#funny comment hidden in the tags

[actualmagus]

Hahahahahahahaha

I Am

Genuinely

Going

To Die

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Every Shade.

Spencer Reid x Avoidant!BAU!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Your perfect boyfriend says a fun fact about the standards of beauty, and suddenly his words hit you harder than they should.

Words: 6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of insecurities, beauty canons, serial killers, death and the reader wearing makeup. established relationship. spencer being an inexperienced boyfriend. lack of communication but happy ending. hurt/comfort. angst?. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I can seriously think of my inexperienced boy being a foolish or careless boyfriend even without meaning to be, so enjoy this!

Spencer Reid never thought of himself as the careless type of boyfriend. In fact, before you, the very idea of being someone’s boyfriend had never seemed possible, let alone something he could do well. He had always been more comfortable with facts, numbers, and patterns. Relationships had always been a different kind of mystery to him, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to solve. But when you came into his life, something shifted. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt an overwhelming desire to be not just a partner, but a good one. A thoughtful one. A boyfriend who paid attention to the details.

He knew your favorite coffee order without you ever having to tell him. He knew the exact shade of blue that made your eyes sparkle in a way that made him catch his breath and the way you furrowed your brows in concentration when you were diving deep into thought. He noticed the little things, like the way your fingers gripped the edge of your sleeve when you were lost in a difficult problem or how you would laugh softly at jokes you didn’t find funny just to make others feel comfortable. Every habit, every subtle movement, every fleeting comment you made was something he absorbed like a sponge, collecting the pieces of you that made you you. And it made him feel closer to you, more connected than he ever thought was possible.

But it wasn’t just the light moments he noticed. Spencer also understood the weight of your darker days, the ones where the world seemed to shift into shades of gray, where the air held a bite that wasn’t harsh but still cut through you. He knew when the seasons teetered between autumn and winter and how those melancholic in-between days clung to your spirit. On those days, the ones where you wore your sadness like a cloak without ever saying a word, he was there. He noticed when your smile didn’t reach your eyes, when your usual energy seemed dimmed. So, without fail, he would show up with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a soft blanket, and arms that enveloped you like a cocoon. He would be your shelter, your quiet refuge from the world, without needing any words to fill the silence.

He loved knowing you this well, loved that he could anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. It made him feel closer to you, like he had earned a place in the most hidden corners of your heart. And to Spencer, there was no better feeling in the world.

He knows you; he sees you. He does it.

That morning, in the quiet hum of your office, was one of those moments where your boyfriend’s watchful eyes made all the difference. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm, golden light that contrasted against the coolness of the winter air outside. Before you, your makeup bag lay open, a chaotic yet familiar spread of tools—brushes, tubes, powders—all of them scattered like tiny pieces of armor you would need for the day ahead. You were preparing for the press conference, the one where you would stand in for JJ during her maternity leave. The pressure felt immense. It wasn’t just any press conference; it was the moment you had to prove you could handle the spotlight, the cameras, and the ever-watchful public eye. The weight of one of your best friends’ trust sat heavy on your shoulders, but it was a weight you were willing to carry.

As you smoothed foundation over your skin with careful, practiced strokes, you felt the weight of Spencer’s gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, never demanding, just there, steady and grounding, as if his attention alone could keep you tethered. He had a way of watching you that made you feel both seen and safe, as though he was quietly committing every little detail of you to memory.

Still, you glanced up, unable to resist.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those deep, knowing eyes—told you everything. He was looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world, his quiet reverence sending a warm, familiar hum through your chest. It made your pulse stutter, your breath catch just slightly.

Because, oh God, how much you loved feeling his eyes on you.

You swallowed, dragging your focus back to the mirror. Focus. Get it together. You’ve got this. JJ had entrusted you with this press conference, and you weren’t about to let doubt creep in, not now.

But from the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Derek Morgan, leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk of his. It wasn’t just amusement playing at the edges of his mouth; it was something more entertained, more knowing. His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, and you could practically hear the teasing remark forming before he even opened his mouth.

You sighed. Here we go.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow as you reached for your concealer. “Never seen someone put on makeup before?”

His grin only deepened. “Nah, I’ve seen plenty,” he said, raising an eyebrow as if he were admiring a work of art. “I’ve just never seen someone prepare for a press conference like they’re getting ready for a red carpet event.”

You rolled your eyes. “Some of us like to be prepared. Looking good is part of that.” You injected confidence into the words, though if you were being honest, they felt a little hollow. Today, it wasn’t just about looking good, it was about feeling in control.

And right now, with nerves curling tight in your stomach, you weren’t sure you did.

Morgan’s smirk didn’t waver. He nudged your boyfriend with his elbow, dragging him into the conversation. “Come on, kid. Tell her she doesn’t need all that makeup.”

You looked up, expecting his usual reassuring smile, that soft look he reserved for moments when he knew you were nervous or self-conscious. You could always count on him to calm your racing thoughts, to tell you that you were perfect just the way you were. The kind of reassurance that made everything feel lighter.

Instead, Spencer glanced at you with that thoughtful frown he always wore when his mind was spinning through facts. “You know…” His voice was calm, detached even, like he was about to drop some piece of knowledge that he thought might help. “It’s weird, but studies show that people tend to take you more seriously when you fit the ‘beauty standards.’ You know, like…if you’re wearing makeup or have certain features that are seen as desirable, people will listen to you more in meetings.”

The mascara brush froze mid-air.

Oh.

The words landed harder than they should have, knocking the breath from your lungs in a way that felt almost embarrassing. Because this was Spencer, your Spencer, the one who had seen you at your worst, who had kissed you sleepy and messy in the morning, who had traced your bare skin in the dim light of your bedroom.

And yet, here he was, stating facts about beauty standards like they were nothing more than statistics. Like they didn’t mean anything.

You forced out a weak laugh, trying to brush it off, trying to tell yourself that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. But the sting was already there, curling under your skin, settling deep in your chest. Was that how he really saw things? That your worth—your professional worth—was tied to how well you conformed to something so shallow?

That you weren’t enough without it?

You searched his face, hoping to find something, some flicker of understanding, some sign that he realized how his words had sliced right through you. But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who had just shaken your foundation. He was looking at you like a scientist reciting an interesting fact.

Like it wasn’t personal.

But God, it felt personal.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, boy,” Derek said, messing with Reid’s hair, trying to break the tension, but the words didn’t quite hit the mark.

You tried to focus again, returning your attention to your makeup, but the weight of Spencer’s comment lingered in the air. Your hands felt unsteady as you finished applying the mascara, the brush shaking slightly with each stroke. Your voice felt tight as you responded, trying to keep it light, but your words tasted flat, like you were trying to cover up a bruise that wasn’t yet healed.

“That’s…interesting,” you said, your tone carefully neutral, though the insecurity that was now flooding through you was anything but calm.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you, his voice slightly absent. “And if you’re a woman, studies show that you’re more likely to be taken seriously in a professional setting if you wear makeup or—” His gaze seemed to soften, but it didn’t feel comforting. It just made you feel like there was something more he wasn’t saying. “Not that you need it, of course.”

You could feel your heart rate pick up as you tried to smile, but it didn’t feel natural. His words had drilled into you, chipping away at the small pieces of confidence you’d carefully built up this morning. The idea that your worth, in part, was tied to your appearance, to how well you matched up to some standard that was beyond your control, weighed on you like a heavy cloak. You thought about the days you’d come to work with little makeup, or none at all, when your boyfriend had seen you without the polished facade, the times when he had seen you just woken up or coming out of the shower. Did he see you as less then? Did he notice the imperfections when you were stripped of all that? Did he like you less when he saw you naked, unpolished, and unguarded? Were you enough for him in those moments? Did he still see you the same way? Or was there a shift, a moment when he realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite as perfect as the women he read about in his studies, the ones with their perfectly symmetrical faces, their natural makeup, their flawless skin?

“And, you know,” He added, still looking at you and Morgan like he couldn’t stop talking, “there’s this whole thing about how people with higher cheekbones are considered more attractive, and—”

You felt your breath catch. The fun facts about beauty standards kept coming, one after the other, each one a reminder of the ways you didn’t measure up. How the curve of your jaw wasn’t quite sharp enough, how your cheekbones weren’t as high as the models in the magazines, how you didn’t quite fit the mold your own boyfriend was talking about.

He wasn’t intentionally trying to make you feel insecure; he wasn’t even really paying attention to how you were really reacting, but somehow, his words echoed in your mind, like a chorus of doubts rising to the surface. Maybe you had been too focused on doing your makeup to feel like yourself today. Maybe you had gotten too used to hiding behind this mask to feel comfortable with who you really were underneath. Maybe you were pretty, but not pretty enough. Never enough. Never like a model.

You forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to keep up with all the standards, huh?” You said, your voice tight, and then quickly added, “But I’ll be fine. It’s just a conference, right?”

Something inside you was mentally begging him—pleading with him—to say something else. Something real. Something that had nothing to do with studies or statistics or the way the world decided who mattered more. Tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me none of that matters. Tell me I don’t have to measure up to a standard I’ll never fully reach.

But all he gave you was a weak smile, the kind he always gave when he thought everything was fine. He said, “You’ll do great. You always do,” as if that was enough.

But it wasn’t. Not this time.

Not when your heart was filled with doubts and insecurity, and all you really wanted was to feel seen. To feel like you were more than just the sum of your appearance.

“Thanks,” you said, the word small and insignificant, slipping from your lips like it didn’t matter at all.

Spencer didn’t notice the shift. He turned his attention back to his notes, his mind already back on its analytical track. He was already gone, lost in his thoughts, unaware of the storm that had stirred inside you.

And as you sat there, in front of the mirror, your perfectly applied makeup reflecting back at you, the weight of the silence between you grew. You had done everything right. You had made yourself look the way you were supposed to. But somehow, sitting next to the person who should have made you feel the most seen, you felt more invisible than ever.

The mask was still in place, but it didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a cage.

The women’s bathroom buzzed with quiet energy, the soft murmur of conversation from the stalls, the clatter of makeup brushes on porcelain, and the steady trickle of a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, casting everything in an unforgiving, almost surgical glare. Too bright. Too harsh. Every pore, every smudge, every slightly overfilled section of your eyebrow…ugh, why did it look so weird today?

You squinted at your reflection, lips pressed into a tight line, as if sheer force of will could stop the growing wave of insecurity curling around your ribs. Your hair was shining after so many new products, your foundation was patchy in places, and your eyeliner was untouched. You should have been focused and methodical, getting ready like you always did. Instead, your hands were unsteady, your thoughts tangled in something that had absolutely no right to be taking up this much space in your brain.

But it was.

Because Spencer Reid and his dumb fun facts had lodged themselves deep into your psyche, turning what should have been a normal morning into an existential crisis. The same babbling you used to love to hear now sounded like a nightmare. The same guy you had fallen in love with and loved to be with all day was now the one you had been avoiding looking in the face for more than three seconds.

On the counter was one of the magazines you had bought the other day, with a model looking back at you with her impossibly perfect cat eyes and flawless skin. Today you tried the same look. It hadn't worked. It looked good on her, perfect. On you? You looked like a raccoon trying to do a winged eyeliner tutorial while riding a roller coaster.

Suddenly, Emily’s voice sliced through the fog of your spiraling thoughts.

“Okay,” she said, her tone edged with concern and authority, “what the hell is going on?”

You startled slightly, mascara wand freezing midair. When you looked up, she was leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes—dark and sharp as ever—were anything but casual. She scanned you like a crime scene: the half-done eye makeup, the tense set of your shoulders, the way your lips were pressed into a thin, nervous line. You must’ve looked like you were trying to solve an advanced math problem, not get ready for a briefing.

You cleared your throat, forcing out the lie you hoped would be enough. “Nothing.”

Emily blinked slowly, unimpressed. “Right. Because people always look like they’re about to throw up when nothing is wrong.”

Damn profilers.

From across the room, Penelope was perched dramatically on the edge of the sink, legs swinging, a swirl of floral perfume and bubblegum. She blew a perfect pink bubble, let it pop, then gave you a long, knowing look as she chewed.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, cocking her head. “That’s the ‘I’m having a silent breakdown but don’t want to talk about it face.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out weak. “I don’t have a face for that.”

Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Oh, honey. You absolutely do.”

“She’s right,” Emily deadpanned, crossing her arms. “It’s your second most common expression. Right after, I’m internally screaming but pretending everything’s fine.”

You let out a breath—sharp and tired—and pressed two fingers to your temple like that would somehow press the thoughts out of your head. But they didn’t go. They never really did.

“I just…” You trailed off, mascara wand still clutched in your fingers. Your eyes dropped to the cluttered counter: a foundation bottle left uncapped, brushes scattered, and a smudge of lipstick on a tissue like a failed experiment. “Do I look good?”

The silence that followed was brief but pointed. You could feel both women scan you with clinical precision: your rumpled hair, eyeliner started on one eye but not the other, and foundation patchy where you’d tried to blend too quickly. But it wasn’t just about that. They knew it. You knew it.

Emily gave a dismissive wave. “Why are you even asking? You know you look good.”

But the question still hung heavy in the air.

You set the mascara down with a quiet, deliberate click. A tiny sound, but final. “Spencer said something,” you murmured, your voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “A couple of days ago.”

Both women immediately stilled.

“About beauty standards,” you continued, eyes fixed on the magazine lying facedown on the counter, a model’s perfect eyes staring back in judgment. “He was talking about how people take you more seriously if you look a certain way. If you’re conventionally attractive. He was just rattling off facts—like he always does—but…it stuck.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she popped her gum again. “Ugh, that boy and his fun facts.”

You tried to laugh, but your stomach was turning like someone had twisted it into a tight knot and pulled. The memory clung to you: his voice so casual, so neutral, dropping that stupid statistic like it meant nothing. But it hadn’t felt like nothing. Not to you.

Emily straightened. She wasn’t amused. Not even a little. “He said that to you?”

You nodded slowly. “Not to me. He was just…talking. He probably didn’t even realize what he said. But now I’m in here, halfway through my makeup, spiraling over whether my eyeliner’s straight enough to be ‘taken seriously’ by the world.”

You gestured helplessly at the mirror, at your own reflection: smeared foundation, uncertain brows, the ghost of winged eyeliner clinging to your lid. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Like…if I don’t pull it together, if I don’t look perfect, it’s not just that I’ll feel bad. It’s that no one will listen to me.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit,” she said flatly.

Penelope raised one hand and placed it dramatically over her chest like she’d been mortally offended. “The biggest load of bullshit.”

You let out a huff of air, something like a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, well. My brain didn’t get the memo.”

Penelope stood up then, with unusual seriousness softening her expression. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something. You could walk into that room with mascara running down your cheeks, wearing nothing but a coffee-stained hoodie, and people would still shut up and listen when you talk. Not because of how you look. But because you’re brilliant. And terrifying. In the best possible way.”

You swallowed, feeling something tighten in your throat. “No, but—”

“No buts,” Emily cut in. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but sometimes he forgets how real people work. Especially the ones he cares about.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “But don’t let one stupid comment rewrite everything you already know about yourself.”

That startled a real laugh out of you.

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I adore that lanky little weirdo, but he says a lot of things without thinking about how they land. That doesn’t mean he sees you any differently. It just means he’s a socially awkward nerd who needs to learn when not to share his random knowledge with his girlfriend.”

You allowed yourself a deep exhale, some of the weight on your chest easing, if only a fraction. It felt like the first time all day you could breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the pressure of everything you couldn’t say.

Emily’s voice, soft and steady, broke through the stillness. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “Not to Spencer. Not to the world. And definitely not to some arbitrary beauty standard that doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

The calm conviction in her words settled over you like a warm blanket, soft and grounding, and Penelope added her own brand of comforting chaos. “But if finishing your makeup makes you feel good, babe, then go ahead and slay.” She flashed a wink, her smile wide and dazzling. “We’ll be right here, hyping you up, always.

You looked between them, their unwavering confidence in you, the way they stood on either side like a protective barrier between you and your own insecurities. The knots in your stomach loosened, just a little.

You finished your makeup with steadying breaths and Penelope’s steady stream of compliments in your ear like a lifeline. The eyeliner wasn’t perfect. The foundation still sat weird in that one spot near your chin. But it didn’t matter as much now. Or at least, you were trying really hard to make it not matter.

By the time you stepped out of the bathroom, the usual BAU morning chaos was in full swing, agents weaving in and out of the bullpen, papers rustling, and the echo of hurried footsteps down the hall. You fell into step behind Garcia, letting her take the lead as you clutched the folder to your chest with slightly sweaty palms.

And then you felt it. The subtle shift in the air that told you he was there before you saw him. Spencer.

He was already seated at the table, elbows propped up, flipping through the preliminary case file, his usual air of quiet concentration surrounding him. He lookedd so much like himself: cardigan slightly too big, curls falling just messy enough to look endearing, the corner of his mouth tucked between his teeth as he scanned the papers. So familiar. So impossibly distant.

You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Instead, you angled yourself toward the projector, using the task of setting up the slideshow like it required your full, undivided attention. Which it absolutely did not, but the alternative was accidentally making eye contact and seeing something in his expression you couldn’t handle. Confusion, guilt, or worse: nothing at all.

“Morning,” he said quietly. It was the tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.

You responded too fast, your voice too sharp, too clipped. “Morning.”

There was a brief silence. You could feel his eyes on you, like a gentle tap on the shoulder you were determined to ignore.

And then, mercifully, Hotch walked in, his presence slicing through the tension. “Let’s get started,” he said, already flipping through the case file as he moved to the head of the table.

The team fell into their usual rhythm, a buzz of motion, chairs scraping back as people shifted into place. You slid into your seat at the front of the room, clicking the remote to bring up the first slide, and forced your voice into something steady, something professional.

“We’ve got three victims, all found in rural areas surrounding Baltimore. All women, ages 25 to 30, all brunette, similar build. There are signs of overkill, stab wounds well beyond what would be necessary to cause death.”

You moved through the slides with practiced precision, your voice even, your focus razor-sharp. You didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t once let your gaze flicker to Spencer’s side of the table. You spoke to Hotch. To Rossi. To Emily. To Penelope and Derek. Even to the wall. Anywhere but him.

Only once did your composure crack, a tiny hiccup in your breath when you mentioned the geographic profile. It was something Spencer had taught you when you were still new, something he’d spent hours drilling into you, showing you how to see patterns in the chaos. And there it was, his head lifting ever so slightly, his mouth parting like he wanted to remind you of something. Maybe a fact you’d forgotten. Or just to remind you that he was still there, somewhere, waiting to bridge the gap between you.

You forced yourself to keep going.

When you finished, Hotch gave a brief nod. “Good work. Let’s move out in twenty.”

The team’s energy shifted, moving from the quiet tension of the briefing room to the familiar post-briefing buzz. Chairs scraped back, papers shuffled, and voices rose as people began to file out. But you stayed behind, pretending to organize the files in front of you, keeping your hands busy, keeping yourself from fleeing. The paper felt like the only thing in the room that didn’t carry the weight of unspoken words.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer pause in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the harsh fluorescent light. He lingered, hesitant, unsure.

“Hey,” he said, his voice almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to speak to you in this moment. “Can we—”

“I have to double-check something with Garcia,” you cut in before he could finish, your words not unkind but firm, like a wall going up between you.

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it was enough.

You moved past him without waiting for a reply, your heels clicking sharply against the tile, the sound too loud in the stillness of the room. Your heart hammered in your chest, the echo of his voice a distant thing you weren’t ready to face. Not yet.

Maybe never.

You didn’t see him at first. You didn’t want to. The hallway of the precinct was quiet, almost too quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the distant murmur of voices in the bullpen nothing but a dull backdrop to your pulse, racing in your ears. You had taken the longer route on purpose, weaving through empty hallways, hoping to lose yourself in the disarray of the building. You could feel the thick weight of the morning press down on your chest: the meeting, the case, the pressure to be perfect. You just needed a moment of stillness, a second of quiet.

But fate had a funny way of ruining plans.

The moment you turned the corner, you saw him. Spencer. Standing there, just a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched as if he were bracing himself. His posture was that familiar mix of awkwardness and intent focus, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent, but there was something different about him today. His hair was messier than usual, curls sticking out in odd directions, and his fingers were twitching by his side, nervous. Almost like he was unsure of himself.

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to keep walking, tried to push past him, but the sound of your shoes clicking against the linoleum slowed as you drew near, the silence hanging heavy.

“Hey,” he said, soft and tentative, like he was trying not to scare a wounded animal.

Your body tensed. You didn’t respond right away, hoping maybe if you didn’t acknowledge it, he’d take the hint and let you slip away again, untouched. Unspoken to. Unseen.

No such luck.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he tried again, more gently. “Just for a second.”

Your grip on the folder tightened until the edge of the paper cut into your palm. “I’m kind of busy,” you muttered, finally, still not looking at him.

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, half a breath, half defeat. “Maybe because I am,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to the paperwork you clutched like a shield. “The profile’s not ready, the press is waiting, and if I don’t finish the summary, Hotch is going to breathe down my neck in fifteen minutes.” The words came out sharp and mechanical, like a rehearsed excuse. But your heart wasn’t in it. Not even close.

Spencer was quiet for a moment. You could feel the weight of his stare, not sharp, not demanding. Just there. Lingering. Like gravity.

“I did something,” he said finally, his voice thin and breaking at the edges. “Didn’t I? Something that hurt you.”

Your shoulders stiffened. The chill rolled in again, slow and insidious, sinking down through the fabric of your clothes and into your bones. You wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, that you weren’t affected. But your body betrayed you. Your jaw clenched. Your breath hitched.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it cracked on the way out, barely held together by habit.

He took a careful step closer. You felt it. The shift in the air, the static tension that danced between the inches that separated your bodies. “No, it’s not nothing,” he said softly. “Tell me what I said. What I did.”

You could hear the ache in his voice, that rare, tender vulnerability he only let you see. It scraped at you, raw and irritating, because he sounded like he cared. Because he did. And that made it worse. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t try to reason his way in with statistics or logic. He just stood there, steady and open, letting you feel every inch of his presence.

“I know something’s wrong.” Spencer said. “You didn’t sit with me on the jet. You didn’t even look at me.”

The words made you flinch, just slightly. You hadn’t expected him to notice. Or maybe you had. Maybe you wanted him to.

“I know we don’t show affection at work. That’s always been our rule,” he continued, quieter now, more broken. “But you always touch my hand. Or bump your knee into mine. You always steal a sip of my coffee, even when it’s gross. But this morning…you didn’t even look at the muffin I brought you.”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the guilt clawing at your chest. He’d noticed. Every small absence. Every little shift.

