floor. His hands are clasped in front of him, almost in supplication.

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes!” Carlos blurts out, before looking very mortified. “I’m. Ah, fuck. Paul, I’m never. Never like this.”

Tension bleeds out of him. Something so relieved escapes out of Paul’s mouth in an embarrassing giggle. “Carlos. You should have just said.”

“I don’t know why…” Carlos trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck vigorously. “With you, I’m like this. I don’t know. I want.” His toes tap some more. “I want to.”

“Want to?” Paul says, coming closer, watching Carlos sway in eagerly.

“Make it worth it,” Carlos mutters. “What you paid.”

Paul groans. He wants to shake Carlos. Then decides, hey, he actually can shake Carlos. Gentle hands around his shoulders, shaking him like a beloved ragdoll. “Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a lot of money,” Carlos protests, but the corners of his mouth are turned up now.

“Shut up, you’re ridiculous. Do you think I would have even paid that if, if I. Oh my god, Carlos. You have to know, right?”

“Know what,” Carlos says, enjoying being a little shit now that they’re joking.

“Can’t take my eyes off you, when you’re in the room,” Paul says. “I thought I was being obvious.”

“You were,” Carlos says brightly. “I thought I was obvious right back.”

“Okay, so. So why are you—?”

Carlos’s face twists. “This season has been. Ah.” He shakes his head reluctantly. “You don’t have to listen to this.”

“Go on,” Paul says. “Come on, tell me. Twelve hours of your time, remember?”

“Been hard to live up to expectations, this year,” Carlos says. “I didn’t want that with you.”

“You are so.” Stupid. Hot. Stupidly hot. “I’m going to shake you some more,” Paul says. “I cannot believe you.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says. He goes along with the shaking, in a way that shows exactly how much of his body he’s putting into Paul’s hands. A neck as thick as that and he’s somehow limp under Paul’s touch. That’s, well. That’s a lot. “Then maybe, maybe. You could kiss me?”

Yes, yes. Yesssssssss, sings both parts of Paul’s brain. Yes.

Carlos is still now, expectant. A long, lean line of muscle, rooted to the ground, that Paul can trace hungrily with his eyes. He could pull at Carlos with all his strength and Carlos would not move, if he did not want to. But when Paul nudges a finger under his jaw, Carlos goes, looks up, right at him. Leans in.

--

He’s a greedy little thing, isn’t he. Swallows Paul with ease, every which way. He makes insane noises, deep, and guttural when Paul fucks him hard, high, and breathless when Paul thumbs at his nipples. Carlos clutches at Paul like it’d physically hurt to let go. Everything he’s meant to do, he does and is wonderful at it. And somehow, he’d managed to assume he wouldn’t live up.

“Unbelievable,” Paul says to the ceiling, some time after he’d come so viciously it felt like he’d been wrung out like a dish towel. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Are you still mad at me,” Carlos says, amused.

“Yes.”

“Ay, don’t be,” Carlos says, softly. “I really was nervous.”

Paul turns on his side, hand supporting his head as he gazes at Carlos. Crazy intimate. Terrible, the way he’s setting himself up for the worst time. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re allowed to stay the night?”

“Twelve hours,” Carlos says. “You can ask me to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Carlos confirms. “Sleep at the foot of the bed, if you want.”

Why would he even say such a—Paul is going to shake him again. If he can unpretzel himself from all that easy comfort following an earth-shattering orgasm. He nudges at Carlos’s hip instead. It’s the closest body part he can find.

“I kick in my sleep,” Paul says seriously, delighting in the way that makes Carlos giggle. He pats the scant space next to him. “I’d rather you be right here.”

“I’ll be right here,” Carlos says, then clears his throat. He probably was just parroting Paul, didn’t mean for it to sound so much like a promise.

But Paul… is also a greedy little thing, isn’t he? So greedy he paid for it, and so greedy he wants more now that he’s had a taste.

“And after?” Paul says. Will you be…?

“After,” Carlos says, “after Las Vegas is Qatar. Then Abu Dhabi.”

“Fine,” Paul says. As let downs go, this is pretty devastating, but he’ll live. It’s not like he had expected—never mind.

Carlos shifts. His jaw unlocks, then clicks back. “You get discounts, after, did you know that? Very good discounts.”

“Oh,” Paul says, a little wobbly. “Do I?”

“Yes. And after Abu Dhabi, it’s. It’s free.”

“Ah.” His chest is squeezing tighter than a fist. The space in his ribcage! Expanding and contracting to accommodate whatever Carlos sees fit. He lets himself imagine pressing up close to Carlos in a quiet apartment, pulling out every sound in Carlos's vocabulary with time, unlimited, on his hands. Buying flowers he knows for sure Carlos likes.

“I guess I need to stick around."

“Guess so,” Carlos says, smiles. “Make it worth your while.”

[cube-cumb3r]

How did people answer the Dungeon Meshi question? (aka. how the Hell do you parse through free-form responses?!?)

(art by Ryokō Kui)

This first part is just going to be babble about google sheets and excel functions, feel free to skim or skip to the results.

Here's how the question was formulated: "Which Dungeon meshi character is objectively the best one If you are unfamiliar with dungeon meshi but still have an answer to this question, you can still answer (you don't need to know the character's name)."

As you can imagine, this made the responses exactly as creative as you'd expect. Which has made them both delightful to read through, but also painful to convert into usable data.

I started with making a list of the most frequently used words, excluding common ones. Here's an excerpt.

From this we already can see some hints as to the character most frequently mentioned, but if I were to make a chart of this it'd be a zillion categories, when ideally the responses obviously referring to the same character should be in one group, so we can truely see how many times a character was mentioned, no?

Although I could individually read every answer and categorize them manually I am NOT going to do that because, 1. it's tedious 2. I don't want to 3. I won't learn anything

If I ever work with a dataset of 1000 observations, doing it manually is absolutely not even feasible, therefore it's good to already know a better way to do it.

I was initially hoping to utilize xlookup, but I realized that xlookup doesn't actually do what I think it did. What I was HOPING it would do was to be able to identify keywords within longer answers, such as "cat girl" or "beardy dwarf" and then match them to some sort of index, where it'd be like Oh "cat girl"? That's obviously "Izutsumi". This is not how xlookup works. Xlookup cannot pick out a keyword from a longer response, it can only identify a partial phrase (example, if the full index phrase was "Delicious In Dungeon", a response saying "Delicious" will match, but a response saying "My favorite anime is Delicious in Dungeon", will not match, because xlookup cannot match a PERFECT MATCH from within a longer chunk of text.)

So instead I had to rely on my long-time good-time pal Regular Expression functions and combine them with xlookup. With my reliable sunday lover Regexextract I can Extract keywords out of answers in one step, and then in the next step match said keyword to my index.

INDEX:

^here is the index. Any non-blank response that doesn't match these gets counted as "Other". I tried to make the keywords as short as possible, that way they'd catch as many alternate spellings as possible without me having to write every variation out myself (LAZY!). For example, "bear" and "beard" don't need to be separate keywords (if they like in this index, correspond to the same character), as the keyword "bear" will match both the word Bear and Beard. Though, and as you will see later, making the keywords too short will result in false matches.

I made some Liberal Assumptions as to who a responder meant, such as in answers mentioning 'lesbians' or 'elf', which could in theory mean many characters. I went back and checked and adjusted the index to see that every answer got coded reasonably, but this has resulted in an index that is extremely adapted to this specific dataset, and it would not be as effective or reliable on a different dataset of Dungeon Meshi Answers.

Also, if a responder mentioned multiple characters, the first match is the one they got counted as. This could also be incorrect, depending on the answer.

RESULTS!!!

Here are the results! The title of the chart is wrong, I was obviously asking about the objectively best character, not "favorite"! Oh well. According to 24.4% responders, the objectively best character is Senshi, which is the correct answer (<- JOKE) (<- actually answered 'Marcille' himself)

You might notice quite a large "Other" category of 21.3% too, this is every response that was difficult to match to a specific Dungeon Meshi character, for a variety of reasons. Check out this hideous pie chart.

I don't know who "the one with teacher vibes" or "the one who is secretly a neutron star" is. Sorgy. Some of these were also referring to characters from other media, which is allowed and I respect it, but none of them recurring sadly. Wouldn't it be crazy if like 4 entirely separate people independently answered Sans. What Would It Mean?

Full responses:

With every "identifiable" response just being coded into a category, you don't actually get to see the beautiful ways in which THOSE people responded this question. So, here they are, in ascending order.

Izutsumi (7.5% of responses)

I was expecting more alternate spellings on this one, I personally think her name is tricky to spell, but that didn't seem to be the case. Also, seems that many people who think she's objectively the best one also don't actually know her name.

Falin (9.4% of responses)

Two of the responses here contains the two keywords, "chicken"/"bird" (which would categorize it as "Falin") and "lesb" (Which would actually categorize it as "Marcille"). Luckily, chicken and bird happened to be written first, so those responses got correctly coded as Falin.

Chilchuck (10.0% of responses)

Nearly everyone who think Chilchuck is the best one also seem to know his name. Maybe you need to be familiar with the show to truely appreciate the Chilchuck?

Laios (12.5% of responses)

Here, due to my laziness of not wanting to account for every possible spelling of Laios, "Ludmila" gets miscategorized as Laios because it contains the keyword "la". However, "The paladin" (which I do think actually is referring to Laios) gets accidentally categorized as Laios for the same reason, correctly.

Marcille (12.5% of responses)

The reason I made the controversial judgement call that responses containing the word lesbian would be coded as Marcille, is because I made the very liberal assumption that anyone responding with just "The lesbian" probably did mean Marcille, anyone familiar enough with Dungeon Meshi to mean Otta is probably be familiar enough to know her name. There is one response here saying "Lesbians", and they probably meant both Marcille and Falin but responders only get one character, so it got counted as Marcille.

Senshi (24.4%)

(You might notice as I just did that a response clearly meaning Chilchuck got coded as Senshi because they happened to mention Senshi first. That's my mistake for not making "halfling" it's own keyword. Sorry!)

Similarly to Izutsumi and Falin, Senshi seems to be a character many responders don't know the name of, in fact it looks like he most out of any character had the most responses mention him without knowing his name. Given that, I would make the assumption that most people who are only vaguely familiar with Dungeon Meshi, and perhaps don't even watch the show, overwhelmingly think Senshi is the Best Guy. Does that make it more of a correct answer, or less?

Anyway,

That's that for Dungeon Meshi. Happy Meshing everybody

[LINK TO MASTERPOST]

Does anyone want to do my new google form

[andromeda-nova-writing]

Cuff it 👀

Well, you got me. Forcing me to write the fic I have been joking about for a whole year now. Safe to say this fic requires you to listen to CUFF IT. It's a good song I would love to go roller skating while to one day. The disco vibes beg for the skates. This fic isn't about that. I present a reader that is very horny down bad for Wriothesley while I attempt to keep this humorous and safe for work.

I think it's very obvious there is reference to sexual content. It was very hard to think of ways to keep this sfw considering the lyrical content. I give you the long joked about CUFF IT fic.

Words: 1949 Fem!Reader Modern AU This feels like such a crack fic

Navia spit out her drink as Y/N’s phone began ringing, interrupting the music they had been listening to. “Why is that your ringtone?”

“So you have no complaints about me playing the song, but when it’s my ringtone, there is a complaint?” Y/N asked, still standing on top of the step ladder as she put dishes away in the top cabinet.

“I agree it’s a good song but seriously that's your ringtone?” She asked again.

“I have my reasons. Just answer it for me. You’re closer.” It was easier to just keep shoving cups in the cabinet than to take a break. That box was almost empty.

Navia looked at the call screen. “You have a song about about riding-”

“Just answer!”

Navia swiped answered the call and placed it on speaker for Y/N to listen. “Took you long enough.” Wriothesley’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah, we’re putting stuff up still. Navia had to rush to grab my phone. How are you and Clorinde doing with my furniture?” Y/N spoke loud enough to be clear.

“Perfectly strapped down to the rental. We took a detour to pick up some food if you don’t mind.” He continued explaining. “Clorinde said you and Navia were talking about wanting to try out that new restaurant that opened so we just got some stuff from there.”

“Good memory. Navia kept staring at the menu when we were on break.” She told on her friend.

“I’m just curious to see how they make their cakes. It’s my job as a baker to see how other places make the same desserts to see what I can do better.” Navia defended.

“Which is why we made sure to grab some,” Clorinde said, sounding tired from the lifting they had been doing.

“We should take a nice break when y’all get back. We got most of the kitchen unpacked anyway. How long till you’re back?” Y/N asked.

“Five or so minutes. Is the door still open?”

“Yeah.”

“See you soon then,” Wriothesley spoke before hanging up. The music from Y/N’s phone began to play again filling the mostly empty room.

“Is this ringtone my horrible way of finding out you two are dating?” Navia asked now a little in horror at how completely inappropriate Y/N’s taste in ringtones was.

“Nope!” Another shelf had been filled, and on to the next. “But if we were dating I would happily act out said lyrics.”

“That’s too much information.” And not something Navia even wanted the mental image of.

“If I have to hear about what you would like to do with Clorinde behind closed doors, I think you can deal with the lyrical content of ‘Cuff It’. I mean it’s only bad when you pay attention to the lyrics.”

“I could excuse it if the lyrics were set to the chorus! At least that’s tame in comparison, you might be able to get away with it if he overheard that as your ringtone for him.”

“And Wriothesley won’t hear what I have set as his ringtone. Even then I think everyone knows it’s my favorite song.” Y/N defended herself. She had a few months of this as his ringtone and nothing bad had happened so she must have been in the clear with that silly decision she made late one night updating ringtones for her friends.

“Even then, don’t you think on the off chance he hears it there won’t be questions. I mean the lyrics it opens with are ‘Hypersonic, sex erotic’. I think anyone would ask questions.” Navia tried appealing to her sense of reason.

“You know I keep my ringer off most of the time anyway. It only played because I’m connected to a Bluetooth speaker. I'm perfectly fine to keep those lyrics as a ringtone that plays like in a blue moon.”

Navia rubbed the temples of her forehead. If this was what she was like before even making a move on Wriothesley, she was afraid of what would happen if they ever became an item. “What even drove you to set the dirtiest part of the song as his ringtone? Actually, do I even want to know?”

Y/N laughed. “You remember last Halloween when he got forced to dress up? This song just happened to be playing as he was twirling around handcuffs. I can still see the twirls as the song played.” She began singing as the memory played in her head. “Come and cuff it, cuff it, cuff it, cuff it, baby. While I buss it-”

“That better not be why this is your favorite song.” Navia interrupted. “Oh my gosh, is that why you sing that part so loud?”

“The song is two years old and that only happened last year. I've been loving this song. And perhaps. A girl can daydream.”

“Just ask him out instead of being ridiculous. He’s gonna catch that ringtone one day.”

“When you ask out Clorinde! Even then I’m not sure if he would even be open to the idea of going out on a date. If I ask him out it might make things weird between us. I really do like him. More than I just want to sit on him kind of way.” Navia rolled her eyes at that sentence as Y/N continued. “I mean I know he can look scary but he is just such a sweetheart! I mean come on he didn’t have to help me move. Then there was that one time he picked me up cause there was a nail in my tire. Oh, and that day he begged to come over when I was watching my grandma’s puppy.”

“I get it! I just really think you should ask him out. Have you considered maybe he does all those things 'cause he likes you too?” Navia could hear the rental vehicle pull up. “I’m gonna go see what they need help with.”

Y/N frowned at the question Navia had left her on. There was no way she would be pondering such a question when she had a cabinet almost filled and Wriothesly just outside her new home.

Even then there wasn't anything wrong about that song being her ringtone. Plenty of people had ringtones with raunchy lyrics. This one was at least award-winning and it sounded so fun that not everyone even saw how dirty of a song it was. Was there really anything wrong with having the ringtone of the guy she would love to fall in love with to be a song about wanting to ride his dick?

…okay maybe phrasing it like that she could see Navia’s point. Y/N sighed. Guess it was time to change her ringtone for Wriothesley to be something more appropriate. It was a 2 am decision and to be fair, no one ever had good ideas at that hour.

She could hear bags being placed on the counter. “Part of taking a break requires you to get down from there.” Wriothesley was quick to remind her.

“I'm almost done. I'll get down in a bit. No issues with loading anything right?” She asked not wanting to look him in the eye just yet considering her previous thoughts.

“It went well. It was tiring though. Your bed frame was heavier than it looked though.”

“Good thing I have your help then. Actually, could you hand me my phone real quick?” She wanted to see time but also to change the album that was playing.

Wriothesley grabbed the phone for her before walking over. “Yeah, here you go.” There wasn't even a chance to grab the phone before it started ringing. The phone lit up with his name on the screen and a photo of him filling the screen.

Hypersonic, sex erotic On my body, boy, you got it Hit them 'draulics, while I ride it Got me actin' hella thotty So excited, so exotic

Despite the song on her ringtone playing so loudly, the room was just quiet. Navia was right and she was a fool. She felt frozen, unable to move despite the fact she could have easily taken the phone out of his hand.

Wriothesley answered the phone before the song could be played any further. Clorinde’s voice came through the speakers. “Navia and I are going back to the restaurant. They forgot some of your food. Wriothesley’s phone is still with us. Let him know.”

“Will do,” Y/N answered before Clorinde hung up the phone where her music had once again returned to the speakers. “I must set the wrong song as my ringtone for you. Funny mistake right?”

“When I switched phone brands you were the one who kept showing me the different ways to customize it.” Wriothesley reminded her. “You can’t stand on that ladder forever.”

“I feel like it’s better if I do.” The longer she stayed on the ladder, the longer till her feelings had to be rejected.

“Get down.”

It was hard not to frown as she got down from the step ladder. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to leave the moment Clorinde and Navia got back with the food and his phone. She didn't dare look him in the eye.

“I know it's one of your favorites and all but I think I'm going to need some more explanation than that of why you have that set as my ringtone.” He was at least kind enough to give her the phone back.

“You're a smart guy. Don't make me. This is embarrassing enough.” Y/N put the phone down on the counter behind her after turning down the volume of music playing. “Just let me down already. It's not like I was ever expecting a chance. It doesn't take a genius to see you weren't interested in any sort of relationship.”

“Who said I was uninterested?”

A rough calloused hand gently moved her chin up forcing her to look Wriothesley in the eyes. “You never acted as you were.” The words came out quiet, still flustered from before.

“It's not like you made it clear before either. Even then when I did try asking you out before, there was always something going on to where you couldn't go. I almost thought you were purposefully trying to avoid me.”

“I would never. I was just busy. I didn't even think you were asking me out.” Her eyes drifted off to the side. “How many times?”

Wriothesley let out a nervous laugh. “I would rather not count that.”

“I can’t believe I’m that oblivious that you won't even tell me how many times. Gosh, I'm stupid.”

“I wouldn’t call you stupid. Just distracted.”

“That doesn't help me feel better.”

“I have an idea what might make you feel better.”

Y/N laughed at herself. “Yeah, crawling under my blankets never to return.”

“Then let me do this before you go.”

The kiss from Wriothesley was gentle, warm, and inviting. Tender yet she could tell how much he wanted it. She didn’t even notice how her arms moved on their own, desperate to pull him closer. There was the faint taste of tea, not surprising with how cold it had been that day.

That was the perfect song to set as her ringtone with it leading to this. The part of her that planned on cursing that restaurant just for being the reason Clorinde had called her was now thanking them for forgetting their food. It was a perfect miracle.

If it wasn't for the fact that she was hungry and had a deadline on when to return the rental truck, that door would be locked. It would be best if Navia and Clorinde took their sweet time so she could keep savoring this kiss.

[sufferu]

I was asked for a snippet from the Dogshow series. I have delivered. As the exact scene was not specified, I decided for myself.

Dogshow: No Way Home

____

[“But no matter how pathetic I was, you and Mom still treated me the same as always,” Subaru said. “That’s what scared me most of all…”]

“They…” Emilia choked out. “They really did…They really did love him, didn’t they…?”

Otto thought of his own parents, and how patient they had been with him for all those years. He swallowed, fighting back tears.

“Those bushes there really are fascinating!” Anastasia was saying loudly. “They look just like some of the foliage we have back here, don’t they?! I wonder if maybe there’s been some cross-barrier transport of — of seeds or something! Or perhaps it’s just the convergent evolution Hoshin once described at work—”

[“I wanted you to say, ‘I don’t love you.’ ‘I despise you.’ ‘You’re not my son.’”]