Finally, you turned. Slowly. Your gaze fell to the floor in front of his shoes, worn at the edges and slightly scuffed. Just like him. And then you looked up. Just barely. Just enough to catch the way he was standing. Shoulders slightly hunched, hands limp by his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he didn’t know how to reach you.

And he didn’t.

Because part of you didn’t want to be reached.

Not yet.

“It’s just…” You swallowed. “It’s what you said the other day. When Morgan made that joke about my makeup.”

Spencer blinked, clearly trying to remember. “What did I exactly say?”

“You said people get more attention when they see someone pretty,” you said, each word carefully even, like if you didn’t control your voice, it would crack.

His brows furrowed. “I said that people tend to respond more favorably to those who fall within conventional beauty standards and that it has an unconscious effect on—”

“I know what you said,” you snapped, sharper than you meant to. The echo of your own voice in the empty hallway made your stomach twist. “You don’t have to repeat it like a textbook.”

That made him flinch, just barely, but enough.

“I didn’t mean it about you,” he said quickly. “I was just talking. I always talk too much, you know it.”

You gave a humorless laugh, turning your back to him, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

“That’s the thing, Spencer. You didn’t mean it. And you didn’t even realize how it sounded. You just threw it out there, like a fact. Like I wasn’t sitting right next to you, like I’m not already trying to compete in a world that picks apart every inch of me the second I walk into a room.”

“I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t.”

Your voice cracked this time, and you hated it. Hated the sting in your eyes, the tightness in your throat. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, not over something so small. But it wasn’t small. Not to you. Not when it was coming from him.

He stepped closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, and you stepped back just as fast.

“Please don’t,” you said quietly.

He froze.

“I know I’m not the only girl in the world,” you said, not looking at him. “And I’m not asking to be. But when you say things like that, even casually, it feels like I’ve already lost a race I didn’t know I was running. Like I’m not even in the frame.”

There was a long pause. Your boyfriend’s voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

“You’ve never been out of frame. Not for me.”

You shook your head, blinking hard, trying to will away the heat behind your eyes. “I’ve spent the last two days wondering if I’d be worth more to you if I looked different.”

That hit him like a blow. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think. But please believe me when I tell you…I see you. All the time. You’re someone I—” He stopped himself, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “You’re the only person I can’t stop seeing.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, twisted cruelly.

You stared at a fixed spot on the floor. The tiles blurred a little around the edges. You didn’t know what to say to that, not when your chest felt too tight, not when your emotions were running just beneath your skin, raw and humming.

“I don’t always think before I talk,” he continued, carefully. “Sometimes I share things like facts and research like they’re harmless, like they’re neutral. But I forget that facts aren’t neutral when they land on people I care about.”

That made you glance up at him. Just for a second.

He looked like he meant it: brows drawn, hands loosely curled at his sides, eyes locked on yours with that intense kind of focus he reserved for unsolvable puzzles and people he couldn’t let go of.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said, and there was no rush in it. No grand gesture. Just a quiet truth. “Not when you’re all put together. Not just when you wear makeup. Not just when you smile.”

You blinked. The air in the hallway seemed to still.

“I think you’re beautiful when you’re tired. When you’re pissed off. When you’re sitting at your desk covered in crime scene dust and snapping at Morgan because you haven’t eaten in twelve hours.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think you’re beautiful even when you’re covered in blood, cursing at your vest because it rubbed your ribs raw…even if that sounds weird.”

A quiet laugh broke out of you, not a full one, but a cracked, genuine thing that caught you off guard. You shook your head, eyes misty despite yourself.

“Spencer…”

He stepped forward slowly, careful not to close the distance unless you let him. “You never needed to change anything. Not for me. Not for the world, either. But if you ever forget how amazing you are, I’ll remind you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your throat was too tight. But your hand reached out, just barely brushing against his. Not quite holding. Just…touching.

It was enough.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and hesitant.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And for the first time in days, the storm inside you quieted, not gone, but calm. Manageable. Because he didn’t just see you. He saw through everything you tried to hide…and stayed.

Friendly reminder ❤︎ : you are beautiful and "standards" are bullshit that don't matter, even if we sometimes feel like they do.

Take care and be kind to yourself, xoxo.

[digiflora]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘!

ꪆৎ choso ⸝⸝ sukuna ⸝⸝ gojo ⸝⸝ ino wc.

summary. life as a streamer creates all sorts of potential interactions- whether between other creatives, or just some random person in a csgo lobby...

contains! ꪆৎ streamer au ⸝⸝ cosplayer reader (choso) ⸝⸝ some suggestiveness + downbadness lmfao ⸝⸝ nerdjo my beloved

𐔌 gia's notes! ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) woioi chat. i've been on such a 2020 first lockdown nostalgic kick recently im ngl... hence the title of this fic LOL. and lowkey the content too 😞 you can kinda tell that i ran out of steam while writing this... but o well

streamer!choso [@/ch0k4m0] who is relatively well known- technically, for his gaming abilities, though what solidified his online fame was his rather candid commentary, with seemingly no filter between his thoughts and the words that come out of his mouth. that, and his looks which had broken the internet when he had face revealed, catapulting him from a fairly unknown but well loved streamer to regularly getting hundreds of thousands of views on his streams.

his current streams mostly consisted of him working his way through resident evil. viewers could expect to see a decent progression within each stream due to choso not being completely useless at playing the game, alongside his dumb comments diminishing the fear factor of the franchise ever so slightly. and of course, his ever so subtle crush on the character ada wong.

'chat oh my GOD i've never been so in love with some pixels before'

'ada baby please, just one chance. i know that i'm 3d and you're 2d but we'll make it work'

every time a cutscene of her plays, there's an absolute torrent of messages and donations teasing him for his poorly hidden crush, ones that choso takes the time to properly read through during his breaks in the stream. such an occasion happens now, with choso reading out some random comments when a new donation rings out, the text to speech voice that comes with it bearing a demand

'choso you need to look up this account RIGHT NOW and look at the video they just posted'

his brow furrows as he reads the username, deliberating on whether he should actually follow those instructions or if his viewer was just trying to mess with him. ultimately, he conceded to his chat's wishes and opened a new browser window, typing it in.

a mere few hours later after the stream, you found your notifications to be blowing up more than usual. you had posted a new cosplay video earlier today, but even then there was a little TOO many notifications to be your usual audience. you noticed that you had been tagged in an edit, inclining you to click on that before wading through the likes and comments. every time that you received one it was a special kind of joy, with the knowledge that someone enjoyed your cosplays enough to inspire them to make something. you hear the music begin to fade in once the edit loads, though the intro clip has you confused as you don't think that you've seen it before.

obviously, you recognise choso, the handsome and funny streamer who got really popular recently, and one that you have unfortunately joined many others in appointing as your resident e-crush. you weren't big on watching streams, but every time a clip of choso appears when you scroll, you can't help but watch the whole thing, partially for its entertainment value, and partially because of just how cute the guy looked on your phone screen.

so really, it was quite the surreal experience to hear your username fall from his lips as the clip plays on your phone, and you watch the edit in disbelief

'am i spelling this right, chat?'

'and the latest video, right- oh it's, holy fuck-"

the beat then kicks in. clips of your ada wong cosplay flashing across the screen, one final flashbang of choso's face as he watches your video with an almost comical expression of awe. you're left absolutely flabbergasted as the video begins to loop, clicking on the comments to see what the hell was going on

'get in damn line choso 😩'

'BROOOODJFNSJG I WAS WATCHING THE STREAM AND I JUST KNEWWWWW SOMEONE WAS GONNA MAKE AN EDIT WITH THAT CLIP 😭😭😭'

'the stream was like 2 hours ago this edit was so fast wtf'

'it should have been meeeeeee ughhh'

'the way choso scrolled thru her ENTIRE account and then followed her... that man's finally got a crush on a real personnnnn'

that last comment captures your attention specifically, and sure enough, you see his username amongst your many new followers. it pays to get noticed by a popular streamer, you suppose.

and then, to your utmost surprise, you also see his name pop up within your dm requests

@/ch0k4mo: sooo are you in need of a leon kennedy by any chance

the dm isn't exactly suave, but it has its intended effect as you blink at your screen as you process it, finally letting out a squeal of excitement, screenshotting the message shamelessly. your friends are not gonna believe this. and then, only after running laps around your room and waiting for your erratic heartrate to return to a normal tempo, you type out a shaky response.

@/yn: funny that you ask that, cos i had a few video ideas in mind ;)

you can only hope that on the other end of the line, choso is having a somewhat similar reaction to yours.

streamer!sukuna [@/kingkuna] who is notorious for causing chaos online, whether on fps games such as cs and valorant, or even on the more inane roblox games where he makes a living off of terrorising little kids. actions speak louder than words, though the streamer is quick to utilise both when instilling terror on whichever server has the misfortune of having him

'i do this for the love of the game, chat'

'well, that, and because bullying little runts is fun'

all of these actions, streamed live every wednesday and friday, helped to garner sukuna a rather.... distinct reputation.

despite being considered an asshole for all intents and purposes, sukuna had somehow amassed a following, all from his persona of being an online troll.

so this week's particular stream was especially shocking to his fans for all of the wrong reasons.

it started off like any other stream, sukuna casually reading off the odd message in his chat whilst preparing for the stream, retorting some snarky comment that has the chat getting more and more riled up, all with a shit-eating grin on his face.

it was more or less a love-hate relationship between him and his chat, though everyone seemed happy with the dynamic, expecting no less from the streamer.

this stream in particular was particularly anticipated, if the steadily increasing viewcount in the corner was anything to go off of, probably due to the fact that this wasn't quite like his other streams. despite the countless hours of his content, very little was known about sukuna, and as a 1 million subscriber goal, the man had acquiesced to people's demands for a q&a.

it started off as well as it could have, with rather generic questions rolling out. but of course, knowing sukuna's audience (and his lenient moderators), some raunchier ones started to worm their way through

'does it... jiggle when i walk? mods, get this clown out of here'

sukuna rattles through the questions, his fans clearly revelling in his embarrassing childhood stories, in the knowledge that his hair is not dyed, and how he views his streams as training to continue defeating his nephew in fortnite whenever they play together.

and then, finally, the fated question

'kingkuna i have to know for all the ladies out there... do u have a gf??'

it's a special donation message, one that rattles off loud and clear in a way that absolutely cannot be missed, though with the amount of time it takes for him to respond, he may as well have.

'hm, wouldn't you like to know?'

there's a torrent of outraged messages, before a deep booming laugh emits from the man.

'ehhh, i'm just fucking with you. of course i do, she's my forever girl.'

there's another torrent of messages in chat, though they're now oohing and ahhing at just how uncharacteristically sweet the streamer is being. his eyes flit over the incoming messages, his grin widening as his gaze lifts to somewhere beyond the webcam's reach.

there's a silent exchange, no words needed before sukuna reclines back in his chair, his legs spreading as he makes room for whoever's coming into frame.

'she's right here, too. everyone say hi to y/n'

and when she situates herself right on his lap and his arm wraps around her waist, the chat goes crazy. the streamer seems to remember his regular image, cackling at the desperate onslaught of messages eager to get even a morsel of information about the two of you, instead starting to click away at the preparations needed before he ends the stream

'oh would you look at the time, looks like i'll be having to end the stream now. see you suckers on wednesday'

'byeeeee!'

you can't help but chime in, giggling and waving right at the camera before the stream shuts off, and you feel sukuna begin to truly relax into his chair, shuffling you impossibly closer to his chest, hugging you to him and burying his face against you.

'aww, you big baby'

'dunno what you're talking about'

you giggle at your boyfriend's antics, though definitely used to them by now. instead, you get comfy, letting sukuna use you as his personal pillow as you card through his hair with one hand, the other unlocking your phone and you begin to scroll through twitter. #kingkuna1m was already trending thanks to the premise of his livestream, and you can't help but click on the tag, looking through some of the most recent tweets.

'never would i EVER have expected SUKUNA of all ppl to be relationship goals'

'praying on his downfall fr 🙏🙏🙏 he doesn't know how good he has it'

'he's so EVIL for ending the stream like that omfg'

'the way he looks at her IM SICKKKKK ☹️☹️☹️☹️'

that last one comes with a video, a hasty screen recording of those last few moments of the stream as you wave at the camera, though you're focusing on the shamelessly lovestruck expression on sukuna's face as he watches you. it's enough to have you giggling and kicking your feet right in his lap, and he grumbles, his spare hand catching onto your flailing ankle

'quit squirming, brat'

'but you're just so cute, kunaaa'

you show him your phone screen, and it's your turn to study his face as he looks at the video impassively, though he can't hide the little twitch of his lips.

'my camera must be faulty, gotta get a new one'

streamer!gojo [@/sago] who is affectionately known by his fans for being a big fat nerd. it's not like he tries to hide it, the background of his setup decorated avidly with all sorts of posters and memorabilia from his favourite shows and games. compared to other streamers, too, gojo wasn't one to particularly shy away from details of his personal life, his laidback and easygoing persona making it easy for people to become regular viewers of his streams.

on said streams it was commonplace for his chat to ask him questions about himself, and more often than not he would give them an answer- and on one of these such occasions is when he let slip the fact that he had a roommate. and that in itself isn't anything too worldbreaking to hear, but it's the way he almost lights up as he mentions your name that has his fans intrigued.

even more interesting is gojo's reluctance, for lack of a better word, about relinquishing more information about you. how quick he is to change the subject, or act as if he never read the original message at all.

and in an impressive effort which has the streisand effect in strong contention to be renamed to the gojo effect, this only further instils a need for his fans to know everything that they possibly could about you.

it's arguably one of his most well-loved bits with an incredibly long longevity, with a large amount of fanmade compilations of him at least alluding to it

'who's my roommate? i'll let you know when i find out'

'come back with a warrant, fed'

'that's some very personal information there which i would be hesitant to spread online. what do you MEAN i was telling you all about where i grew up 2 minutes ago-'

(you get the picture)

therefore, it's a rare and delightful treat whenever a new tidbit about you is let slip by the streamer. the day that your name got accidentally revealed by him on stream was a day for the books. and of course, since gojo's fans were deranged, your insta account and subsequent face reveal were soon to follow.

and once the cat was out of the bag, gojo seemed to begrudgingly relax about your secrecy. you started popping up in streams a bit more often, usually just a face peeking in to the room of gojo's setup, a sneaky wave that satoru would notice later and grin to himself about. he's got a highlight reel of your appearances on his twitch profile that he likes to rewatch more than he cares to admit.

one time, he even had you sat next to him during a just chatting stream, the two of you shooting the shit. his fans were quick to point out how red the tips of his ears were throughout the whole stream. and how he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars whenever you spoke. and how he kept looking at you like that even when you weren't speaking.

it was never official, but satoru's feelings for you were.. rather obvious to anyone with the time to tune in to his streams. his touchiness regarding you seemed to make a lot more sense now, and became the newest aspect of satoru's life for his chat to ruthlessly mock.

today was just a regular stream- some mindless shooter game that satoru was way too invested in, no mentions or guest appearances of you. until now.

the door opened in the background of the stream- satoru's eyes flick up just before the door even moves, as if he had a sixth sense just for you- and you storm into the room, closer to annoyed than your usual cheery self.

'toru, you forgot to take out the bins. they're being collected tomorrow so don't leave it too late

and just like that, you're gone again. there's not even an ounce of hesitation before satoru is getting up from his desk, headphones coming off despite the yells of his teammates for him to stop fucking around and help them rush a.

chat is making their usual comments, a spam of their love for you and excitement that you've made an appearance. a few keener watchers were geeking over the toru nickname that's sure to make their way into the next y/n and gojo compilation video.

and despite all of this, satoru's heading out of the room.

'my girl's mad at me guys, i gotta go fix it'

and he's only gone for a few minutes, at most. but it's like an implosion of oncoming messages, all scrolling past his screen with no eyes to see them.

gojospinkietoe: FIRST TORU THEN MY GIRL!!!???? OHHHH MY GOD 🥺🥺🥺

iwatchmen: the gojoyn fans are gonna loveeee this

gojoyn5evrrr: SOMEONE CLIP THAT

funnily enough, satoru doesn't even realise the slipup until he's almost back to his room. at least he can blame the blush this time on having to have gone outside very briefly.

it's not exactly the same as his usual slipups when it comes to you- usually, there's at least an element of truth to them, but this appears to be sourced from somewhere deeper in his brain, a lot more of a subconscious desire that he hoped wouldn't breach into the conscious realm.

not until he was ready, at least.

streamer!ino [@/yunglean4ever] who's more of an up and coming streamer.. but he's slowly and steadily making his way up the rankings!! his game of choice is usually an fps, with his default usually being csgo. or something like that. he enjoys the straightforward nature of it. and teabagging his opponents when he's in the mood to be a little shit.

during these livestreams he's met many a different player, some friendlier than the regular silence or automatic irritated mood that most seemed to have- or some russian guy screaming words into the mic that was anyone's guess as to what it meant.

and while interacting with said teammates is always a promising aspect of entertainment, ino wasn't one to remember most of these interactions, save for a few especially distinct ones.

one such occasion is when he meets you. you've got your mic on, which is always more appealing for ino than having to communicate via typing or reading chats, and even better is the almost instant connection that the two of you make. you giggle at his silly username, he indignantly defends his love for drain gang, and the rest is history.

one match played together turns into a friend request, which turns into becoming a party, which turns into playing duos, which turns into goving each other your discords, which turns into many more rounds which extend way after ino ends his stream.

it was merely a start to this new... something, but with the way that ino caught himself laughing a little too hard at your mildly funny jokes, he had a feeling that it would turn into something much more.

so when he boots up his pc the next day, it's not much surprise to him that there's some giddy emotion that he feels when he says a message from you

'wanna play? had a lot of fun last night w u :D'

he couldn't type out a response fast enough to contain his excitement.

⋆˚࿔ jjk masterlist

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ... or, try reading hopelessly devoted to you

[winterswift]

your love is sunlight

pairing: bob reynolds x f!reader.

summary: bob and you were both members of the thunderbolts, but he didn't seem to like you. that changes when you return sick from your last mission.

tags: post thunderbolts, idiots in love, pining, light angst, sick reader, fluff, protective bob, jealous bob.

world count: 2,5k.

a/n: hi!! this is my first time writing in english so please be kind to me, there might be gramatical mistakes. hope you like it :).

Being part of the Thunderbolts wasn’t what you had planned for yourself.

You were a former Shield agent, trained by the best assassins in the country; you had fought side by side with Captain America, but you had left that lifestyle behind a long time ago (or at least you were trying).

But when your old friend, Bucky Barnes, calls you to ask for help with the new team he has assembled, you can’t refuse his request.

You could say that your relationship with Bucky had been a twist of fate, or you could also blame Steve Rogers. You had started your training at a very young age; you were an inexperienced and lonely teenager with no family to turn to; you could only find refuge in your work. But Steve saw you and decided to take you under his wing; he took care of you when no one else did. He was the older brother you never had.

In exchange, you stayed by his side and helped him as much as you could. Especially when his best friend, whom he thought was dead, appeared on the scene.

It wasn’t easy to get along with Bucky; he was a withdrawn person with severe trauma; he didn’t talk much and barely smiled. But beneath all that damage, the man he used to be still shone through, and that’s why you decided to help Steve to bring him back.

Once the mind control that Hydra had over him disappeared, things got better. Until Thanos showed up and Steve left.

Sam had received Captain America’s shield, but you were left without a brother. Alone again, just like Bucky.

Before leaving, Steve asked you a favor; he wanted you to take care of his friend, to stay close to each other. He had said, with a smile on his face, that at least Bucky would have a Rogers in his life.

And you did it, not just because Steve asked you to, but because you and James understood each other like no one else. So you couldn’t leave him alone when he needed you the most.

Bucky was the closest thing to family you had left.

But what about the rest of the group? That was another story.

It was the strangest team you had ever seen (and you had met the Avengers), super soldiers, trained assassins, and people with strange powers; all of them shared trauma and definitely needed many hours of therapy. But somehow you fit in, and soon they became your friends.

With Yelena, it was easy; the girl was fun, you enjoyed her sarcastic comments more than anyone else, and both of you had lost a brother. You had known Natasha and saw a lot of her in the blonde; it comforted you to be near her.

With Alexei, it was similar; he always made you laugh with his funny stories and had that paternal energy that made you feel safe by his side.

Ava, in a way, reminded you of Bucky; she was a little reserved and always hiding somewhere, but she was kind to you, and you both got connected well.

Walker was… Walker. He was a first-class idiot, and you still hadn’t completely forgiven him, but you were both in this together, and deep down you knew he was trying to be better. When he set aside his arrogant attitude, the two actually got along very well, and maybe it was the shield or his blonde hair and blue eyes, but you couldn’t help but remember Steve.

And then there was Bob.

Bob didn’t look like any of them; he was shy, somewhat clumsy, and too kind. If it weren’t for his powers, he could have passed for a perfectly normal civilian. Contrary to what you thought, you couldn’t get too close to him.

In general, he was always hidden in some corner, with his nose buried in a book, trying to stay calm. Of the whole team, he was closest to Yelena, but he got along well with everyone; you were the exception.

You didn’t know why, but Bob seemed to be avoiding you. Every time you tried to get closer, he seemed to build a wall between you two. He wasn’t rude to you, but you noticed that he didn’t treat you with the same warmth as the others. And it hurt you because you liked him a lot; you had done everything possible to be his friend, but he didn’t see it. Or he wasn’t interested.

The rest of the team had noticed your growing discouragement, especially Bucky, but there was nothing they could do to fix the situation. Bob didn’t seem to want to interact more than necessary.

Yelena had tried to talk to him, but it didn’t seem to yield much result. So you finally resigned yourself and left him alone. You didn’t stop being kind to him (after all, you two were coworkers), but you no longer tried to make him laugh; you didn’t invite him to watch movies with you, nor did you give him the cookies you used to love baking. The warm and enthusiastic smile you always gave him also disappeared, replaced by something resembling a lackluster grimace.

Things would have remained that way if it weren’t for the awful condition you arrived in from your last mission.

You leaned against the tower’s elevator with a choked sigh. Valentina had sent you to gather information from an old Hydra base in Russia; the mission had been successful, but the price was your health.

Although your suit was designed to retain body heat, the thick fabric was not enough to withstand endless hours in the cold, damp snow. And as the hours passed, your condition got worse.