“…What?” Ram croaked. Rem watched silently from beside her, carefully stone-faced as she watched this tragedy unfold. “Subaru, you wanted…what?”

Subaru didn’t answer. He had stopped moving a while ago. He was staring at the metia, unable to look away from his father’s face.

“I mean, really!” Anastasia continued loudly, a frantic edge to her voice. Mimi was nodding along theatrically from beside her. “I wonder if we could cross-breed exact replicas of those — what did you call them, Subaru?! Sakura trees?! If those bushes’ similarities really are just the result of convergent evolution, then—! I mean, I know for a fact we have trees very similar to those sakuras in Kararagi, so it’s not all that far off to conclude that we might be able to—!”

[“I wanted you to tell me that and throw me out. I wanted you to make me give up.”]

“…Oh, fuck,” Anastasia managed, finally unable to avoid listening to the conversation.

Next to her, Julius made a horrible, horrible noise.

Onscreen, Subaru continued to speak about how he had grown past these feelings. How he had found a way to live for himself, to start striving to better himself — and how the people he had met since had allowed him to do so. But Ricardo couldn’t focus on any of that, because all he could think was that THIS was the version of Subaru that his parents remembered.

A young boy, on the cusp of their culture’s idea of adulthood, who had suddenly retreated into his shell amidst disapproval from his peers. Who’s difficulties in interacting with others HADN’T been due to a difference in culture after all, with him struggling so much to make and keep his friends even back home that eventually he had felt that he had no choice but to give up in that pursuit entirely. Who had fled from his duties as a scholar and holed himself up in his room, refusing to leave for any reason except to eat. Who was constantly waiting for his two parents who loved him very much to revoke that affection out of frustration and throw him out.

Who was just waiting for an excuse to go and end himself, giving up for good.

Ricardo suddenly thought about Ana-bo. He wasn’t her biological father, but he had — he had bathed her, and fed her, and secured her work, and fought to protect her from unsavory types, and watched her grow up from a little orphan brat into a strong, capable woman. He had known her, and he had loved her, and she had become — family, to him, most definitely. In a sense, perhaps she could be considered his daughter after all.

What would he have done, if Ana-bo had — sometime on the cusp of adulthood — had withdrawn into herself so completely and utterly that she refused to socialize with anyone unless she were forced to do so? That she no longer tried to work, or learn new things, or improve her skills, but instead escaped into storybook after storybook about being whisked away to a place where she could be someone, anyone other than who she had been before? That she curled up in the corner of her room and waited for Ricardo to throw her out on the street, because then she would finally have an excuse to — to finally go and fucking kill herself?

Stop it, Ricardo hissed at himself. But he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t have let it get that first in the first place, first of all: he would have dragged Anastasia out of her room by force and force-fed her a decent lifestyle, if need be. In fact, part of him thought that Subaru’s father had been somewhat useless in that regard: had there really been nothing his old man could do to stop him from crawling into his shell and refusing to come out for several months on end? But even if there wasn’t anything he could do about it, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. Even if he were going by Kararagi’s age of adulthood being 15 where — Japan, it was called — their age appeared to be 18, he still would have known her for four, five full years, and that had been more than enough for him to start caring about her more deeply than he had ever expected being able to care about anyone. What would he have done instead? Well, the answer had to be “whatever he could.”

But then, what would he have done, if — in the middle of a depressive spiral so severe — Anastasia had vanished into the night without a trace? He would look for her, obviously. He’d spare no expense, either, and — and he’d keep a tally of every cent he spent, so that when he finally found her again he could shove the receipt in her face and tell her that she was going to work to earn back every last bit in order to make up for scaring him so badly. But then — if he never found her — he’d never stop looking, would he? Or maybe he’d be forced to stop? But then he’d still be waiting, and he’d still be putting up posters and asking for leads, and as the years passed he’d be thinking of what she might look like now, how she might have aged, what sort of life she might be living far away from home, hoping against hope that she hadn’t actually gone and—

But the reality would be worse.

It would have been better if this hypothetical Ana-bo had been given the mercy of a quick death, on her own terms. It would be better if Ana-bo had died just once. It would be better if she didn’t have to experience — being slit open and bled out, being drained of all her energy bit by bit, being thrown down a hallway and crushed by a giant flail in a place where she was supposed to be safe, being tortured by someone she had thought she could trust in the woods where nobody could hear her cry, being attacked by a pack of vicious, wild animals, being publicly humiliated and beaten half to death for the crime of being a brat in the wrong place at the wrong time, being forced to witness the corpses of all of the people she had grown to care about and told that it was all her fault, being kidnapped and tortured in a cave by a madman, being turned away as she begged and pleaded and prostrated herself for help, being chased by a vicious monster intent on erasing her from existence, being frozen to death bit by bit as a vengeful spirit forced her to suffer through every second, being possessed and forced to beg for a mercy kill right when it looked like the world was about to turn out alright, being blown up, being forced to watch as her support network was shattered behind her back once again as her closest friend was erased from everyone’s mind but her own, being forced to suffer again and again and again without an end in sight—!

Was it a mercy, that Natsuki Kenichi would be forced to conclude that his only son had gone and killed himself? Was it a mercy, that he would never find out the truth of what his child was being forced to endure in his absence? Was it a mercy, was it an injustice, what the actual FUCK was this horrible, horrible—!

“Ricardo?”

With slow, jerky movements, Ricardo turned to face Ana-bo. She was watching him with large, worried eyes. She had been so upset a second ago, staring at that metia with a slack jaw as she made a miserable choking sound, and here she was pushing that aside for his sake. How could he have ever deserved—!

“Mmph!”

Ana-bo made a startled noise as Ricardo practically dove for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling him tight to his chest so that nobody could ever take her from his side. Normally she would protest this action greatly. But now, after a moment of shocked silence, that wise, kind, clever, wonderful daughter of his hugged him back.

“Ya don’t need to cry,” Ana-bo murmured. “‘M not going anywhere.”

In truth, Ricardo hadn’t even noticed that his cheeks were wet. He didn’t have it in him to be ashamed. All he could do was clutch her close and wait for the shaking to subside, bit by bit.

…If it were Anastasia, Ricardo would have prayed for someone to be looking after her in a situation like this. Father to father, he could do the same for Subaru’s old man if need be.

—Though, from the look on Wilhelm’s face, Ricardo wondered if his own involvement would even be necessary.

Wilhelm had his hands raised to cover his mouth in a decidedly uncharacteristic display, so horrified he was by the reveal of the prior state of that young boy. Subaru had… Subaru had…

This wasn’t what he had expected. A young, dumb boy who got into mischief perhaps a little too often for his own good, sure. But a youth who had shrank away from everything so completely, so utterly, that he had really begun to think that there was no future for him at all—!

What a horrible thing for a father to hear from his son. What an awful thing for a son to voice aloud — or to feel, in the first place. Wilhelm had seen blood and carnage and despair on the battlefield, but for some reason it was now that horrified nausea twisted his insides into knots.

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! No! No! Help me! No! I don’t want to die!”

Subaru hadn’t REALLY wanted to die. But — had he not fully understood that, back then? How could he not have known—!

(Wilhelm did not think of his own son, who…may have been left in a similar state. For all of his courage on the battlefield, the Sword Demon could not bring himself to think about that.)

[“FATHER HEADBUTT!!!”]

[Natsuki Kenichi slammed an axe kick down on the head of his beloved only son.]

Julius squawked loudly, abruptly snapped out of his horrified silence. Next to him, Mimi’s despaired expression shifted as she — mercifully — broke into peals of laughter.

[“A lot of what you just said bothers me, but you know what’s the worst?” Kenichi was scolding, suddenly rather serious. “You wanted me to hate you, so you tried to achieve that by playing hookey? Are you dumb?! And if you want to get me to throw you out, pick a more active method! Who would ditch their own kid just because he retreated into his shell?!”]

Ricardo — relaxed, just the slightest bit. At least…at least that old man had told it to him straight. Right?

[“You’re so twisted, you’re on the fast track to being an idiot!” Kenichi cracked his knuckles, grinning. “I’d be glad to set you straight by force if you want…”]

Wilhelm chuckled weakly, trying desperately to force down his turmoil and keep it cool. “Perhaps…Perhaps all fathers have that attitude, even beyond the Great Waterfall…”

Ferris said nothing. Ferris hadn’t moved an inch since the reveal that Subaru had been waiting for an excuse to go and die. Wilhelm didn’t…know what to do.

[“…But it looks like you’ve already been knocked down and stood yourself back up, so there’s no need.” Kenichi’s voice had softened, his fist relaxing into a hand he extended downwards to pull his son back up. Subaru smiled as he accepted it.]

“They really did love him,” Crusch echoed softly. “Didn’t they?”

Anastasia stared wordlessly at the interaction. A very personal sense of loss gnawed at the heart of the former hyena — and a sense of despair at the dawning realization of just how fucked up this situation really was seemed to take over her mind like an invasive species of poisonous flowers.

She reached forward and pulled all three triplets into her lap, hugging them close.

[“Remember what I said?” Subaru was saying. “I found a girl I like. Plus, there's a girl who said she loved me, despite the way I am. And neither one of them knows I'm the son of Natsuki Kenichi. In their eyes, I'm just Natsuki Subaru.” He sighed aloud. “No, in all of their eyes…I was Natsuki Subaru. I finally figured that out.”]

[“It took you long enough. You’re just now coming around to saying all this? I should whack you.”]

Emilia stared at the screen, eyes dull and faded. Rem’s were much the same. On one hand, it was wonderful to be told that Subaru had achieved something so precious due to their influence. It was perhaps the greatest compliment either of them could receive.

But, on the other hand…

[“Um,” Subaru was saying, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Sorry about putting you through—”]

[“If you feel sorry, all you gotta do is take your time making it up to us.” Kenichi grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. “Take good care of me and your mom when we’re old, my eldest son.”]

In the present moment, Subaru finally made a noise.

It was soft, and quiet, and very hoarse — but Beatrice, who had not taken her eyes off of him once, noticed all the same. “Subaru…?”

Subaru’s pupils had shrunk even past their usual states, his whole body shaking as he stared up at the metia in horror. Tears were staring to bud in the corners of his eyes. More horrible croaking noises were leaving his throat. One by one, the people of the audience turned to see what was going on.

“…Natsuki-san, please—” Otto said, the first to reach out. “It’s alright. It’ll— It’ll be alright—”

“Please don’t cry,” Emilia agreed, unusually gentle. “Please, not…” Not while we can’t hold you.

[The Subaru onscreen had already started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I— I’m sorry. I can’t— I-I'm sorry! I won't be able to make anything up to you before…” He finally, properly burst into tears. “I will never see you again!”]

As that cold reality was voiced aloud, the Subaru in the present finally sobbed — and with that first step, the entire dam seemed to shatter until there was nothing left for him to do but fall to the floor with a thump, curl into a ball, and wail in despair.

“Subaru—!” Julius cried out, trying desperately to hold back his own tears at the horrible sight.

“Subaru-dono, please!” Wilhelm tried to say, reaching forward to try and ease his cries. His hands met glass. “We’re right here, please just—!”

[“I-I’m sorry!” Subaru apologized, over and over again as his sobs grew and grew and grew. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”]

“I-I’m sorry,” Subaru echoed weakly, tears streaming down his face to form a puddle under his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanna— I wanna go home—!”

Beatrice choked back a cry of despair of her own. “Subaru—!”

[“No matter how much time passes, you’re still such a handful, son.” Kenichi sighed, but he was smiling as he rubbed a bawling Subaru’s back. “Sheesh…”]

The current Subaru had no such comfort to be given to him. Nobody could reach him, no matter how badly they wanted to, no matter how hard they tried. All there was left for him to do was wail and wail and wail as the horrible despair surrounding his untimely departure collapsed on him anew.

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

��——————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[haddonfieldwhore]

florida!!! - aleksander barkov

aleksander barkov x reader

summary: while in florida on vacation you reconnect with someone from your past

warnings: a mixture of aleksander and sasha used throughout, angst, nsfw implied, small age gap (not specific), not edited (it’s 3am)

word count: 4.1k (oops)

“i’ve got some regrets, i’ll bury them in florida”

the smell of coconut wafted through your nose as you applied sunscreen for the third time that day, your skin not yet used to the heat of fort lauderdale. you were visiting for 2 weeks, a much needed vacation from your life back home, and you already felt relaxed after only two days here.

some of your friends were supposed to join you on the trip, but eventually cancelled, either not having the money or not being able to get the time off from work.

though it would have been more fun with them here, you didn’t mind travelling alone, having studied abroad in college and enjoyed every second of it.

well, mostly - you thought to yourself. despite only being here once before as a child, florida was bringing up some memories in your mind that had been long dormant. it wasn’t the state itself that was to blame though; it was something else. someone, to be more specific.

your phone rang in the back pocket of your shorts, and you swiped answer on the call.

“hey jessie,” you answered with a smile.

“hey! how’s florida?” your best friend asked.

“i wish you were here with me, but it’s still pretty amazing,” you admitted.

“i know, i wish i was there too,” she sighed. “next time, i promise - even if i have to quit my job so i can get the time,” she laughed.

“how will you pay for the trip then genius?”

“leave that to me.”

“alright,” you surrendered with a chuckle.

“see any hot guys yet?” she asked, of course that’s what she wanted to know.

“a few, not that i’m really looking,” you admitted. while there had been a few good looking men you had spotted while you were here, there was one specifically that was occupying your mind for the last few days; and you were trying to drown out any thoughts of him.

“did you decide if you’re going to a game or not?” jessie asked as if she had read your mind.

“maybe - the arena is right near my hotel, but i just don’t know if i’ll find the time,” you brushed it off.

“babe, you’re there for 2 weeks, i think you can find time if you want to.”

“you’re right,” you sighed deeply, flopping onto the soft duvet spread across the bed.

“i always am.”

“i’m gonna ignore that,” you smiled. “it’s not like i would see him anyway,” you thought out loud.

“unless you did.”

“that’s not helpful,” you replied with a roll of your eyes.

“i’m sorry!” jessie apologized. “and don’t roll your eyes at me, i can hear it in your voice,” she teased, and you both laughed.

during the 2 years that you had studied abroad in finland, you had wound up entangled with the one and only aleksander barkov; who in the years since then had blossomed in the national hockey league and become the captain of the florida panthers.

things were good for the most part, despite both of your busy schedules you made it work, and all too quickly found yourself falling for the handsome and humble man. he was a few years older than you, kind, handsome, and a perfect gentleman. there were ups and downs, and he was away from home a lot, but you made it work, keeping things casual and not exactly exclusive; not that you even entertained anyone else when he was gone. unfortunately, like most college relationships, things fell apart when you ended your studies there. you tried for a few months after you finished your courses, but despite your feelings for him, there wasn’t enough to keep you in finland without school to occupy you when he was gone so much of the time.

you thought back to the day that you told him you were leaving; the hurt in his eyes broke your heart, but you both knew the day was coming. you were on borrowed time and you both realized it long before either of you gained the courage to admit it.

“i don’t want you to go, but it’s selfish of me to ask you to stay,” he said sadly, and you buried your head in his chest, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as he wrapped his arms tightly around your body.

“we knew it wasn’t forever right?”

“yeah, we knew,” he mumbled, kissing the top of your head.

a part of you wished it could have been.

“are you listening to me?” jessie’s voice snapped you out of it, and you ran a hand over your face in frustration.

“yeah, sorry,” you shook your head, trying to think about anything else.

“you’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“it’s hard not to - knowing how close we are right now,” you sighed in defeat. you had found it hard to stop yourself from wondering how he was doing, besides thriving on a successful hockey team.

“you miss him.” the way she worded it, it wasn’t a question, you realized.

“our lives are so different and it’s been years since i’ve seen him, jess.” the last time you had seen sasha was when he dropped you off at the airport, the kiss goodbye was almost enough to make you stay. you had texted him when you landed back home, and you’d kept in touch for a few weeks, calling eachother here and there but the distance drove a wedge between you. soon enough life got busy and it was easier to lose contact.

“you didn’t answer the question,” she pointed out.

“i don’t even know if he’s the same person he was back then - i’m certainly not. and he’s a hotshot nhl captian now.”

“of course people change, but this is sasha were talking about. do you really think he’d be that different than he was when you knew him?” she asked. you had told her so much about him, it was like she knew him even though they’d never met. and it was true; the sasha you knew would never let the fame get to him.

“i don’t know him anymore.”

“if you say so. i got to get back to work, my break is over. i’ll call you in a few days?”

“sounds good,” you replied. “love you jess.”

“love you too. keep me updated.”

before you could protest she hung up, and you tossed your phone onto the pillow next to you.

you stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, before grabbing your phone again, opening it to contacts without realizing what you were doing until your finger hovered over the name ‘sasha’.

you hesitated for a moment before closing the app, and googling florida panthers tickets instead.

•

three days later you found yourself sat in one of the crimson seats of amerant bank arena, waiting for the game to begin. you casually followed the nhl, not watching every game, but for obvious reasons, you had a soft spot for the south florida team; it helped that they were fun to watch and had become a force to be reckoned with these last few seasons.

as interested as you were in the game, you found it hard to focus on anything but the memories of aleksander that had continued to float around in your mind for the duration of your vacation. you had woken up this morning with an ache between your legs as you dreamt of the last night you had spent tangled with sasha beneath the sheets of his bed. you could still remember the way his hands felt tracing every inch of your body; not even a cold shower could erase it.

you’d considered not going to the game despite having bought a ticket, but wanted to experience a panthers game while you were here, unsure of when you would get the chance to see them play at home again.

the panthers won, and you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the crowd lingering, but you found you thumb hovering over sasha’s contact in you phone again as you sat next to the pool back at the hotel later that night.

you decided against a phone call, typing out a text message before you could talk yourself out of it.

hey - it’s y/n from college. congrats on the win tonight! :)

a simple ‘hey’ didn’t seem like enough - you weren’t even sure if he had the same number after all these years, or if he remembered you at all. the doubt started to set in the second you hit send, the possibility that you hadn’t left as much of an impact on him as he had with you setting in fast.

what if he didn’t remember you at all?

you decided to call jessie to distract your mind, and you were thankful that it didn’t take her long to pick up.

“hey! i was just about to call you!”

“great minds think alike,” you laughed, her voice putting you at ease a little already.

“what’s up?” she asked.

“just sitting by the pool,” you replied. you hadn’t told her you’d decided to go to the game, and you hadn’t decided if you were going to tell her about the text you’d sent or not yet.

“ugh i’m jealous. i’m considering ditching work and flying out there to join you at this point. you’re still there for another week or so hey?” she asked.

“yeah, 9 more days actually. it would be nice to have you here, jess.”

“is everything okay?” she asked, always able to tell when something was bothering you.

“yeah, i think i just got too much sun today, my head hurts.” you weren’t entirely lying, but you just hoped she didn’t check the weather and see that it had been cloudy in fort lauderdale that day.

“bet you never had that problem in finland, hey?” you knew she was teasing, the climate in finland in fact being drastically drearier than florida, but you were hoping to not think about that for at least a few minutes.

“yeah, definitely not.”

despite the cold, you loved everything about finland. it took some getting used to the dark and cold, but each time aleksander showed you around different places around the country, you knew you would find it harder to leave.

for more reasons than just the scenery.

the day he showed you around his home town of tampere finland was the day you realized that you were falling in love with him.

you walked hand in hand down crowded streets, sasha pointing out different things from his childhood, like where he grew up playing hockey, his favourite restaurants, everything.

you looked up at him in wonder as the glow of the street lights illuminated his face, a light pink tinge across his cheeks and nose from the cold. fluffy white snowflakes fell softly around you, gathering atop the beanie that covered his head and across his broad shoulders.

it was only a few months since you had met, but it felt like you had known him for years. you never imagined a day would come where it would feel like you were strangers, even knowing that your time in finland was temporary.

“you don’t have to leave,” he had said, only a month left in your final semester abroad.

you laid bare next to him, his bedsheets the only thing covering your body as you fiddled absentmindedly with his hands, tracing calluses with your fingertips.

“once the semester is over i won’t have a place to stay, i can’t stay at the dorm.” you had gotten a job at a coffee shop that made you enough money to afford food and necessities, but you couldn’t afford an apartment with that salary, and hadn’t intended to get a job in your chosen field here. the plan was always to go home after your schooling was done.