It had started as a shiver and a couple of sneezes here and there, but without proper shelter, you were sure you were showing the first signs of hypothermia. That, combined with the blows you had received during the mission, left you exhausted and barely standing.

You hadn’t had time to tend to your wounds, so the movement of the elevator made you dizzy. Black spots appeared in your vision and made it difficult for you to walk; your ears were ringing, and you felt your heart racing.

You don’t know how you ended up in the complex kitchen; you had thought about getting a glass of water and trying to recover before going to the infirmary. But you could barely move from your spot, so you stayed there, barely conscious.

Bob wasn’t going to approach you, truly. He had been reading all afternoon; the rest of the team was scattered throughout the building; he had been showing more control lately, so they trusted him enough to leave him alone for a few hours.

When he heard the elevator doors, he thought someone was coming for food, so he didn’t pay attention, but when he heard a ragged breath, he looked up.

He didn’t expect to see you back so soon; he thought the mission would last at least a few more days. Your state worried him; he had never seen you like that. Your whole body was trembling, your skin was pale and covered with sweat, and you were hyperventilating.

He approached carefully and called you a couple of times, but you didn’t respond; you didn’t seem to react to anything, really. He touched you gently, but you still jumped.

Upon seeing you up close, he realized that you had a split lip and a bruise on your head that didn’t look good at all. Your eyes were unfocused, and they barely noticed him.

“B-bob?” you whispered.

“Hey, Y/N, you don’t look well,” he said. Just at that moment, another dizziness hit you, and your legs gave way. He barely managed to catch you in his arms. “It looks like you’re going to faint.”

“I don’t feel well,” you said. It was the closest the two had ever been, but you barely noticed. Bob, on the other hand, noticed everything—every freckle, every mole, and scar that dotted your skin.

His hands cradled your face gently, and you leaned into his warm touch. “Y/N, you have a fever,” his brow furrowed with concern.

Your hands clung tightly to his forearms before your body collapsed over him. He started to panic when he saw you faint.

“Oh, no, no,” he called you, but you didn’t respond. “Shit.”

He picked you up in his arms, carrying you to his room. The most logical thing would have been to take you to a doctor, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. He wanted to take care of you.

He carefully laid you on his bed, not wanting to think too much about what that image was doing to him. He unzipped the top part of your suit to leave you with a sleeveless shirt, and placed cold towels on your forehead and neck to try to bring down the fever. You were still unconscious, and that worried him.

You barely reacted when he treated the wound on your forehead, but you sighed and relaxed, so he assumed you just needed to rest.

The room fell silent, Bob sat down next to you. You had flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips; to him, you still looked beautiful.

His fingers rested on your skin, arranging the strands of hair that fell over your face. You stirred, moving closer to him but didn’t wake up, Bob let out a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that you finally woke up, letting out a groan as you felt the dull pain in your body. The first thing your eyes noticed was Bob’s face unusually close to yours, his blue eyes shining with concern.

“Bob?” you asked hoarsely. You had no idea how you had ended up in his room.

“Hey, you’re awake,” his warm smile quickened your heart. “How do you feel?”

“Like I had frozen in the snow,” you reply with a lazy smile.

“I brought you here because you fainted, but you need to see a doctor,” you nodded in agreement. “Do you think you can get up?” I’ll help you get to the infirmary.”

Your legs trembled as you stood up, but Bob held you. You shivered at the feel of his hands on your waist, touching you gently as if you were about to break. He was close—too close; his intoxicating scent was invading your senses, and it was driving you crazy.

You leaned your weight on him as you started to walk; your whole body ached, but you pushed yourself to move. Just when you were halfway down the hallway, Walker appeared, his brow furrowing at the sight of you so bruised.

“Jesus, Y/N, you look terrible.” His eyes scanned your body with concern.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special, Walker,” you replied sarcastically.

The blonde soldier snorted before approaching and lifting you into his arms; you let out a small scream at the sudden movement.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked, completely desperate.

“Take you to the nurse’s office,” he replied without hesitation. “Are you coming, Bobby?”

Bob nodded without saying anything; you didn’t notice how the muscle in his jaw tightened, nor his tense posture, nor his white knuckles. He followed you in silence.

When Walker left you on a stretcher for the examination, Bob was ready to leave. The two would probably forget about this interaction, and everything would go back to normal.

But then you called him, with a tone that didn’t match you.

“Can you stay?” you asked shyly.

He looked at you as if he didn’t believe your words, but your eyes shone with sincerity. He lay down next to you, unsure, trying not to touch you, but you didn’t want that.

Your fingers gently touched the palm of his hand; he could feel your eyes on his face, but he didn’t dare to look at you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Bob didn’t respond, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave them an affectionate squeeze.

Both of you sank into the silence of the room; you were still exhausted, so it didn’t take you long to fall back asleep. You were curled up next to him, with your face buried in his neck.

He had remained unusually quiet, your breath tickling his skin, the warmth of your body against his was pleasant. He hadn’t even realized that he had started to brush your hair.

He had thought many times about being like this with you, but he never believed it would become a reality. Bob felt guilty for ignoring you; your presence was like a ray of sunshine in his life. From the first day, you were nothing but kind to him; you always tried to make him feel safe and loved. It was one of the things he liked most about you.

But he was afraid to get close; he was exactly the opposite of you. There was a darkness within him that he could barely control, and he feared that one day it might cause you irreparable harm. He didn’t want to extinguish your light, so he distanced himself; he preferred you think he hated you rather than hurt you.

With each passing day, his will was breaking a little more. He hated that you had become close to Walker; he hated the look in his eyes every time he saw you; he hated that his arms wrapped around your waist. He wanted the sound of your laughter to be just for him. He wanted to know what it felt like to be in your arms; he wanted to taste your lips. Bob couldn’t stand being away from you.

And seeing how hurt you were made him realice that. He no longer wanted to watch you from the shadows; he wanted to be there for you, to take care of you, and to show you how much he adored you.

But he wasn’t sure if you wanted the same thing.

Just at that moment, someone gently knocked on the door, and Bucky stepped in silently. His eyebrows raised at the position they were in, but he said nothing.

“Is she okay?” he whispered. He nodded, fearing that his voice would wake you up. Bucky gave him another look before leaving.

Shortly after that, your eyes opened, and you blushed after realizing you had practically fallen asleep on him, but Bob didn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s fine; it doesn’t bother me,” reassured you. That confused you.

“Really?” you asked. “I thought you hated me.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I could never hate you.” The sincerity in his voice made you shiver. “I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”

“Why did you pull away then?”

He let out a resigned sigh. “Because I know what my powers can do to people, and I like you too much to put you through that. I don’t want to hurt you; I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Bob,” you said, gently stroking his cheek. “Look, I’m touching you, and nothing bad has happened; your control has improved a lot in these months. Don’t push me away thinking you’re going to hurt me.”

“You can’t be sure; at any moment I could lose control again.” You could see how worried he was, and that broke your heart.

“Then we’ll solve it together, you and I,” you promised. “We’re in this together, Bob; we’re a team; no one is going to leave you alone in this. Come on, come here.”

You wrapped him in your arms, letting him cling to you. You gently stroked his hair until he finally calmed down. He had moved away from you just enough to see your face.

“Y/N” whispered, as if sharing a secret with you.

“Yes, Bob?”

“Do you think you would like to go on a date with me once you recover?”

“I would really like that.”

“Well, it’s a date,” he nodded, satisfied.

“It’s a date,” you said before cuddling back up with him.

Maybe he didn’t hate you as much as you thought.

thanks for reading!!

[mari-positas]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—��� Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[provinzpoet]

On Engagement Bait

Whenever you see it, that's an additional five years. All currently active negative effects are dispelled.

A lil' essay.

I hate engagement bait - with a passion.

"Reblog if you care" "Reblog to mark your blog safe for [marginalized group X]" "Reblog or your mom dies in her sleep tonight."

"Reblog, or else."

I know most of these are made in jest. Harmless fun, right? But to me, "harmless fun" doesn’t excuse poor taste. Especially when it veers into manipulation.

So, here's a little something below the cut. If you're here for the poetry, you're free to scroll. If you're here for the ramblings, keep reading.

Either way, have another look at the duck. That's another 5 years on the house. Download it, look at it whenever - stack that immunity to last a lifetime. No engagement bait shall ever touch you again.

That little ducky up there was born in response to a post about you not having any original thought for the next five years.... unless you reblog.

It was meant as silent defiance, as a soft out. Then @bred-is-a-dumb-name reblogged my little ducky. With the following tags:

First and foremost: Thank you for speaking so clearly. Your tags were the push I needed to sit down and write this.

I. The Premise

Engagement bait plays with a simple human desire. Recognition. People want to be seen, they want to be recognized. Above all, they want to be validated.

From the early days of social media 'likes' equaled validation.

On tumblr, the currency of choice is reblogs. Reblogging equips a post with wings, allowing it to touch down on your own blog, be exposed to your own audience. The growth potential here is exponential, as reblogs don't just live tucked away in your profile, but are the groundwork of the tumblr algorithm on what content to show to its userbase.

My Thesis: You are responsible for the content you pass along to your mutuals. Even if you didn’t create it. Even if you reblogged it "ironically."

From the creator’s side, engagement bait is often a way to chase notes - a hit of serotonin from the numbers ticking up. And I get that. I love seeing my posts resonate too - reading your tags, your comments, the ways my words find you.

But I would never boost engagement through pain, coercion, or bad vibes in general. And I think no one should.

II. The Danger

Here's the catch: reblogging engagement bait feeds a manipulative feedback-loop.

But, at the same time, Let me be clear: Not all engagement bait is created equal.

Baity posts like "reblog to show your moots you appreciate them" (you know who you are! And I appreciate you too! c: ) are fine. Sure, they're meant to play the algorithm and the very human rationale that 'external validation is more valuable than internal validation' . basically: "If I reblog this post it'll mean more than if I just tell my moot they mean a lot to me".

At best, they're a reminder to be kind.

But - and this is the important part - there is also a different kind. Engagement bait like "Reblog or your mother will die tonight", "Reblog or no more creativity for 5 years".

These aren't funny to everyone. To some, they're not even neutral.

They're cruel. They are emotional abuse hidden under the guise of a 'funny context'. Of the absurdity of a duck holding that power.

Let's be real. It's not holding that power. And you'll reblog it ironically with funny tags in the vein of 'oh, better be sure, mighty duck'. Unless you don't.

Because guess what? It IS holding that power.

To those with OCD. To those in intrusive thought loops. To those with deeply rooted fear of loss. To the neurodivergent. Maybe even to you? To those, these posts can be triggers.

III. The Mechanics of Harm

To people like that, the harmless meme becomes a source of real-world stress.

It's toying with - to me - deeply problematic, psychological concepts:

Compulsion and Intrusive Thoughts For someone with intrusive thought patterns, seeing a post that ties inaction to harm can spark a cycle that’s hard to break. It’s not a meme - it’s a trigger.

Guilt-Tripping and Moral Coercion There’s a quiet cruelty to coercion wrapped in kindness. ‘Only good people will reblog’ is just a digital form of social blackmail.

False Urgency & Manufactured Stakes The moment a post tells you "do this now, or else" - it's bypassing your agency. It swaps thought for panic.

Neurodivergent Sensitivity to Harm Avoidance This isn’t about superstition. It’s about the fear of what happens if we don’t play along. That fear is real. Many neurodivergent folks have built entire internal systems around minimizing perceived danger. These posts poke at that. They exploit it.

The Illusion of Safety through Compliance Some users - especially those who’ve seen harm happen "coincidentally" after ignoring a chain post - develop ritualized engagement. It becomes a way to feel in control, even when logic says otherwise. Engagement bait can reignite old fears tied to punishment, loss, or abandonment. And I get it. These posts feel silly. But they sit in the mind like a splinter.

Yes, it's uncomfortable having it called out like this - and it should be. It's meant to be.

IV. Walk a mile in their shoes

I’m not writing this from a pulpit.

I’ve wrestled with compulsive thoughts and weird little rituals my whole life. So when I say this stuff can hurt, it’s not theoretical. It’s personal.

And I’m not here to scold. I’m just inviting you to zoom out. To consider that your reblog might have more impact than you intended.

V. Being Responsible

I try to bear responsibility for what I put out here. Tumblr is full of vulnerable, brilliant, open people. The way we talk to each other matters.

Don't get me wrong, sharing a joke is fun - But if you knew a joke would hurt your friend, you'd probably hold it back. The same logic applies here.

I'm not here to shame anyone - unless you’re making this kind of post in bad faith. If you’re knowingly feeding on people’s fears for notes? That’s not a joke. That’s cruelty. That, to me, is despicable.

All I wanted was to offer this, another point of view. And just maybe, if you’ve ever reblogged something like that without thinking, this helped you see it through a different lens.

Be nice to each other. Look out for each other.

We're all navigating this life for the first time, let's not make it any harder than it needs to be, okay?

Yours truly,

Poe

Just silently accept. The donkey will know.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Days of Yore

Warnings: some dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You show up uninvited but are welcomed nonetheless.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

Day Twenty-Five of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -an unexpected guest at the holiday get together.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Wow,” you gape up at the immaculate array of lights strung across the facade. “This place is amazing. Who’s house is this?” 

“A friend of a friend’s, I don’t know,” Wendy shrugs. 

“A friend... Oh? Are you sure it’s okay we’re here?” You wonder with a furrow between your brows. You now feel a bit foolish for getting all done up when you might not even have been invited. 

“Open invite! Besides, no one will notice,” she assures you. 

“Right,” you mutter doubtfully. 

“Loosen up. What else do you got going on, huh?” She grabs your hand and pulls you through the open iron gates. They accentuate the medieval effect of the house. Now you don’t feel done up enough. 

“Not much, I guess,” you admit. If anything, you’ll get a bit of free food then ditch. It's not the first time you’ve unintentionally party-crashed with your wayward friend. 

“You know Sienna, it will be fine,” she tuts and comes up to the front doors.  

Again, you’re awed by the aesthetic of it all. You notice that the lights aren’t coloured, but only white, and the decor doesn’t bear the typical Santa or candy cane theme. In fact, it all has a historic tint. Traditional in a strange way. Dried oranges hung on long strings and holly twisted into bunches. For a moment, you’re remind of that dusty history degree hidden in the back of your closet. 

Wendy knocks with the heavy iron knocker. She waits and chatters as she wiggles her legs below her short skirt. She didn’t dress for the temperature. She searches the door frame and grumbles. 

“You think someone who could afford this place would have a doorcam or something,” she chuffs out a cloud of steam. 

The door opens and startles you both. You look over as Wendy as good as jumps inside. She seizes the woman who keeps a hand on the door. 

“Kami! You look... nice,” she holds her and gives her an eye up and down, “is this velvet?” She drags her hands down the green fabric. 

“Designer,” Kami pushes away her touch. “You brought a friend.” 

“Yeah, Sienna said so--” 

“Mm, sure, it’s just... whatever. No one will notice,” Kami rolls her eyes. “You have to come. Lucas has the funniest story! I was just dying.” 

Your shoulders fall and you clasp your hands together. You trail after, unwelcome and unacknowledged. Uninvited. You frown and silently configure how you can excuse yourself and leave. If you wait long enough, Wendy will forget about you. It might be easier to sneak out. 

You stop to hang your coat with all the rest and Kami makes a point of telling you to take your boots off. The floors are old wood, polished and well-kept. The entire house is immaculate. An antique on its own. 

You follow them into a high-ceilinged room adorned in strings of threaded popcorn and dried clusters of flowers. The air is fragrant as mulled cider steams in a heated bowl on a table, copper cups waiting to be filled, and dishes of appetizers in a line. The smell makes your stomach churn hungrily. 

“Who the hell owns this place?” Wendy asks the question nibbling on your ears. 

“Oh, he’s a funny guy,” Kami chuckles. “A bit... eccentric. Sienna’s been trying to loosen him up a bit, I mean... look at this house. That’s a good bag.” 

You try not to show your disapproval. You don’t have much luck with men but hearing the way some of your friends talk about them, you don’t know that you’re cut out for it all. It really doesn’t seem that anyone is out for a genuine connection, they just want a good set-up.

Can you really blame them? You’ve been handwashing your clothes since your building hiked up the machine prices. Turns out a couple quarters can really break the bank. 

Your guilt compounds as you realise that you’ve cosigned this entire extortionate affair. This party seems to have been a ploy by a hopeful prize winner. You know Sienna and she’s always sure to show you her Fenti and point out the label, though she can never remember the name of the man who bought it. 

“So what? He gave her full run to do all this? It's not really her... style. I expected more pink,” Wendy scoffs. 

“Nope, he’s a tight ass apparently. They were up for nights making the decorations and the food.” 

“What?” She squeals in surprises as your whispers from your mouth. That’s a lot of work. 

“Very old-fashioned,” Kami remarks. “But he’s not just rich you know, he’s fucking hot.” 

“Ah, jackpot,” Wendy giggles. 

You keep behind them, as good as hiding behind them. You bob and clutch your purse as Lucas excitedly hugs Wendy and Sienna drunkenly echoes him. You know a few of the partygoers standing with them but none of them even look in your direction. It seems Wendy’s already forgotten you. 

This is why you said no at first. This is how it always goes but she begged and begged, guilting you fro making her show up alone. What about you? Why is it okay to ditch you every time? 

You glance around. There are just as many strangers and none of them seem eager to mingle past their trio or pairing. You wish Wendy mentioned the dress code. You don’t think your H&M clearance rack attire is very suiting. 

As an elbow hits your arm, you back up. No apology. You’re a piece of decor to these people. You back up and turn. Well, no one else seems to want to indulge. What a weird party. 

You go to the table and take a cup. It’s times like these that you enjoy being invisible. College was tough, you longed to be noticed, to be like the other girls. Since then, you’ve grown comfortable with just being there. It’s much safer. 

You ladle the cider into a mug and the steam roils from the top. A slice of blood orange and a few cranberries float in the rich amber liquid. You blow over it and retreat. The warmth is a comfort. It makes you feel a little less out-of-place. 

As you turn, you nearly collide with another. You bring your other hand up to steady the cup and barely keep from sloshing the cider all over. You squeak and step back on your heel, your eyes skimming up the large figure in front of you.  

You haven’t seen eyes like those since... 

“Geralt?” You utter dumbly. 

He looks down at you. He looks different but not. He always had his own vibe. The white hair, the bright eyes, he wore his individuality without meaning too. Yet some things are his own doing. 

When you were in Early Modern History or Medieval Weaponry and Warfare together, he always dressed as if the clocks were set back to the Victorian era. Stiff jackets, high collared shirts, even a pocket watch. He was a bit of a dweeb then but too big for anyone to say so. And he was the only person who wanted to talk about history outside the lectures. 

Now he wears a tunic, silver trim on black, slightly less stuffy but just as dated. Half of his hair is twisted back behind his head, the tails of it spilling past his shoulders. 

He says your name and tilts his head, “I didn’t invite you.” 

It’s a statement that makes your heart sink. You peer down at your cup then around the room. “I’m sorry, my friend, she knows Sienna, she--” 

“It’s good to see you,” he interrupts. “It’s been a very long time.” 

You wince and dare to look at him again. “Yes, college was a while ago.” You slanted your lips and press your hands to the hot metal cup. “This is your house? It’s very nice.” 

“It is. I don’t often entertain, so mind the cobwebs,” he intones. He still has that way of speaking; so matter-of-fact. “It wasn’t my idea.” 

“Mm, right,” you nod. 

“Is the cider good? I found the recipe in an old journal from 1764.” 

“Of course you did,” you hold back a laugh. 

“Of course...” he begins to repeat curiously. 

“It’s all very you, is all,” you say. 

“I suppose,” he agrees. 

You smile shakily and swallow. You make yourself try the cider. It’s hot but not scalding. A very spiced. Not in a bad way, you just don’t expect that much. 

“Mm, it’s... heady.” 

“Mulled for days,” he explains. He shifts on his feet and smooths his tunic. “Can I show you something?” 

“Um, sure,” you accept. “It’s not the door, is it?” 

He lets out a small snort, “leave the cider.” 

You peer around and he takes the cup from you. He puts it down on a leather coaster on a tall wooden table and beckons you after him. You peek back as you sense a hush and notice that Sienna and the rest of them are watching. Great, they already don’t care much for you. 

Geralt stops and waits for you to catch up to him. The staircase is wide enough for both of you. Your ascent is quiet, almost torturously so. 

“You did not bring a boyfriend?” He asks. 

You nearly laugh at the abrupt question. You get to the top of the stairs and he gestures you left. 

“Well, I’d bring my cat. He’s the only guy sleeping in my bed,” you kid. 

He hums but doesn’t comment. 

“So, how’d you meet Sienna?” You ask. 

He shrugs and stops to open a door. He pushes it inward and reaches around the frame to turn on the lights. He waits for you to enter first. You do with a gasp at the interior. 

The walls are hung with various weaponry and you can tell at a glance that it’s genuine. It’s like walking into a museum. You traipse forward as you stare and barely notice the door click shut. 

“Wow, how—Geralt, how the heck—what do you do? I mean, how can you afford all this?” 

“I make replicas for TV and stage productions,” he explains. “This is my personal collection.” 

“It’s... wow,” you hug yourself, feeling even smaller than before. 

He’s quiet again. That’s just how he’s always been. He never said more than he needed to. It made studying very easy. 

“You asked about Sienna. She is persistent but we are older now. I don’t see her as viable,” he says. Again, just a fact, nothing emotional. 

“Oh, uh, well, I heard otherwise. Maybe you should tell her that,” you chuckle nervously as you admire the executioner’s sword with its blunt tip. 

“Perhaps,” he agrees as he slowly crosses the room to stand next to you. “I’m... pleased that you showed up. It is a coincidence, isn’t it?” 

“Sure, must be,” you agree. 

You keep your eyes on the groove in the blade as you feel his on you. You sidle along and turn your head away from him. The door is shut. He stays close. 

“Here,” he steps around you, startling you. 

You spin as he goes to a large wooden chest on a table. “The smaller things are in here. Thumb screws, some daggers...” he flips open the lid as you turn and follow, keeping your distance. He holds up a curved blade, possibly a jambiya. “Hm, come,” he waves you around as he reaches in again, “you’ll like this one.” 

You sway before you move, hands clasped to each other. You slowly pace around to him and he moves so quickly you nearly stagger. In a moment, there’s a weight around your wrists. You cry out and raise your manacled arms. 

“Geralt!” You exclaim. 

He laughs. You don’t hear that often. You look at him and tug on the chain. 