���you could stay here, with me.”

it wasn’t an absurd idea; you spent a lot of nights at aleksanders house anyway when he wasn’t on the road. but in reality, he wasn’t home that often, and you would feel weird living in his house without him.

“you mean it?” you asked, your heart aching at the thought that even if he said yes, you knew your answer was no. part of him knew it too.

a notification went off on your phone, and you snapped out of your daydream, realizing that you’d once again become lost in memories of what once was.

you pulled your phone away from your ear, jessie’s voice getting quieter as she went on about something that happened at work today. you knew you were being a bad friend, and made a mental note to make it up to her later.

you saw that you had a text message and your breath caught in your throat as you tapped on it.

hey ☺️ it’s been a long time. you watched the game?

you stared at the message, suprised he’d responded so fast, if at all.

“i’m sorry, i gotta go, my phones about to die, i’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” jessie said, and you said a quick goodbye before you both hung up, leaving you alone to deal with your thoughts.

what had you intended when you texted sasha? you weren’t sure even you knew, but typed out a reply anyway; deciding you would figure it out as you went.

i was there actually - i’m in florida for a few days.

you impatiently waited as the three dots appeared to indicate that he was typing.

oh wow. thank you for coming to the game.

you smiled.

i wouldn’t miss it.

it took a few minutes after he read the message for him to reply this time, and you worried you’d said something wrong. deciding you didn’t want to sit by the pool anymore, you wrapped your towel around yourself, fighting of the evening chill that had begun to tickle your skin.

you’d made it up to your hotel room by the time your phone went off again, though it was a text this time; it was ringing. you assumed it was jessie, but froze when you saw sasha’s name light up the screen instead.

should i answer it? you thought.

a thousand reasons why you should or shouldn’t ran through your mind, but you ultimately swiped accept and closed the door behind you as you stepped in to your suite.

“hi,” you answered nervously. all these years later and he still had this much of an effect on you.

“hi,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. “it really is you.”

“did you think it might not be?” you laughed slightly, and on the other end of the call, aleksander realized how much he’d missed the sound.

“i don’t know, maybe,” he admitted. “it’s good to hear from you.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“how have you been?” you asked, pacing around the room. despite how easily sasha used to be able to put you at ease, you couldn’t stay still.

“i’m good,” he replied, and you had forgotten that he was a man of few words at times. “what about you? what brings you to florida?”

you couldn’t exactly tell him that you had been good save for the fact that he was all you’d thought about for the last few days.

“good,” you decided was your answer. “why did you call instead of texting?” you asked. it had been years since you last spoke, but you felt like you were back in college, calling him while he was on the road to hear about his latest game.

“oh… i just wanted to hear your voice i guess,” he admitted, a blush forming across his face that he was glad you couldn’t see.

sasha sat in his car outside the restaurant where he and some of his teammates had been out to celebrate their victory when you texted, and he had excused himself to make a phone call, quietly sneaking out to his car.

of course he’d thought about you in the years since you left finland, always considering you to be the one that got away, despite the fact that you both knew from the beginning that you’d be leaving.

he hadn’t expected you to text him out of the blue that you were in florida, and it made him anxious to know that you were so close, especially knowing that you had been at the game earlier that day.

a happy anxious.

“yeah, it’s nice to hear your voice too.”

“are you coming to the game later this week?” he asked. you hadn’t planned on it, but the way he asked made you hope it meant that he wanted you to say yes.

“i might be, i’ll have to see about getting a ticket,” you replied, giving an open ended answer.

“if you need a ticket i can send you one,” he said, before quickly adding. “if you want.”

“do you want me there?” you asked, hoping you weren’t being too bold to assume that could be what he meant.

“of course i do.”

•

you spent the next few days feeling like you were floating on air, like you would wake up any moment and this would all be a dream.

you had been texting aleksander almost constantly, and he called you every night, catching up on the years you had missed, though it felt like no time had passed.

you were suprised when he had asked you to meet him after the game tomorrow, which he had in fact gotten you a ticket for. you tried to offer to pay for it, but he refused. you knew he could easily get them for free as the captain, but still felt wrong taking it.

you were getting ready to head to the arena, when your phone rang.

“are you ever actually working when you’re at your job?” you laughed as you accepted the call from jessie.

“i’m on my break for your information,” she argued playfully.

“fair enough. how are things back home?”

“boring without you of course,” she laughed.

“obviously,” you teased.

“did you decide if you’re going to the game tonight?” she asked, and you half wondered if she had cameras watching you.

“i am actually getting ready to go right now, stalker.”

“good - i’m sure you’ll have a great time,” she replied. “and who knows, maybe you’ll run into a certain finnish captian while you’re there…”

“i doubt it,” you lied. you still hadn’t told her that you’d already gone to a game, or that you’d been talking with sasha non stop for the last three days.

“you never know. cupid works in mysterious ways.”

“jess…”

“i know im just teasing.”

you talked for a few more minutes before you had to leave to go the arena, still thinking about what she had said.

if only she knew, you laughed to yourself.

•

you waited in your rental car after the game for aleksander to text you where to meet him, giving him time to shower and talk with the team after yet another panthers win.

he had let them know that he wouldn’t be joining them to celebrate tonight, but hadn’t told them why, deciding to keep your existence a secret for now as neither of you were sure exactly that this was.

you phone went off and you checked to see that he had sent you his location, still at the arena but he must have parked on the other side where fans couldn’t usually go.

you drove over until you saw him standing outside the players entrance, and your heart rate sped up.

talking on the phone was one thing, but seeing him in person was different.

you hoped you looked okay as you parked and got out, walking up to him with a smile.

“hey,” he smiled, and you couldn’t resist the urge to embrace him in a hug, which he thankfully returned.

sasha felt a pang in his heart as he held you tight to his chest, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. he missed this; sure he had moved on with his life in the time you had spent apart, but there was a part of him that always wondered what it would have been like to have you there by his side the whole time.

“did you get taller?” you laughed, and he smiled, blushing softly like he always did anytime you complimented him.

“maybe,” he shrugged as he felt your arms release their grip on him. as you stepped back, he took in your appearance. you had grown up slightly since he’d watched you board a plane and leave him behind, but the years had been good to you.

“congrats on the win by the way,” you said, suprised at how the nerves had melted away. so far, he was still the same sasha, and you’d always found it easy to talk to him.

“thank you,” he said shyly, humble as ever.

“where did you wanna go?” you asked.

“do you want to get coffee?”

“sure,” you smiled. “lead the way, captain.”

•

you and sasha spent nearly three hours in the small coffee shop, catching up on anything you’d missed telling eachother over the phone, and repeating somethings you already had. neither of you minded, and when the barista let you guys know that they’d be closing up soon, you found yourself wishing you had more time.

just like in finland.

there was no one else in the coffee shop since it was late at night by now, and the soft music was quickly making you tired despite the caffeine in your system.

“i should take you home,” he offered, and then as if he read your mind, added. “i can pick you up tomorrow morning and take you to your car if you want.”

“sure - thank you,” he helped you put on your light jacket you had worn despite the florida heat, and you hesitated before slipping your hand into his as he walked beside you to his car, fingers interlocking.

once you were back at your hotel, you hesitated before getting out of the car.

“do you want to come up with me?” too scared to see his reaction, you looked down at your lap as you waited for his answer, but the sound of the engine shutting off made you lift you gaze and meet his eyes.

“i’d like that.”

•

you woke up to the feeling of sasha’s fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder, and cuddled closer into his chest as the sunlight crept in through a crack in the curtains.

“good morning,” he whispered.

“good morning,” you repeated, feeling the warmth of his arms wrapping around you, your legs tangled with his beneath the covers.

“i missed this,” he admitted, and you hummed in response.

“me too.”

he was silent for a moment, as if he was mustering up the courage to ask you his next question.

“do you ever wonder what things would be like if you had stayed in finland?”

you looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“yeah, a lot actually,” you admitted. “sometimes i regret leaving.”

“you had to go,” he said, but you could tell that it had hurt him when you left. maybe as much as it had hurt you.

“it was one of the hardest things i ever did. leaving you.”

“we found eachother again though,” he replied, always finding a way to look at things in a positive light. reality set in as you realized the harsh truth.

“i’m only in florida for a few more days sasha,” you confessed, and you felt guilty. surely he knew that you had to leave again, but it still felt like you were doing something wrong.

“i know,” he assured you. “no one stays anywhere forever.” you knew he hadn’t meant it with any hostility.

“do you like it here in florida?” you asked, trying to shift the subject off of you leaving. “it’s so different from home.”

“it’s very different, but it’s nice.” he agreed, and while he knew when you called finland home you meant his, but there was a time when you called it home as well, even if you were just a guest there.

“yeah, it’s really nice,” you agreed.

“will you visit again?” he asked the question you had been dreading.

“i don’t know when i’ll be able to,” you said honestly. “but i’ll try, sasha.”

he smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“we play in your hometown next month,” he remembered aloud, and you smiled, knowing you would see him again sooner than you imagined.

“i’ll have to get a ticket,” you smiled at him.

“i think i can help with that.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 6 [Mack x David]

A/N: This chapter has a lot of items in it for what was sent in as requests for the series! I hope you loooooove it! It's spicy, funny, and sweet all wrapped up in one. Happy Saturday, bbys!

Favorite quote? "You my girl, Hischier?" 😍🥵😩

Word Count: 4.5k

It’s almost laughable about what is currently happening right now. 

If Mack thinks about the last year of her life, she really could not have imagined everything that has transpired. A year ago, she was still seeing David as a fling, a hot fuck whenever she felt the itch needed to be scratched. Which was a lot because, well, he’s David. Now, all her belongings are packed into brown boxes, ready to be carted away to David’s apartment. Well, their apartment.

This is all happening willingly. A lot of conversations have been had about this in the months since Mack returned to New York. As much as David assured her they could slow things down, Mack didn’t see the point. If they’re gonna do this, they should really do it. Commit. Go all in the way they both deserve now. She already ran once and she’s not doing it again. 

So when Mack went the whole month of February without going back to her place, she brought the topic up.

“What if I move in?” Mack had asked in his arms as they watched TV together on a Wednesday night. Mack had terrible cramps and his hand laid across the warm, heating pad covering her lower abdomen, massaging lightly. 

“Haven’t you already?” He murmured. Mack looked around his place, seeing her stuff littered everywhere. Maybe she’s made herself a little too at home. 

“Okay, what if I brought everything here?” She reframed.

“I’d say it would finally be home for me too.” He answered, kissing her puckered lips.

That was a month ago. Mack broke her lease four months early and now she is here, monitoring the move with an iced espresso in her hand.

She grabs her phone, taking a picture of her by all her boxes and sending it to her boyfriend. David is currently out of town for the last Rangers road game of the season in Philadelphia. It was exciting to send him off knowing when he came back they would be living together. Her and David discussed their furniture and were able to consolidate it all down to fit into his place. Most of her decor has been donated though. The overly feminine pieces wouldn’t have made sense in the current modern, masculine design. David has already given her free reign to make changes. 

Right now, Mack doesn’t have the desire. She likes it just the way it is.

After the movers pack up the last of her boxes, Mack walks down to the office to turn her keys in. She waves goodbye to the leasing office agents then moves to the lobby where Ron waits, already teary.

“I knew you would be gone after that first kiss.” Ron admits to her. Mack tears up, nodding her head.

“He is impossible to say no to.”

“I am happy for you, Mack.” He says as she hugs him. “This is good for you. Being closer to Lucie will be good too.” Ron is right about this, especially as Lucie is expecting her second daughter later in the year.

“Thank you, Ron. For everything. I’ll pop by and visit, okay? Bring you some Swiss Chocolate when I go back home.”

“I would love that. Tell your parents I said goodbye." Mack nods. 

“How about see you later instead?” Ron smiles then waves her off to her next chapter like the good, kind man he is.

The movers are already in motion when she arrives to her new, familiar building. She quickly rushes upstairs and then gets out of their way again. She sits at the dining room table, checking in on work chats and emails. They are done in under an hour. Mack tips them in extra cash for the quick service, then shuts the door behind them all. She leans back against the door and grins. She snaps another picture to send to David.

Welcome home, honey 

Come home to me soon 🥺

I will. Don’t give away any of my shit until I get home.

Say please.

Please. Brat.

Mack snickers then sends him a thumbs up in response.

The rest of the day she unpacks her things. She is able to get all of her clothes and bathroom items put away before the game starts. Then once it does, she moves to the kitchen so she can multitask. Anything that there is double of, she leaves out on the counter for them to discuss.

Mack raises her gaze to the TV when the announcers exclaim that David is fighting with another player. She winces as David’s fist connects with the guys face, sending him to the ice with a bloody cheek. She shakes her head as David skates lazily towards the penalty box, unaffected. Men.

Mack is still unwrapping glassware in the kitchen when David comes home. She took a long, extended break to have dinner with Lucie downstairs. Then she helped read Stella bed time stories until she fell asleep. By the time Mack left, Lucie had been asleep on the couch too. This arrangement is already working out wonderfully for the Hischier girls.

“Honey, I’m home.” David calls out as he walks in. She laughs. 

“How long have you been dying to do that?”

“Oh, forever.” He admits. He tosses his bag by the door, then walks into hug her in the kitchen. “Look at you lil unpacking machine.” He kisses her lips. “What’s all this?”

“This is the stuff we have doubles of.”

“Cool. I do not want to do this tonight.”

“No, tomorrow. I’m sleepy.”

“Did they set the bed up?” Mack and David decided to keep Mack’s bed and move his into the second bedroom where her office will be. 

“Yep. I washed the sheets. We’re all set.”

“I have been so excited to go to bed tonight.” He chuckles. “Not just because of your bed, but knowing I get you in it every night now…” He trails off. Mack smiles softly up at him, then tugs him by his tie down to kiss him again. David’s hands wind along her back. “You happy, baby?”

“So happy.” She murmurs, chin resting on his chest. He smoothes her hair down at the sides, then leans forward to smooch her lips longingly. “My pretty girl.” He says against her lips, then kisses her deeper.

“You feeling lucky tonight?”

“Mhm.” He mumbles, hands sliding down to her ass. They grip there for a moment, then go to the backs of her thighs to lift her up. As he is walking her to the hallway, his phone rings in his pocket. He sets Mack down on the bed, then pulls the phone out to see who is calling so late.

“Hey Woody.” He answers. He pops the phone on speaker so Mack can hear.

“Hey, uh, can one of you, or both of you, I don’t care, come down and sit with Stella? She’s asleep, but Lucie woke up and is bleeding. We called her doctor and they want her to come in.” Mack sits up quickly. 

“Yeah I’ll come down.” Mack says to Connor. 

“Thank you. Can you hurry? I’m trying to get Luc there ASAP.”

“Yep, I’m on my way,” Mack reaches for her phone that was charging on the nightstand. She grabs a sweatshirt from the closet, then kisses David goodbye.

“I’ll change and come down.” He calls to her.

“Okay.” 

When Mack gets to Connor and Lucie’s apartment, they have the door open, waiting for her.

“Good luck. I love you.” Mack offers to them both. “Text me whats going on when you can.”

“We will.” Connor answers for his wife who looks white as a ghost. Tears line her brown eyes as her husband leads her from the apartment. The door softly shuts behind them. Mack goes to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water, then gets to work on loading dirty dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. She needs to be doing something with her hands after that interaction.

A knock sounds on the door, then David comes popping in. 

“Hey honey, did you talk with them?”

“Not really. Lucie looked pretty worried. They were anxious to get going.”

“Hopefully everything is okay.” He brings a hand to her shoulder, rubbing at it, providing her comfort. Mack nods, feeling her throat clog up with emotion. She’s scared for her sister. Pregnancy is no joke. The issues that both mom’s and babies can have are sometimes life threatening. Mack feels queasy just thinking about something being wrong with Lucie or the baby. 

“I’m gonna go sit down I think.” Mack murmurs. David follows her to the couch, helping her sit. Mack swallows hard as David wanders back to the kitchen to grab her water for her. He hands it to her. Mack thanks him. 

Little, bare footprints hit the hallway. David turns around, seeing a sleepy, pouty Stella appear in the lit hallway arch.

“Where’s daddy?” She asks, rubbing her little eyes tiredly.

“Him and mommy went to go check on your baby sister.” Mack tells her. She opens her arms of her niece and sighs contently when Stella wiggles into her lap. David sits down next to the two girls, offering his hand to Stella for her to hold. She grips two of his fingers with her little hand. 

“Why didn’t I get to go?”

“Cause it’s late.”

“I got to go last time.” Lucie and Connor took her to the 20 week appointment so Stella could see her little sister on the ultrasound. It was the talk of her entire week.

“Yeah, this one is a little different, babe.” Mack murmurs, kissing her head as Stella drops it to her shoulder. David reaches up, smoothing back Stella’s wild brown curls. 

The three of them sit on the couch like that, quietly comforting one another until Mack gets a text from Connor.

On our way back. Everything is okay.

Mack and David sigh in pure relief. David peeks at Stella’s face, seeing her passed out.

“I’ll take her back to bed.”

Mack allows him to pick her up then follows him down to Stella’s bedroom. In the doorway, she watches David tuck Stella into her little pink, princess bed. He brings the blankets back up to her mid chest, then re-arranges her stuffed animals around her like she prefers. Mack smiles. He’s so good at taking care of his people. Then with a gentle pat of her hair, David walks quietly out of the room. He weaves his and Mack’s fingers together and leads her back to the living room where they wait for Lucie and Connor to return. When they do, the four of them share hugs between each other. 

“Thank you, guys.” Connor murmurs as he walks them to the door. Lucie has already padded down the hallway to go to bed, utterly exhausted. 

“Of course. We are so thankful everything is okay too.” Mack tells him.

“How did the move go?”

“Good.” She assures him. Connor nods.

“I’m glad your close by now with this guy.” Connor clasps David’s shoulder. “Now I just need him to officially be my brother…” Connor’s blue eyes sparkle playfully.

“Okay, goodnight.” Mack smiles, patting Connor’s arm as she walks through the door. 

“What, nothing? You two are really not gonna give me anything?”

“Nope.” David shrugs. “Goodnight.” He tosses an arm around Mack’s shoulders. He kisses her head, then looks back, smirking at his defense partner. Connor scoffs at them then begrudgingly calls goodnight down the hallway. The soft click of the door has Mack and David snickering to each other. 

“We’ll never tell.” David jokes to her.

“Never. When we get married, let’s not tell him for like six months.” Mack tangles their fingers together at her right shoulder.

“Oh we’re getting married?” David asks slyly.

“You know we are.”

“I do. Just didn’t realize you did…” He trails off with a smug smirk.

“I don’t move in with guys I don’t see as my future husband.”

“Plural, huh? Damn, I thought I was special.” Mack laughs loudly as they step into the elevator.

“You know what I mean!”

“Yeah that apparently I got some competition somewhere.”

“No, you don’t.” Mack shakes her head. “It’s only ever gonna be you.” 

“Ditto, beautiful.” He puckers his lips like a duck at her.

Mack kisses him deeply, then leads him out of the elevator to continue what they started in their bedroom before.

- - - & - - -

The heavy purr of David’s motorcycle beneath Mack’s thighs is weirdly comforting. Playoffs are starting tomorrow and all David wanted to do with his last, non-hectic day was to take out the bike. The weather is cooperating. It’s a warm enough day that Mack won’t freeze in the wind and the streets are mostly cleaned off from the winter time gunk. David had called Mack on his way back from practice, asking her to play hooky with her work day. So she did.

The breeze rolls through Mack’s hair, whipping it about in it’s pony tail that trails down her back. The helmet is making her face and head sweaty, but she doesn’t mind. Her hands spread out along David’s stomach, holding on to him as they take each lazy turn of the Hudson River trail. They’re well out of the city now, seeing the budding trees and the expansive rolling river as it climbs further North. Mack and David did this ride in the fall to see the changing leaves during a few day break for training camp. It’s fun to see the trees coming full circle with their Spring blooms. 

David taps Mack’s thigh, letting her know they are going to be changing speeds. He slows down as they come to a scenic overlook. It’s a Tuesday afternoon, so they are alone on the road. David brings the bike to a stop. The shudders of the engine shake Mack as she flips her helmet off. David kicks the stand down, then stands, holding a hand out to help her off.