“Centuries old but they are strong still, yes?” 

You frown, “please, it’s not funny. I don’t like it.” 

“Aren’t they wonderful?” 

“No, Geralt, please, take them off.” 

“Hm, I’d have to find the key...” 

“Don’t play,” you warn. 

His laughter trickles off and his face returns to its stoic mask. He stares at you. Silence rises and roils around you as the chain clinks in the loops of the cuffs and you fidget. You wait for him to pull out the key and undo them. 

Instead, he hooks a thick finger around the links and tugs until your arms are above you. He holds you like that, trapped and prone. You shudder as you stare up at him, terrified at the glint in his pale eyes. 

“I’m not playing,” he intones. “I’ve been waiting to get you in those. Far too long.” 

[onlyangel4]

party girl animal shelter. cl16. SMAU. part one.

charles leclerc x animal shelter owner! reader

after getting leo charles realises becomes more connected to the animal world. he stumbles across a tik tok of your shelter in las vegas and decides that he needs to visit.

warnings: cursing

author's note: this will likely be a two or three part mini series. as someone who volunteers at an animal shelter this is truly self-indulgent

faceclaim: olivia o'brien

part two

y/npartygirlshelter posted a slideshow on tik tok

y/npartygirlshelter

liked by y/bff, friend1, charlesleclerc and 3,402 others

tagged y/bff

y/npartygirlshelter: a trip to vegas to celebrate three years of party girl animal shelter. we really do live up to the name

view all 56 comments

y/bff: you taking a call about a puppy admission in the middle of the club was peak party girl animal shelter business

y/npartygirlshelter: the duality of woman

user1: i'm new here but i love your vibe ! i'm so glad you can be a party girl and still live your dream

y/npartygirlshelter: aw thank you angel, check you dms i sent you a few pictures from the shelter i thought you might like

leclercupdates posted a story

written: charles is officially the first driver to touch down in las vegas. we wonder what he is doing here so early.

y/bff posted a story tagging y/npartygirlshelter

written: omw to go meet my favourite f1 driver all because y/n is the best friend a girl could wish for

y/npartygirlshelter posted a story tagging charlesleclerc

written: safe to say rolo is already in love with today's visitor

charlesleclerc posted two stories tagging y/npartygirlshelter

charlesleclerc

liked by carlossainz, landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,201,101 others

tagged y/npartygirlshelter

charlesleclerc: today i got to visit a hidden gem in vegas. the party girl animal shelter is an animal shelter run by y/n t/ln a twenty three year old that lost her father three years ago. she used her inheritance to build this wonderful place. i am so grateful for all the animals that i got to meet, i exhibited great control by not getting leo a brother. thank you y/n for having me !

view all 14,501 comments

danielricciardo: so this is what you do. get to vegas early just to spend time with a pretty girl and some very cute animals. fair play charles. fair play.

charlesleclerc: don't hate the player hate the game

y/npartygirlshelter: when the fuck did you manage to get sunglasses on elvis?

charlesleclerc: when you were busy feeding the others

user2: bro she fine as hell

user6: i just did a deep dive on her tik tok, she is so hot and funny as fuck as well. charles you need to date her before i do.

landonorris: can i come next time you go

charlesleclerc: no. find your own hidden gem

user11: bro met her today and is already down bad

y/npartygirlanimalshelter

liked by charlesleclerc, y/bff, landonorris and 12,301 others

tagged charlesleclerc

y/npartygirlshelter: a massive thank you to today's guest of honour (pictured here with our lovely resident blue) who brought be a lego bouquet because it is too hot here in vegas for real flowers

view all 2011 comments

y/bff: thank you so much for letting me crash so i could meet him

charlesleclerc: it was lovely meeting you y/bff

y/npartygirlshelter: charles you are going to give my best friend a heart attack

charlesleclerc: thank you for teaching me all about your residents

y/npartygirlshelter: anytime charles

user21: not daniel being in likes! hope you can fight charles

user4: shit she is stunning oh my god

[33forthew1n]

જ⁀➴ ♡young & in love જ⁀➴ ♡

🏎️❣️💙 2016! MV33/MV1 x reader 🏎️❣️💙

trope: strangers to lovers

SMAU- faceclaim: blonde girls on pinterest 👱🏼‍♀️

synopsis: it's max verstappen's first year in Formula One, but it's reader's time as a race guest. when max abruptly meets yn at the paddock, is it love at first sight for the two or just a one-time meeting?

WARNINGS: jos 🙄, one horner mention, swearing, oblivious boyfriend

author's note: first ever fic!!!! let me know how u like it in my inbox or by interacting :) tysm to @iamred-iamyellow for answering all my silly little qs 🫶

⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚₊‧♡⟢˚

max was just like any other teenager: he had crushes, dreams, friends, and too many responsibilities to count. well, except for one thing: he was motorsport's newest and youngest Formula One driver.

at 17, he debuted with a junior team and did....well, pretty damn well. so, the move up to the big league in the form of Red Bull Racing TAG Heur was no big surprise. he had been labelled a prodigy and future WDC even before obtaining his driver's license which unsurprisingly left him with a mountain of pressure to deal with. pressure that no teenage peer would ever truly understand. he had stopped trying to find commonalities in life experience and accepted that his circumstances were one in seven billion.

at the start of 2016, max had entered the season with one goal in mind: race and race so damn well that nobody could question the fastpaced nature of his driving career. this one-track mind approach also meant another thing: no girlfriends and no serious relationships. a serious relationship meant time, effort, and devotion he couldn't put into his racecraft; as his father so unkindly reminded him way too often for his liking. ₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

max's first gp with RB

maxverstappen33

Liked by danielricciardo, redbullned, and 298,999 others

maxverstappen33 First race with Red Bull. Happy with the car, but could have gotten more out of the car. Great weekend, thanks team. 💪

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danielricciardo Good race, mate. Excited for the future 💪🏎️

^ ❤️ by author

madmax3390 there's a reason why there's sm hype around him!! mad future WDC 🦁

user97370181 daniel outqualified and outraced LOL what a joke

maxdutchlion97 super effort!! ROTY

usernine i don't even get what the hype around him is....

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at the ripe age of ten, yn had decided that sebastian vettel was her all time favorite driver. it was a funny choice for the young girl to make because her dad was a fernando alonso stan and a diehard tifosi at the time. yet, young yn was awestruck at the navy blue car driven masterfully by vettel. ever since she saw him win his first WDC in 2010, yn had dreamt of going to her very first f1 grand prix.

after years of silently wishing that every christmas present and birthday gift was a gp ticket, yn finally got her wish for her 17th bday. it was a ticket to the spanish gp which meant that after her last final exam of the year was over, she'd be on a train to spain. "thank you so much, dad. seriously, i can't believe you kept this hidden for so long!!!", the teenager said in joy. "if i had known you'd be this happy, i would have shown you at christmas. you're welcome, dear." ⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡

fast forward to the spanish grand prix:

yn was bouncing with excitement. after months of planning outfits and smoothing over details, the day had come! she was at her first grand prix; her wish come true. everything was bigger and louder than she could have ever imagined but oh so wonderful. every garage she had seen on TV was now in front of her very own eyes. while she was so busy staring at everything with wide eyes, someone in an obvious rush ran into her.

"oh- sorry. didn-", said the guy in question. "you're o-", said yn, stopping halfway through her words in surprise when she recognized the face of the guy who almost caused the wind to be knocked out of her. it was none other than her favorite team's newest driver: max verstappen. now she had three choices: a) frantically ask for a picture (as proof to show her dad who would never believe her if she told him of this moment), b) stare like an idiot and make them both feel terribly awkward, or c) pretend to not recognize him. "c-can i take a selfie with you?", she said, deciding that choice a was the one to pick.

"oh! yeah, sure.", max awkwardly answered.

"thanks, have a good race!", exclaimed yn, ready to tell her dad a story he wouldn't believe, until she heard a "wait! uhm-" from max.

"can i have your instagram? you know, so that you can send me the selfie-", the teenager made up on the spot. "oh!! yes, just a second!"

after exchanging ig handles, max joked to her, "have fun this weekend. good team kit choice, by the way." she laughed and replied, "yeah, guess i must have pretty good taste, huh. win the race, max. good luck out there."

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max hadn't ever been so starstuck by a girl. the only thing he could think of when he was in front of her was how beautiful and warm she seemed. just genuinely exhilerated for the race and to be at the track. "it's been a while since i've felt like that", thought the driver.

he'd been happily surprised when she gave him her ig handle, not really expecting her to say yes to his request. and so he typed out her username, hit follow, and looked at her latest post.

ynusername

Liked by yourbestfriend and 235 others

ynusername pretty in pink 💞🧁👯‍♀️ @yourbestfriend @otherfriend

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yourbestfriend prettiest girl in the 🌎 🥺

^❤️ by author

ynusername u? ☺️💞 DUH

otherfriend had the best time w u 😍 lovelyyy

ynusername yes!!! sleepover next month! 💞

randomclassmate gorg

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throughout the rest of the FPs, max couldn't get yn out of his head. he knew he should be keeping his head down and focusing on how to improve his performance, but in all honesty he was more concerned with impressing the girl who hadn't left his mind.

his father saw his sudden proneness to day dreaming and immediately knew something was different. "max, son."

"yes?", muttered max in surprise. "what is it with you this weekend? you know better than to have your head in the clouds?"

"n-nothing. just thinking..", max replied. fuck, he thought, of course jos would be able to tell that something was on max's mind besides racing.

then came qualifying where it all came crashing down. he had placed tenth on the grid; his worst starting position for the season so far. in the moments following quali, he walked to his garage with his head held down by the weight of what he would have to accomplish in the grand prix to satisfy all expectations.

come sunday, max was ready to win. he knew she was still at the grand prix as she had posted a selfie at the paddock a few hours prior. if he was to impress her and grow bold enough to ask her out, now was the time to succeed.

and succeed he did. he went through the nine drivers in front of him slowly and steadily, unable to believe that he was mere laps away from tasting victory. when he passed vettle, hamilton, and finally rosberg, his eyes filled with tears. then next thing he knew, horner was saying, "max verstappen, you are a race winner. fantastic. what a debut. fantastic. great, great job!"

max was in awe. his first win at seventeen wasn't certain, yet he made it happen. he knew what he needed to do next.

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maxverstappen33

Liked by f1, christianhorner, and 1.2 million others

maxverstappen33 First race win and youngest ever race winner. Huge congratulations to the team. Thanks to my family who made it all possible. On to the next. 💪🇳🇱🏎️

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f1 That's our youngest race winner 🇳🇱🇳🇱 Super Max!

victoriaverstappen Congrats, maxie. 🧡🧡

^ ❤️ by author

lewishamilton Nice one, mate. 1️⃣

user9827279 already outdoing danny...i can see the incoming favoritism from a distance

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yn couldn't believe it. seeing her favorite team win in her first ever grand prix visit...unbelievable. she had taken dozens of pictures and videos to show her dad and show off to her little brother. as she was leaving the paddock, her phone dinged with a notification. 'hmm. must be dad asking me how the race has been'.

yet, instead it was an instagram dm notifcation.

Max Verstappen

maxverstappen33

Hey, Yn right?

yes!! is this Max or some red bull staff? Haha, its Max. How did you like the Grand Prix?

omg, loved it!!! the most fun i've had in so long :))

congrats on your first win. it was super impressive :')

Thanks! Quick question.

yes?

How would you feel about going on a date?

max verstappen, are you asking me out? Yes, if you want to go. No, if you don't

🤣🤣 Funny.

that's a yes, mr. race winner.

The 21st at 6pm at the movie theatre it is. Can't wait to see you there. 🙂

see you then, max. 🧡

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after dozens of conversations and a few calls, max and yn went on their first date. he pulled up to her house with a single red rose. he didn't know if it was enough but he also didn't want to overwhelm her in any way. he waited for her to come out of her house and handed her the rose.

"hello, yn. you look beautiful. this is for you."

"oh- thanks, max! how was the ride over?"

max lived one hour away from yn and it was his first long carride since he got his license.

"it was good. nothing special, you know? how was your day been?", he asked as he opened the passenger seat for her. truth be told they had called as they were both getting ready, but he still asked since nothing put a smile on his voice than her excited talking.

"you know how it was max, hahaha. though, i have to say you do clean up well. you look good."

"thanks. so do you, pretty girl", max said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

after half an hour of idyll chat, the pair arrived at the movie theatre. max paid for her tickets and the snacks (even after yn's insistence that she should at least cover the popcorn) before they went into the salon.

yn had chosen some random action movie to watch which max wasn't opposed to. they both laughed, yn teared up a bit (which caused max to laugh in surprise over), and even held hands for the first time.

as max parked at her house he asked her, "did you have fun?"

"yeah, i really did. what about you? did i stack up to your usual sunday excitement?"

"you're more fun than any grand prix i've ever raced in. thanks for coming.", he said.

with a kiss on the cheek, they exchanged goodbyes.

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after four months, jos had started to become suspicious of max. the teenager had become a lot happier and snuck around a lot more than he used to. yet, he decided not to mention anything until he caught max in the act.

unbeknownst to this, max kept sneaking out and seeing yn. he knew the sneaking around couldn't last forever but he didn't want his dad to tarnish everything he had built with yn. she was patient, kind, beautiful, and the most hilarious person he had ever known.

the greatest negative of being in the best relationship of his life was that max always wanted to talk about her and being her boyfriend. so, after six months had passed since their first date max decided he owed it to their relationship to come out to the world. as a couple? well, not exactly!

maxverstappen33

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maxverstappen33 Happy birthday to the worst photographer I know. On a real note, thanks for being the best friend a guy could ever ask for. @ynusername happy 18th 🧡

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maxmaxsupermax UHM??? soft launch?:?)&/&

poppyf1fan max posting a girl was NOTT on my 2016 f1 bingo card

ynusername ignoring the "worst photographer" allegation...ty maxie 🧡 u have made this bday unforgettable

^❤️ by author

maxverstappen33 always. 🧡

redbullned OH?

randomfan02828 even red bull is surprised 😭🙏

max decided that a friendship soft launch would go over easier. plus, he didn't exactly warn yn of his post (though by her subtle comment you wouldn't be a fool to think otherwise).

"max?? what's this post on insta??", yn practically yelped on the other line.

"oh...that. well, i thought it was about time people knew about us", he nervously responded.

"but, your dad??? red bull? you know, basically everyone in your life?"

"i can deal with all that on my own, don't worry about it. you deserve to be known about. consider it my gift to you on your 18th", he joked.

"max, i think i would consider the bouquet of roses, the bracelet, and the makeup you got me as my gift. you really didn't have to, babe."

"yeah, but you're my girlfriend. who would i spoil if not you?"

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now, it was their one year anniversary.

max had come clean to jos over his relationship with yn just a few hours after that initial post. jos certainly wasn't happy and made it clear, but since max was living on his own at 18 there wasn't really much he could do. not that max cared much for his dad's opinion on his romantic relationships.

he had talked to yn about a proper reveal of their relationship and that he....somewhat did.

liked by f1, ynusername, and 800,625 others

maxverstappen33 Summer ☀️ @ynusername

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ynusername this is not what I meant by hard launch...💀

redbullned have fun in the off-season champ 💪

mymax33 ugh...she's not even that pretty 😂

lestappen0975 and ur so hot. that's why u don't show ur face? stfu

liononthetrack ?? bro said nothing yet everything??

danielricciardo I don't think you understand what a hard launch is, mate. 😆

and daniel was right. max assumed that by posting yn people would get the hint that he was her boyfriend. yet, there were still people delusional enough to think that she was just a friend. "you know, babe, that a friend just asked me if i was single or if she could hook me up with someone", yn said, hinting the obvious at max.

"oh, have you not told her about us yet?"

"i have. she just didn't believe it", replied yn, a smile creeping up on her face.

"you should have shown her my post to shut her up", max joked.

"i did. she asked what a guy friend had to do with me being single or not", yn finally said outright.

"guy friend?? wasn't that one of those hard launches you said couples do to reveal their relationship?", max said shocked.

"max. figuring out we are dating from that post is like trying to find a pin in a hay stack. nearly impossible", yn said, practically in tears laughing at max's dismay.

"damn it. seems danny is right. he had said that the post made you look like a friend but i just ignored him thinking he was messing with me."

"they do say that with age comes wisdom", yn responded.

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Liked by yourbestfriend, maxverstappen33, and 22,347 others

ynusername proper hard launch, i'd say. none of that soft stuff 🧡 @/maxverstappen33

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maxverstappen33 🧡 love you, schat. happy one year 🧡

ynusername best one year of my life 🧡

madmax3303 oh!!! max's friend is his...gf???

f1fan2008 how did he pull such a baddie 💀

danielriccardo You need to teach Max how to hard launch. Heidi called his post weak 😂

^❤️ by author

yourbestfriend CUTIESSSS 🥹🥹🥹

^❤️ by author

going to her first grand prix led to the best thing in her life: her boyfriend. and all it took to show the world were a few unclear posts and an oblivious boyfriend.

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hope you enjoyed!!

interact as much as you'd like

send requests for any f1 driver 🏎️

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 9

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8

• ··········· • ············ •

You walked to the Academy's reception, grabbed a visitor’s badge, and made your way to the lab. The choice between waiting outside or unlocking the door and snooping around was easy to make.

It was silent in the school, still too early for the actual classes to begin. Only the birds and the staff could be heard from where you stood in front of a window, Piltover’s skyline starting to shine with the rising sun. Hate it or love it. Topside sure was beautiful in the morning.

You heard the door handle rattle and quickly moved somewhere you could watch whoever it was entering the lab. It was all fun and magic until you were arrested for trespassing... Again.

Viktor walked in, his eyes narrowing because of the light difference between the lab and the corridor. He was trying to balance a dusty old brown messenger bag on one shoulder, a stack of books and papers in the other, holding the cane, and opening the door. You spotted a square of what looked like a piece of bread embedded with jam in his mouth. Sweet tooth and with an actual appetite. What a difference a dimension makes…

You also noticed from your not-so-hidden hiding place that, although his breathing was labored, the endless cacophony of coughing he would be having after walking through the Academy with that amount of weight, in another universe, was absent.

It was endearing the way he slowly took off the bag first, making sure the strap didn’t dislodge his breakfast, smirking as he accomplished his little mission. Once the bag was secure on the coat hanger, he grabbed his walking aid and slowly made his way to the table, dropping the books carefully on it, toast still between his lips. 

Inspecting his work, he finally took a bite of the toast and nodded, walking back to the door to close it.

“Hello.” You said brightly. “Blue balls of Hextech!!!” He jumped, grabbing both his chest and the edge of a table for support, his cane falling to the ground with a clank. “It’s funny because it’s true.” You made your way towards him and grabbed the cane from the floor, giving it back to him with a smile.

He grabbed it hesitantly, looking around the room puzzled, back at the door, and then at you.

“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I left.” His brows frowned slightly, and his eyes unfocused, trying to find something in his mind. You could see his gears turning. 

“I opened up a teleportation portal in my room and just reappeared here…” His eyes widened, a mix of fear and enthusiasm. You snorted. “The door was unlocked.” “Oh…” The disappointment was palpable.

It was the truth, actually. You were going to unlock it through magical means, but when you touched the handle, the door just slid open. You had poked your head in and saw no one, so you made your way inside. 

“I am certain that I locked it yesterday when I left.” “Sky maybe?” You shrugged. “No, no. Sky only works in the afternoons.”

Both your eyes locked onto each other. But you had a feeling his reasons were different than yours. Sky was alive. The hex-core hadn’t consumed her. You shifted your gaze to his leg, his cane, and his two very pale hands. Very pale and human hands. Was the corruption non-existent or just hidden?

“How do you know about Sky?” He asked, revealing the reason he had looked up to you. “I crossed paths with her at some point.” You half lied, having crossed paths with his assistance, just not in this dimension. “Maybe Jayce was here.” You leaned your hip against the table and shrugged.

Viktor walked around the lab, inspecting the tables and the tools. Making sure nothing was out of order. He walked to another large door that you knew was the storage and pulled at the handles. Locked. 

That’s where the hex cores were kept.

You knew that the room you were standing in was just a workroom; everything here was, in a very roundabout way of putting it, junk. Expensive and very valuable junk, but not what the lab’s main bread and butter was. That was locked in another room that, if it was anything similar to your side, was a mess of failed projects, almost finished projects, and the case with hex cores inside.

“Yes…maybe…” He walked back towards the table and stood in front of you, on the opposite side. “Please don't enter the lab when no one is around.”

His tone dropped, showing his seriousness, and you nodded. Even if it hurt, given your previous experience, it made sense. You were a stranger to him, and although you both seemed to get along well enough, you were still an unknown to him. You were sure that if you asked, he would probably show you the room, but that didn’t mean he’d allow you to be there unsupervised.

“Sorry.” 

‘I’m still getting used to not knowing you,’ you wanted to add but didn’t.

“No harm done. I’ll warn Jayce not to leave the door unlocked… again…

Viktor hooked the handle of his cane on the table and sat down with difficulty, a grimace on his face as he shifted his weight to the hand on the table and then almost plopped down on a stool.

“Your back?” You asked, sitting down in front of him at the table, and nodded. “Sometimes it gets worse, but… such is life… all pains and aches.” He gave you a crooked smile and bit his toast. “Should we start?” “Do you want me to show you the runes? The magic? What?”

He grabbed his brand-new notebook from the pile of books on the table and opened it. It was already filled a couple of pages in, his neat handwriting contrasting with the ivory pages. When he looked up at you, you could feel the enthusiasm coming in waves from his amber eyes—the eagerness to find something new.

“I thought we could start with a couple of questions…” He grabbed a discarded pen that was on the table and looked at you. “That way I can compare notes in the future, and we will get to know each other better.”

It was one thing knowing and acknowledging this; it was another thing when he spoke it out loud. But despite the little tear in your heart, you nodded.

“When did you find out you could do it?” He asked, eyes shifting to the page. “When I arrived at Piltover.” ‘The second time around that is…’ you added in your head. “When was that?” “A few weeks ago.” “Mm…Could you be more specific?” He looked up. “The night of the rocket attack.” “Ah…” He looked down. "How do you do it? The magic that is.” “Hmm, I write the rune. I set a purpose for it and push it forward.” “Fascinating.” He wrote it down.

You opened your mouth to say something, and he looked up immediately, probably hearing the small intake of air in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes?” “Hum…” You looked at your hands on the table. “I know that face." He placed the pen down and raised an eyebrow. "What face?" "I do feel the need to remind you..." He tapped the notebook with his finger. "You did agree to be truthful.” “They are becoming easier to use." You sighed, "Which I understand is normal because of usage, but now it doesn’t need a specific prompt; it just…knows…”

Viktor frowns, crossing his arms on the table and leaning into them.

“Example…” he asked, and you got up from your stool.

Without much thought, you walked to his bag, grabbed the keys to the lab that he kept in a little side pocket, and locked the lab. You looked at him and turned the handle, showing him the door was in fact locked. He narrowed his eyes for a moment but nodded. You moved back to the table, grabbed a white paper, and drew the rune.

“This is the unlocking rune…don’t judge the naming…I’ve been making them as I go.” “No judgment here…According to Jayce, I am, and I quote, ‘excruciatingly bad at naming anything', to the point he is scared of any child I might have in the future.”

That was adorable. Another difference between your Viktor and this one… the naming was usually left to Viktor, seeing as the only good name Jayce had ever come up with was ‘Hextech,’ and after that… everything had to have a Hex before it. Hexgate, hex-core, hex-hammer. At some point, the Atlas Gauntlets were to be named HexGauntlets. Branding he had said, eliciting an eye roll from Viktor and you and a threat to recall any funding from the Rainemours.

“I’ve seen it do two things: unlocking things and showing me other runes.”

You drew another rune. This was the most familiar.

“This one is the move rune.” You looked at him to see if he was in fact judging you, but he was gazing at the runes.

“Ah! We’ve seen this one in the hex core.” He said excitedly.

“That would make sense. It’s the starting point of a breeze or gust of air that moves things away from it.” You took a deep breath. It felt good to talk about this. “In the beginning, both had very...broad...results. This…” You pointed to the unlock rune. “Would open anything locked in my vicinity, and this... it would just work in a straight cone-like formation perpendicular to me.”

You opened and stretched your arms to make a small V shape with them in front of you, showing Viktor what you meant. He noted something in his notebook and rolled his pen to push you to continue.

“Now…” You touched the rune with your gloved hand, the paper’s corner shook, and in a second, the front door clicked. Viktor’s head snapped to it and then back to you. “And…”

You touched the other rune, and one of the pages of his notebook flipped over. His head snapped again from the door to the papers.

“They’re reading my mind or something. I don’t know…” a beat. “So?”

No response. “Viktor?” You called him softly.

He was staring, unblinking, at both used runes in front of him, his long fingers touching the papers.

“Vik?” You went to pull a strand of hair out of his forehead, a normal gesture between you and him, but before your hand could reach him, he looked up at you, and you stopped the movement.

If anyone asked you what wonder looked like, you’d describe Viktor’s expression right now. His eyes were bright, almost made of liquid gold, high cheekbones painted a soft, healthy pink, and his mouth curved crookedly upwards. His index finger taps on the papers.

“That was magic. Actual magic.” He told you, his voice cracking with excitement. “Hmm, yeah…” “No hextech needed.” His eyes shifted and his brows twitched, and now the gears were turning. “Magic…one person…with no hextech…” “Alright...You need to breathe, buddy...” you noticed when you saw his chest rising and falling erratically. His damaged lungs won’t enjoy this exercise. “It’s not the first time you saw magic.”

“It is the first time I see it from beginning to end... With hextech, you need to calculate fluctuation, get the frequency just right, and have a million tiny pieces work together… but this… this is… I’m dizzy.” “You’re hyperventilating…” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you have your medicine with you?” “No…My inhaler is at home. It’s alright…” And took several deep breaths, placing a hand on his lower back. The movement of deep breathing clearly took a toll on his back.

Your Viktor at this point would have probably fainted, but this Viktor seemed overwhelmed, breathing with a little wheezing, but his eyes were bright and his expression painless. Ecstatic even. 

“Alright.” You slid your hand to his forearm and squeezed.

“Alright…” he wheezed, calmer, grabbing his notebook. “I don’t think my body can handle any more excitement right now.”

Smiling, you nodded at him and sat down, scrunching the paper with the runes in your hand.

“Oh... and... they are not reading your mind. They are, simply put, you.” He grinned, like someone with a secret he was about to share, and you raised your eyebrows. “According to some, the runes are just another language in Runeterra. That means that you are basically learning to speak.”

“I thought they were external to me…like the world was making the magic go through me…or something. Like a prism. Light comes in and a rainbow comes out.”

He shook his head, rolled his chair towards the stack of books he had brought, and rolled back towards you, quickly searching the texts for something. A little ah escaped when he found the text.

“Magic comes from an individual's ability to speak the runes, and once spoken, they become intrinsically assimilated by the rune speaker.” He looked up from the book.

“Like playing an instrument.” You grinned. “Once you know which note to hit, you naturally know that every time you hit it, it’ll have the same result.” Viktor nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yes! The more you play a note, the easier it becomes to strike the chord, and…the easier it is to put it in a melody…”

The morning was spent with him asking you questions and you simply answering without much trouble. It was nice to know that Viktor from this side was just as curious and perceptive as your own. It was obvious he knew about runes; he used them for hextech, but he was still flipping at the thought of having you there with the ability to… conjure them…

Nearing midday, someone opened the door, and both of you jumped as Jayce walked in. You stopped the sketch of the rune you couldn’t make work, and Viktor, who was fully leaning into the table and putting his weight on his elbows, snapped his head to the door.

“Jayce!” He squeaked, startled. “Viktor?” The Tallis man stood, hand on the door handle, looking at both of you. “Jayce.” You managed to say it with a more neutral tone.

He said your name with the same tone he used for Viktor. He closed the door, and Viktor took the second he had his back turned to snatch the rune sheet and shove it in the middle of the pages of his notebook.

“I wasn’t aware you would be stopping by today.” Viktor limped towards his friend, and you stood straight, hands behind your back, trying to hide the very obvious, very unnatural, and very illegal glowing blue hand.

“I wasn’t, but…ugh…we—we need to talk.” He turned to Viktor and then you. He had a very grave and urgent expression. “They found... would you mind? This is Hextech business.”

He turned to you, and you shook your head, clearing your thoughts and restarting your brain. 

“Yes! Of course. Sorry.” You turned to Viktor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. “I…I’ll tell Mother the commission is coming along just fine.”

“Yes, please do.” You blinked and looked back at you, nodding.

“It was great to see you, Jay-Councillor Tallis.” You started to make your way to the door when Viktor called out your name, and you turned. “Don’t forget this.” He slid his notebook towards you. “I’m sure your mother's notes will be safer with you.” “Ugh… Yes… Goodbye…”

You hurried back out, nodding back at Jayce. The grave look on his face was enough to get your brain thinking about what was so important he couldn't let you know. But then again, much like Viktor, he didn't know you.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

[papaya-queen]

That’s what family feels like – F1A/F2/F3/F4 Prema grid

Y/n joins Prema’s F1 Academy team and discover what found family feels like.

<3

<3

Yourusername

Yourusername media done ✅ it was amazing meeting all my new teammates! Love you all and see you at the start of the season!

Comments:

User so excited for the Prema media!!!

User she actually seems so nice

Racerbia it was lovely meeting you <3

User The best team ever

Olliebearman Had an amazing filming experience with you! Wishing you the best season!

User Prema is really just a cool camp for racing kid

            Arvid.lindblad yeah exactly

            Dinobeganovic_ THIS IS REAL

            User they’re so funny 😭

Prema_team Welcome to the fam Y/N

<3

F1academy & yourusername

F1academy Y/N Y/L/N wins the first race of the 2024 season!

Comments:

User SO FREAKING HAPPY FOR HER!!!

Prema_team Our girl on fire 🔥🔥

               User Is that a hunger games reference?!

               User I think they’re referencing her hair color

Kimi.antonelli 👏👏

               User they’re so supportive of each other

User Y/N dominance could bore fans

User 4 freaking seconds ahead?! That girl is definitely the next Verstappen

<3

Prema_team

Prema_team All red on the podium for the first weekend! With a win from Ollie in F2, Dino in F3 and both Doriane and Y/N in F1A, podiums for Kimi, Arvid, Paul and Bianca, all our drivers tasted the champagne in Sakhir

Comments:

Racerbia The fire team >>>

User Prema dominance in every category in wild

               User Yeahh literally in F2, F3, F1Academy

               User Don’t forget the FRECA, Italian F4 and Italian karting

               User They’re everywhere I swear 😭

Dinobeganovic_ I could get used to that red on the podium

               Kimi.antonelli don’t forget our beautiful Italian anthem

               Yourusername yeah, we know Kimi

               Kimi.antonelli DID I TELL YOU HOW IT’S THE BEST IN THE WORLD

               Paularon_ I swear he’s more patriotic than Americans

User15 The Bear 🐻, The Dinosaur 🦖 and The Fox 🦊

               User16 Prema: the racing zoo

<3

Racerbia

Racerbia feeling the weekend

Tagged: Yourusername, Olliebearman, Kimi.antonelli, Paularon_ & 4 others

Comments:

Dorianepin best start of the season ever

User The Prema kids are partying 🔥🎉

               User I mean why wouldn’t they when they’re dominating every championship

Olliebearman party like this next weekend?

               Kimi.antonelli of course

               Yourusername every weekend is even better

User come on, we want to see the wasted pictures

               Paularon_ you’re NEVER getting those pictures

               Dinobeganovic_ (he’s embarrassed by the things he did while drunk)

Prema_team WHAT DID WE SAY ABOUT THE ALCOLHOL??!

               User oooh admin is pissed

               Yourusername I swear to you that only the adults drunk

               Arvid.lindblad admin she’s lying

               Alexpowellracing can confirm

               Racerbia thanks idiots, now they’re going to kill us because of you

<3

Prema_team

Prema_team working with teens: a post

Comments:

Dinobeganovic_ we’re not THAT bad …

               Prema_team you hacked admins speaker to play despacito during a meeting

               Paularon_ don’t give him credits like that, it was me 😁

               User no way they really did that

               Alexpowellracing as a great would say “I HAVE IT, I HAVE IT PRINTED OUT”

               User Alex referencing toto, amazing 😭😭🤣

Racerbia bahahaha Ollie and Y/N sleeping

               Yourusername don’t laugh too much

               Olliebearman just remember what we have hidden in our phones

               User STOP TEASING US LIKE THAT

User I’m begging you admin release more behind the scenes pic

               Prema_team I’m doing the best I can (they’re threatening me as I type)

Dion.gowda I won that game actually

               Dorianepin of course Dion

               Kimi.antonelli We believe you Dion

               User they’re just too funny

<3

<3

Prema_team

Prema_team Kings and Queens of the season

F1A championship: Doriane Pin F1Academy champion, Biance P2, Y/N P3

F2 championship: Ollie F2 champion, Kimi P3

F3 championship: Paul F3 champion, Dino P2, Arvid P4

Comments:

User Having all your drivers in each championship top4 is really impressing

Ferraridriveracademy 👏👏

               Mercedesamgf1 we have 2 champions and not you 😝

               User not the academies fighting 😭

Yourusername don’t forget our amazing babies in F4 that dominated the top 5 of their championship

               Dion.gowda stop calling us babies

               Kean.nakamura.berta I’m literally a year younger than you

               Yourusername don’t care 😙

               Alexpowellracing I’ll take the compliment

User Prema dominance could never bore fans

<3

F1

F1 The best team award goes to Prema Racing winning constructor and driver championship in F2, F3, F1 Academy, FRECA and F4.

Comments:

Oscarpiastri Proud to say I was part of this team

Ferrari ♥️♥️

Maxverstappen1 Some bright future ahead for them

               Yourusername THE max Verstappen knows my existence and complimented me ?! brb I need to faint

               Arvid.lindblad she did faint

               User Y/N being real as always

Charles_leclerc proud of my son 🐻

               Olliebearman thanks papa :))

Mercedesamgf1 our kiddos are killing it 👏🖤

               User I’m gonna tear up, all the teams are so supportive!

Mclaren does anyone likes papaya?

               Racerbia 👀

               User IS THAT AN ANNONCEMENT?!!

               Landonorris you want to replace me admin? 🥺

               User not lando getting jealous 😭😭

Landonorris I'm happy for you, muppet kid

               yourusername don't make cry old man 😭

Lewishamilton I'm so amazed by my childrens

               Dorianepin aww thanks dad

               Kimi.antonelli grazie mille

Paularon_ I absolutly don't feel excluded because i don't have a grid dad

               Dinobeganovic_ same

               georgerusell63 well i'm always available

               User When did this post became an adoption center ? 😭

<3

Well, i really hope you liked it ! This was my biggest work ever, all those post were so much work 😭. Likes and reblog are always appreciated. Feel free to leave a comment or to correct any mistakes.

Bye Bye Babes !

[show-your-fangs]

What about a teenage!Jack where his friends are over and keep commenting how his Mom (reader) is attractive and Aaron finds it funny but Jack is mortified?

this is fucking GOLD. enjoy another installment of moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 665

CW: nothing, cursing mostly.

Tags/warnings: jack's friends being pervs, cursing, jack defending his mom and dad.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Aaron honestly couldn’t blame them. He honestly found it funny, how their cheeks would flush every time you walked past, seconds away from catching them saying the most inappropriate things about you. He knew they didn’t know he could hear them from his office, the angle keeping him hidden as he tried to work while also allowing for their voices to carry down the hall. 

Jack had brought his friends over for a pool day and he’d requested that the two of you leave them alone, that they could fend for themselves. But as much as he’d pleaded, you were still unable to stop yourself.

You’d made them snacks, prepared a homemade ice tea, would check in every so often to make sure they were doing okay. And every time, without fail, his friends would pretend to be utter gentlemen, thanking you profusely until you left them alone once more and they turned from the kids their parents through they were into the horny teenagers they really were. 

It became clear to Aaron immediately why Jack didn’t want you around. It had nothing to do with his independence but rather the fact that his friends clearly didn’t know how to act around his mom. They’d made every inappropriate comment a teenage boy could come up with, and every time Jack would groan or roll his eyes or politely ask them to chill. But every time you showed your face the comments would start up again. 

It was after lunch when shit hit the fan. You’d ordered a big family meal style delivery, had set up the large containers in the kitchen, with the boys’ help which they were eager to give, and had made a plate for yourself and Aaron. They thought you couldn’t hear them in the kitchen, thought they were being so slick, but they should’ve known better than to not wait for you to exit the room. 

“I still don’t know how your dad bagged her,” Eric started, clearly teasing. “She’s just so—”

“So out of his league,” Dylan finished and the two of them snickered together. 

“If I had a step mom like that…” Nick sighed and the other two chuckled, no words needed for the four of them to know what he wanted to say. Jack couldn’t help but cringe, the mere thought of his stupid friends thinking about you this way appalling. 

“You boys need anything else?” you said loudly from the kitchen, a cue for them to stop talking as you pushed the door open with your hip. 

“We’re okay, thanks mom,” Jack’s voice was chipper like it always was with you, always soft and kind. His friends’ immediately perked up at your requests, their eyes sparkling with what you could only imagine were requests that you definitely didn’t want to know about. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hotchner,” they practically sang in unison, their teasing only getting more pronounced as you walked down the hall, desperately trying not to give them anything else to talk about, but apparently that was completely useless.

“Check out her ass—”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” you heard Jack groan, his patience finally running thin. His friends stilled in an instant, your instinct to fix it slowly creeping up from your heart to your brain. But Aaron was quick, his hand wrapped around your waist before you could move. “How would you like it if I talked about your mom like that?”

Silence. 

“That’s what I thought,” he stated, confident. “So can you please just stop it?”

His words were followed by a string of mumbles and murmurs in agreement, ashamed apologies and admissions of guilt. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Aaron quickly pulling you into his office so the two of you could erupt in a fit of giggles. It was cute, almost too adorable that the boy you’d met so long ago was now defending your honor to his friends, was standing up for his mom, for his dad, for his family. 

okay i'm trying to get through some of the requests. i apologize for not being as active, you know how fanfiction authors' lives go off the rails sometimes.

i'm going to try and post a few of these before my "taking some time off" announcement. i've got a big week coming up but know i am trying.

tag list: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer

[fizk-o-writes]

Stay (TF2 Sniper x Reader)

"don't you go // won't you stay with me one more day?" (stay - oingo boingo)

team fortress 2: sniper x fem!reader smut

word count: 3.2k

note: his name is Mick Mundy, i headcanon him 36 here :3, it's also set in the 2000s.

tags: smut, light angst, rough sex and oral sex, older man/younger woman, slapping, australian accent.

ao3 link

my first ever actual oneshot on here, yay. hope you'll like it!

You met Mick Mundy on the internet. He was barely active in a small community of weapon enthusiasts, you were attending on a daily basis. pr0fessional_sn1pe always had the most useful comments to add and he was even funny sometimes, despite being a little awkward.The two of you engaged in short conversations in the forum comments from time to time. You decided to send him a private message, but when he didn’t answer for weeks you felt a little defeated.

Eventually the guy answered. A little awkward, but you pushed for a little more, talking to him, asking him, and trying every day. You didn’t know why you wanted to get to know him so much, but it worked. He became more active. The two of you were chatting everyday, logging on to talk to him became the highlight of your days. Online dating was getting popular, but you never saw yourself falling for a man through the computer screen. You didn’t even know what he looked like. It happened. And it was unbearable, more so when he confessed your feelings were mutual. Sexting was the next strange step you took in the web world, you were masturbating to the messages of a stranger, writing about what he would do to you. And he was supposedly doing the same on the other side. It was exciting, especially since Mick understood you so well. Not just sexually, emotionally too. He was very attentive to you, as you were towards him. You learned he was older, australian and he had a secretive job that kept him away for the most part of the year. Which made it close to impossible for the two of you to meet. And to make the dirty messages real.

Eventually, you got the chance to meet. After like a year of talking to each other every day, for hours, after having every kind of tension building between you and your older, online boyfriend. He was let go for a week in spring. You invited him to your house for that week without a second thought. Mick offered to take you to a hotel or somewhere, but you declined. You trusted him that much. You couldn’t wait to finally see him. Hear him, touch him. Even phone calls couldn’t be arranged, because he said the phones at his base are surely bugged. At least the mystery of him grew the anticipation quite well.

***

A camper van parked in front of your apartment complex. You were already looking out for it through the window and as it stopped you ran down the stairs, out of the building. A slender, very tall man got out of the car. His dark hair hidden under a brown cowboy hat, eyes concealed by yellow aviator sunglasses.

“Mick?” You asked, but you were already walking towards him at a fast pace. 

“Yea’.” The man answered. He had a coarse, deep voice and a smile on his face. You just hugged him, which he reciprocated after a little wait.  “Hello, sheila” The Australian accent was getting to you immediately.

“Hi, Mick.” You kept holding onto him, until he completely let himself go and started petting your back. “I’m so happy you’re here!” You let go of him, slowly. Your head had been on his chest, he was towering over you. 

“Me too.” His hands slid down to your waist, as you stepped back a little. His cheeks flushed ( very uncharacteristic from a man who’s 36 ). Mick took an empty-looking backpack, throwing it nonchalantly on his back.“Show me the way.” You led him into your modest flat, soon the two of you were sitting on the couch. He still seemed so tall. You really fell for him a second time when you noticed him outside. It was a little awkward, he seemed so out of place. Even after losing the hat and his sunglasses. Mick had his hands in his lap, like you did. His eyes were staring at you and the floor simultaneously.

“How was the drive?” You tried sparking up a conversation after some silence.

“Bit long, but good to not be there anymore y’know?” Mick finally kept his eyes on you, a strong australian accent coming through. His cheeks still seemed to be flushed.

“I understand.” You nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Ye, just… This is new, I’m happy to be here, but… You’re beautiful.” He mumbled out the words, nervously.

“Thank you.” The sudden compliment made you blush too, so now both of you were flustered. “It’s a bit weird, yeah… But we’ve finally met. Also…” You moved closer to him. “You can finally tell me about that secret job of yours.” 

“I didn’t wanna talk ‘bout that through the internet.” He seemed a little tense. “I… It’s not gon’ be pretty, ‘roo.” Mick scratched his head.

“That’s okay.” You reassured him. Curiosity was killing you.

“I work as a mercenary all year ‘round. I’m actually… A marksman. More specifically a sniper at the… Organization.” He was anxiously waiting for your reaction.

“So that’s why you know rifles so well. Makes sense. Sounds cool.” You smiled at him. The Australian was dumbfounded.

“Aren’t ya flipping out on that?”

“Nah, thought it was something shady. It’s fine.” You giggled. You were honestly not that surprised. You met him on a half-military website that was very possibly filled with nazis. Your online boyfriend being a sniper at some shady place isn’t the worst thing. And he never seemed to have been hurt, he would’ve told you or disappeared for a few days during the past year. That never happened, so you weren’t worried. Mick must be the best.

“Well…” He didn’t  know how to react, didn’t expect for you to take that so well. Woman after his own heart. “That’s good to hear.” You moved closer to him, your knees touching. 

Scandalous .

“Are you hungry? I’m not the best cook, so we could just order something.” You looked into his eyes. Honestly, you weren’t really hungry.

“Yeah, nah. We could later? If that’s okay?” He probably gathered all his courage, because he kept eye contact this time.

“Okay.” You leaned towards him, putting your hand on his arm. You did not expect for him to be this attractive; wide shoulders, his slender figure, tall as fuck with big hands. Not to mention he was so handsome, with fine lines on his face and piercing eyes, and the coarse voice… You accidentally hit the jackpot. 

Mick leaned in too, until your lips met. His was chapped, but his calloused hand finding your cheek distracted you from that. It was a nice kiss, slow, like getting to know the other. He was sweet. Then he pulled away slowly. 

“My…” Mick hesitated for a second. “Looks and age really don’ bother ya?” His australian accent came out a little breathy this time, you felt like your face was on fire. He probably felt it too, he left his hand there.

“ ‘course not. I think you’re handsome.” His face reddened again, making you smile. “And attractive as fuck.” You added. You knew he was a little insecure about his body. And you needed to change that. His vulnerability made you bold. You suddenly straddled him, making his lanky body hit the back of the couch. “Imma prove it to you.” You smirked at him, reviving your late night chats in your head. 

As he felt you lower your weight on his loins, he groaned, like a starving man. The rough hands grabbed your hips, made you moan. You looked slightly down at him, through a lidded gaze. “Wanted to do this for so long.” But desperately so since you first laid your eyes on him. ”Is… This okay?” Your hands held his shoulders, you hoped he wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Aye, sheila.” Was all he said before capturing your lips once again. The man’s pent up frustration was radiating from the tightening grip on your hips. Mick’s tongue hungrily licked open your mouth, then bullied himself inside. His thighs steadied under your lower half, as he started moving his hips upwards, his rock-hard erection bumping into your clothed private parts. Well, you were in a short skirt (because obviously , you were), only your panties and his pants were separating the two of you. You were grinding back on him, moaning into his mouth. 