“You’re getting good at this, honey.” He compliments her as she fixes her hair back into a smoother hairstyle. He puts his helmet next to hers on the bike then stretches out his neck and shoulders as he walks towards the stone wall curving around the cliff. “Damn. If we didn’t start off in the city, I might almost be able to believe we are back home.” Mack smiles in agreement. They are quiet, observing the gorgeous, rolling hills of trees and the lazy flow of the river.

“This was such a good idea. Thank you.” Mack acknowledges. She has been feeling uninspired and antsy in her professional life, even as her personal life smoothes to a steady, comfortable cruise. She just hates everything she is writing. How is it possible she can be in such different places, but her words all sound the same? 

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.” She acknowledges. “I’d go anywhere with you.” David smiles.

“Except Dallas?” Mack stills. Dallas and David haven’t come up together in months. Well maybe it has, but she hasn’t been searching it out like before.

“Oh?”

“What about New York?” Mack looks away, thinking about where this is going.

“I mean, yeah? We were just there.”

“What about if we are there for 8 more years?” Mack startles.

“What?” Her voice already is small and timid from trying to control her emotions.

“Paperwork is coming today.”

“I thought…”

“I did too. But they approached my agent about it last week and I said get it done. Whatever they’re willing to pay me, I’ll take it.”

“So a dollar?” Mack jokes. David tilts his head back and laughs loudly at the sky. Then he reaches for her, pulling her into his chest to hold her close.

“I’m already a rich man having you, honey. I don’t need anything else. I know I tell you stuff like that all the time, but I mean it. This is the first time something big is happening for me when I have someone in my life. I’m so glad it’s you. I love sharing all this with you.”

“Is this the same speech you’re going to give to Connor?”

“Yes.” David smirks. “Can’t live without him either.” Mack giggles, gripping the opening of his leather jacket.

“Wow. New York for eight years. A Ranger for life?” 

“Mhm.”

“You’re going to be so old in 8 years… And I’ll still be young.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, we’ll get you passed on to your second husband by then.” 

“I can do 8 years with you.” Mack nods in agreement. “I get half though?”

“Sure! If I get half of yours.” Mack gasps then shakes her head no immediately. Despite David’s NHL salary and his lucrative farming business, Mack’s money surpasses his by close to 10 million. Daddy’s money grew well over the years with various, hands-off investments. It will continue to do so in the next 8 years too.

“I’m happy for you. Proud too. You’ve worked so hard to get here. You deserve this.”

“Thank you.” He nods, looking stoic and proud. “I’m excited to see where we are in 8 years.” He squeeze her fingers as they pull apart, looking back out over the gorgeous view they’re in front of.

“Yeah.” Mack murmurs. 

But after this last year, Mack knows there is no use trying to picture it now. She’s sure it’s all going to come together the way it should, better than she could even imagine it anyway. Plus right now, all she cares about is being who they are in this moment. 

Two people at the starting line of love with a whole life left to live.

- - - & - - -

Inside MSG, Mack and Lucie hold hands with Stella as they walk down the concourse to their seats. All three ladies are decked out in their Rangers playoffs gear. Lucie and Stella have bold white letters with their last name and Connor’s number while Mack is adorned in Carlson and 14. Butterflies are swarming in Mack’s stomach that the margarita at dinner did nothing to fix. 

“I wish I could drink right now.” Lucie mutters to her sister as the national anthem ends. The boys are in their home blues, circling around and then gathering at the bench for the opening face off.

“Yeah.” Mack breathes out. Usually, she doesn’t care. But today she does. It’s playoffs. The team has a real chance this year and honestly, with David’s long term investment being announced today, she wants him to play well. She wants him to show the fans and the team exactly what they’re going to get for the next eight years. 

As David lines up on Connor’s right side. Mack folds her lip into her mouth. She crosses her legs, sending out safe vibes for her man. 

Then the puck drops and utter chaos breaks out. 

The game is intense. The crowd loud and in the opposing team’s face. Constant cheering and buzz swirls round them as the teams battle on the ice. David keeps getting into little scrums. Mack sighs every time she sees his gloved hand face wash someone. He jaws at number 44 on the opposing team half the time they’re on the ice together. 

At the start of the third period, the game is tied 1-1. The Rangers need a push and it’s no surprise to anyone that David drops the gloves with 44. The two of them swing heavy blows at each other, some connecting, some wizzing by the others head. It’s David that ends up on top. As he skates to the box, he swings his arms up in the air, yelling at the crowd to get pumped. Mack giggles, looking over at her sister.

“Why is that so hot?” Mack nibbles her lip seductively, looking down at him in the penalty box. He runs a towel over his face and hair, leaving the black strands sticking up in places. 

“I don’t know.” Lucie shrugs. 

“Why did he fight?” Stella asks, looking over at Mack like she should answer for him. “Was he mean?”

“Yeah.” Mack settles on. She isn’t sure what else she could say. Stella is too young to understand the nuances of the game and truthfully, Mack doesn’t think she would care anyway. She’s all about trying to get her second bundle of cotton candy. 

The team battles to hold their 1-1 tie game while David is in the box. Several dangerous looks are tossed on goal but the Rangers goalie keeps the team in the game. The crowd cheers loudly when David skates out of the box after his time is done. Now that they have fought, 44 and David keep their distance from each other. David has a game to win and his focus is on the next 10 minutes to get them the W. 

It takes another 5 minutes, but the Rangers score. Lucie and Mack fly out of their seats, high-fiving and yelling loudly for their boys as they roll through the bench handshake line.

“Connor assisted on that.” Lucie beams proudly. 

The next five minutes feel like hours. Several quick whistles hit. TV time outs play out then an on the ice time out before the opponents pull their goalie. Mack watches through her fingers as the clock winds down. David goes down to block a shot that has Mack yelping. He is fine, but she didn’t like that one. When the final buzzer sounds to signal a Rangers win, the building erupts. Fans wave their white towels furiously with their cheers. 

The Rangers have one of their 16 wins. 

After the game, Lucie and Mack hang out to wait for the boys. Media takes longer in the playoffs and it’s no surprise that both Connor and David are pulled aside for interviews. They walk out of the locker room together, dressed, with still wet hair as they discuss a few plays from the game.

“Next time, let’s look for a reverse there. I don’t think their forecheck can pick that off behind the net.” David says to Connor.

“I agree. Also I wanna see us stepping up more at the blue line. Light ‘em up.” Connor smirks at his partner as they come to stop by the girls.

“Really?” Lucie whines. “Don’t forget someone here is pregnant.” Her belly pokes out of her jacket as she puts her hands on her hips. 

“I did that.” Connor sighs happily. He puts a hand on her belly then leans down to kiss her. David does the same with Mack, minus the hand on her stomach.

“Couldn’t resist, huh?” Mack asks David.

“Never.” He grins.

“I liked it.” She admits. “There is something about you all sexy and ruffled in the penalty box that gets to me.”

“Alright. Bye Woods!” David announces. He wraps Mack up tight into his side, almost head locking her in place. Mack laughs, holding onto his back as he drags her forward.

“Bye!” Mack yells, waving to them without looking back. David’s fingers run over the Carlson on her back as he opens the passenger side door for her. 

“Speaking of looking sexy…” He trails off, grinning at her. 

“Take me home, cowboy.”

David races home, weaving through traffic quickly so he can get Mackenzie Hischier stripped down to just that jacket on her body. When he slides his cock into her from behind, his low groan of appreciation has Mack buzzing as hard as the arena was earlier. 

“Fuck. Look so good with me all over you.” David murmurs. His hands run under her jacket to grab her bare hips. His eyes take in her Carlson covered back as he pumps deep inside of her. Mack whimpers at the delicious fullness of him. His palms slide up to her chest, cupping her breasts as she takes him deep. Mack presses up on her hands so his chest meets her back, then she turns her face to moan into his mouth. “You my girl, Hischier?”

“Yes.” 

“Mmm that’s right.” He grabs her cheek, keeping her face turned towards his so he can kiss her and fuck her at the same time. He helps her raised more on her knees so it’s easier for them to stay connected everywhere. “All mine.” 

Their change in position makes everything deeper. Mack grasps at his neck to hold on while he pistons into her wet core. His other hand trails down her stomach, wiggling her clit in wild strokes.

“I love you.” He says, resting their noses together as he fucks harder into her.

“I love you.” She moans back. The back of her head hits his shoulder and he finishes her off after her desperate pleas for him to make her come. 

He pulls out of her afterwards, gently peeling her jacket off to put it in the closet for the game on Thursday. Then he cleans up in the bathroom before coming back to take care of her.

After he is done wiping her clean, he kisses her deeply. Mack’s heart aches for him to be closer even as he pulls her into his chest to cuddle. It never feels like they are close enough for her. She wants to be pasted to him at all times. Mack brings the fingers of her left hand up to his chest. She traces zig zags down his sternum as a tiredness from their big day of activity begins to descend. 

A thought comes to her as she thinks about the next eight years spent right here with him.

“I would have gone to Dallas with you. Or Seattle. Or anywhere.” She murmurs to him. “I only want us to be together. It doesn’t matter where.”

“I’m glad you say that because… I wanna be honest with you. This is my last deal and when it’s done, I wanna head home. Build a life there with you that is slower and quieter than this.” His fingers massage her scalp as he talks.

“I would really like that.” Mack tells him. “We can have matching rocking chairs?”

“Of course. I’ll build you one this summer.” Mack nods.

“I know we have some time before then, but I’m hoping you’ll come home with me this summer. Maybe the end of June? Depending on how things go?” Mack offers to him. She’s been thinking about how much she wants to show him of home. She got to experience him in Iowa and she wants him to see her at home too. In her parents lake house where he can get to know her parents and Sophie better.

“Yes. Of course. If things end early here, we can go right away. We could spend a whole month there if you want.”

“Okay.” Mack nods, smiling into his chest. “I’ll take you to the cabin. Show you were I realized how much I wanted this with you.”

“I’d love that.” He acknowledges, squeezing her in tighter. 

It all sounds so easy, wrapped up naked in each other now. All the fear about how hard this could be or how it could not work out is gone. Instead, they’re communicating. They’re asking each other to lean in and sometimes compromise too. Both of them are so willing to do that now.

Because this is worth it. 

No matter where. No matter what.

Read more Mack and David here.