“Fuck.” You broke from him to catch your breath, but the pace his large hands dictated on your hips was relentless.

“Yer already so wet” He groaned when one of his hands caressed your panties, leaving just one on your hips, that still kept you in place. He was strong. A whimper left your lips, body shaking as you felt the thick fingers dip in your covered clit. 

“‘Cause of you.” Your hand ran through his hair, your hips trying to get friction to your neediest part. Mick happily obliged, two fingers massaged the bud through your drenched panties. Your back arched, his movements made your body squirm, you were moaning straight to his ear. It felt even better than how you imagined it. Before getting completely lost on his fingertips, you remembered your original intentions, and slid off from his lap, body shaking.

“What are ya do…?” He trailed off, when you started to undo his belt, unzipping the pants and letting his cock free.

“Mick…” You looked up at him, and experimentally held it in your hand. He was really long. And pulsated under your touch. You pulled his foreskin down and he let out a throaty groan. You were looking into his eyes, he was looking into yours. The Australian had a more stern look on his face, his previous flustered expression disappeared. He started caressing your hair, gripping on it as you licked the tip. You still kept eye contact when you took the head in your mouth completely, but he threw his head back.

“Fuck.” He was still gripping your hair, slightly pushing your head down on him. Mick’s groaning and growling encouraged you, you swallowed half of him. “ Come on, sheila, you can do better.” His deep voice rumbled, his strong hand pushing your head down on his cock. Not pushing you all the way, just helping you bobbing your head, at first. Then he implied more force onto your skull. You were trying your best to not gag, but failed. Throat closed, tears in your eyes, but he kept you down a little. “Bloody hell.” Mick growled and let you go. You gasped for air, taking quick breaths. “Was that okay?” Mick held your face, until you calmed down. You’ve told him a few times you liked rough stuff, but he was still worried he let himself go so early on.

Your eager nods calmed him, you took him back in your mouth already. Before he could start pushing you down, your mouth was halfway down again, trying to fit as much as you can. “Darlin’, that’s it, you can do it, fuck.” He finally bottomed out, his hand deep in your hair, keeping you in place. “Good girl.” Mick hissed, fucking your throat a little, before letting you breathe again. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He praised you while leaning down to kiss you.

“Do you… Do you finally believe me? You’re hot , Mick.” You pulled away, quickly trying to fill your lungs with oxygen. Your hand was still on his cock and you kept jerking him.

“Guess I have to.” He took your hands into his, pulling you up and standing up as well. You were looking up at him still. “We should go to the bedroom, sheila.”

And there you were. The moment you were waiting for months, finally has come. Mick shoved you onto the bed. “Take your clothes off.” His red shirt was already on the floor, his trunks following. You threw your t-shirt, bra and skirt away, but kept on your panties. “Grundies too.” His voice was demanding, so you obliged. You laid bare before him.

“Bloody gorgeous.” He basically jumped on top of you, mouth on yours again, his cock rubbing on your clit, his hands massaging your breasts.Your moans were loud and desperate for more. Mick’s lips soon left yours, giving a little attention to your nipples, then traveling further down to his destination. “You have the prettiest damn cunt.” After that all you could hear was yourself. His tongue lapped at you, from your hole to your clit, his hot breath making you tingle. Big hands held your thighs back as he sucked in your clit, gently biting at it, flicking it with his tongue. Your body was shaking, hips grinding up at his mouth, thighs trying to close around his head. Your hands soon found his hair, gripping at the dark locks. When he slowed down, you finally opened your eyes, to be met with his gaze, fixated on you, from between your legs. The view made your pussy clench around nothing. Not for long though, as two of Mick’s thick and long fingers invaded you. Eye contact lost, bliss crawling closer. You saw stars when his hot mouth was back on your clit, wildly licking and carefully biting at it.

“Mick! Fuck!” You screamed out his name as you came undone on his mouth, his other hand holding you down, so you couldn’t scrum away from him. You kept shaking, you were overstimulated. Mick kept going on for a while, before stopping.

“Did ya like that?” He was smirking down at you, a feral look in his eyes as he rose to his knees. 

“What do you think?” Your body was limp already, your lungs were working overtime almost since he stepped through the door.

“Good then. Ya ready to go on?” Mick asked, jerking his cock just a bit above your belly. You saw how deep he’ll go inside, exhaustion disappeared in an instant. 

“Sure am.” You held your hands out, signaling for a hug. He leaned down, rubbing his erection on your wetness again. “Mick…” You looked into his eyes again. He stopped, waited for your words. “I love you.” The orgasm made you dizzy, perfect time to say it.

“Luv you too.” His smile was gentle this time, just like his kiss. His hips stopped, but this time you started rubbing yourself on him. “Eager, aren’t ya?” Mick smirked, positioning himself. “Would you wanna go slow or…?”

“Or.” You smiled, your eyes filled with lust.

“Atta girl.” He pushed himself in with one go. The air knocked out you. Again. “Fuckin’ hell.” The long dick reached your cervix, calloused palms took your small hands, lifted them up above your head. Your legs hugged his torso. He waited for you to get a little used to him and oh boy . He started pounding your pussy at an unholy pace, skin slapping loud. Until you found your voice, his loud, deep groans and growls filled the room. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, your back arched, legs trying to mold his lean body into yours. 

“Aye, how ya like that? You dirty, little cunt.” Mick degraded you and felt you spasm around his unrelenting cock. “Oh, you liked that. Answer me.” One of his hands let go of you and slapped your face. Not hard, it didn’t even sting, he just wanted to get your attention.

“Yea-Yes!” You moaned, you’d have never guessed he was a dirty talker. Now the free hand pinched one of your nipples, making you louder.

“That’s right.” Mick smirked, but he slowed down and pulled out. “Turn ‘round, sheila.” He said impatiently, you were on all fours seconds later. You wanted to be filled again. “Fuck.” His rough hands steadied your hips in one place as he impaled you on his cock again. Gave your ass cheeks some light slaps, pulled himself almost all the way out and shoved himself right back. That hurt. That just made your brain melt away. Hands grasping your pillows, saliva drooling out of your mouth as he was fucking you slowly, but hard. It felt like he filled your womb with every thrust. 

“Ya there?” The man panted behind you, because your moans died down. 

“Nah, not really…” Your voice was meek. Mick stopped immediately, but you didn’t. You kept lazily fucking yourself on his dick. “Don’t stop.” You barely got that out, before your brain went back to mush.

“Such a cockdrunk lil’ whore I found myself.” The pounding continued, his pace fastened, your moans filled the room again, along his quickening groans and curses. “That’s ma girl.” He pushed your back into the mattress, that made your back arch even more, so he could hit that spot just perfectly, over and over.

“Mick! Holy shi-“ Your legs shook, your pussy was pulling him in, deeper. Your body exploded, kept shaking under his thrusts. Mick suddenly pulled out, hot liquid painted your back and buttocks. 

“Bloody hell.”

***

Soon you were cleaned, hydrated, pampered and cuddled up, under the blanket, next to your boyfriend.

“This was even betta than I imagined, darlin’.” Mick spoke first, his hand drawing circles on your back. “Love ya.” He pressed a small peck on your lips.

“Agreed. Didn’t know you had a dirty mouth.” You giggled.

“Was it okay though? I didn’t hurt ya?” 

“Not at all. Next time you could try to be a little meaner. ” You winked at him, which he nodded at with a serious expression. 

“Are you hungry? Cause I’m starvin’ to be fair.” He looked down at your face. He smiled. He’s never been happier.

“Yeah, me too. Pizza?” You sat up, ready to get up to the phone. 

“You readin’ my mind.” 

***

The week passed. Must’ve been the happiest week in your whole life. You had deep talks, him deep in you multiple times a day and you felt calm. You felt comfortable. You felt happy. You never laughed so much in forever. It was so nice. But Mick had to leave. 

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to put him in an unfair position. But on your last night together you couldn’t hold it in and started sobbing. You kept pushing away the thought of him leaving all week, but you couldn’t anymore.

“Don’t go back.” You cried into his chest, while sitting on his lap in the living room. “Stay with me.” His big arms wrapped around you, his head resting on top of yours.

“I don’t wanna go. Don’t wanna be without you darlin’.” Mick’s voice was soft and sad. You let silence fall on the two of you before making a sound again.

“Can't you just quit that dumb job? I still don’t get why they keep you locked up the whole year.” Tears streamed down your face as you looked up at him.

“I wish it was that easy, but I can’t ‘roo. I’ll try to come up with somethin’, I swear.” His voice was also trembling a little.

“And… And couldn’t you just stay for one more night?” You were begging. It felt like half of your soul was being taken away from you. “Please…”

“If it was on me, I wouldn’t ever leave ya.” Mick hugged you tighter. “But I can’t.” 

***

Mick left the next day. You were all alone again. It was cold, it was sad. It felt like you’ve broken up, like you’d never see him again. His absence felt unbearable. You missed his touch, voice, body, smell… You had to make sure this long distance internet stuff worked out. 

You had to wait for him again. And yearn for him again. Even more than before. Hoping he’ll eventually come around again.

[di-42]

Amazingly, May has been a blessed reading month both quality AND quantity wise! Don’t get used to it, as when I start writing again the reading time will unfortunately go down, and I'm itching already. But in the meantime enjoy these treasures I’m offering you! 

Uncharacteristically, there are a couple of already very popular fics in this list, and they well deserve to be, but worry not! If you've already read the popular ones scroll up or down and you'll very likely find that hidden gem you're looking for! Because we all know it by now, don't we? We don't judge a fic by the number of kudos! 

As always, I’m tagging the writers’ usernames I know, and, as always, if you want your fic removed from this list please let me know!

All the (complete) fictions in this list will be added to the nice and accurate lists of di-42, witch, so keep an eye out for updates on my side blog.

But enough chit chat! At last, let me tell you about the wonderful things I loved about 

May’s Memorable Fictions

WIPs:

Scorn And The Saint-Maker, by beardo @e-rated-beardo. Rated E, chapters 40/?

Meet the protagonists of this story, Angel Fell and Anthony Crowley, a librarian and a professor at the university of Aberdeen. When they find another professor dead in what looks like a summoning circle, their lives get thrown upside down. This fiction is so, so good!  A mystery, an incredibly elaborate plot, delicious chemistry, and electrifying smut. The characters’ voices are perfect and the narration beautiful and touching. Humour, angst and elation alternate in this fantastic nearly-but-not-quite human AU. Yeah, you heard me, but you'll have to find out for yourself.

The Trouble With Hell, by @beerok23. Rated E, chapters 6?19.

Unfortunately, I have only been able to read the first two chapters of this WIP, and I can't wait to have a bit of down time next week and catch up on the rest (and then be miserable when I get to the point where I need to wait for weekly updates). But even in the first two chapters only the story is very compelling and I'm hooked! A mystery! Two podcasters! Our beloved ineffables starting off as rivals while attracted to each other! Don't wait for me to tell you more next month, go and read it now! (Inspired by the film I Love Trouble, 1994. No, I haven't seen it either, and yes, you can still very much enjoy the fiction).

Complete fictions:

There's No Algorithm For The Ineffable, by @thinkinginscripts. Rated T, 12k. P. Sep 24.

Aziraphale runs a matchmaking agency for queer professionals, and he's very successful at his job. Crowley has come to accept that he might need help to find a lifelong partner; unfortunately there seems to be something quite wrong with all three candidates Aziraphale introduces him to. Zero angst, this fic is heartwarming and adorable. 

Friends Don't, by @missunderstoodlyrics. Rated E, 33k. P. Dec 24.

Honestly, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I loved this story. In my comment on the last chapter I said that it was like an unexpected day off at work: precious, exciting, comfortable, you know it will be over all too soon but it’s one of those gifts that make life happier. In this enemies (meh!) to friends (ha!) to lovers (yay!) Crowley and Aziraphale work as advice columnists for two rival newspapers in Tadfield. The newspapers are bought by the same media company and our two heroes find themselves co-hosting a podcast. How will they cope? Oh, they’ll cope very well indeed, let me tell you. This fiction is uplifting and funny, the banter is clever without ever feeling like they are overdoing it, and the Ineffables react to their feelings in an insecure, fragile, but all too relatable -and fairly realistic- way. It never feels like the writer is pushing it. It became instantly one of my all time favourites.

Courage (A Reverse Trope Story), by @spectrallydistracted. Rated E, 30k. P. May 25.

This funny, deep, fluffy enemies to lovers human AU made me feel all the feels and ended safely on warm and fuzzy. Crowley and Aziraphale despise each other, but find themselves accompanying Maggie and Nina on holiday out of loyalty. It’s going to be a long week. Romantic and sexy, the fic explores the many ways courage can manifest, from the courage to recognise your mistakes to the courage to let yourself be vulnerable (and everything in between). Superfluffy ending.

Postcards From Paris, by ghostrat @mrghostrat. Rated G, 12k. P. Oct. 23.

I very seldom reread whole fictions, but I'm so glad I reread this one! (Thank you and shoutout to the Good Omens Fanfiction Club Community on Tumblr!)

Human AU. Crowley has recently moved to a new flat and he receives postcards meant for the previous owner.

Ghostrat managed to tell us the building of a lovely bond only through short messages.

I love Crowley's quiet and relatable vulnerability in this story, and I absolutely love Aziraphale’s mask of confidence shining through Crowley's POV.

The gentle jokes, teasing and feelings: all felt very well balanced, but not less emotional because of it. A classic.

Growing On Me, by @hermiola. Rated M, 120k. P. Jan 25.

I subscribed to this fic when it first came out and had been wanting to read it since then.

I'm SO glad I finally got to it! (Thank you Good Omens Fic Club on Discord!)

I loved it. 

Enemies to lovers, forced proximity human AU. Crowley is a rockstar in need of a lyricist. Enter erotica writer Aziraphale.

The humour throughout the story was a treat and more than once I got looks from my fellow commuters because I was giggling or snorting laughter. 

Crowley and Aziraphale's slow journey into introspection was very sweet to witness. 

I'm always partial to fictions that feature the Them and Warlock, and their characterisation here was spot on and really entertaining; I will love Hermiola's Warlock for life! 

This story was captivating, entertaining, sexy, incredibly funny, and made me want to read more whenever I had to put it down. Virtually no angst. A new classic!

To Catch A Ghost, by anatomicgirl @anatomic-girl. Rated T, 17k. P. Feb 25.

Such an intriguing ghost story! Spooky and sweet in equal measure. Human AU in which friends Aziraphale and Crowley are vloggers dealing with paranormal phenomena. On their way to Tadfield they find themselves stuck alone in a cottage belonging to an old lady and her niece. Even skeptic Crowley has to eventually concede that the cottage is haunted. Obliviousness in action, this fic was lovely!

Is There A Version? By @lookingatacupoftea. Rated M, 41k. P. May 25.

It’s no secret that I’m very, very picky about Season 3 fics. Mainly because of the way Aziraphale is usually portrayed, but also because I tend to prefer stories that are in (what I feel is) line with the vibes of the original material, so tension and danger without real angst, comedy, plot, craziness and the most varied theories. Action, side characters and romance, all thrown in. This fic delivers on all fronts! A very clever and original theory, with an even more original twist, the general tone is light even though the world is ending, Aziraphale has done nothing to be forgiven about, there are friends and team work and everyone gets a happy ending. It was a refreshing treat, I loved it so much! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing it!

One-shots:

Real Fire And Brimstone Stuff, by jessykast. Rated G, 5k. P. Aug 19.

I love the rare stories involving Warlock, and those where he is one of the main characters or are told from his POV, are a real treat. In this post season 1 fiction, uni student Warlock has a flatmate who's into occult stuff. Warlock is unaffected by it all, until he sees photos of someone his flatmate says is a demon. Warlock agrees to help summon the demon. Sweet reunion ensues. Lovely and funny. 

Ineffable Prankster, by SpaceGiraffe @nightshiftcaffiene. Rated G, 5k. P. Jul 24.

Written after S2 but set after S1, this adorable fiction is an account of how Crowley the menace gets the angel’s attention and -more importantly- why. Several pranks lead to fluff, confessions, and a new beginning.

What God Has Joined Together Let No One Separate, by alarmingly. Rated T, 10k. P. Feb 25.

The prose in this fic is so delicate and poetic and evocative. Unusually for the fics in my list, this story has a bittersweet ending and a somewhat angsty tone, but it’s oh, so beautiful. It starts the moment Aziraphale gets out of the lift in heaven, but it’s not a post S2 fiction, not really. It’s so much more. Without wanting to spoil it too much, I strongly recommend reading it if you like canon divergent AUs. Or, you know, if you like very good writing. But be ready for a heartache.

There Was Never A Dream To Compare, by @on1occasionfork. Rated T, 3k. P, May 25.

A Sequel to Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, this fic touched me just as deeply. It’s no secret that I’m partial to young master Warlock, and this fic is narrated in his POV, although in a human AU version of our Ineffables. This story is tender and delicate, it exudes love in all its different forms and it just makes you want to hold on to things. And to people. And I’m not crying, YOU ARE! But dry away those tears, this story has a happy ending!

The Pope Leo XIV/Good Omens Chronicles, by ireallyneedmoretea. Rated T, 333 words. P. May 25.

Hilarious snippets about the newly elected pope (Plus Gabriel, Beelzebub, and… Arnold Schwarzenegger!)

Blow Me, by @puzzl3cat. Rated T, 203 words. P. May 25.

Hilarious and sweet scene in which Aziraphale doesn’t shy away from what needs to be done. 

A Convoluted Conspiracy - A GOAD Writers Guild Word Of The Day Fic, by SazzyLJ @sazzyfics. Rated T, 3K.

Incredibly funny post S2 fiction, told partly in Muriel’s, partly in Eric’s POV. The demon Eric is up to something, and Muriel is determined to find out what. I don’t want to spoil it, so I won't tell what the bottomline of this story is, and what I loved most about it, but it’s extremely dear to me and to my headcanon.

The Art Of Being Seen, by @cheeseplants. Rated G, 3k. P. Aug 24.

Lovely and sweet strangers to lovers human AU. Aziraphale asks Anathema for advice on how to know whether he’s in love with someone, and Anathema tells him to stare into their eyes for two minutes and he will know. Such a shame that handsome, clever, funny date just won’t take his sunglasses off. Obliviousness in action!

Ambisexual, by fishey_me. Rated G, 2k. P. Feb 25.

Very sweet human AU where Aziraphale has been pining for Crowley for 20 years.

CATastrophy, by Savyl (Aerenii). Rated T, 8k. P. Mar 25.

This is a very original, adorable Ava furry take on 1941 part 3! Look, I'm not even a cat person, but I loved this story! Did you know that Mrs Henderson was a witch??

Poems:

Look Back, by @firstvisittoearth. Rated T. P. May 25.

This poem tore my heart open. Crowley’s last, silent plea before Aziraphale steps into the lift. So, so beautiful and so, so painful. The poet told me that what they wrote here in the poem is not their headcanon, and nor is mine. But the ache is still there. That kind of ache you want to bathe in to find comfort. Beautiful.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 8 - Caught in The Kitchen, Hidden in The Bathroom | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You and Trent were cuddled up on the couch, a blanket draped over both of you as the late afternoon sun streamed through the living room windows. The air was warm, filled with the soft murmurs of a documentary neither of you were paying much attention to. Instead, the two of you were locked in a lazy conversation, your head resting against his chest while his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. You leaned into Trent’s chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him and enjoying the comfort of his steady heartbeat. Trent chuckled, recalling a memory that had resurfaced the other week. Recently you and him went to the park you’d gone to a lot growing up. A park where Jack and all his friends would play footie in and you’d tag along for a glimpse of your teenage crush. But this other week in that very park, your crush, Trent, had given you a daisy and confessed something that had long lingered on your mind. Did he even notice you back then? He was about to tell you.

“Baby, you know how we went to the park the other day?” He asked and you hummed confirming. You tilted your head up to look at him, your curiosity winning over the quiet comfort of the moment. “It’s just I was thinking – it’s funny because…” he began to speak, stumbling through words, his voice soft and nostalgic, “I honestly had the biggest crush on you, even then, when we were younger. I wish I was braver to have done something but instead… you know, I just used to try so hard during those pickup games with Jack and all the lads if I knew you were there watching.” He smiled, almost beginning to laugh at himself. You tilted your head up to look at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. 

“Are you implying that you have a crush on me now?” You cheekily asked and he rolled his eyes. “Baby…” You pouted patronizingly at him with a tease. “But also, no. No, you didn’t,” you teased a little more, a smile spreading across your face. “You simply wanted to win those games. You’re the most competitive person I’ve ever met. I was not your concern!” He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Fairs, that’s true that I wanted to win,” he admitted, Trent grinned, his dimples deepening as he recalled the memory, “but I swear… I mean I could even make pinpoint accurate passes then but I was purposefully mishitting the ball just so it’d end up rolling near where you were sitting. You were definitely a concern every time you showed.” He told you. “I mean, you know me always want to show off a little, especially for you.” He chuckled, but his eyes softened as he looked at you. You giggled a little smitten hearing his admission, covering your mouth with your hand at the revelation. 

“You’re not serious…” you asked, smiling at the idea of him planning such an elaborate yet subtle way to get your attention - risking his performance in front of others just to get to you? You couldn’t believe it. He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he replied. “I’d watch out of the corner of my eye, praying you’d look up or notice me. Even if you just rolled your eyes at us, it was worth it.” You couldn’t stop smiling, the memory taking you back to those carefree days. 

“That’s so dumb,” you said, but your voice was warm and full of affection. “For a few reasons, first off you knew I was watching just for you, Jack was shit at footie so I wasn’t exactly coming to watch him.” You both laughed. And he pulled you in a little tighter listening intently for hopefully a less humorous secondary reason. “But also because I was just trying to get you to notice me. I’m impressed with myself that you thought I was just hanging out. I used to try to act all nonchalant, you know? Like I was beyond uninterested. I would say I didn’t want to go tag along with Jack to my dad again and again but an hour later – I was dressed….” You went to keep speaking but Trent cut you off. 

“And you always looked beautiful by the way.” He told you. Butterflies filled your stomach for your current and younger self knowing the extra effort you put in to go to the park had Trent noticing. It wasn’t anything elaborate but your slicked back bun was done well, you’d have your jewelry on, a nice matching sweat set. Simple but evidently… very effective…eventually. 

“You’re sweet. But it was a facade. I’d just sit on a bench purposefully making sure I was in view or if it was warmer, I’d be picking at the grass, always ‘annoyed’ and waiting for Jack to be done, but in my head… I was praying you’d come over and say something, anything really.” You giggled, almost embarrassed you were admitting you’d been trying so hard. Trent’s eyebrows shot up, a look of disbelief and amusement crossing his face. 

“Nah,” he said, his hand moving to cradle the side of your face. “You were hoping for me to come over? Babbyy…” He drew out the word with a frown, not dramatically, not teasingly like yours before but just with a bit of a pout. You nodded sheepishly, your cheeks flushing with the shared embarrassment and sweetness of young, unspoken crushes. 

“Yeah, well…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Every single time. I’d always come for you. To watch you playing– I think I must’ve met some of the other boys ten times over before I even knew their names. All I wanted…  I was just hoping you’d notice me.” You told him. Your words flaring with a smile and then fading out into almost a pang of sadness. Trent felt the switch. He shook his head, but kept a smile full of wonder and nostalgia on his lips. 

“I noticed.” He reassured you, kissing your temple. “I noticed you probably the first time you showed. I had to play it cool though. It was long.” He laughed. “Kind of mad, we went from that to this, no?” he murmured letting you know he understood how crazy this relationship was and how long it had been building for. You looked into his eyes, the space between you shrinking as your faces drew closer. 

“I guess it couldn’t stay under the surface forever. Was bound to bubble over,” you said, a laugh escaping your lips. Trent leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours, the kiss sweet and unhurried, as if savoring the lost moments from your past. 

“And bubble over it did. No matter how long it took… I’m glad I’ve got you now.” He pulled back just enough to whisper. His thumb traced your cheek as he looked at you, his gaze full of warmth and contentment. You nodded, resting your forehead against his. The whole room slipped into a euphoric still. But then you thought back to those long days at the park, where you’d sit off to the side, pretending not to care but secretly hoping for any attention. Your dad said it’d be good for you to be with Jack and his friends. Layla would even sometimes join you, but mostly because it was just so hard to sit at home at your old house that was filled with so many memories and so you went. You went as an escape and a part of that very escape was your developing feelings for Trent. You felt the lump in your throat form but you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to bring in all of those emotions and so instead you opted for another sweet joke. 

“You know, whenever a ball came over… I just thought that was shit aim,” you teased, nudging him lightly. He feigned a hurt expression. 

“Aye, aye, aye, relax. My accuracy has always been top tier.  Was doing it on purpose.” His voice softened, but it flared with cheek and competitiveness just the way you liked it. “I just wanted any excuse to get near you.” He cooed. You giggled, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. 

“I used to trot over to grab it but you used to look so uninterested in me, like you were too cool to care about any of it, about me,” he said, shaking his head recalling how rattled he felt but how determined he became. You smiled feeling like that wasn’t the case. You tried to play nonchalant but you were screaming inside. “I thought you were impossible to impress.” Trent laughed, his eyes lighting up at the image. “But then I started smiling at you, I’d shoot you a wink and then maybe just maybe sometimes  I think I caught you watching just for me.” He smirked.  You bit your lip, feeling a tinge of embarrassment that he noticed but also amusement. 

“What was I meant to do!” You yelped. “I wanted you to think I was cool,” you admitted, “ but then I crumbled…. as you well know. You were always so loud and confident, it was hard to not look. Even back then, you knew you were good.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“I tried to impress you. But to be fair, I knew I could,” he said smugly, the playful arrogance in his voice making you laugh. “But I think you’re underselling how good I really was. It was pick-up footie with schoolmates then I’d bounce off to the academy. You were watching because you knew I was the best one there.” He joked but also semi serious wanting to hear your confirmation he was the best. You rolled your eyes. You remembered once gushing to Layla about how good Trent was, that it was hot to see someone so talented at something. She teased you about having an easy way to become a wag. But that wasn’t it. He could’ve just been Jack's friend. The bouncing off to the academy after was the thing you cared about the least. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” You sarcastically snapped back. “More like, I was just waiting for you to make a fool of yourself,” you joked, your grin widening. “Skying the ball over the bar because you had to take every free kick.” You teased and Trent’s eyes widened but you could feel him loving the banter. Loving it secretly even more than a compliment. “Honestly, I think I’d have been a better player than you if I had joined the games.” You told him with faux seriousness. Trent’s jaw dropped in mock offense. 

“Excuse me? You think you could strike a better dead ball than me? ’Got a better right foot than me?” he asked, his voice incredulous but his eyes gleaming with excitement. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him further, leaning in closer with a smug smile. 

“Absolutely. I’d have shown you up, easy. Just didn’t want to embarrass you.” You quipped. He pulled away from you immediately, his face contorting into an exaggerated expression of shock that soon melted into a cheeky grin. 

“Yeah? That so?” he questioned, his tone full of playful challenge. “Alright then, if you’re so confident, you’re gonna have to prove it.” Before you could respond, he suddenly stood up from the sofa and, in one swift motion, scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised squeal, half-laughing and half-protesting as he carried you toward the glass doors that led to the back garden.

“Where are we going?!” you shrieked, still laughing as he ignored your protests.

“To the back garden,” he declared, a competitive glint in his eye. “If you’re so good, you’ve got to show me right now.” You couldn’t stop laughing, your heart racing with the thrill of his sudden challenge. 

“T! You’re being ridiculous!” you managed to say through your giggles, but deep down, you loved every second of it. Trent carried you effortlessly through the house, your squeals and laughter filling the living room as he made his way toward the glass doors that led to the back garden. You squirmed in his hold, trying to wriggle free, but he only tightened his grip around your waist, his laughter rumbling through his chest. “Trent!” you cried out, half laughing, half gasping. “Put me down! I’m not even dressed to go outside!” He grinned at your complaint, completely unbothered, and slid open the glass doors with one hand. The crisp air of early evening swept in, the sky had begun to turn shades of navy streaked with orange. He stepped out onto the grass, finally setting you down but keeping a firm grip on your shoulders to stop you from escaping.

“You think you’ve got a better right foot than me, yeah?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well… go on then. Show me what you’ve got.” He mocked you as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to feign an air of confidence even though you knew this was ridiculous. 

“I can’t play like this!” you protested, gesturing to your outfit—cozy lounge shorts and an oversized jumper of his but most of all slippers… hardly proper attire for any football.Trent raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. 

“Excuses already?” he teased. “And here I was, thinking you’d at least try to back up all that talk.” You stuck out your tongue at him, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Fine,” you conceded. “But don’t cry when you realize I’m actually better than you.” You were talking a good game but even with your decent athleticism aside… you were mildly nervous but you continued to joke about. “You’re not cute when you lose.” You teased him recalling all the times he’d simply lost a board game and how he’d pout. Annoyingly, it was actually cute but you’d tell him otherwise for the sake of banter and the moment. He laughed, and the sound was warm and bright in the fading sunlight. 

“I’m not a sore loser!” He yelped and you raised your brow silently telling him to be realistic. He was a bad loser. “Nah, alright, if you embarrass me, I’ll retire from football right now,” he joked, stepping back to give you space. “But I won’t hold back.” You rolled your eyes, feeling the playful competitiveness radiate between the two of you. He jogged off to a shed tucked in the corner of the garden where he had a ball stored, The game about to start as a lighthearted test of skill, with both of you brimming with playful energy. Trent, competitive as ever, had made sure to set the stakes high, a teasing grin stretched across his face as he dropped the ball onto the grass and rolled it toward you. The moment the ball reached your feet your heart slowed. You weren’t sure how serious either of you were being. This was a joke, right? What if he thought you were shit? What if he thought you were trying too hard? Nevertheless, with an exaggerated flick of your hair, you picked your head toward him. 

“Ready to lose?” you taunted. He feigned a look of horror but then smiled. 

“Never, baby,” he said, already moving into a more defensive position. “I rarely do.” He reminded him. You squared your shoulders, and with a grin, you nudged the ball forward with your foot, feeling your heart race. You took a step forward with it. Trent was all playful resistance, putting on his most intimidating game face while still clearly holding back. You juked left dramatically as a joke as if you were actually going to try to go past him and both of you bursting out into giggles. But still you took one more little jab at the ball just to edge it past him amidst the laughter—though, admittedly, it was more because he was enjoying the moment than you actually outplaying him. He turned round and dragged the ball back with his feet. He was going to be offensive now. Trent tapped the ball lightly, his feet dancing around it with a series of quick step-overs and fancy tricks, every movement of his ridiculously smooth. At first you were momentarily mesmerized, seeing it all so close up for the first time. You were experiencing a, yes, exaggerated, humorous, and overzealous, performance of his, but still, close to what it was like to face someone like him on a pitch. You stuck your leg out attempting to poke the ball away or pull it back to you, trying to swipe the ball away from him. He sidestepped easily, a laugh bursting from his lips, not mockingly just teasingly, as he kept the ball just out of reach; enjoying this way too much.

“Okay, okay, you can stop showing off!” you complained, trying to keep up, but he only chuckled, now purposefully dribbling circles around you. You stopped trying minutes ago. You, frankly, never really gave any of this silly game much effort.

“I thought you said you were better, no?” he teased, his voice full of mischief. His eyes glinted with pure joy, and you couldn’t help but smile even through your feigned frustration. Trent loved being good at things and this… winning a challenge, playing football… he was good at. The cool air was biting at your skin, but the warmth of the moment made it hard to feel anything but happiness. “Come on, you’re not even trying!” he taunted, shifting the ball back and forth with smooth footwork. He wanted you to actually try but you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of him. Feigning annoyance you groaned, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it…” You pretended like you were about to actually give it a go but you decided on a different tactic. With a devious smile, you waited until Trent had planted the ball under his foot, taking a moment to catch his breath while still managing to look smug. Then, without warning, you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his waist from behind and dragging your whole weight against him. Trent stumbled slightly, his laughter ringing out into the garden. 

“Oi! Ref!” he shouted, his voice full of playful outrage. “That’s a foul! A yellow card for sure! Get her off the pitch!” You laughed, clinging to him tighter. He twisted around in your embrace, trying to keep the ball pinned under his foot, but he was losing the fight. His laughter made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but grin as you pressed your cheek against his back, feeling the warmth radiate from him. Trent’s laughter began to subside, and he tried to turn his head to look at you, his eyes dancing with delight. “You’re a snake! You think you’re sneaky, huh?” he teased. “Trying to take me out by cheating?” You giggled, unrepentant, as you slid your hands from his waist up to drape them around his neck. 

“What? Me? Never.” Leaning up, you began to plant soft, ticklish kisses along his jawline, moving up to his ear and whispering, “You know, if you’d just given me the ball, I wouldn’t have had to resort to these tactics.” Trent stumbled a bit more, his knees almost buckling as he tried to resist the effect you had on him. His hands moved to hold your arms, and you took the opportunity to pepper even more kisses along his neck. Finally, he twisted fully around, his smile bright and wide, but before he could say anything more, you leaned up and kissed him properly. His eyes widened for a second, but he melted into it, the laughter leaving his body as the energy shifted between you. The kiss started sweet, the two of you still grinning against each other’s lips, but then Trent’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel his breath hitch as he gave in. 

“That… that was definitely a red card.” He pulled back just a fraction, his lips barely brushing yours as he whispered. His voice had dropped, becoming huskier, and you shivered at the way he looked at you. The playful atmosphere morphed into something more electric, more intense, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat rising between you. You met his gaze, your heart pounding. 

“Oh? A red card, really?” you murmured. He nodded slowly, his eyes darkening as his hands moved from your back to cup your face. 

“Yeah. But we can play on. I’m not sure I mind your tactics,” he whispered. His fingers traced your jawline, and the way he looked at you made your knees weak. The playfulness had melted away, leaving only a shared desire, and you knew the game was long forgotten. A smile tugged at your lips, but you leaned in, capturing his mouth with yours again. The air was still cool, the night sky overhead, but all you could feel was Trent, his warmth, and the way he made the world fade away. You both stood there, catching your breath and grinning at each other, the garden bathed in the last light of the day. It felt like one of those perfect moments you’d remember forever—just the two of you, tangled in laughter and love.

One night, it was a friend of a friends birthday party you all had been invited to; Jack, all his mates, Trent, Layla, it was a massive event. Your house buzzed with the energy of pre-party excitement. Music played from every direction on surround sound speakers. A few of Jack’s mates had already shown up, their laughter echoing faintly from the living room. You had invited Layla over to get ready with you, knowing you both wanted to look your best for the party. The evening was promising to be memorable, with everyone gathering together for the night out. Although a part of you was really anxious, you worried about your feelings, alcohol, and Trent mixing in the same room but you pushed it down. You giggled upstairs with Layla trying on outfits in your wardrobe, but had taken extra precaution ahead of time to hide any remnants of Trent; a jumper, some boxers, condoms, an array of items that frankly wouldn't be damning evidence but you were nervous. In the middle of getting dressed, you realized you desperately needed water—both you and Layla did. You’d promised her a drink to aid in staving off the inevitable hangover you’d both likely have tomorrow, so you ran downstairs in your relaxed outfit: oversized sweats and a tiny tank top. Despite your hair and makeup being perfectly done, you felt comfortable and at ease at home as you snuck down quickly but all it padded with a sense of nerves. As you made your way into the kitchen, you noticed Trent. He’d already arrived to pregame, his presence instantly shifting the air in the room. He looked incredible, wearing just a white t-shirt that highlighted his tan skin, his hair freshly trimmed, and a gold chain peeking out from beneath the neckline. The look on his face that lit up when he saw you was sweet, and genuine. A moment to be alone together again suddenly appeared but you'd do your best to ignore it. Not here. Not now.

“Hey pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice low and teasing but quiet. The nickname wasn’t something other people hadn’t heard. He’d called you it for ages but what you hadn’t done for ages was what you were doing lately. Something was very different. You were sleeping together to say the least. You rolled your eyes at him pretending not to care as you normally would, walking around the kitchen island to get your drinks. You’d say something eventually but you had to play it cool. Jack and all their friends were in the other room, Layla upstairs. You filled a cup of water, moving to fill a second. But before you could do that, before you could say anything to him, he closed the distance between you, reaching out to tug on the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you backward into him. You yelped, almost spilling the water you had just gotten. 

“Babyyy,” you whined instinctually, playfully, glaring at him with mock exasperation, but your pout couldn’t hold as Trent wrapped his arms around your waist. It was too natural now. It was as if any fear dissipated when he stepped within a foot of you. Trent knew everyone was occupied in the other room with a game, he knew Layla was upstairs so he couldn’t resist stealing this moment. He wanted you to be back in his arms. He held you tight, his touch warm and familiar, his grip grounding you in a way that made your heart race. He chuckled, pressing his chin against your shoulder. 

“Shhhh.” He hushed you calling him the pet name aloud although with a smile because he didn’t actually mind hearing it. “Can’t be doing that... but I just couldn’t resist you though,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. He thought you were alone, that this was a stolen moment between just the two of you. And so did you. You leaned back into him, pouting dramatically. 

“You made me spill my water,” you said, your voice half a giggle, half a protest. Trent smirked, clearly amused but unfazed. He leaned in closer, his face hovering near yours, his intentions obvious. His gaze held that gentle intensity that always made you melt, and you prepared to let him steal a kiss—

“OH MY GOD!” Layla’s scream cut through the air, making you both jump apart. Your eyes widened in shock, and you turned to see her standing at the base of the stairs, eyes as wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open. “I fucking knew it!” she yelled, her voice rising in pitch with excitement. “I fucking knew there was something bigger going on between you two! Oh my fucking god, how long has this been happening?!” She yelled running into the kitchen.  You stumbled out of Trent’s embrace, your face burning.

“Lay… oh fuck. It’s not… it’s just…” you tried to form a coherent sentence, stepping toward her in a flustered panic. “Just shhh.” You now hushed her.  Trent scratched the back of his neck, clearly equally rattled but there was a fullness to his cheeks.

“Lays, we’re just…” he began, trying to calm her down. But she wasn’t having it. She looked between the two of you, her eyes lighting up with even more surprise and delight. 

“This is serious! You two are so… so lovey-dovey! Oh my days. So it wasn’t a one time thing? Jack’s going to die when he finds out!” She babbled on too overtaken by her surprise to have any sort of decorum or consciousness, mindfulness regarding the delicacy of this all. You ran over to her, covering her mouth with your hand, your own heart pounding with anxiety.

“Please, Layla,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything yet. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just… not now. You can’t tell anyone. Please.” You whispered harshly pleading just to her. You looked at her seriously. A look she knew well. It confirmed you and Trent were more than nothing. Trent came closer to you both, still looking uncomfortable but trying to add to the appeal. 

“Yeah, we’re… just figuring things out,” he said cautiously, trying to convey the delicateness of your situation. “Just let it stay hush for now, yeah?” He told her. Layla pulled your hand off her mouth, her eyes wide and questioning. 

“Figuring things out?” she echoed, confused by the vagueness turning towards you for clarity but you didn’t have any. She could sense that. Her gaze softened, and she nodded slowly, realizing the tension between the two of you. Both you and Trent felt a twinge of awkwardness at what you had both said. Even though it was honest, Trent belittled you and his relationship down to figuring things out. Where Trent thought you may have been wanting to hide things entirely, forever. It was all so confusing. You wondered if he was downplaying your relationship, and he worried that maybe you were keeping things too ambiguous. It stung a bit, this uncertainty of what you both really meant to each other. But for now, officially… someone else knew. Someone knew that you and Trent were no longer just friends. Layla had seen the reality of what you and Trent were, how real and raw this thing between you was. The secret was out, and the weight of it felt equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

You left the room with a nod of certainty from Trent. You had no option other than to drag Layla upstairs immediately swearing her to secrecy. You couldn’t risk Jack overhearing this conversation downstairs any longer. You hated you hadn’t told her more since the first hook up but how could you? Trent shot Layla a wink and her jaw dropped as you pulled her to the staircase.  As soon as the door to your bedroom shut, you and Layla burst into almost panicked laughter, the nerves of her catching you with Trent bubbling over. Her giggles were of disbelief, yours in fear. Layla immediately threw her arms around you, still bouncing with shock and delight. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck! Why did you hide this from me!!?!” she squealed, her voice just barely above a whisper but it was strained as if the walls themselves might betray the secret.

“I’m so so so sorry... Seriously, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you admitted, guilt mixed with an overwhelming need to finally let someone in on everything. You couldn’t hold back the truth anymore, not with Layla’s eyes wide and eager. She tugged you over to the bed, her curiosity palpable. 

“Alright, secret's out. Spill it,” she demanded, crossing her legs and folding her arms, ready to listen. You took a deep breath, searching for the words to explain the whirlwind of the last few months. 

“It’s been…” You couldn’t bite back the smile that Trent brought to your face.

“Oh my god!!!! So you’ve been properly hanging out, not just fucking?” Layla jumped the gun, completely shocked by the look the relationship brought to your face.

“Layla….” You steadied her. You’d tell her everything, if she’d just be patient enough to listen. She waved an apology telling you to go on. “It’s been so good. Honestly, I never expected it to actually happen, but he’s just…” Your voice softened, the warmth flooding your cheeks as you thought of him. “He’s been so sweet, Lays. Like, really sweet. Thoughtful, kind, funny. He has this way of making me feel like I’m the only one in the room, even when we’re hiding from the world.” You started to let the stories spill out, one by one: the little glances he’d give you across crowded rooms, how he’d brush his hand along yours in passing, those quiet moments spent tangled up in each other’s arms as morning light painted shadows on the sheets. “We’d just lay there, not needing to say anything,” you murmured. “He’s so different when it’s just the two of us. There’s this softness to him, this… I don’t know, it feels so real. But—” You stopped, that familiar ache settling in your chest. Layla’s brows furrowed slightly. 

“But?” she prompted gently. She was biting back a million questions, comments, and concerns. She was trying just to listen, no opinions just yet.

“It’s like… every time we’re together, I feel like we’re on the verge of something real. But the second he leaves, I’m left wondering if I even exist in his life outside of those moments.” You let out a sigh, frustration mixing with the warmth of your memories. “It’s just—everything’s hidden. We’re hidden. And I’m terrified that I’m just some secret he’s keeping, like… like one of his other ‘girl of the season’ situations.” You explained sheepishly. You hated that this insecurity came with all the joy. You were almost embarrassed to let Layla into how complacent you’d been to it all. 

“So, you’re afraid that he sees you like he’s seen other girls in the past? Just… temporary?” Layla looked at you thoughtfully. You nodded, looking down, feeling the weight of the confession. 

“He says it’s different, and when I’m with him, I believe it. I want to believe it. But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m living this double life, like I’m only part of his world when it’s convenient. It’s one thing to keep it from Jack, but keeping it from you, from everyone else—it just makes me feel like… maybe he’s not serious about this. About us.” You muttered. Layla reached over, squeezing your hand, her face softening with understanding. 

“I mean to be fair… I don’t think girl’s of the season have been given cars no strings attached.” She smirked teasingly knowing this relationship had been long brewing. “But that’s kind of the point… you could never be them. This situation is so sensitive. But, you know… it sounds like it’s real to you. I think what’s hard is that you are not just a secret in his world, you’re a big one. He winked at me when we left, like a confirmation I’d keep a tight lip. And I get that it’s complicated, but you deserve someone who isn’t afraid to let everyone know how he feels about you. Publicly… Openly.!” She told you the opinion you were waiting to hear. The one you knew had kept you from telling her to begin with. One you had a hard time stomaching because you knew it was correct.  You bit your lip, her words hitting you harder than you expected. 

“That’s the thing… when I’m with him, I don’t doubt it. I know he cares. But the minute he’s gone, it’s like I’m pulled back into reality, and I realize that in addition to his footballer lifestyle… layer on the fact that I’m still just—Jack’s little sister. And the thought that I might never be more than that to him—it terrifies me.” You earnestly admitted. Layla wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her expression soft but determined. 

“Look, you deserve to be someone’s first choice, not a hidden chapter in their life. I know it’s scary,it probably is for him equally but maybe it’s time to be honest with him about what you need. All these little moments—they’re beautiful, yeah. But you deserve more than just stolen hours and hidden smiles. You deserve a real relationship. At the very least, I deserve a relationship you can at least tell me about.” She teased with a smile but it was tense. Her words lingered, settling somewhere deep within you. It was the honesty you’d been too afraid to face, the thing you’d been pushing aside every time you let yourself get lost in Trent’s arms. And as you sat there, talking it through with Layla, you felt the weight of your choices, your emotions sharpened into something you could finally name. You had a choice to make—keep clinging to the comfort of those stolen moments or take the leap and tell Trent that you wanted, needed, something real. “And… you can’t change the fact you are Jack’s sister.” She sheepishly reminded you hesitantly almost as if she could feel the knife twist inside of you from it. You and Layla sat quietly, the weight of her question heavy in the air between you. She looked at you expectantly, and when she asked when you’d tell Jack, the answer flew out of your mouth without hesitation.

“I can’t,” you said, the words sounding almost defensive, but as they hung there, something shifted inside you, a realization settling in your gut like a stone. Layla noticed it, too. Her face softened as you fell silent, the gravity of it finally hitting you both. 

“If not now… when?” she asked gently. Her words were careful, but the question was razor-sharp, and you felt it cut right to the heart of everything you’d been holding back. You thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time. When would there ever be a right time? Layla seemed to read every doubt as it flickered across your face. She sighed, trying to keep the worry out of her voice but not quite succeeding. Your relationship with Trent unraveling before your eyes. It took all of two questions for the foundation to shake. “Babe,” she started, reaching for your hand, “If you really want him and he makes you happy… that’s all any of us want for you. Jack just wants you happy. It might take him a while, but he’d get over it.” She paused, giving you a small, uncertain smile. “But… I won’t lie, it might be a bit of a mess. Especially now that it’s been hidden so long.” She slyly reprimanded you for not even filling your best friend on this whole situation. She was right. Was she right? You nodded anyway, undecided but unable to look at her directly. You hadn’t just hidden this from Jack—you’d hidden it from her, from everyone. And the longer it had gone on, the more it had felt like the walls were closing in. You looked at her, the weight of the truth crashing over you like a wave, pulling you under.

“How did I let it get this far? How did I let it become… this?” The guilt twisted in your chest, and you almost couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Layla’s eyes. “How could I lie to you, to Jack, and for what? To be a secret hidden away in his mansion?” She squeezed your hand, trying to find the right words. What once felt exciting felt anything but.

“Hey, listen,” she said softly, “I know it’s more than that. It must be to him as well. He’s risking a lot. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t real, if there wasn’t something worth all this.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But… I get it. This isn’t you. Keeping secrets, hiding things—it’s not who you are. Never has been.” And as she said it, you felt it. The ache of it, how far you’d drifted from who you wanted to be. You’d always trusted Layla, trusted Jack, and now here you were, caught between fear and love, between loyalty and your own heart. 

“I didn’t technically lie,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “I just… omitted the truth.” You sheepishly told her, reminding yourself that you also trusted Trent and your heart and that’s why you ended up here. Layla nodded, her face thoughtful but filled with understanding. 

“But does it feel worth it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. You were silent, unable to answer. Because the truth was you didn’t know if it was worth it—worth the risk, worth the lies, worth the tension pulling at you from every angle. And as you looked back at Layla, her eyes full of hope and worry, you wondered if you’d have the courage to find out. 

Maybe you didn’t know exactly what you wanted out of the relationship but tonight, after a tequila shot that ignited a confidence you didn't realize was simmering, you and Layla both decided what you wanted, for at the very least tonight; was him. The night unfolded in a familiar dance between you and Trent, just as it always had. You stayed close, barely touching, your hand brushing his as you passed by, leaning into him when you laughed, your voice lingering just a bit too close. But then, you pushed it further. You caught his gaze and held it, a mischievous spark lighting up in your eyes. As the party pulsed around you, you slipped closer, cupping the shell of his ear, whispering something lighthearted into his ear while your teeth grazed his earlobe, feeling his whole body react. He turned, a cheeky, almost disbelieving smirk spreading across his face, clearly caught off guard but thrilled by the shift. 

"Oh, so you want to play that way?" he teased, his tone low and daring. You two always tucked off at parties this wasn’t news but what you just whispered was. You nodded, flashing a smile, more certain than ever. He chuckled, narrowing his eyes in that competitive, confident way that both thrilled and terrified you. "I don't lose, baby," he reminded you, his voice a challenge as he leaned back, arms crossed, watching to see what you'd do next. The thrill of his words sent a shiver through you, your heartbeat matching the tempo of the music, and suddenly, it was all a game of daring glances and lingering touches, neither of you breaking the tension. So you continued to tease as you brushed your hand over his as you reached for a drink, let your fingers trail across his back as you slipped past him, laughing a little too sweetly in his ear. And Trent was no less relentless, stepping close enough that his breath tickled your cheek, his hand brushing your lower back just as he moved to let someone by, his gaze a quiet, playful reminder that he was more than ready to keep up. It became an unspoken competition, each of you pushing the limits just to see who would break first. Now that you had had a taste, knowing what was possible, every moment grew sharper, more electric, and even in the crowded room, it felt like it was only the two of you, locked in this game of desire and restraint, neither one willing to give in-yet. Until an idea popped into your head to get him to cave. 

"Lay, can you see my nipples in this?" you asked, feigning nonchalance as you all stood in the kitchen. You turned solely to Layla, your eyes wide with playful innocence as you tugged at the hem of your shirt. [index ref] The overhead recessed lighting illuminating you. You tilted your head slightly, looking down at the thin shimmery material, your fingers tracing the fabric, exposing just a little more of your skin. It was a bold question but Layla hummed not phased in the least. Playing her role. Yes, you wore this shirt because you could do just that very thing. 

"Babe, I think that's the point of that top," she teased, her eyes sparkling as she looked you over. Her humor was unwavering in character, pretending this wasn’t a planned conversation. "But it's a party, you look stun! Your tit’s are perfect. Arguably, the best part of the fit." She told you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Trent shift slightly, his jaw tightening as he took another sip of his drink. You knew he was trying to hold back, that this question was pushing him to his edge. So, you decided to take it even further, turning to him with a coy smile.

"What do you think, T?" you asked, tilting your head as if you were just seeking an honest opinion. His eyes flickered over you, his hand tightening around his glass, his expression a mix of amusement and restraint.

"Think you know what I think," he said, voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone. He shot you a look, something intense behind his gaze, and you could see him fighting not to react as much as he wanted to.

“Well could you share with the class?" Layla interrupted, prompting Trent to actually have to articulate his feelings and smiling as she did it. You shrugged, tossing her a wink as if this was all in good fun, but you felt the charge in the air between you and Trent. You'd pushed him just far enough, and the look in his eyes told you he'd make you pay for it later. Trent's gaze dropped, his expression shifting, a mix of amusement and tension in his eyes as you dared to pull him further into this game. His grip tightened around his drink once over, clearly trying to hold himself back. He shot you a low, heated look that felt as much a warning as it did a challenge. 

"You're pushing it," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. But there was a hint of a smirk as he looked at you, a spark that showed he was just as invested in this as you were.

"Why?" You teased aloud, cocking your head with feigned innocence, fingers lightly tracing the edge of your top, letting his eyes follow the path. "Does it not look alright?” You asked. He exhaled, a slow, measured sound, his gaze moving from your shirt to your face.

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," he replied, fighting a grin, as his hand discreetly brushed your arm. His voice was soft, almost casual, but you could feel the tension behind it, each word carrying a weight he didn't want to admit out loud. He was a little annoyed that you now had Layla on your team to tease him. It was 2 v 1.  You now had a man advantage.

“So you don’t like it?” Layla asked Trent, feigning offense for you. Trent rolled his eyes at her. She laughed, shaking her head.  You just smiled, playing along, turning to Trent with a mischievous look.

"Wait, you don’t like it?" you pressed, pretending not to notice how close you'd pulled him into your orbit. Trent took another breath trying to think how to navigate this. All he wanted to do was drag you into any bedroom and tell you just how much he really liked the way you looked but he couldn’t. Layla already found out tonight, no one else could. His silence was telling but also deafening. "Do you like the way I look or not?" You asked with drunken confidence. He looked at you, eyes sharp, with a grin he couldn't contain. 

"Enough. You know my answer. Drop it" His voice had that edge again, that quiet challenge that sent a thrill through you. There was a split-second pause, a moment charged with the unspoken, before you stepped back, keeping your own playful expression in place. But you knew it was a matter of time before one of you broke, before this playful game turned into something real.  

As the night wore on, the crowd and music faded into a backdrop, leaving only the charged atmosphere between you and Trent. It was an unspoken battle of wills, a daring game that grew bolder with each passing second. You felt his eyes following you across the room, and the thrill of being wanted, truly wanted, filled you with a mix of confidence and something new, something closer to risk. The sheer top and conversation didn’t prove to be enough and you were starting to feel a bit… needy. The music pulsed as you approached him with a casual smile, keeping your expression neutral while letting your fingers brush along his arm as you passed. He barely reacted, save for a flicker in his gaze that told you he felt it. Moments later, he slipped past you in a crowded corner, his hand just grazing the small of your back as he leaned close, lips at your ear. "You're not going to win," he whispered, his voice both soft and daring. You shot him a challenging look, cocking your head just slightly. 

"You think I'll back down that easily? For you?" You taunted. A knowing smirk played on his lips as he took a slow step closer, his arm stretching around you to reach for a drink. His body pressed just lightly against yours, lingering in a way that made your skin tingle. 

"Not sure you know what you've started," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally pulled away. A small gasp left your lips, covered by the music, as he gave you a smug look and turned his attention back to the party. It only made you more determined. The evening continued like this-every move, every touch, carefully calculated. You brushed his shoulder with your hand while walking by, your fingers trailing just enough to make him turn. He placed a hand on your arm, steadying you as you reached for your glass, his fingers pressing just enough to remind you of his presence. By the time the lights dimmed, your heart was racing. You were now getting antsy. He was too good at having restraint. You now were beyond needy. 

"Not going to quit, are you?" You leaned in close, brushing your lips by his ear as you whispered. A chuckle escaped his lips, low and filled with confidence. 

"Not a chance. I told you-l don't lose." He smirked. You took a bold step forward, letting your hand linger on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm as you looked up into his eyes. The tension was almost overwhelming, each of you daring the other to give in. But instead of backing down, you pulled him even closer, so close you could feel his breath on your neck, close enough to hear him exhale as his hand settled firmly on your waist. This wasn't the subtle game it had started as— it was unmistakable now, and neither of you conscious enough to know if anyone would noticed. No one had, too caught up in their own drunken escapades to noticed you’d fallen down a rabbit hole in yours. You slipped your hand around his back, pressing into him as the tension between you reached a breaking point. Trent looked at you, a mixture of heat and amusement in his eyes as he brought his lips close, stopping just shy of kissing you, letting the moment stretch out until it was nearly unbearable. "You want me to call it a draw?" he murmured, voice thick with that same mix of excitement and restraint. You smirked, shaking your head just a fraction. Your heart raced at the thought of being alone with him, away from prying eyes. You'd fantasized about this moment since your last and now you wanted it even more. The thrill of it almost being public but still hidden turning you on an embarrassing amount, pushing any clear thinking out the window. 

"No, I thought you don’t lose." You reminded him. And he didn’t. You did when you tucked off to the bathroom. The party’s buzz felt distant as you stumbled down the hallway, your movements light but unsteady, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Your skin burned with the heat of Trent’s lingering touch, your head spinning from the intensity of his gaze, the press of his body against yours. You’d hit your limit, unable to take the teasing any longer, and now all you could think about was escaping to collect yourself Trent’s dark eyes followed your retreat, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched you sway slightly in your steps. You didn’t turn back—you couldn’t. If you did, you’d be pulled right back into him, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself together. Trent chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He knew exactly why you were walking away, and the thought of you trying to resist him only made him more certain of his power over you.

When you reached the bathroom, you pushed the door closed with a soft thud, pressing your back against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. But you were determined and horny. Your fingers trembled as you peeled off the flimsy sheer top you’d teased Trent in the whole night, your skin cooling in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, the flush on your cheeks, the messy allure of your hair, and the way the glow of the dim light seemed to highlight every curve. You bit your lip, tilting your head as you studied your reflection, feeling bold under the influence of tequila and Trent’s attention.You grabbed your phone, angling it just right as you snapped a few photos in the mirror, each one bolder than the last. Finally, satisfied, you selected the one that captured just the right mix of sultry and confident. The thrill of the moment rushed through you as you typed out a single message.

You hit send, your heart pounding as you imagined his reaction. Across the party, Trent felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. A signal of victory. His smirk deepened as he pulled it out, casually unlocking the screen. When he saw the photo, his breath caught for a split second, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his eyes lingered on the image. You looked unreal. Without hesitation, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and straightened up, his casual demeanor hiding the urgency he felt. He didn’t bother replying; words wouldn’t cut it. He needed to see you, touch you, remind you exactly why you couldn’t stay away. As he weaved through the crowded party, his smirk stayed firmly in place. Trent Alexander-Arnold was a man on a mission, and he had every intention of making sure you regretted ever starting this game. 

You waited for him, like you always had. The air in the bathroom felt thick, charged with anticipation. Your heart raced as you adjusted your stance, bracing yourself for what was to come. A soft knock broke the silence, cautious yet laced with the kind of confidence only Trent could muster. You bit your lip, smiling to yourself.

"It's me," he murmured through the door. You hummed softly in confirmation, and he didn't hesitate to slip inside. The door closed with a quiet click, and the lock turned with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. "Baby, baby, baby…," he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he leaned casually against the door. You couldn't hold back your smirk. His presence filled the small room, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. "You going to be gracious in defeat?" he asked, his eyes dark and focused as he closed the space between you. You tilted your chin up defiantly, even as your pulse quickened. 

"You never told me if you liked the top or not," you countered, your voice a soft challenge.Trent's smirk widened, predatory, as he stepped closer. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him with a force that made your breath hitch. The edge of the marble sink pressed into your back as he pinned you there, his body crowding yours.

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a delicious shiver down your neck, "I might like you better without it.” Before you could respond, his lips descended on your neck, warm and insistent, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your knees weaken. You gasped, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders for support.

"T..." you started, but your words dissolved into a moan as his mouth trailed lower, sucking softly at the sensitive spot near your collarbone.

"You were being too obvious," he scolded lightly between kisses, his voice vibrating against your skin. You tried to protest, shaking your head. 

"I wasn't..." you began, but the sentence fell apart as his teeth nipped at your neck, followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue.The sound that escaped your lips was involuntary, a mix of frustration and desire. "God, I fucking love how your lips feel on me," you breathed out, your head tilting back as he smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as he continued his slow, deliberate assault. He wasn't just kissing you-he was claiming you, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried to play coy, he would always have the upper hand.

"Say it again," he murmured, his lips hovering just over your jawline. You barely had the breath to comply, your fingers curling into his shirt. 

"I love it," you whispered. "I love the way you-" Trent silenced you with his lips on yours, cutting off the confession as his mouth moved with an intensity that left you dizzy. The room spun, and for a moment, the world outside that bathroom didn't exist. "We’ll be quick and you’ll be quiet, yeah?” he said, his voice dropping and getting huskier. You looked at him in a haze, your eyes taking in his muscular frame, accentuated by the soft glow of the lighting. 

“I’ll be quiet but this won’t be quick," you whispered, reaching up to caress his face. Trent's eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in another passionate kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting the remnants of the liquor you'd been drinking. You moaned into his mouth, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in his arms. Breaking the kiss, Trent trailed his lips down your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. He nipped at your sensitive skin, causing you to arch into him, craving more. 

"I think we’re getting a little reckless," he murmured against your skin almost tauntingly.

"Absolutely," you whispered, your voice breathy with anticipation. Trent's hands came to palm your bare cheat. Finally after all night, all that teasing, behind that flimsy material, your tits were all for him. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. 

"We should maybe stop" he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. He was mocking you. He wasn’t going to stop. Not in a million years and you both knew that. You leaned back against the marble counter, allowing him access to your body. 

“Definitely.” You whined as his kisses to your jaw, over it, working down your neck towards your collarbone diligently. He sucked on a sensitive spot, bitting a little with his teeth pulling at your skin. You hissed at the pain and then melted into pleasure as he continued sucking over the spot soothing it with his tongue. He placed a few more harsh bites on you leaving behind marks as your eyes rolled back in pleasure feeling his perfect lips. Trent moved over your body in what felt like slow motion as he reached your tits. You could barely think straight as his lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently at first, then with increasing urgency. His tongue teased and flicked, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You threaded your fingers into his curls, holding him close, encouraging him to continue.

"You love this, don't you?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire, muffled against your skin. "You wanted to get caught.” He told you partly out of curiosity and partly out of seduction. 

"Yeah," you breathed, your head falling back as he switched to the other nipple, lavishing it with equal attention. "Don't stop, please." Trent's hands traveled down your body, his fingers deftly unzipping your skirt, sliding it down your legs until you were before him in just your panties and heels. He took a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form, a look of pure admiration on his face.

“You’re fucking unreal.” He cooed a bit in disbelief caught in a place of wanted control and loosing any sense of it around you. “We’re gonna get caught, you want that baby?” he said, his voice thick with mock. You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and reached for his belt, eager to touch him. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, but soon you had his trousers unfastened, revealing his boxers, tented with his obvious arousal.

“Please.” You whimpered as took over, quickly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, standing proudly before you. You sank to your knees, taking him in your hands, stroking his length. Trent's breath hitched as you leaned forward, licking the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded there. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, earning a groan of pleasure from him.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he muttered, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, your throat opening to accommodate his girth. Trent's hips thrust gently, meeting your rhythm, as he savored the sensations you were providing. 

“Do you like winning, baby?” You mumbled sloppy  words, knowing they’d only turn him on more. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, as you sucked and teased, determined to give him the best blowjob of his life.

"I'm close, baby," he warned, his voice strained. "But you’re gonna let me come inside you, hmm?" He asked but really he was telling you. You stood, your body humming with desire.  His hands pushed your hips towards the sink counter. The cold marble protruded into your back. You gasped but he swallowed it with a kiss. He lifted you up easily and placed you on the counter. The kiss was hot and heavy, his tongue immediately invading your mouth and toying with yours. He let his hand drift back down and slid one finger directly inside you eliciting another gasp from you. His sudden moments made the base of your spine tingle, but when his thumb began to draw precise circles on your clit, your body shook slightly as a deep moan got lost in his mouth. When he dipped another finger into your wet heat, he pulled another deep moan from you and in an attempt to push you closer to the edge, he curled his fingers even further against that one spot and pressed his thumb into your clit harder. It didn’t take long until you came around his fingers. Your slick dripping down his hand. He pulled his fingers out slowly covered in your juices, he stuck them in your mouth and you greedily sucked his fingers licking around them like you just did his cock while he began pumping his leaking hard on with his other hand. In swift movements, he was aligning his cock with your entrance. His hands gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. With one smooth thrust, he filled you, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both of you. He dropped his forehead to your chest, trying to avoid cumming on the spot.

“T, baby.” You could only manage another whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, you could feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his voice raw. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own. The party boomed outside marrying sounds of the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin and your mutual moans of pleasure behind the closed door. Trent's hands roamed your body, squeezing your boobs, pinching your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through you. He leaned down, his lips capturing one nipple, sucking and biting gently, as his hips continued their relentless pace.

"You're so good f’me baby," he panted between kisses. "Why’d you have to tease me all night. You knew I’d give you this cock tonight” He told you as you arched your back, pushing your tits into his mouth, craving more. 

"I wanted it now though," you managed to say between gasps. “Wanted you to fuck me baby. You were playing with me." You tried to pout but your lips parted when Trent's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he neared his climax. He withdrew his length almost completely before slamming back into you, hitting your sweet spot with each stroke.

"Fuxk, you’re gonna make me cum again," you whispered, your nails digging into his back. His fingers dug into your skin and his head fell back. He tilted his head back up and looked directly into your eyes. Your heart skipped a bit at the attention. 

“Be a good girl right now. Cum f’me. Cum on my cock while everyone is out there. Don't hold back." He told you through a grunt, his hips moving faster, his body slick with sweat. He smoothly slipped his fingers in your mouth again, stopping your words. You sucked on his fingers desperately dragging your tongue around them, split pooling in the corners of your mouth. He moaned at the sensation. He popped them out quickly though. His wet hand racked down the front of you dipping to come play with your clit. You gasped and let out a filthy moan as he started to draw tight circles around it.  Your orgasm built, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you cried out, your body trembling as you came, your walls clenching around his throbbing cock.  “Good girl. Doing so well, baby. Told you I don’t loose” Trent said with a smile pulling across his face having to bite his lip just from the sight of seeing you cum as his cock continued to pump in and out of you. You wanted to yell at him annoyed but you couldn’t, losing felt too good. His fingers stayed playing with your clit for a little as you trembled, starting to overstimulate you.

“Baby, please cum inside me. I need you.” You begged feeling the overstimulation turn into another bout of pleasure that was consuming all your thoughts, your brain turning to mush as he continued to fuck you. You needed him to fill you up. You loved Trent having control of you, letting him fuck you hidden away in this bathroom. Layla’s cautions evaporating. 

“I got you, baby. Cum for me one more time. Cum with me, yeah?” He whispered in your ear. Your pussy dripped around him. You bit your lip, looking at him with desperate doe eyes. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. “Fuck.” Trent finally filled you, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside you, his breath hot against your neck.  As your heart rates slowed, he pulled your body into his tighter. Goosebumps arose on your skin, finally able to notice the cool of the sink counter contrasting to your hot skin. He wrapped his arms around you so tightly. Your sweaty skin sticking together. The temperature in the atmosphere of the room was so humid. Your eyes stayed closed for a little, you were completely saturated with bliss. You could barely breathe but you had never felt better in your life. 

“You okay, baby?” He whispered into your neck. He rested his head down on your shoulder. You took another deep breath before smiling. “Yeah?”  he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling his heart pounding against you.

"Shit sorry.” You apologized but Trent shook his head dismissing it. It was so reckless but he wanted this just as bad. “I hope no one heard," you confessed, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, starting to feel reality seep under the door and into the room but not being pungent enough to get your mind out of this blissful state of being in front of  him. Trent's eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

"Nah, we’re okay. We’ll be okay," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.  "I got you, baby.” He told you. The sincerity in his voice kept the goosebumps raised on your skin. You giggled almost delirious, your heart fluttering with both nerves and joy at what just happened. The world outside the room started to fade back in more and more but the anxiety that came from your conversation with Layla earlier in the night had melted away entirely by the heat of Trent’s proximity.

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Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 9 - Waiting xx