[torao-chan]

man idk what to tell yall

im just. exhausted atm

[a-b-riddle]

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.” He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[fcthots]

You’re sitting on the couch of your shared apartment when Jason climbs in through the window, finally done with patrol. His entrance makes you look up from your phone. He reaches up and tugs his helmet off. His hair looks a little funny, but it also made him look good. He didn’t need the ego boost though. You can tell he had an eventful patrol by the smile on his face.

He walks towards you and drops his hand onto your arm. He lets it slide down until his hand rests on yours. He pulls your hand to his lips in greeting. “Hey, princess.” He squeezes your hand before giving it back to you.

“How was patrol?” You watch as he strips off his outer layers of gear. The display never gets old.

“Good.” He laughs. “But I have got to tell you what happened. Red Robin, Tim, smacked into Red Robin, the restaurant. It was completely by accident too. I begged Babs to get me the camera footage. She’s searching as we speak.”

You laugh at his enthusiasm and the way he laughed before he even finished the story. You ask him questions, he answers them. It continues until he goes to take his shower.

You turn back to your phone. This is where it all goes wrong, because you see a post that ruins your day. It reads, “the first time most men receive flowers is at their funeral.”

Evil. Illegal. Unacceptable. Had you really never given Jason flowers before? You swore you did but your memory came up empty. By the time you finished your existential flower crisis, Jason finished showering and called you to bed. He’s exhausted and falls asleep quickly. You, however, stay awake and plan. You will get the love of your life flowers. You will not let the first time he receives flowers to be at his funeral. You fall asleep trying to decide what flowers he would like best.

You wake up before him, getting up as gently as possible. If he wakes up with you, he’ll trap you for cuddles in his huge beefy inescapable arms, so you must be careful. You wouldn’t have been able to do it if you didn’t know Jason as well as you do.

You get ready as silently and as quickly as possible before sliding out the door. The nearest flower shop isn’t too far. You make it there and back in 30 minutes, and most of that time was spent deciding what flowers you wanted to get Jason.

You walk home with a bouquet of simple red roses with some baby’s breath sprinkled in. It’s wrapped in black paper with a read bow, a color combination you’re sure he’ll love.

You walk home a little slower, careful not to disturb the flowers cradled in your arms. The long walk leaves you to your thoughts. You wonder how Jason will react.

And then you get worried. What if he thinks it’s weird? Jason has never called you weird unaffectionately before, but what if this is what does it? Or, even worse, what if he pretends to like them but actually thinks it’s weird? You spiral a little and panic. You eventually walk head first into your door on muscle memory.

You make sure the flowers are okay before opening the door. You hide the bouquet behind your back. To your surprise, Jason is awake and in the kitchen. His morning voice greets you with a smile. “Did you just walk into the door?”

Your worry begins to fade and a smile crawls its way onto your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs and the sound makes you blush. You love him. “You did!”

“And to think I was out getting you a present.” You shake your head.

“You got me a present?” He looks a like an excited puppy.

“I got my loving boyfriend a present. Let me know if you see him.” You pretend as if you’re about to walk out.

Jason rushes over to you smiling. “Wait, no! He’s right here! Please! I want my present!”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you thrust the flowers at him. He takes them from you, his smile softening. “Do you like them?”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “What are these for? They’re beautiful. I love them.” You watch him feel the petals with a gentle smile that he can’t seem to help.

You tell him about the post you saw, and how you couldn’t let the first time he got flowers be at his funeral. He pauses. “Babe. I really love the flowers. Seriously. Best gift ever. But um. The first time I got flowers was at my funeral.” He watches your face.

You lift a hand and cover your mouth. “Oh my god.” He laughs and uses one had to hug to you to his chest.

“I really love the sentiment! It means a lot! I love them so much!” He smiles into your hair as you wrap your arms around him.

“That’s why I remember buying you flowers before but couldn’t remember giving them to you. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t. This was so sweet, seriously. If it wasn’t the ass crack of dawn, I would cry.”

You laugh. “It’s past noon.”

He huffs. “Same thing. We were up until like 4.”

“This is true,” you say. “I still feel so bad though. I can’t believe I forgot you had a funeral already.”

He laughs and you can feel it in his chest. “The idea was really sweet, princess. I love the flowers. You just made my day. Nay, my week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you running into the door really sealed the deal.”

You push on his chest. “I hate you.”

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Co Parents To Lovers Again (part 2)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: fluff (smut in the next part)

part 1

It's been three days since the unfortunate misunderstanding with Charles and you haven't heard from him at all since.

You were overthinking the whole situation that happened on Sunday and couldn't come to any proper conclusion. At the same time, you were sad because he thought you would bring someone else into your bed, even though it wasn't your shared bed anymore, but you couldn't believe that he thought so little of you after all the years you'd spent together.

And yet on the other hand, you were thinking like any woman, you were glad that he was jealous and that the very thought of someone replacing him bothered him because that only meant he wasn't over you and that he still wanted to make things right between you two. Basically, you were torn between your brain and your heart once again and it was just a matter of what would prevail between the two this time.

Even though deep down you knew you couldn't fight yourself. You broke up over some disagreements that when you look at things more closely weren't worth destroying your relationship and your little family. You were both stubborn, he was a little too possessive, you were lacking in understanding, parenting, you spent most of your time alone with Lou and everything came together and exploded.

Now that you look back on the whole year you spent without him, you know that as hard as it is sometimes to be with him, it's ten times harder to be without him. You realize that you both made a rash decision, but then again maybe it had to happen only to make you realize how much you need each other in every way possible.

It's Wednesday night and while you're preparing tonight's dinner and tomorrow's lunch, Lou is sitting at the dining room table drawing. Soon your cooking is interrupted by the ringing of your phone on the kitchen island. A strange feeling comes over you as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and look at your phone only to see Charles' name on the screen.

You want to answer the phone, but you don't want the conversation to end in an argument so before you pick up the phone, you take a deep breath and try to calm down and strengthen your voice so it doesn't sound shaky.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." He says it in a completely normal, calm tone and you're grateful for that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow for the race so I was wondering if you could put Lou on the facetime so I can see her since I won't be able to have her for the weekend?" He asks.

"Sure, just let me switch to facetime."

Once you did, Charles face appeared on the screen and he smiled when he saw yours too. You tried to hide the blush on your face and quickly walked over to Lou putting the phone in front of her.

"Baby, daddy wants to talk to you" You said setting the phone in front of her and leaving them alone to talk.

Since the kitchen and dining room were connected, you went back into the kitchen and could hear everything the two of them were saying. You didn't want to eavesdrop, but you kinda did.

"Hey, daddy!" Lou exclaimed excitedly.

"Mon ange, what are you doing?"

"I'm drawing and-and mommy is cooking" She says.

"Yeah? What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing you in a red car. See" She says putting up the paper in front of the camera for him to see.

"Good job, baby. It looks great!"

"It's for you, I will give it to you when you come get me" She says forgetting that she won't be spending the weekend with him.

"Thank you, baby, but unfortunately we won't be together this weekend because papa has to work, but we'll see each other next week, okay?"

"Oh.." She pouts.

"Don't be sad, we'll see each other very soon, okay? I miss you so much and I'm thinking of you all the time."

Your heart is completely softened by his words and the immeasurable amount of love he has for your daughter.

"I miss you too, daddy"

"Okay, baby. I'll talk to you soon, I love you."

"Bye, I love you too." She says waving her hand as he blows her a kiss.

You watch her from afar and see how her mood immediately changed when she heard that she wouldn't be seeing him. Shaken by emotions, you move closer to her and squat down next to her.

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask her.

She doesn't look at you but frowns looking down at drawing on the paper in front of her.

"I miss papa" She says, hear eyes filled with tears.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" You say and she nods. "I miss papa too." You whisper making her look at you.

"Would you like to watch him race this weekend?"

"You mean on the TV?" She asks.

"No, I mean how about we go and see him?" You suggest and her eyes light up.

"Really?!"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes! And I can give him this!" She says excitedly and you chuckle at how sweet she is.

"Then we have a deal. Now, finish up your drawing and go wash your hands because dinner is almost ready okay?"

"Okay, mommy. Thank you"

Nothing can compare to the happiness you feel when you see your daughter happy. Both you and Charles would do anything for her, and that's why you decided to quickly run upstairs to your bedroom, turn the hoodie right side out.

When a print of an F1 car was visible on the black hoodie, you took a picture of it and sent it to Charles without any additional explanation, because you knew that everything would be clear as a day to him once he saw it.

After just a few minutes, your phone vibrated in your hands.

'Been looking for it for a while now..' Charles' message said.

'I really fucked up this time, didn't I?' He added.

'You kinda did.' You replied.

'I'm so sorry, y/n..'

'You're lucky your daughter adores you so much and you better send a plane for the two of us so we can make it to the race on time.'

part 3

@charlesgirl16 @aleatorio1234 @teamnovalak @watermelonslut @diaryofarandomkid @sunny44 @tempo-rary-fix @ggaslyp1 @janeh22 @seonghwaexile @seasonswinter @itgirlofthecenturysposts @ricciardosredbull @amz824 @sarx164

[almostempty]

Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that. 

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy? 

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic? 

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 1.5 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk  

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift. 

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him. 

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that. 

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories. 

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach. 

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there. 

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked. 

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right? 

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible. 

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway. 

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course! 

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life. 

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench. 

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is. 

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep. 

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right? 

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything. 

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench. 

Still, no Joel, however. 

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls. 

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.   

The next moment is a blur. 

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone. 

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow. 

“What are you doing here?” he barks. 

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run. 

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster. 

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist. 

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you. 

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face. 

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch. 

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon? 

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead. 

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal. 

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic. 

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?” 

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door. 

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it. 

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop. 

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face. 

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk. 

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans. 

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues. 

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately. 

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock. 

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts. 

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm. 

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now. 

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core. 

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock. 

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop. 

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess.  You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one. 

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin. 

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor. 

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you. 

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back. 

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer. 

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin. 

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours. 

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief. 

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point. 

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?” 

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare. 

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.” 

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked. 

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.” 

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle. 

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat. 

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him. 

“You need more?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum. 

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon. 

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene. 

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision. 

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.” 

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway. 

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face. 

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move. 

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door. 

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose. 

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize. 

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display. 

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen: 

Joel

Attachment 1 image

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh