#i've been trying to get this whole idea down for ages

[thelostconsultant]

Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar finds out he has a son, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to be the father he deserves.

Note: Oscar is in his early 30s in this. Also, I've been going through the trash can (exported posts from the old blog), so most of it might be familiar.

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarifies as he glances over at your boyfriend. You’ve been together for three years, he has been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why isn’t he enough?

But he insists on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you have confirmed that you aren’t married and the biological father is alive, so now they want to have a chat with him. He doesn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father has absolutely no idea he has a child. 

What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son is reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sit by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school is perfect, they know how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you want the best for him. You want to make sure he doesn’t get bored, that he will get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needs.

At the age of five, he can read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he’s a quick study in general. It’s infuriating how he’s a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminds you of him. 

And if you meet F1 fans together, someone surely goes, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that isn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there’s no way you will ever tell him the truth. He has his own, certainly busy life and he probably doesn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he’s good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes isn’t the same as having your own. 

Your son on the other hand can find out when he gets old enough to understand why you left and went no contact with his father. That was over five years ago anyway, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you make sure the few photos of you and Oscar are stored somewhere safe in case he wants to see them when the time comes.

Now you are cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You have no idea if he’s still using that old social media profile of his, but you have to try. So, you take a deep breath and start a video call, deep down hoping he won’t answer. You aren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you have no choice. And then his face shows up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’ve been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asks, although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence follows his words, your brain in overdrive as it try to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward is the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you add, hoping the meaningful look you’re sending his way can be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you can see the wheels turning in his head as he does some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

His face is emotionless for a while as he tries to process the news, but this is nothing new, he’s the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you think he will end the call, he lets out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asks, although you can tell he’s unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumes you want money only makes you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snap. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar puts up a finger as he bites on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asks, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then states, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You don’t have a choice, you know that. If he doesn’t do it for Oliver, he will have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nod. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar begins hesitantly, and you can see as he sits down on his couch and looks up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You can see he’s uncertain about this. He probably understands that becoming his father would mean he will have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there is still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening as he watches you. 

A smile creeps on your lips as you think about this, because it’s so painfully obvious to you that you can’t deny it, no matter how badly you want to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nods. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asks, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he’s quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you have just discussed, and now he’s changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all you say in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he points out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You are doing this only because of the school. You remember what Oscar can be like; if he makes up his mind about something, he definitely isn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wants a week with his son, and you know that’s the only way he will do what you need from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thank him, and are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you reply with a smile.

Oscar remains silent, but he lets out a sigh and you know something is on his mind, something he wants to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admits. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you tell him kindly. 

After you say goodbye, you go up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you get there, they are sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you take the book and lean down to give both of them a soft kiss. You can’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics will change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it isn’t really your son you are worried about, the main issue is your boyfriend. Oscar is a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolizes, of course he feels threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they meet and he sees you are indifferent, he will finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

A bit over a week later Oscar is sitting in his rented car in the school’s parking lot, thinking about how this conversation could go. According to you, they are aware of the fact he didn’t know Oliver existed until recently, so he hopes they don’t expect him to talk about what he’s like. Sure, over the past week he asked you about him, he wanted to prepare for meeting him, but they haven’t met in person. How could he know what to say? After taking a deep breath, he gets out and goes inside, feeling more nervous than he does when he’s getting in the car before a race.

If he’s this nervous now, what will he feel like before meeting his son? 

Spending years in a boarding school prepared him for this meeting, and the principal is everything he imagined him to be. He’s polite, not making a fuss over the fact he is–let’s say–famous. He even apologizes for the mess he caused, saying he understands it was probably quite a shock for him, but this is the protocol, and they can’t make an exception. Oscar keeps nodding, even assuring him it’s okay, although deep down he’s still confused and unsure of things. 

All of this despite his conversation with his mother, who was overjoyed when she saw a video of Oliver, saying he was truly just like him, and she couldn’t wait to have the chance to meet her grandchild in person. But she also told him maybe this was the best thing that could happen to him. Having a child is truly an experience, and since he was still five, they had the chance to have a wonderful relationship. “You say he loves F1. Just imagine how happy he would be if he could go to some race weekends with you. You could teach him so much about racing, and you could bond over that,” she said. 

After he parks in front of your house in the afternoon, Oscar goes to the trunk to get everything he brought with himself. From signed merch from both himself and Lando–just to be sure–to toy racing cars, he has a wide variety of gifts. Something will hopefully become a favorite, an item that he will keep close to himself. Maybe he went overboard, maybe he could’ve brought only one thing, but he had no idea what Oliver liked, so he couldn’t pick just one item. 

“Please, don’t tell me you brought all this for him.”

He looks up with a questioning hum, only to find you standing next to him on the sidewalk. Seeing you again brings back memories of your time together, of all of your little adventures during the short time you spent together, and he can’t help but wonder if you fled because you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t leave him so suddenly, would things be different now? Would you be a big happy family? 

Clearing his throat, he flashes a sheepish smile at you. “I couldn’t choose,” he admits as he grabs the duffel bag and follows you to the front door. He can’t help but wonder what he can expect, and he has to ask you the most important thing. “Did you tell him that he was meeting his father today?” You nod. That’s good. “Is he excited?”

You bite on your lower lip as you watch him, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. But after a short break, you let out a sigh. “He’s a little confused, I think. My boyfriend, Alejandro, met him when he was only two, the three of us spent a lot of time together, and he moved in last year. Oliver… He assumed my boyfriend was his dad, which in a way he is, but we had to sit him down and explain the situation to him,” you say, looking sad all of a sudden. 

It’s clear now why you were so against telling Oliver the truth. You want him to be close to your boyfriend, and you’re probably afraid things between them will change once he gets into the picture. Maybe you’re even afraid things between you and your boyfriend will change too. He can’t blame you for that, but now that he knows he has a son, Oscar wants to be a part of his life. He doesn’t want to be some asshole who ignored his own blood. 

Once inside, he puts the bag on the floor and follows you to the living room where Oliver is watching some cartoon on TV. Now that he sees him in person, he feels warmth spread through his body, because this kid looks exactly like he did at his age. You clear your throat next to him to get your son’s attention, and when the kid notices him, his eyes grow wide from surprise. He gets off the couch and slowly walks over to them, his eyes never leaving his face as he tries to process who their guest is. 

“Hello, Oliver,” Oscar says as he crouches down. 

“You’re Oscar Piastri!” he yells excitedly. 

Oscar can’t help but chuckle at this. “I am.”

You reach out to ruffle your son’s hair, then lean down to be on somewhat eye level with him. “Honey, remember when I said your daddy was going to jump in to see you?” The little boy nods. “It’s Oscar. He’s your dad,” you tell him softly.

Suddenly the excitement is replaced by disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you as he tries to process what he’s just been told. The corners of Oscar’s lips curl into a smile as he watches him, waiting patiently for the child’s decision. 

“So he’s my dad?” Oliver asks, earning a nod from you. “Does this mean I’m a Piastri?” It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “Mom, why am I not called Piastri?”

His eyes move over to you just in time to see you gulp, clearly having trouble figuring out what to say to that. He can’t blame you for your confusion, it probably haven’t occurred to you that one day you will have to respond to this question. 

With a kind smile, he puts a hand on your arm, then turns to his son. “Because I’ve been away for a little too long. But I’m here, your mom and I can discuss if we could change that if you want,” he finishes, barely daring to glance up at you, expecting to meet an angry look in your eyes.

But you don’t look angry, if anything, you seem relieved that he came to your rescue. There’s a glint in your eyes, though, that tells him you aren’t happy that Oliver brought up his surname. As he thinks about it, it occurs to him that you have mentioned how you considered your boyfriend to be his father in a way, so maybe you will have rather given him his name. 

You place a soft kiss on your son’s head, then inform him that you will leave the two of them alone so they can get to know each other. Father and son watches you leave the room, then he turns back to the child with a smile. “I brought you some things. Wanna see them?” he asks him, and when the little boy nods, he goes to grab his bag. 

As he opens the zipper, Oliver stands by his side, watching his every move with a happy smile on his face. Oscar pulls out the gifts, one by one, and can’t hold back his laugh as he watches his son proudly wearing his new baseball cap and shirt as he examines the toy car in his small hands. He begins to talk about the last race, excitedly recounting the most memorable moments, including the end when his father crossed the finish line first. His big brown eyes turn to him, then he says that he’s so happy he’s here. 

When he wraps his short arms around him, Oscar does the same and even presses a kiss on the kid’s head. There is undeniably a certain connection between them that he can’t explain, but they both know it’s there, otherwise his son probably wouldn’t be this chill with the idea of being alone with a stranger. Okay, that and the fact he’s his favorite driver.

They sit down in the middle of the living room, and Oliver decides to talk about his favorite books, proudly telling his father that he knows how to read, and that, according to you and your boyfriend, he’s really good at it. “The other kids can barely read yet,” he says with a smug smile, “and I’m already learning math!”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Oscar asks him, but the boy only shakes his head. “I should teach you. I started when I was younger than you, and my mom refused to play with me after a while.”

“Because you were so good?” 

With a shrug, he stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know, but I guess I was better than her. Not sure about other people, though,” he admits with a warm smile.

Oliver lets out a thoughtful hum. “Is she as awesome as my mom?” he suddenly asks, looking back at him. 

A laugh escapes him at the thought, which makes his son tilt his head to the side in question. “That depends on who you ask. She loves to embarrass me online, which isn’t always a good thing, but I love her, she’s the best mum I could ask for. And there are a lot of people, especially my fans, who absolutely adore her for this gentle bullying,” he adds with a laugh.

“My mom would never do that,” Oliver states, his little nose scrunching at the thought. “She loves me too much.”

The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, sometimes stopping when the little boy gets distracted by something he caught on TV. But he seems interested, he wants to learn as much as he can, and it’s true the other way around, because Oscar asks a lot of questions too. He hasn’t even noticed how much time have passed until you walk in to tell your son it’s time for dinner, a statement that comes with the question whether or not his dad is allowed to stay. 

You don’t let him stay, saying he’s probably tired from traveling so much, then give him a begging look to make him speak up too. Oscar lets out a sigh and forced a smile on his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying for a few days and your mum let me come to see you every day,” he says happily. “In fact, I’ll be looking out for you tomorrow while she’s at work. How does that sound?”

Oliver squeals from happiness before he hugs you both, thanking you over and over again for letting him come over. “Can we go to the zoo?” he asks with bright eyes as he looks over at his father. 

“Sure, whatever you want,” Oscar responds with a nod. 

“Okay, time to wash your hands, Alejandro will be home soon, so we can start to eat,” you ask your son. Once he says goodbye to Oscar and disappears, you turn to him with a forced smile. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

With a sigh, he steps closer to you. “You were right, he’s a lot like me,” he begins quietly, then stops to consider what to say. 

He knows deep down that you want him to stay away, you don’t want him to ruin the balance of your little family, but how can he give you that after getting to know his son? Oliver is his blood, he’s truly a mini version of him, there’s no way he will turn his back on him now. 

You know. After all these years, despite your time together being so short, you still know him well enough to know what was going on in his head. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?” you ask, earning a nod from him. “Thanks for… everything. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Are you a hundred percent sure you want to take him to the zoo?” his mother asks later that day when he calls her. 

Despite being excited to hear everything about her grandson, she seems a little uncertain since hearing about his plan for the next day. Oscar, obviously, knows the problem. Oliver looks just like him, if people see them together—and they will, there’s always someone who recognizes him—the rumors will spread like wildfire along with some photos to prove it. 

And then some journalist will figure out he’s your son, and they’ll check every paparazzi photo of him with his past girlfriends. 

So, yeah, he knows the risks, but deep down he doesn’t care. And if they find out, then what? He likes this kid, he wants to be a part of his life, he wants to be the kind of father Oliver deserves. 

“Sooner or later the secret would be out, Mum,” he points out.

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, but are his mother and her boyfriend ready for this?” 

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

The two of them chat a little longer, and this time he’s willing to listen to a lecture and some advice without interrupting his mother. He needs all the help he can get at this point. Anything to make the right decision at the end of the day.

Two hours later he’s standing in front of your house, leaning against the side of the car with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over your name as he’s trying to decide whether or not to call you at this time of the night. 

The clock says it’s almost midnight. Maybe you’re already sleeping, maybe—

“Oscar?”

His head snaps up, and he sees you stand in the door. Gulping, he pushes himself away from the vehicle and walks over to you. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” he says.

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

And then he explains everything; the zoo, the possibility of the world finding out his connection to Oliver, the rumors, the gossip sites, the scrutiny. This is more than what you went through while dating him, and it will affect all three of you.

He can see the exact moment you understand the weight of it all, he sees the way the blood drains from your face and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. 

This is the point where you’ll say that’s enough, Oscar’s sure of it, but then tears appear in your eyes, and he instinctively cups your face to force you to look at him. He doesn’t have to ask anything, you start to talk without his question.

“Alejandro moved out. Temporarily, at least that’s what he said. Oliver… He kept talking about you, about how cool it is that you’re his father, and he got a little upset that I didn’t point out he was technically a stranger unlike the man who’s been raising him.”

With a sigh, Oscar pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I can talk to him if you want me to,” he offers. 

You look him in the eye, then shake your head. “No, and… I think you shouldn’t be around Oliver either. Birthday, Christmas, one visit during the summer break. The only times you can see him,” you state quietly. 

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

For a moment, Oscar hesitates. Yes, he understands your point, but he doesn’t want to let go of his son. Not now that he knows what a cool kid he has. Anger slowly takes over, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Don’t want me to start a custody battle,” he says. 

“Come on, you travel around the world for the best part of the year, you’re single as far as I know, no judge would give you custody.”

He’s not like this, he barely loses his temper, but now he’s so angry he might blow up. “Why do you have to complicate things every single time?!” he spits. “I’ll talk to your boyfriend and put an end to this nonsense. He’ll have to accept that I’m here, and I’m here to say. Damn it, I’ll even move here if that’s the only way I can be around Oliver.”

This leaves you speechless, and then you just slap him across the face and march back inside the house. 

Well, that’s not what he expected. 

[shintaru]

Apple bobbing

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Tagging ~ @ravenwritten @dzvelinaskebiyars @sylith @sanzuslutttt @zyart-jpg @wthphe1n

History lesson before we begin bobbing for apples has roots dating back to at least the 14th century in Britain. The game originated in Europe centuries ago as a courting ritual to help young lovers determine if they were soulmates. In European traditions, apple bobbing was once a popular courting ritual. Each floating apple represented a potential husband. With one successful try, a young woman was destined to marry her desired mate. Two attempts meant that her love interest would court her, but the relationship would be ill-fated. If it took three or more tries to snag an apple, the marriage was not meant to be. Middle English was the language spoken and written during this time in England, Scotland, and Ireland from roughly 1100–1500 AD. It evolved from Old English and influenced the development of Modern English.

Now for my idea the European tradition from my understanding was mainly for women to partake in looking for insight into their marriages/ relationships it kinda reminds me a bit of fortune telling in a way. I want to use the courting ritual and parts of its history to inspire and bring my fanfic to life, however I’m going to change some things for this fanfic. Since Hajun is not from Europe in my fic I’ll say that the tradition had made its way over to South Korea and I also want to have Hajun be the one bobbing for apples to win the reader’s affection instead of the other way around. I find that a lot more romantic. I'm going to try to use Middle English for this fic. I've always wanted to write a piece using Middle English but I was too scared but I want to try to have fun with it since a few of my friends here love history. I’m not too big on lots of history myself because too much information makes my brain want to shut down. However, I do enjoy lots of things from history.

Royals: Kings, Queens, and their families formed the highest tier of society. They held the top position in the feudal structure and interacted primarily with their court, which consisted of lower-ranked nobles.

Commoners: This broad category included peasants, serfs, clergy and other individuals who were not part of the nobility or royalty. They were typically at the bottom of the social hierarchy, often under the authority of a noble lord. Some commoners worked in the royal household in lower-level positions.

Once upon a time

Your whole childhood lacked everything a normal child would receive. You were raised to be nothing other than a wife and mother. From as far as you can remember you never got to play you were taught the rules of motherhood and how to be a fit wife. You were also taught about becoming queen the day of your marriage.Your family didn’t know love, they knew money and roles. Everyone in your family had a role to play and nothing less was expected. You were no exception being the first born daughter of your country.

You had just turned of age to be married and your father wanted to waste no time in getting you hitched. You wish you could be as joyous as him but how can you find joy in marrying someone that you don’t know and worst of all don’t love. You’re currently being fitted for your blue cotehardie (symbolizes purity), a long luxurious dress that your mother had worn for her marriage with your father at your age. The seamstress just needed to make some adjustments to accommodate for your differences in sizing.

After your measurements were taken down you were requested to head to the grounds where the courting ritual would partake. Upon arriving at the great hall you saw tables lined with individual buckets full of water and apples. Apple bobbing has been a huge tradition in South Korean originating in Britain and it made its way all over the world. Every man who is of age is allowed to partake in the ritual, even commoners.

A timer is set and players must have their hands bound behind their backs to begin. If a player cannot get an apple the first try it’s the next player's turn if a player gets one apple and cannot pick up the next they’ve lost their turn. A player must get every apple out of the tub without dropping an apple to win the ritual and your hand in marriage. Your father and mother arrive hand in hand to announce the start of the ritual.

Hours had passed and hundreds of men had lost, some almost drowned, some choked, some had no skills. You were beginning to grow anxious. What if you are to marry a cruel man you can hardly stomach that thought. You decide to finally pay attention to the game instead of your racing thoughts that didn’t help your aching heart. An oddly large man takes up the challenge.

You couldn’t see his face, his back was turned to you as his hands were being tied behind him. Many gasped at the sight of him. You were positive it was because of his unbelievable height. You’d never seen someone so tall, especially in South Korea. “I want a proper challenge for one minute” you hear him request causing an uproar from the crowds. “Art thou a driveller?” Your father turns to ask your mother.

“He’s gone mad” someone from the crowd shouts. The timer starts and the large man with fair blue hair wastes no time gathering apples. He has you on the edge of your throne. One by one he’s getting them so swiftly and neatly into the basket. Your fathers jaw has dropped as far as it can drop. He truly has no competition; he even beat your fathers record when he had won your mothers hand in marriage during her courting ritual.

His win caused an uproar “A commoner is going to marry a royal” “a commoner marrying a princess?” Back to back voices gasping and shouting questioning the situation. A commoner has never won the ritual before. You follow as you were raised walking down the stairs just beneath the thrones that seat your family and close friends. You go to meet your soon to be husband. Upon a closer encounter you see he has a large scar across the bottom side of his face.

He’s also full of tattoos, you burst into a fit of laughter. Your father is going to have a heart attack when he takes a closer look at your husband. Your father marches down the stairs upon hearing your laughter he doesn’t spare a look at the blue haired man yet. He’s too busy scolding you. “By much laughter you may distinguish a fool.” He shouts. You try to hold it in but once your father looks at the man to apologize his eyes widen in shock upon the sight before him.

“A plague upon thee! Your only desire is to form the beast with two backs with my only daughter!” Your father shouts an accusation stirring up the crowd even further. “Father!” You gasp. “By my troth, I desire not to marry your daughter for my own lustful pleasures but to save my younger brothers and I from poverty” the man replies. Your father faints and has to receive medical attention and your mother rushes to his aid.

You take thy man’s hand and run past the guards sneaking off somewhere in thy castle to get away from thy crowd. You take him to a room you always hid in when you needed space “thou shall not find us here” you reassure him. “My apologies” he says to you bowing down. “You need not to apologize, my father has a bit of a temper” you reply.

You fetch a towel from the bathroom and you sit him down on thy bed. You begin drying his face and hair gently. “May I beg your byname?” You ask whilst still drying his hair. “Joker but you may call me Hajun,” he says. You softly smile at him “you may call me Y/N” you reply to him. Being a royal everyone knows who you and your family are but it’s common courtesy to still introduce yourself.

Your mother wanted you two to marry right away so you had to leave your hiding spot with your soon to be husband aka Hajun. You headed to drop him off to be fitted for his embroidery suit. “A bloody commoner to marry a royal” the guards whisper to themselves at the seamstresses door but you heard it. You take his hand rubbing your thumb alongside the top of his hand giving him reassurance.

“That’s no way to talk about my husband” you say, warning the guards they immediately apologize to Hajun. You bid your shirt farewell to him to get dressed for the ceremony. You’re fully dressed and ready for the ceremony and your father is expected to walk you down the aisle. You enter the room where the ceremony is to be held with your arm locked around your fathers. You notice your blue cotehardie matches Hajun’s hair. Your father leads you to stand in front of Hajun allowing the ceremony to begin.

“Hajun, do you take my daughters hand in marriage in sickness and in health until death do you part?” Your father asked grudgingly. “I do!” he says, looking into your eyes. “Y/N do you take Hajun hand in marriage in sickness and in health until death do you part?” Your father says looking at you shaking his head as if he wants you to say no. “I do!” you say. Your father faints yet again “oh dear heavens the king has fainted again” a noble shouts.

His lips meet yours and his hands meet your lower back pulling you in as close as possible to him. Your two bloodlines are joined together in eternity by a single shared kiss. His hair brushes against your skin softly as he deepens the kiss. You don’t pull away just yet wanting to enjoy your first kiss. He pulls away “I didn’t just marry you for money, I’ve liked you since I was younger” he confesses. The sudden confession makes your worries about marriage fade away you’re glad you got married to him instead of some pervert looking to become a royal.

The end.

[a-finnish-janitor]

I have a really silly headcanon when it comes to shipping Saga/Casey/David.

Like, when Saga first brings Casey around, its to try and get him to feel better. In that one memory in her mind place, he says he was in a really bad way when they first became partners.

So she gets to know him, sees how prickly and moody he is, and decides to bring him around to dinner to try and cheer him up. I don't really have an idea of how much convincing it took to get David to agree to have him over.

But! Once David meets him? I don't know why but I just have this scene play out in my head of David seeing Casey, how nervous and sad he looks, and him going to Saga saying "we're keeping him". I kind of flip flop on whether he feels like that right away, or after seeing how he treats Logan.

(Which I feel like he wouldn't really know how to act around kids at first maybe? So maybe he acts too formal when interacting with her which makes her giggle.)

Saga had only wanted to try and cheer her new coworker up, but now both her husband and daughter insist on inviting him over a lot more than she ever anticipated. And then they become an actual thing as time goes on.

But the fact he comes over for Logan's birthdays and buys her presents really makes me feel like he is much more than just Saga's coworker. And Saga is obviously happy with David so when I saw all of the Saga/Casey shipping starting to pop up my brain after a while was like "David is totally a part of it and is totally ok with Casey".

And so! In conclusion

[flofaiiry]

wanna be yours ; charlie reid x reader

... aka ; ultraviolence pt.2

warnings: fem!reader, age gap (reader is 20-21 charlie is late 40s), alcohol, potential underage drinking (reader is technically 20 but i forgot the drinking age in the usa is 21 so... she can be 21 or have a fake id in your head whatever u want!!), jealousy, possessive&down bad charlie, oral f!receiving, fingering, kitchen sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, reader is easy for charlie to throw over his shoulder, unprotected p in v sex (dont do that!!), dacryphilia, creampie, praise (use of good girl but are we even surprised anymore), very soft ending, not proofread oopsie.

wc: 6.3k (im sorry (no im not))

note: gif cred to @sammy-bryant !! aaaaa here it is!!! pt2 of ultraviolence!!!! admittedly i have no idea why i called it that tbh i was just listening to lana del rey while writing and thought it fit the vibe idk!!! thank u so much to everyone who left a comment or reblogged or sent an ask saying such nice things abt part one!!!! i really appreciate it so much and am very happy to provide u with ur dose of charlie reid content :D this one's got a lot of plot, i really loved fleshing out reader & her friends more & i hope you guys enjoy!!!!!!! as always any feedback is super appreciated <3 <3

"so.. what do you actually want to do with your degree after you graduate?" charlie asks, his hand running up and down your bare back, fingers tracing over your spine.

"i have no idea," you sigh, "i was thinking to maybe get my masters? buy myself a little time before i have to decide anything for real, you know." your head rests on his chest, the subtle beat of his heart just barely audible under your ear.

"you ever think about police?" he asks. you just laugh in response, smiling into his skin. "i'm serious! it's a good job, good benefits. i'm sure i could pull some strings to get you in a good unit." he's mostly teasing but there's a genuine undertone to the whole proposition. you're smart, you're capable- no reason you wouldn't make a good cop.

you prop yourself up onto your elbow, looking down at him now with a raised eyebrow. "seriously? me? a cop? even if i could see myself doing that, i don't think the brass would look very favourably on whatever this is."

"sweetheart, i am the brass."

you roll your eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever deputy chief," your phone buzzes on the bedside table where it lies. you roll over to check it.

"i'm just saying, if that was something you were interested in- i could make it happen." he shrugs. you scan your phone's screen, eyes landing on the text message from your roommate.

kendra: u coming? me & megan are waiting for u!!

charlie starts talking, "oh yeah, i've been meaning to tell you, i'm-"

you: shit yeah srry. work asked me to stay late but i can get out of it. be there in 15.

you put your phone back down, quickly getting up from the bed. "shitshitshit," you mutter under your breath, cutting him off & collecting your clothes from around the room. "everything okay?" charlie asks, watching you dart around his room. "yeah, just- fuck, forgot i had plans with my roommates tonight. some new bar or something they wanted to try on the south side?" you redress yourself quickly before walking over to the mirror to fix your hair. he hums in acknowledgement, sitting up from where he lies.

"you gonna be around this weekend?" he asks, pulling his boxers back on and standing behind you in the frame of the mirror. he rests his hands on your hips and kisses your shoulder.

you shake your head, "no, i'm covering a shift tomorrow, and sunday i need to catch up on reading for one of my classes." you turn around to face him, his hands still on your hips and chest flush against yours. you lean forward and press your lips against his.

"sorry," you whisper when you pull away, he pulls you back into him. "don't apologize," he says against your lips, "just stay."

"as much as i would like that," you say through him kissing you, "i already blew my friends off once last week to see you, and i promised i'd go out with them tonight."

"mmm fine," charlie groans, finally letting you pull away. "be safe," he mumbles, kissing you one last time before you head for the door.

the rest of the night is a flurry of low lighting, two too many mediocre cocktails, and guys from your college you didn't know existed getting enough liquid courage to hit on you and your friends.

"come onnn, loosen up a little! just let me buy you one more drink." the drunk frat boy leaning on the bar between you and and your friends slurs. his breath reeking of whiskey and coke. you just roll your eyes, "i told you jason, five or six times already- i'm not interested." jason groans, "no fuckin' fun, you are." with that he turns around, facing kendra and megan now.

megan immediately cocks an eyebrow. "don't even try," kendra quips, earning an overexaggerated huff from the boy, who finally walks away.

you look at your friends, the three of you bursting into a fit of laughter at jason's pathetic attempts. "they never fucking learn." megan shakes her head, speaking through giggles and sips on her drink, "do they think after enough drinks they're finally attractive, or?"

you just shrug, turning back to the bar and flagging down the bartender to order one more of whatever fruity drink you had just finished. kendra smacks your arm, "okay, what's been up with you lately, girl? are you going broke or something, you've been working a lot more lately." megan nods from behind her, "yeah, and hanging out with robin a ton too, what's up with that?"

work and robin have been the excuses you've given your friends for all the time you've been spending with charlie the last two months. you're not necessarily scared to tell them, they probably wouldn't care as much as you think they would, you just... haven't found the right time to tell them. you laugh, "what, are you jealous i have other friends than just you two?"

"yeah, a bit-" megan starts, before kendra cuts her off, "no, not jealous, just... curious, she shrugs, "i saw robin yesterday and she said she hadn't hung out with you for a week or two."

you almost choke on your drink. shit. you didn't think they'd talk to robin, hence why you used her as your cover story. "she was probably high or something, i don't know. i was with her a few days ago," you sputter out, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

kendra smirks, "nope. that girl is high a lot but definitely not this time." you shrug, feeling your cheeks heating up. "you're hiding something, aren't you? what, are you seeing someone?"

they know you too well.

you look back to your drink, taking a sip before trying to change the subject, but your friends aren't having it.

"oh my god! you are totally seeing someone!" megan says, setting her drink down with an emphatic thunk before leaning in. "spill!! what's his name? does he go to uofc? god, please don't tell me he goes to loyola, babe the guys there are absolute nightmares, do you remember my ex luke? he was from loyola and-" she starts on a rant of questions.

"no, no, calm down. he doesn't go to loyola meg, he-" you start, but trail off. you could lie. tell them you're seeing someone from a different school, make up a name and a story of how you met, but you have a feeling they wouldn't buy that.

you take a deep breath. "he isn't exactly a student," you say slowly. they just look at you, eager stares egging you on to elaborate. you sigh again. "he's kind of- like- older." kendra raises her eyebrows, "older? like how much older? like you're only in this for the trust fund he'll leave you when he dies in a few years kind of old?"

"god, no! not that old," you say quickly, "i'm not a gold digger." she shrugs, "i wouldn't blame you, it's rough out here. girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." megan puts a hand on her shoulder stopping her, "okay, so what like 30? that's not that bad." kendra scoffs, "oh! 30 is not bad at all, is that why you didn't want to tell us? ten years isn't that big of an age gap, i hooked up with a 30 year old once, she was-"

"he's not 30." you say, cutting her off. they raise their eyebrows again.

"40?"

you wince, they gasp.

"50?!"

"no! not yet! not yet! but like... pushing 50."

"oh. my. god!" kendra says, "how the fuck did you manage that?" you take a deep breath, trying to think of the best way to tell the story.

"okay. so. that class you guys didn't want to take with me? crim 324? the policing one?" they nod, "yeah cause it had that terrible fuckin' prof, gladwyn or whatever the fuck. i've heard the horror stories- i was not risking that," kendra says.

you shake your head, "he's not that bad," you defend, before realizing you're getting sidetracked. "anyways! we went on a visit to the cpd ivory tower, the one on south michigan? and he was there, and-" you search for the words, before giving the, a shrug, "i dont know! he told me if i had any questions to give him a call, and- i swear at first i just genuinely wanted to ask about the field but- god, he's really attractive and really charming and i just... i don't know!"

"did you fuck in his office?" megan asks a little too loudly. "no!" you say quickly, shushing her, "no! no... not that time at least." their jaws drop, before they erupt into a fit of laughter.

you roll your eyes, "god, you guys aren't even going to remember this in the morning, are you. i'm gonna have to go through this shit all over again." kendra shakes her head, putting one hand over her heart, "babe, there is no amount of alcohol in the world that could make me forget you telling us you're fucking someone's father."

"he is not someone's father! he doesn't have kids, he's never even been married!" you add quickly, not wanting them to carry on with that train of thought for too long.

"okay, but he could be someone's dad-" she continues before megan cuts her off. "wait. wasn't that tour a while ago? i remember you cancelled our lunch plans for it, like two months ago." kendra gasps, "you've been fucking grandpa for two months and haven't said anything???"

"oh my god, please do not call him grandpa, i promise he is not that old." you shake your head, "and yes. it has been two months. i didn't tell you 'cause i didn't want you guys to freak out- like you are right now."

"we are not freaking out, i'm just... surprised. normally i've got good spidey senses for when people are getting laid." megan shrugs. you laugh, "true." you admit, "you do have a freakish ability to tell that."

the weekend speeds by- saturday you're busy with work, taking an overtime shift to cover for a friend, and spending most of sunday at the library surrounded by textbooks. it doesn't help that you definitely drank too much on friday, remnants of a hangover clinging to you all weekend.

on monday afternoon, you three carpool to your crime control methods class. you drive, kendra's in the passenger seat, megan's in the back, flipping through her textbook. the cap of a highlighter between her teeth as she tries to annotate the pages despite the bumpiness of the ride.

"why the fuck are there assigned readings for a guest lecturer. why do we even have a guest lecturer, can't murphy just do it himself? nobody's going to pay attention anyways." megan huffs, pushing her long blonde hair from her face as she stuffs the textbook back into her bag.

you shrug. "maybe they'll be interesting." kendra looks up from her phone, "they better be. i was planning on skipping today. swear to god if i come all the way here for some pencil pusher to read directly off a paper."

you arrive on campus a few minutes later, finding a parking spot and walking to the lecture hall. you file into the room with everyone else after the class before yours ends, making your way to the middle rows where you normally sit.

you three have sat in the same order since high school: you, kendra, megan- from left to right. your eyes survey the room, it's fuller than normal- people really showed out for the guest speaker. you look around for a moment longer before the door swings open. your professor walks in with who you presume to be the guest speaker.

you can't tell who it is at first, until your professor moves out of the way.

no.

it can't be.

he would have told you. right?

then you remember, he tried to, but you had cut him off with the realization you forgot about plans. he said there was something he was meaning to tell you about- this had to be it.

you turn to face your friends. "that's him."

they're confused at first- a series of huh's and raised eyebrows conveying that. you nod towards the front of the room, "the guest speaker. it's him."

"that's him?" they say, gasping almost in sync. whipping their heads to the door. "don't look! oh my god you guys are idiots, don't look!!!!" you whisper shout at them, they turn back to you, eyes lingering for a second longer.

"ok i take back what i said, he's hot." kendra says, blunt as ever. megan nods, "yeah, damn. when you said he was pushing fifty i imagined someone's grandpa but that's... that's someone's daddy."

"oh my god!?!? shut the fuck up please!!" you beg, shielding your face with your hands, trying desperately to cover the embarrassment you're definitely not hiding well.

another friend, trenton, slides into the seat next to you. "hey, hey. what's going on," he smiles, patting you on the knee & greeting you and your friends when he sits down.

"trent!!" megan smiles, "god, i forgot you were in this class- how are you?" she's had a massive crush on him since they met in first year. they continue on with their conversation across you and kendra, trenton luckily oblivious to your bashful appearance.

"this cannot be happening," you say into your hands. kendra grins mischievously, "so can we meet him after class?" you snap your head up to look at her, "absolutely not." you say quickly. "but what if i have a question about his presentation?" she asks, feigning innocence.

"oh please ken, if it was literally any other speaker you wouldn't even be paying attention." she shrugs, "i have no idea what you're talking about i love to learn."

trenton hears that, "ha! yeah right. you? love to learn?" kendra's jaw drops, "ok, asshole. let's go grade for grade, what'd you get in tanner's class last semester," she crosses her arms, raising one eyebrow as he racks his brain.

their bickering is cut short though, when your professor starts talking.

"alright guys, let's settle down. as promised, today we've got a guest speaker- please welcome the chicago police department's deputy chief of the bureau of organized crime, charlie reid!" the class fills with a sparse applause as your professor takes the microphone off his lapel and passes it to charlie. "you didn't tell us he was a deputy chief," megan leans across and mutters to you.

"thanks everyone, it's nice to be here. think i recognize some faces from the ivory tower tour a few months back." charlie smirks, scanning across the room. a few students nod, having been a part of that group as well. his eyes land on you, throwing you a quick, subtle wink. your face heats up.

a moment later trenton leans in close next to you, "you know this guy?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, "coulda sworn he just winked at you." you shrug, painting your face with an oblivious look, "i don't think he did, but i was on the tour so maybe he remembers me," you offer as an excuse. "pretty good facial rec from the old dude," he nudges you with his shoulder.

you cover your mouth to stifle your laugh, turning your attention back to charlie at the front of the class. even though he's moved on into his presentation, you notice his gaze lingering on the way you giggled at trenton's joke.

"alright then! if there's no more questions, i guess that's it for me." charlie claps his hands together and presses his lips into a line as the class fills with applause once more. he takes the mic off his collar and hands it back to your professor.

"thank you again, charlie, it's been an honour to have you here." the men shake hands as people begin filing out of the class. "remember, essays are due one week today, and deputy chief reid is going to stick around for a little while if anyone has any questions."

"we are leaving, and we are leaving now." you say to kendra and megan, shoving your laptop back into your bag. "but i wanted to ask what he thinks about manning's 'impossible mandate' for police," megan chimes in, zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder.

you shake your head, "i'll give you his email."

"come onnn, i just want to ask a question. i swear i won't say anything else." she holds out her pinky. you roll your eyes, wrapping your own little finger around hers, "fine, but i swear to god meg... just the question."

"just the question," she repeats with a smile.

"okayy, you guys have fun with that. i've got psych in 15 minutes so i'm gonna head." trenton pats you on the shoulder before turning to head out of the class.

kendra sighs, "as much as i would love to see what is about to go down, i too have psych in 15 minutes." she shuffles by you in the row, heading to follow trent to their next class.

"have fun!!" she whispers as she walks by you. "yeah, thanks." you say, standing up after she passes, grabbing your bag and following megan down to the front of the class where a few other students stand huddled around.

you turn and rest your forehead on megan's shoulder, "i can't believe this is about to happen." she sighs, "i'm just going to ask a question, babe. i swear." you hear charlie wrapping up with the students ahead of you, thanking them for coming and shaking their hand. you pick your head up off your friends shoulder and take a deep breath.

megan walks forward, smile on her face and hand extended. "hi! i'm megan cassidy, it's super nice to meet you, deputy chief reid!" he shakes her hand, "nice to meet you megan- and please, call me charlie."

megan asks her question, charlie answers- sprinkling in a quick story about his time on patrol. "what about your friend," he turns to you, "you have any questions for me?" he tilts his head, one eyebrow raised.

cocky bastard.

you choke back a laugh, scoff falling from your lips instead, "nope, uh- no. no questions." you smile politely, suddenly very aware of your professor standing nearby and classmates behind you.

"alright then, nice meeting you girls." he nods, smirk evident on his face. megan thanks him again before you're dragging her out of the class by her hand.

"see! that was fine! he's nice!" she says when you're in the hallway. you look at her, eyes squinted a little bit. "you think i'd be sleeping with him if he wasn't nice?"

she shrugs. "maybe the sex is really good." you roll your eyes, shaking your head through a laugh.

"okay, i'm gonna head," you announce, standing up from the couch to put your shoes on. megan looks up at you from above her glasses, turning her attention away from whatever fantasy book she's buried in this week. "going to see mister police man?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

you nod, "don't have to make shit up when i go see him anymore now that you guys know." you slide on your second shoe and take your car keys from the little cup on the entryway table. there's only one or two actual keys on the ring, the rest of the weight coming from souvenir keychains you've collected over the years.

kendra pops out from the kitchen, drying her hands with a dish towel. "this was much more fun when i thought you'd had your bi awakening and you and robin were secret friends with benefits or whatever."

you look up at her, "oh my god, shut up. you thought i was sleeping with robin?"

she shrugs, "she's hot."

"then why don't you sleep with her, ken."

"oh trust me, i would if she asked me to."

you and megan share a look before you sling your bag over your shoulder, turning to open the door. "have fun getting laid!" megan calls after you, turning her attention back to her book. "thaaank you!!" you reply, shutting the door behind you.

you get into the car and take your phone out to text charlie that you're on your way. the drive to his place isn't long, around 10 minutes- 15 if the traffic lights don't cooperate and you manage to catch every red.

his response to your text comes on your car's center console screen:

charlie: Door is unlocked.

after parking in the driveway you walk up to the door, raising your hand to knock before remembering his message. you drop your hand to the doorknob and open the door.

"i'm here!" you call out into the house, shutting the door behind you and kicking your shoes off. there's no response. normally he's on the couch or in his office, hunched over his laptop and typing furiously.

"charlie?" you try again, stepping into the living room. "yeah, in here," he calls from in the kitchen. you trudge through the house, making your way to him.

"hey," you say quietly, stepping into the kitchen, the sudden cold tile under your feet makes you shiver a little. he's standing over the stove, pushing some scrambled eggs around in a pan. "hey." he replies, not turning his attention from the food in front of him. you walk over and lean on the island opposite where he stands.

"long time no see," you tease, "didn't know you were gonna be our guest speaker." he huffs, still not turning around to face you.

"everything ok?" you say, pushing up on your hands to sit on the countertop.

charlie takes a deep breath. he shuts off the stove and sets down the spatula. he turns around to look at you finally. "you tell me."

you furrow your brows, not entirely understanding his reaction.

"who's blondie." he continued, you squint.

"huh?"

"blonde guy sitting next to you in the lecture today. seemed like you guys were laughin' it up."

it clicks, "trent?"

he shrugs, "whatever the fuck his name is. don't really care." his words are clipped, his jaw set firm.

your eyes widen, "charlie, are you... jealous?"

he tilts his head, "not jealous," he says, taking a step towards you, "i don't get jealous of twenty something frat boys." he keeps his eyes on yours, walking closer slowly. you part your legs when you feel the leather material of his belt brush your kneecaps, he steps in the space between them.

"then what's the problem?" you say, treading very lightly. jealousy was unbroken ground thus far into your relationship, "he's just a friend."

"mm, just a friend," he says under his breath, "all your friends touch you like that?"

you can't help but scoff, "touch me like that?" you repeat slow. "charlie, i've known trent since first year. he lived on my floor in res- he's my friend. sure he can be a little touchy, but he doesn't mean anything by it."

charlie brings his pointer finger and thumb to your chin, tilting your head down ever so slightly. "i don't like when people touch what's mine." he says, low and gravelly.

you gulp.

"yours?" you question , voice barely registering at an audible level.

"mine." he repeats, eyes not wavering from yours for even a second.

"yours." you say again- slowly, tentatively. like you're trying the label on for size.

"yeah," he breathes, trailing his fingers up to your jaw before cradling it in the palm of his hand. the pads of his fingers brush just under your hair on the skin of your neck. charlie leans in, steady- almost careful.

his forehead rests against yours, not quite kissing you yet, "mine," he repeats again, finally pressing his lips against yours. they're soft- so soft. softer than any kiss you've shared these past two months.

it doesn't stay that way for long, quickly escalating to the king of kiss you're used to when his hands travel down to rest on the tops of your thighs, then to your waist to pull you closer to him. your hands find their way into his hair, fingers lacing through the short greying strands at the base of his neck.

one of his hands travels under your skirt, toying with the lace band of your panties, he sneaks a finger underneath it, dragging a slow line from your entrance up to your clit. the tiniest of gasps escapes you and you feel charlie smirk against your lips.

you're practically dripping already- admittedly the reason you came over here.

he moves his finger back down and pushes it slowly inside of you. your slick coating over his digit as he works it slowly inside of you. he's a great multitasker, lips unrelenting against yours, tongue now slipped into the equation.

you swear you could come right now if he let you, just from the sheer emotion of this encounter. the way he called you his- claimed you- it made you weak in the knees.

he takes his finger from your cunt, drawing it up to your clit. he circles it a few times, soaking the bud with your wetness. you whimper when he pulls it away, hand travelling back to the top of your thigh.

he leans back from the kiss. you're both breathless, lips pink and swollen. "lie back," he says, pressing one last kiss to your lips before stepping away. you oblige him, leaning back on to your elbows. charlie drops to his knees, looping his fingers through the waistband of your panties once more, but this time pulling them off your legs in one motion. his face disappears between your legs, salt and pepper hair the only thing you can see beneath your bunched up skirt now.

he starts slow. tongue licking a broad stroke up to your clit, then swirling around it. "fuck" the word leaves your lips through an exhale, your head rolling back. you feel his lips twitch against you in a smirk. he brings his hands up to your thighs, drawing them further apart, then hooking his arms around them, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter- closer to him.

he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure, a proper moan leaves you now, and your hands find their way to his hair again. you tug at his hair, earning a hum from the man buried between your legs, the sound vibrating deliciously against your pussy.

your back threatens to arch off the counter at the new sensation, but charlie's firm grip around your hips holds you there. he switches up his rhythm now, alternating from harsh sucks to more gentle flicks of his tongue at your clit. he takes one of his hands and slides two fingers into you. you gasp, and he starts to curl his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out quickly to bring you right to the edge.

"please charlie- fuck," you whimper, tugging at his hair and pushing his face against your core, desperate for any kind of friction he can offer. his nose bumps your clit and your eyes roll back in your head. "gonna- fuck," you stutter, words leaving you incoherently. you opt for one word instead, the sound falling from your lips amidst a moan.

"close." you're practically squirming now, charlie's arms flexing as he holds you in place on the counter. you swear you feel him grin against your cunt.

"yeah?" he picks his head up to look at you, his fingers still working inside you. you whine at the loss of contact. "my baby's gonna cum for me? hm?"

my baby.

he's never called you baby before- never called you his before.

you could get used to this.

you nod quickly, eyes cinched shut and sinful noises slipping from your lips. "yeah?" he asks again, one eyebrow raised now.

"ask for permission," he says, admiring the way your body writhes under his touch, "ask me to let you cum."

you open your eyes to look down at him, his lips glossy with a thin layer of your slick. his fingers don't stop curling against your walls, the tips of them rubbing just right on the squishy spot inside you that makes you see stars. the veins and muscles in his forearm flexing just so as he works his fingers in and out of you.

"please, charlie- need it so bad- so fucking bad," you whimper, eyes falling shut again as your senses start becoming overwhelmed.

he makes a satisfied hum, before dipping his head back down between your legs, lips and tongue resuming their earlier motions- laving over your pussy and sucking on your clit.

it isn't long before your vision's overcome with a white static, all your senses only able to register nothing else but how good charlie's making you feel with his mouth and fingers. your orgasm hits and you're crying out his name, fingers pulling harshly on his hair now.

the pleasure washes over you like a shockwave, rippling through your body and tearing moan after moan from your throat. charlie doesn't stop- not for a second. you could swear there are tears brimming at your eyes from the immense sensory input. "too much-" you whine, trying to pull him from between your legs. you feel him shake his head.

"one more," he says against your pussy.

you want to refuse, tell him you can't take it anymore, tell him to stop. but you can't find it in you when what he's doing feels so good. so you nod, your hips subconsciously grinding into his mouth. that only eggs charlie on. his tongue speeds up against your cunt, he sucks harder on your clit and fucks his fingers deeper into you.

it isn't long — actually it's a humiliatingly short amount of time — before you're coming again. orgasm washing over you as the tears that only threatened to spill earlier are flowing freely down your cheeks.

your whole body is quaking when charlie pulls away, he stands up to knead at your thighs to bring you down from your high. when you finally crack your eyes open, chest heaving, you see him looking down at you, taking in your absolutely exasperated figure beneath him.

"good?" he asks, cocky smirk on his face.

"yeah," you breathe.

"good." he says again, his hands travel up to your waist before gripping you there and pulling you off the counter. you squeal as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder.

"my turn."

he carries you easily up the stairs to his bedroom, practically throwing you into the plush mattress- a stark contrast to the hard, cold, marble slab you were lying on moments earlier. his hands quickly move to his shirt, undoing the buttons easily, then down to his belt, sliding it out of the loops in his pants.

he nods to you, "strip," he says simply, "'m not gonna be the only one naked."

you smile, tugging off your skirt (panties still on the floor of the kitchen probably), then pulling your top over your head and throwing it somewhere in the room.

charlie smirks when he looks back at you. no bra.

he shakes his head, trying to fight the smirk from turning into a smile. "you're too much, you know that?" he walks over to you and kneels on the bed above you before leaning down and kissing you.

his lips feel different than when he kissed you last, although it was only a few minutes ago. they're no longer soft and gentle, but rough and desperate against yours. he moves to stand up off of you but you don't let him- wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him there.

"gotta get a condom," he says against your lips, never pulling away for any longer than necessary.

"don't," you say against his lips, "wanna feel you."

he groans into your mouth at that, his last ounce of control almost snapping- but still holding on for dear life. "but baby, i-"

he starts, but you cut him off with another kiss.

"don't care."

that's all he needs to hear. he reaches down and takes his cock in his hand, positioning it at your entrance. with the amount of slick absolutely dripping out of you from your two earlier orgasms, he glides into you easily.

a downright sinful moan falls from your lips, eyes wrenching shut as you feel him stretch you out. it's different than any time he's fucked you before- you can feel all of him.

every ridge, vein, crevice and bump on his cock presses into you as he eases all the way into your cunt. "fuckin' made for me, hm?" he groans when his hips meet yours, now buried to the hilt inside you.

he doesn't give you long to adjust to the new sensation, too intoxicated with the way your walls hug around him to stay still for any extended period of time. he drags out of you before practically slamming back inside. his head falls to the crook of your neck, kissing and biting and nibbling on the area.

you're sure there will be evidence left behind, you'll definitely get taunts from your friends- but you cannot find it in yourself to care. he keeps thrusting into you, hips stuttering when you clench around him but otherwise maintaining a grueling pace.

one of your hands is wrapped around his back, clawing and scratching at the taut skin, the other is grasping at the sheets- desperate for something to ground you through the pleasure he's bringing you.

you feel yourself getting close, the knot in the pit of your stomach tightening as you come up on your third orgasm of the night. you can tell charlie's getting close too: the noises he's making, the way he stills between thrusts- even if just for a second. you've gotten to know his body well.

"come on," he coaxes, "gimme one last one around my cock."

his words have you coming undone. when you moan his name as you cum, suddenly you're very happy he doesn't live in an apartment- because there would most definitely be noise complaints if he did.

"wh- fuck," he grunts, hips still snapping into you as you cum, "where do you want it," he asks- but a part of him already knows the answer. the way your legs have been wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper into you while he fucks you into the mattress.

"inside," you whimper, body still reeling from your orgasm, "please charlie, need it so bad." his hips don't let up, still rocking into you, but that's all he needs to hear for him to come tumbling over the edge. he spills inside of you — deep inside of you — rhythm never relenting as he comes.

you're starting to feel like it's all too much. too much pleasure, too full of him (his cock and his cum). just too much. tears prick at your eyes again and you swear the feeling, the sensation of him filling you up with his spend has you hurdling towards yet another orgasm.

"good girl," charlie whispers, his hips slow as he fucks you through your last high, silently admiring how pretty the tears look falling from your eyes. he can't help but smirk, knowing he made you feel so good you cried.

one more moment of savouring the feeling before he pulls out of you. both of your breaths hitching when he does. he smiles down at you, pressing one last tender kiss to your lips before he rolls off of you to lie beside you. you sit in comfortable silence for a bit, allowing your heart rates to come back to normal.

"wow," you breathe, staring up at the ceiling. he turns his head to look at you.

"yeah," he sighs, taking in your absolutely fucked out appearance.

"i don't think i've ever come that many times before." you admit, turning your head to look at him now. the corner of his mouth twitches up- you notice.

you smack his shoulder, shaking your head through a laugh. "don't get cocky, your ego's big enough as it is." he smiles, "mhmm, i'll try my best." that smile is hard not to reciprocate. you turn on your side to face him, lips pulled high in your own satisfied smile.

you catch a glimpse of the alarm clock over him, you sigh- it's late. "i guess i should get going," you whisper.

that's been your arrangement these past couple months. you fuck, either at his place or in his office, then you go home- not trying to give your friends any reason to be suspicious.

charlie grabs your wrist. you look at him, met with those hypnotic hazel eyes- a different sort of look in them now though.

"stay." he says. simple.

your first instinct is to protest. tell him you can't, that you've got a reason to be up early tomorrow or don't want your friends to worry. but then, you remember- they know. you don't have to dance around this relationship anymore, don't have to come up with cover stories for every time you go out. if you want to stay the night, you can stay the night.

"yeah?" you ask, he nods.

"yeah." he tugs at your wrist gently. you smile, allowing him to pull you by the arm to rest your head on his chest. he sighs, not in any kind of annoyance or negative emotion, just- contentment. you let your eyes flutter shut, leg swinging over to tangle with his. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his free hand coming up to trace along your back.

it feels... nice. lying here with him. feels right.

you think you could stay here forever.

...

AAAAAA I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!! pls let me know what u think in the comments&reblogs and lmk if u want me to continue with these two!!!

tags for those who asked & charlie reid truthers !!! > @melancholyy-hill , @polaris-daydreams , @aryacoulson , @biomedicalshark , @erwinsvow (i hope this cures ur depression from last nights ep <3)

[comicaurora]

You mentioned in a previous ask about Arcane that wanting to do something better can be a great motivator, but recently I've seen a lot of discussion about fanworks created out of "spite" like Spiderman Lotus or that Transformers fan film. Do you think these come from different feelings, leading to their end result, or that the motivation just needs to be handled carefully?

Ah, I see the confusion. When you have ideas for what a story could do, and then the story goes in a different direction and bypasses what you thought it would do, that can be an incredibly useful motivator for using that unused inspiration for telling your own story. Taking someone else's completed artwork and saying "move over, idiot, I'll show you how it's done" is a recipe for hubristic self-immolation.

Setting out to "fix" someone's work has to be approached very carefully. Artistic criticism is a complicated skill, but it isn't treated that way. Especially in the age of the internet, several wildly different things have been conflated under "criticism", and I think that's why spite-motivated "fixes" almost always end up tripping on their shoelaces and falling flat.

Art critique - "fixing" someone's work - is about figuring out how to make the art the most effective version of itself. Determine what it's going for, and make suggestions for how the artist could improve the execution of that goal. Clarify a confusing moment, change the score a little to be more emotionally impactful, break up the pacing with moments to breathe, tighten up the pacing to maintain the frantic vibes.

However, the broad perception of what art critique is has been bundled together with several other forms of criticism, including snarky reviews (a judgment of quality rendered after a work is completed and aimed at prospective audiences so they don't end up wasting their money), general knee-jerk mockery (it is easy and fun to score points off of other people's sincerity via a little casual bullying), critical analysis (taking apart how a story works to learn from it, a useful approach for other artists trying to improve their own skills) and, of course, fanfiction.

Ahh, fanfiction! If you don't like a story, you can just take the characters, setting, premise, worlbuilding, and the general shape of the plot - ignoring the fact that at this point you've borrowed about 80% of the work that went into building the original story already - and then you can just make the characters do what you wanted instead. If you think Spider-Man would be better if everyone was miserable and grieving a dead buddy the whole time, you can do that! Two hours of misery for everyone!

This approach is ostensibly trying to accomplish what art critique does - to make a better version of the story. But in practice, it's almost never interested in interrogating what the story was actually going for. In fact, it's actively scornful of what the story was going for. It doesn't take it apart to see what did work, it just says "I didn't like that and I could do better" and produces something trying not to be like the original it disliked.

I kind of think of it like this. If you ate a meal and you were like "there's not enough salt in this," you would not produce a better meal by focusing exclusively on loading it down with all the salt you could find, even if you were starting with all the same ingredients. Do you understand how they were put together to begin with? How the meat was brined, how the vegetables were cooked, what seasonings went where? Do you think all it needed to make it work was salt?

So you get fanworks that do indeed focus on the part that the fanartist thought was missing. You get Spider-Man Is A Sad Jerk For Two Hours. It accomplished what the fanartist wanted, but it fails in its true goal of being Like The Original But Better, because it never actually made the effort to understand what made the original tick. Why do people like Spider-Man in his other movies? Well, there's lots of reasons that work for different audiences - he's funny, he's good-hearted, he's graceful and well-choreographed, his fight scenes are fluid and exciting, his dynamic with the people of New York is lively and comedic, he's hapless and hurting but he always tries his best, he gets knocked down but he always gets back up-- there are many reasons to like these stories. But if all you can focus on is what you wanted them to add, you'll have a lot of trouble parsing out what functional elements you'll need to carry over into your fanfiction to not lose the core of what made it actually mostly work.

If all you focus on is accentuating the bits you wanted them to do without recognizing the parts that were working fine, you end up with a heaping plate of salt.

✨ as the ask states, this post is very specifically about spite-motivated "I can do it better than the writers" fanworks and not fanfiction in general ✨

[filthygalli]

When I Met You: Chapter 4 "Iced Americano" pt.2

Fem!Reader x Neighbor!Hwang In-Ho

Main Master list

Squid Game Master list

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: MDNI!Masturbation, Jealous In-Ho, Light Cursing, Down bad In-Ho for the reader—he's also getting a little needy, Not Proofread—you might see some mistakes here, let me know if there's something that I missed!

Word Count: 5127 (Damn...)

Author's Note: Omg y'all, this took so long, I was so busy at school because I'm a student leader at my uni so I've been busy as hell because of events and Seminars I needed to attend, I'm so sorry for the delays :((

© Pictures that are used are from Pinterest

 In-Ho changed his cum-stained pants with a beige-colored one; he put on his white button-up shirt before putting on a navy blue sweater. He fixed his hair in front of the mirror, deciding what hairstyle he would put on for today. He started experimenting on his hair—putting his bangs down, brushing it up, ruffling his hair to make it look fluffy. He groaned as he couldn't decide what hairstyle would suit him better. He scoffed as he put his hair down, which is his usual hairstyle. He put on his Ralph Lauren glasses as he went out of his room, holding his black leather briefcase.

While going down the stairs he hears you laughing as Yu-Jin plays with her, he smiles at the sight In Front of him, he wishes to wake up every morning with the sound of your laugh while taking care of Yu-Jin.

At this point, you and In-Ho are Yu-Jin's parents who don't live together or even together. You liked the idea of In-Ho letting you take care of his cat while he's away. Do you like it because you get to spend time with In-Ho's cat, or is it because you get to see In-Ho? 

“Y/n.” You heard a familiar voice as you looked up the stairs, and you saw In-Ho, who looked handsome as always. “Hmm?” “Are you ready to go?” He asked as he walked down the stairs, meeting you in the living room, “Yes, what took you so long anyways? ” You asked him as you slightly tilt your head with curiosity. In-Ho's breath hitched at your question. How long was he gone anyway? Is it that obvious? Were you paying attention to how long he was gone? God, did you hear him jerking himself while he moans your name like a prayer? “In-Ho?” The sound of your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “I- I was trying to find my uhm–my glasses,” he said as he points at his glasses, “Oh, alright, By the way–” you stand up and walk towards him, you slightly reach to his hair to fix it, “You look more better like this–” you said going on tippy toes while you fix a strand of his hair, you actions made his heart beats faster, he looks down on you, how close you are with him, he leaned in a little so you wouldn't be tipping your toes to reach his hair, you looked at each other for a while, those brown eyes, you can see the whole universe in them, you licked your lips a little, In-Ho noticed it–he looks at your lips that’s now damp with your saliva, he slowly looked on your eyes as he blinked leaning back up, “Let’s go-” He said as he turned around grabbing his keys and things, You nodded and picked up Yu-Jin and on your way out you also hurriedly grab Yu-Jin's leash, In-Ho waited for you before he opens the door, “After you,” he said stepping a side as you gave him a shy smile before walking out of his house, he quickly followwed after you, locking his house as the two of you went to his car, before you could even open the door he reached the door handle and opens the door for you, making you blush by his action, he noticed it, the way you hurriedly went inside as you lowered your head—hiding your flustered face, he smirked, he went around to go inside the car, he looked at you then Yu-Jin—who’s sitting comfortably on your lap, ‘What a lucky cat.” He thought, you slowly looked at him, “What is it?” In-Ho's gaze softened. “Nothing. Make yourself comfortable, Y/n,” he said as he started his car. The engine of his car roared, which made you quite shocked; cars don't really amaze you that much. Besides, this is your first time riding in an expensive car like this. “Do you want to play some music? ” He said before looking at you, “What?” You asked, slightly taken aback by his question, “You can play something; I know the silence bothers you.” He breathed out as he stopped his car because of the stoplight. ‘Oh…so he noticed,’ you thought. “Oh, alright.” You said as you connected your phone to his car speakers, and you played Angel Eyes by ABBA. The song hummed through the silence of the car as you quietly sang from it. You started to bob your head to the song as you looked down and smiled at Yu-Jin, who was looking up at you, admiring your features. In-Ho couldn't help but steal glances from time to time; he liked how your voice sounded from singing the song, how your nose would slightly scrunch cutely when playing with Yu-Jin. He smiled at the sight of you; he was slowly falling in love with you—and he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from falling in love further. He quietly hummed the song as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, matching the beat from the song. “In-Ho? ” “Hmm?” He hummed as he slowly looked at you, “What time will you go home later? ”You said with a slight hint of nervousness, “Before dinner, why? ” He said as he turned back his focus on the road, “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner…at my house,” a long pause cuts through the air, “You don’t have to go—” “I’ll go.” He cuts you off mid-sentence before you could even finish your sentence, “Are you sure? ” you said with a hint of excitement in your voice, “Yes.” You smiled brightly. He noticed your excitement as he looked at you for a second, then looked away to smile to himself.

“We’re here,” he said as he went out to open your door for you. “Thank you.You smiled up at him as you put down Yu-Jin so he could walk—in-ho nodded at your words and closed the door of his car as the two of you went inside the coffee shop. The smells of burnt coffee filled the air—the smell reminds you of your second encounter with In-Ho, where he leaned down to grab Yu-Jin in his arms and how his skin brushed against yours—how he smells like your favorite coffee. You felt a large hand placed on your back. It’s In-Ho’s. Your eyes widened as he leaned in against your ear,’Be a good girl for me and find us a table. Think you could do that? ’’ Your face heated up, and In-Ho smirked behind you. Noticing how his words and actions affected you deeply, you looked up at him as you quickly nodded, walking away to find a table to sit—eventually you found one, not far from the window of the coffee shop. In-ho glanced at you, giving you a slight nod, “Good morning, sir! What can I get you?” the barista said as In-Ho gave his order to the barista, “Alright, 2 medium iced Americanos. That’ll be (whatever your desired amount).” The barista said as In-Ho grabbed his wallet inside his pocket to pay for his order, “Oh, and your name, Mr…? ” The barista asked, making In-Ho pause for a moment before saying his name, ‘’In-ho.” The barista nodded as He wait on the side, quickly giving you a glance, he smiled at the sight of you as you played with Yu-Jin, he couldn't help but be jealous of his cat, Yu-Jin. How you give Yu-Jin affection and light feather touches, how gentle you are with Yu-Jin, giving Yu-Jin tons of kisses on its face, God, is he really getting jealous with his cat? He just wishes that you could do that to him too, Not now, But maybe soon. 

He sighed as he looked at the time, ‘Fuck,’ he muttered as he was going to be late again. It didn’t matter though; he was with you. He wished that he could stop the time for a moment to admire you from afar, to look into your angel eyes. He took a glance at you again, and it seems like you’re talking to…a man. The said man hugged you tightly as you chuckled and hugged him back. Yu-Jin blankly looked up at the two, confused on what’s happening. Like father, like son indeed.

“Y/n! It's been so long; I've missed you! ”Your childhood best friend, Marc, said while hugging you. You pull away from his embrace as you smile up at him, “I know! I haven’t seen you since college!” You both chuckled as you two exchanged conversation, “Oh—you have a cat?! ” Marc exclaimed, pointing at Yu-Jin, who didn’t pay attention to Marc. You chuckled, “That’s Yu-Jin—and

No, he’s not my cat; it's my neighbor’s.” You sigh as the two of you sit down beside each other. “Oh—You're a cat sitter now? ” He teased, and you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “Yes, and I do it for free—because this little one here is too adorable, and I love looking after him! ” You chuckled as you looked at Yu-Jin, who just blankly stared at you.Odd,’ you thought. 

“2 medium iced Americanos for In-Ho? ” The barista called as In-Ho snapped himself from staring at you and the man who’s now sitting beside you, He quickly thanked the barista as he took your drinks, Glaring at the man beside you, who seems close to you, is he your boyfriend, Fuck are you married? There’s no ring, though…He’ll put one on soon.

“Y/n.” You heard a familiar husky voice as you looked behind you to see In-Ho standing there with 2 coffees in hand. “In-Ho,” you smiled as you stood up. “This is Marc,” you said as you pointed at your friend. “Marc, this is Hwang In-Ho. He’s Yu-Jin’s owner and also my neighbor.” In-Ho looked at Marc with a blank expression as Marc stood up and extended his hand to shake In-Ho’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hwang,” he said as In-Ho stared at Marc’s hand. He gave you your coffee before shaking Marc’s hand, not bothering to say anything. He sat down on the opposite side of the table as he looked at you, then Marc. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin sat on In-Ho’s lap. ‘I know, Buddy.’ He thought, “Oh—how did you know that I like Americano coffee? ” You said, eyeing In-Ho. He glanced at you; his gaze turned soft at your words, “I just know.” Of course he knows; it's what your house smelled like one morning when he went there. “So,” he sighed, “how did you two know each other? ” He said, looking coldly at your friend, Marc. “We've been friends since middle school. My mom and Y/n’s mom are also friends, and we basically grew up together and went to school together too,” Marc says while looking at you. In-Ho can’t help but be jealous. Do you like Marc? How about him? Don’t you like him? In-Ho thought of countless things in his mind. He just nodded and pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I’ll invite him to dinner later; I hope that’s ok…” you said as you looked down, ‘No, it's not ok, Y/N.’ In-ho thought; he paused for a moment, “Yeah,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. The taste of black coffee made him feel alive; he sat up straight, slightly annoyed how your ‘friend’ Marc kept touching your hand, “So, Mr. Hwang… What do you do for a living? ” Marc said as he eyed In-Ho, “I teach,” He breathed out, Not interested in the conversation, “Teach, what?” Marc added, In-Ho tried his best not to sigh in annoyance, “I’m a professor at (your preferred university); I teach literature,” he said as he took a glance at you. In-Ho’s eyes softened when he saw you smiling at him, at him, not your stupid friend Marc. He took a sip of his coffee to hide his smile. “That’s interesting,” Marc said as he nodded. “And you? ” “Oh, I'm a mechanical engineer,” Marc said, giving In-Ho a smile. There’s a long pause of silence between the three of them. 

In-Ho looked down on his lap to see Yu-Jin peacefully resting. He smiled. He wished that someday it’d be you who’s resting your head on his lap as he moves a strand of your hair that’s been covering your beautiful face. He would give you kisses on top of your forehead. In-Ho would tell you how beautiful and good you are to him. He would praise you as if you’re a goddess. Fuck, he’d do it either way. He looked at his watch, and he was an hour late. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Y/n,” In-Ho called you. ‘Hmm? ” You hummed, “I should go; I’m late; I’ll see you later.” He said, placing Yu-Jin beside the empty seat as he stood up and grabbed his things, “Thank you for the coffee, In-Ho.” You smiled up at him, your hands brushed against, his heart skipped a beat, “It’s nothing,” Y/n.” Take care. He gave you a shy smile and patted Yu-Jin,"Be good to Y/n.” He chuckled as Yu-Jin purred. He took a quick look at you before nodding and left.

He opened his car door, settling his things in the back as he sat down, turning the engine on. The engine roared as he stepped on the gas and drove to the university. He can’t help but look at the empty passenger seat beside him. He misses you. He misses your smile and your soft voice humming on the song coming through his radio. In-Ho can’t help but imagine you sucking him while he drives, pressing your head deeper down his shaft, as you swallow thick stripes of his cum down your throat. He snapped himself out of his thoughts as he arrived at the parking lot of the university. 

You said your goodbyes to Marc as he left you and Yu-Jin at the coffee shop. Sighing you sat beside Yu-Jin petting him, you took a walk down the park, the sun is shining and so is you. The sun perfectly illuminates your soft skin. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin also enjoyed the weather; you found a bench to sit on and poured water on Yu-Jin’s food bowl. He drank it, and you also took a sip of water. The cold water made you shiver. You grabbed your phone to update In-Ho about you and Yu-Jin. You grabbed Yu-Jin and placed him down on your lap as you quickly snapped a picture of the two of you, sending it to In-Ho after.

After a long walk, you and Yu-Jin decided to go home to rest. It's been a long morning for the two of you, but as always, you had a lot of fun. A few minutes later you and Yu-Jin arrived at your house, you feed Yu-Jin before going up in your bedroom to take a shower, Your skin felt sticky because of the sweat, The cold water from the shower made you relaxed–Suddenly you thought of In-Ho, How would it feel like taking a shower with a man like him, How his warm and delicate touch would feel against your skin under the cold shower, you imagined him trailing down kisses on your shoulder blades and on your bare chest, he would suck your skin till it leaves reddish marks as he trace them using him tongue, Licking it all the way down on your nipples, You slowly pull your hand down on your bare cunt, Circling your clit as you quietly moan his name, ‘’In-Ho…’’ As you imagine him inserting his thick index finger inside your walls, you felt yourself stretch against his fingers, ‘’You’re so wet for me, Sweetheart,’’ In-Ho said as he leaned in on your shoulder to leave marks there, “In-Ho...please–” You moaned as you pumped your fingers inside, Imagining its In-Ho’s fingers, he groans as he inserts his middle finger, Making you feel full, “Shit, Sweetheart–so tight for me, Think you could take another one? Hmm?” He mumbled as you quickened your pace, as you felt a familiar sensation on your stomach—”Answer me, Y/n, I asked you a question, haven’t I? ”He said, cupping your chin roughly.

You imagined In-Ho who’s a man who can be rough and soft at the same time, He’ll make you beg until you cry, and he would only smirk and tilt his head slightly as you beg for his touch, He would make you a crying mess underneath him, He would fuck you till he had enough, you kept on thinking about him as you gently rub your clit, thinking its In-Ho’s fingers against it, He pulled out his fingers as he looked at you, The same look that he would always give you when silence filled the room, ‘’In-Ho..Please i’m close–” You cried out, ‘’Please what, Sweetheart?” He waited for your response, "Make me cum—Please, God, In-Ho—” At this point, you’re a mess, face flustered, eyes filled with tears. Your skin felt vulnerable as In-Ho traced his fingers against the marks that he made, "Look at you, so beautiful like this…’’ he said, inserting his index, middle, and ring fingers inside your aching pussy. You wince at the pain, “Cum for me. Now,” he demanded as you continued to pump yourself as you thought of In-Ho doing it for you, “That’s it, Sweetheart, fuck—” He groans as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, “In-Ho, I’m going to cum—! ” You moaned loudly as you pleased yourself at your own imagination, “That’s it, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me and cum all over my fingers like the whore you are—! ” He said as he roughly played with your sensitive clit, your eyes hit the back of your head as you squirted in the shower while moaning In-Ho’s name. You slowly pull your fingers out as you groan—you scoff to yourself, feeling embarrassed after what you just did—moaning your neighbor's name while you fuck yourself, thinking, What would In-Ho think if he finds out that you’re moaning his name while you touch yourself? Does he do the same to you? Clearly not, right? He’s not that kind of man—he’s just quiet, observant, and sometimes he can be a little teasing—when he’s in the mood, of course. You sigh as you continue to shower, properly this time.

In-Ho sat down on his chair inside the cubicle and saw your text message; he smiled upon seeing it. You looked beautiful as always—a hand brushed against his shoulder, “Mr. Hwang, are you free tonight? ” A woman wearing a gray skirt and white button-up shirt called In-Ho’s name. In-Ho looked back, eyeing the woman’s hand on his shoulder before looking at her. “Ms. Gomez,” he said as he straightened his posture. The woman leaned down to In-Ho’s eye level. “Busy? ” The woman said as she tilted her head a little, “Yes.” In-Ho coldly said, giving her a blank facial expression, “So, are you free tonight for—” “No,” In-Ho said before the woman could even finish her sentence, “Oh—” She lightly scoffed, must’ve been taken aback by In-Ho’s response, “Some other time, maybe? ” She said as he seductively caressed In-Ho’s shoulder, In-Ho sighed in annoyance, "’Look," he said as he grabbed Ms. Gomez’s hand, “I’m a busy man, and I certainly won’t go out with a woman like you. Find someone else you could bother,” he said as he stood up, grabbing his things and leaving without saying anything, “Typical.” Ms. Gomez said as she scoffed and eyed In-Ho’s back, looking at him from top to bottom.

In-Ho sighed as he went out of the campus, nodding and greeting some of the students and his colleagues. He hates it, though. He doesn’t like social interactions that much; it bores him. He doesn’t even care if he has no friends at the campus; he has his cat, Yu-Jin, anyways. Oh, and well, there’s you. His ray of sunshine amidst his dark and quiet demeanor, always there to brighten up his day even with just shy glances from you, a smile creeps upon his lips by just the thought of you. Your effect on him is impeccable—you drive Thee Hwang In-Ho crazy! And he couldn’t believe that a person like you would make him feel like a teenager again.

He arrived at the parking lot. He opened the door of his black Mercedes. He set his things on the passenger side where you once sat. He recalled the moment where you were humming and smiling. He smiled too, "Fuck, she’s making me feel so desperate.” He sighed. He went around and opened the door of the driver's side as he sat down, turning the engine on. The engine roared as he stepped on the gas pedal. 

While driving, In-Ho can’t help but think of the things he needs to buy from the store. He needs food at home. He’s been lazy for the past few days about it. Going shopping from the grocery store feels lonely. He doesn’t like it. He just wishes that someday you’ll do it with him—walking on every aisle of the store as he holds your hand. Fuck, he would buy anything you want, even if you just thought of getting it or you just touched it. He’ll buy it. He will spoil you with his money and probably everything that he has. He parked his car in the parking lot as he went out and closed the door behind him.

He grabbed a couple of foods that he may need during the week; he also grabbed a bottle of expensive whiskey—he likes drinking whiskey, unlike beer or any other alcohol. After grabbing everything he needed, he went straight to the cashier, paying for his items. He went straight home; he can’t wait to see you. He stepped on the gas pedal as his car roared. He’s never been like this, getting so excited when going home, usually only seeing Yu-Jin at home makes him get excited, relaxing and watching movies while Yu-Jin sat beside him or on his lap. But now, when he met you…he’s always looking forward to going home and seeing you, even though you live just beside his house.

You laid down on your soft sofa while reading a book. Meanwhile, Yu-Jin laid down on the stairs, watching you carefully. You heard a soft knock coming from your front door. You huffed and sat up from your couch. Yu-Jin meowed at you, “You miss him, huh? ” you asked as Yu-Jin lay on his back—you chuckled, you walked towards Yu-Jin, and gave him belly rubs as you quickly walked towards the door. A soft knock came again, “Just a sec—” you said as you grabbed the door handle; you twisted it, and the door swung open, seeing your friend Marc holding a bouquet of flowers, “Hi.” You smiled, “Marc—you didn’t have to! ”You grabbed the bouquet of flowers in his hand as you smelled it. “It smells so nice—it’s so beautiful too! ” he chuckled, “It's not as beautiful as you, Y/n.” He said smiling at you, “Geez, when did you learn to be like that?” You chuckled, “I’m always like this.” He teased as you sighed, “Come in.” You opened the door just enough to let him in, “Your house looks wonderful,” he said as he looked around your home, “Oh—That old man’s cat is still here.” He crouched down as he called Yu-Jin, “Come here, buddy—” he said as Yu-Jin didn’t pay attention and just ignored him, “Is he always like that? ” Marc asked, “Oh, no…he’s usually sweet and clingy when I call him…” you said as Yu-Jin sat down on the chair cushion in the corner of the room, “Odd…” You mumbled, “Well, he must’ve loved you a lot then? ”Your friend Marc said as he stood up, looking at you, “What are you doing in here anyways? It's early, dinner’s at 6,” you said as you walked in the living room. “I just wanted to see you. It's quite lonely,” he said as he sat down on the couch. He looked beside him and saw the book that you were reading. “I didn’t know you liked to read. ” he asked as he brought up the book, holding it up to his face, “Inferno…Scary.” He chuckled, “I’ve been reading books since forever, you dummy—” You teased as you rolled your eyes playfully, “Hmm,” he grumbled, “What’s the cat’s name again? ” Marc asked, pointing at Yu-Jin, who’s glaring at him, the same glare that In-Ho has when he first met you, the looks that could literally kill. Yu-Jin really looks like In-Ho, no DNA test needed. You chuckled at the thought, “His name is Yu-Jin; he’s a sweet and calm cat, but he can be stubborn sometimes…which reminds me of someone.” You smiled a little as your friend looked at you. “Me? ” he said, “What? No—” You chuckled, “Someone I know…” You smiled a little, “Whatever.” You two chuckled.

In-Ho arrived at his home, parking his car as he went out, eyeing your house. The lights are on. You’re home already. A slight smile creeps on the corner of his lips as he goes inside his house. Setting his things down, he quickly puts the food he bought inside the fridge and some inside the food pantry. He sighs as he leans back on the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone—checking if you sent him a message. He frowns, only one text message from you, which is odd. He’s used to seeing lots of your messages pop up on the screen of his phone; it’s either a picture of Yu-Jin alone or with you. He always saves them; there’s actually one folder on his gallery dedicated to you. He puts a password on it, making sure only he can access it. He quickly typed a message and sent it to you. He finds himself staring at his phone, waiting for you to reply. He started to tap his fingers on the kitchen counter, sighing and huffing. He looked at himself in the reflection of the window. Is he falling in love with you? Is he jealous, Needy? He ran his hand through his hair as he groaned and stood up, walking upstairs as he twisted the knob of his room.

You laughed as Marc cracked a joke, “I’m just saying—” He chuckled, “That’s funny, but never say that to me ever again! ” You slapped his shoulder as you laughed, “You still do that, huh? ” He winced in pain. “The what? ” You frowned, “The things that you do when you laugh, slapping my shoulder, it hurts—” He pouted as he teased you, “Oh—stop it.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

The warm water splashed through In-Ho’s skin as he relaxed under the shower, breathing heavily as he thought of you. Ever since he jerks himself at the thought of you, he couldn’t stop doing it. He groans at himself for doing such a thing like that.

In-Ho is a man who barely touches himself unless he needs release; whenever he’s stressed from work, he’ll stroke his cock with his left hand, and after he cums, he’ll act like nothing happened and will go straight back to work. And now here he is—in the shower moaning your name breathlessly as he came—shooting his cum on the ceramic walls of his bathroom, he rested his head on the wall, his chest rising up and down, “Fuck…” he muttered.

He went out of the shower as he wrapped a towel on his waist, he opened his closet trying to find comfortable clothes to put on for your dinner with him tonight. Should he wear something casual? Something that he’ll get to tease you with, to linger your eyes on? He grabbed a pair of black pants and a charcoal gray button-up shirt. He put them on as he looked at himself in the mirror. He chuckled as he rolled his sleeves through his elbow—exposing his veins that go all the way up to his biceps. He also left his collar unbuttoned, getting a tiny glimpse of his skin. He sprayed some of his expensive perfume on his neck. After putting on his glasses, he went downstairs and grabbed an expensive bottle of wine that he bought from Italy a year ago. He wished that you liked wine; he forgot to ask you that—he just knows that you like black coffee.

He stood outside your door, remembering the first time he went here. He was rude to you. He softly chuckled through the memory. Your soft and innocent expression always caught him off guard. He always thought, how could such a grumpy old man like him meet a bright person like you? He could only sigh at the question in his mind. He brought his knuckles on your door and remembered to knock softly, not wanting to startle you like he did before.

“Oh—I’ll get it,” Marc said as he stood up from his seat as you and Yu-Jin cuddled on the floor. You nodded. In-Ho knocked again. “Just a sec—” He heard a different voice coming from the inside of the house. Shit, were you with someone else? Are you having dinner with someone else and not him? The door swung open as In-Ho frowned, “Who is it?” You asked as you walked slowly towards the front door, “It’s the old man from the coffee shop earlier,” Marc said eyeing In-Ho from up to down, ‘I’m gonna kill him,’ In-Ho thought as he scoffed at marc’s words, “Oh, he’s here for the dinner–” You said as you looked at In-Ho ‘Fuck, he’s hot.’ You thought as you gave him a smile, In-Ho’s gaze softened when he saw you, “Y/n.” In-Ho said giving you a slight smile, Fuck he looks breath taking, His dark brown disheveled hair, His style of clothing–Honestly you love how In-Ho dressed himself unlike guys your age who dressed like everyone else you see on the street, But In-Ho, he dress himself perfectly, His taste in Clothes are elegant, Always give him that aura and intimidation, His looks matches the way he dress–And fuck, you could smell that strong scent of if perfume, It smell like burnt amber and leather, It smells so manly. 

In-Ho noticed the way you looked at him. He knows that his plan worked. You look like you could do anything to him right now. The way your eyes traveled up and down through his figure, your eyes full of lust as you look at him, he doesn’t give a fuck about your friend. He’ll take you away from him. You’re his and he’s yours, and he’ll make you his no matter what. 

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Author's Note: Aaaaa part 4 finally, I've had so many sleepless nights thinking how will i end it, Another cliffhanger ending for the next chapter though, I'm so grateful that you guys loved this series, I'll make sure to continue writing this series for y'all!

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right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part two

wc: 9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush with warmth, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

Your expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tip your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[aceyalonso]

a win-win situation? - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary : Fresh from a Formula 1 race win, Lewis Hamilton parties with his friends at a club. Y/n L/n, troubled by the condition that she must be married to inherit her father's company, is at the same club. They hit it off, have a few too many drinks, and wake up in a hotel room, shocked to realize they got married

warnings : drinking, swearing, suggestive content, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old)

word count : 7.1k

song : it won't stop - sevyn streeter, chris brown

a/n : 200 followers special & lewis win post!!! (i'm not sure if i want to make a part 2 to this ngl)

Sunday, 11:49 PM

The club was loud and chaotic, with people dancing, yelling, and drinking. The lights flashed colors in time to the music, giving off a disorienting feeling. The room was stuffy and hot, with people packed together like sardines, attempting to talk over the music and flirt with strangers

This club was like a small universe within itself, with each group doing its own thing and making a lot of noise while doing so. The music was loud enough to drown out any conversation that would have otherwise been attempted, and the alcohol only helped the chaos grow.

Some people were there to celebrate and have a good time, laughing and dancing with their friends to the music. Others were sulking and sad, either nursing a drink or trying to drown their miseries with alcohol.

Lewis was one of the people there to celebrate, and he was having the time of his life. They were all drinking and dancing in the center of the crowd, laughing and talking loudly to be heard over the music.

Unlike Lewis, who was having the time of his life on the dance floor, Y/n was at the bar with one of her friends. She was downing shot after shot, her mood sour and her temper short. The alcohol was dulling the edges of her anger.

Y/n

With a sigh, I slammed my glass down on the bar, my temper flaring. Lyka turned to me, her gaze curious and concerned as she asked, "So what did your father say that's got you in such a mood?"

I grumble, my irritation and bitterness clear in my voice. "My dad said I could inherit the company, but..."

I trail off, my mind swirling with the implications of my father's statement. Though part of me was undoubtedly happy to know that the family business would one day be mine, there was something else that bothered me.

Lyka picked up on my hesitation and leaned in closer to ask, "But what? You should be happy about that, right?"

I snort derisively, my shoulders tensing. "Yeah, I should be happy... But there's a catch, of course. There always is with him."

She frowns, sensing the weight of my discontentment. "What kind of catch are we talking about here?"

My words came out sharp and bitter, my eyes hardening. "I have to get married. That's the catch. My dad said I can inherit the company, but I have to be married first."

She gasps in surprise, clearly not expecting such a stipulation. "Wait, seriously? He's telling you that you have to be MARRIED just to inherit the company?"

I nod grimly, my expression darkening. "Yeah, that's the deal. I've got to find someone to settle down with if I ever want to take over the family business," I chuckled sarcastically. "It's ridiculous, I know."

Lyka's eyes widen, her face filled with sympathy. "damn, that's... rough. You don't even get a say in who you marry?"

I nod, my expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Yeah, that was the compromise. I get to choose who I marry but must be married within the next year. It's like he doesn't trust me to run the company by myself."

She lets out a sympathetic sigh, reaching out to comfort me. "That's so unfair, you shouldn't have to get married just to prove yourself. But I guess it's better than having someone picked for you, huh?"

I nodded grudgingly, letting out a small huff. "Yeah, I guess so. It's just… I'm not even sure if I want to get married at all, you know? The whole idea of it just feels so… I don't know, constraining, I guess."

Her friend nods, trying to shift the conversation to a lighter topic. "Okay, enough about your dad's stupid rule. Let's talk about something else. How's work been going for you?"

Y/n takes the chance to change the subject, grateful for the distraction. "Work's been alright. I've been so busy lately that I haven't had time for anything fun."

"Yeah, I know how that is," her friend replies sympathetically. "It feels like work just takes over your life sometimes. But hey, at least you're making some good money, right?"

Y/n lets out a dry chuckle, her mood lightening slightly. "Oh, yeah. I'm making really good money. So good that I practically live at the office these days."

Lyka laughs as well, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damn, girl. Sounds like you're going to be rolling in it if you take over the company. You'll be able to buy anything and everything you've ever wanted."

Y/n grins, a little spark of hope reigniting at the thought. "Yeah, that's true. I could buy a nice house, or take fancy vacations whenever I want. I could pretty much do whatever I want, really."

Y/n's grin fades, her expression turning thoughtful. "But… I won't be able to take those vacations with a husband, would I? It would mean having to consider someone else's schedule and preferences, and I wouldn't be able to just take off whenever I want anymore."

Her friend nods sympathetically, her gaze understanding. "Yeah, that's a good point. Having a partner would definitely change things, especially when it comes to travel and leisure. It's not quite the same as having the freedom to go where and when you want, without any strings attached."

Y/n lets out a sigh, her irritation beginning to return. "Exactly. And it's not just the travel that's the issue. It's the whole idea of having to compromise and make sacrifices for someone else. I don't know if I'm ready for that, or if I ever will be."

The girls down another shot, the alcohol giving them a pleasant buzz. Y/n, feeling a little looser now, turns to her friend. "Hey, you know what? Let's go dance. We didn't come here just to sit at the bar all night, right?"

Her friend grins and nods in agreement, clearly ready to cut loose. "Yeah, let's do it. I could use some movement after hearing about your dad's ridiculous rule."

Y/n pushes away from the bar, her steps a little unsteady as the alcohol takes effect. Lyka laughs and steadies her, both of them making their way to the crowded dance floor.

They push their way through the sea of people, the music and lights creating a chaotic and energizing atmosphere. Y/n begins to sway and move to the beat. Lyka joins in, both of them letting go of their worries and simply enjoying the moment.

As Y/n is dancing, she suddenly feels the presence of someone behind her, close enough to dance but still leaving a respectful distance. Startled at first, she quickly realizes is being careful not to violate her space.

Y/n turns her head to catch a glimpse of who's behind her, her curiosity and excitement growing.

Her eyes widen as she turns and sees a man behind her. His hands are covered in intricate tattoos, drawing attention to his veiny hands and making her curious to know the stories behind them. But what truly captures her attention is his smile, a warm, charming grin that seems to light up his whole face.

"Hey," Y/n says, her voice a little breathless as she takes in his appearance.

His grin grows broader, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey there," he replies, his voice carrying over the music. "I hope you don't mind me joining in. You looked like you were having a good time."

Y/n laughs, the alcohol helping her loosen up. "No, it's fine. I don't mind at all. I was just surprised, that's all."

She continues to dance, her movements more fluid and relaxed now that she has someone to dance with. She glances over at the man, taking in his tattoos and his easygoing demeanor.

The man dances alongside her, his steps matching hers effortlessly. He moves with a grace and confidence that is almost captivating, his body flowing with the rhythm of the music. Every now and then, he'll glance at her, his gaze lingering for a moment before darting away again.

As they continue to dance, he takes the opportunity to introduce himself. "By the way, I'm Lewis," he says, his voice smooth and pleasant to the ears. "What's your name?"

Y/n glances at him with a smile, appreciating his forwardness. "I'm Y/n," she replies, her voice a little louder to be heard over the music. "It's nice to meet you, Lewis."

Lewis nods, his smile widening at her response. "Y/n. A pretty name for a pretty lady." He glances at her again, his gaze openly admiring her appearance.

Y/n feels a little thrill at his compliment, her cheeks heating slightly under his gaze. She glances back at him, her eyes taking in his tattoos and his confidence. "You're not so bad yourself," she replies with a flirtatious undertone.

Lewis raises an eyebrow at her response, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Is that a compliment I hear?" he replies with a hint of amusement. "Careful now, you might make me blush."

Y/n grins, enjoying the banter between them. "Oh, please. I doubt a guy like you blushes easily. You're probably used to girls fawning over you all the time."

Lewis lets out a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're right about that. I do get my fair share of attention, but it's nice to have a conversation with someone who's not afraid to give me a little snark back."

Y/n grins, her earlier irritation completely forgotten as she dances with Lewis. "Oh, I can definitely give you snark. And don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're cute."

Lewis raises an eyebrow again, clearly enjoying their back-and-forth banter. "Oh, I would expect nothing less. It wouldn't be as much fun if you went easy on me, now would it?"

Y/n chuckles and leans closer to Lewis, the alcohol giving her a bit of courage. "Hey, if you're gonna keep me entertained with your witty banter, the least you can do is buy me a drink."

Lewis grins, clearly enjoying her demanding tone. "Oh, you drive a hard bargain, Y/n. But I think I can manage that."

He offers her his hand, a smirk on his face. "Come on, let's head back to the bar. What do you want to drink?"

Y/n takes his hand and follows him towards the bar, feeling a little flutter in her stomach. "I'll take a vodka soda, thanks," she replies, her gaze lingering on his tattoos again.

Lewis nods and leads her through the crowded club, his grip firm and reassuring on her hand. They reach the bar and he signals for the bartender, calling out Y/n's drink order. As they wait for their drinks, he turns to her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"So," he says, leaning in close to be heard over the music. "You said you're not afraid to give me snark. Does that mean I have to watch my words, or are you just full of empty threats?"

Y/n laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I'm a woman of my word. If you say something stupid, you can bet I'll call you out on it. Don't underestimate me, Lewis."

Lewis grins, clearly enjoying her feisty personality. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. In fact, I find a woman with a sharp tongue quite refreshing. It keeps me on my toes, you know?"

Y/n smiles, his comment making her heart flutter a bit more. "Well, you better get used to it then. Because I don't plan on holding back, no matter how charming you are."

"Good," Lewis replies, his voice low and sultry. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Just then, the bartender slides their drinks over to them, interrupting their conversation. Lewis hands Y/n her vodka soda, his fingers brushing against hers in the process.

Y/n feels a shiver run up her spine as their fingers touch, his touch sending tiny sparks across her skin. She takes a sip of her drink, the alcohol instantly making her feel more relaxed and carefree.

Lewis sips his own drink, eyeing her over the rim of his glass with a sly smile. "So, Y/n," he says, his tone a little more serious now. "What brings a woman like you out dancing by herself on a Friday night?"

Y/n glances around the club, her gaze landing on her friend who is dancing nearby. "Oh, I'm not actually here alone," she replies, her voice slightly amused. "My friend is over there. We came together, but she ditched me to dance with some guy."

Y/n turns to Lewis and gestures in the direction of her friend. "See that girl over there? The one who's talking to the DJ? That's my friend. She left me here to go flirt with him."

Lewis turns to look at the DJ, his eyes lighting up in recognition. "Whoa, wait a minute," he says, his tone tinged with surprise. "That's actually my friend, Lando."

Y/n raises an eyebrow at this new bit of information. "Wait, really? You know the DJ?"

Lewis nods, a small smirk on his face. "Yeah, we've known each other for a while. We met a few years back. We've been friends ever since."

Y/n takes a moment to process this new information, glancing over at her friend and Lando. "Well, I guess that explains why she's been dancing with him all night then."

Lewis laughs, clearly amused by the situation. "Looks like it. Lando has a way of charming the ladies. Seems like your friend isn't immune to it either."

Y/n chuckles. "Clearly not. She's practically drooling over him. But I can't blame her, he does have a certain charm."

"That he does," Lewis agrees, taking a sip of his drink. "He's a good guy, but he's got quite the reputation with the ladies. He has a new girl on his arm every weekend, it seems."

Y/n shakes her head with a smile, diverting the conversation back to Lewis. "Okay, enough about my friend and Lando. I want to know more about you."

Lewis grins, clearly enjoying her attention. "Oh, do you now? And what exactly do you want to know about me?"

Lewis chuckles at her question and replies, with a hint of mystery. "Well, I'm certainly older than you, that's for sure. Let's just say I've got a bit more experience under my belt."

Y/n grins, his response only making her more curious. "Oh, so you're an experienced one, huh? How much experience exactly? Or are you going to keep me in suspense?"

Lewis smirks, clearly enjoying their banter. "Now, Y/n, where's the fun in giving away all my secrets at once? You'll have to be patient if you want to find out more about me."

Y/n feigns disappointment, her expression exaggerated. "Oh, you're going to make me wait, huh? Fine, I guess I'll have to be patient. But I warn you, I'm not a very patient person."

Lewis relents, his smile widening as he answers her question. "Alright, since you're so insistent. I'm 39."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and she lets out a whistle. "Seriously? You're 39? I thought you were younger, like early 30s at the oldest."

Lewis chuckles, clearly enjoying her reaction. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment. I may be a bit older, but I like to think I still have a young heart, you know?"

Y/n grins, her initial surprise replaced by a touch of admiration. "That's impressive. You definitely don't act your age. You still look and act like you're in your 20s."

Lewis shrugs, a hint of pride in his gaze. "I take care of myself. I work out, eat healthy, and stay active. I guess it pays off, huh?"

Y/n nods approvingly, taking in his toned physique. "Yeah, it definitely does. You look like you could give guys half your age a run for their money."

Lewis quirks an eyebrow, a curious smile on his lips. "Alright, speaking of age, now it's my turn to ask. How old are you, Y/n?"

She takes a sip of her drink before answering, a touch of nervousness in her tone. "I'm 28," she replies, trying to sound nonchalant.

His eyes widen slightly, a look of surprise crossing his face. "28, huh? You look younger. I would have guessed you were in your mid-20s, tops."

Y/n chuckles, a mix of pride and embarrassment in her tone. "Thanks, I guess. I try to take care of myself too. I don't want to look like a fossil anytime soon."

Lewis laughs, clearly amused. "Fair enough. It's always good to stay young at heart, no matter your age. And it seems like you're doing a pretty good job of it so far."

Y/n grins, feeling bolder now. "Well, you know what they say - age is just a number, right? It's all about how you feel inside. And I feel pretty young and free right now."

Lewis nods in agreement, a twinkle in his eye. "That's a good attitude to have. Life is too short to let age define you. You gotta embrace every moment, no matter how old or young you are."

Y/n grins, raising her glass in agreement. "Here, here. To embracing every moment, no matter how old or young we are."

They clink their shot glasses together and take a swig, the alcohol burning their throats and adding to the already buzzing feeling in their systems.

Fast forward to a few hours later, Y/n and Lewis are both feeling the effects of the alcohol kicking in. Their movements are looser, their inhibitions lower, and their words a little bit slurred. They're both laughing and talking animatedly, the boundaries between them disappearing with every drink they take.

Y/n leans against the bar, her head spinning slightly, her gaze fixed on Lewis who is standing next to her. "You know, Lewis, you're not so bad when you're drunk," she slurs, a lazy smile on her face.

Lewis grins back at her, his eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol. "And you're not too bad yourself, Y/n. In fact, you're a damn good drinking partner."

Y/n throws her head back in a drunken giggle, feeling lightheaded and carefree. "Oh, I'm the best drinking partner you've ever had, buddy. I can out-drink you anytime, anyday."

Lewis leans closer to Y/n's ear, his breath warm on her skin as he slurs out a suggestion. "Hey, you wanna go somewhere a bit more private? Somewhere away from all these people?"

Y/n turns to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The alcohol has made her bolder and carefree, and she doesn't hesitate to agree. "Yeah, let's do it. Let's get away from this crowd. Leady the way, Lewis."

Lewis grins, his hand wrapping around hers as he leads her away from the packed nightclub. They weave through the sea of people, their steps a bit unsteady as the alcohol continues to flow through their systems.

They finally reach a quieter corner of the club, a more secluded area away from the hustle and bustle of the dance floor. Lewis leans against the wall, pulling Y/n closer to him, his hands resting on her hips.

Y/n stumbles a little as she steps closer, her body against his. Her head is spinning a bit, and her senses are heightened by the alcohol. She looks up at him, her eyes half-lidded. "This is better. Just you and me, away from the crowd."

Lewis nods in agreement, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at her. His hands grip her hips tighter, pulling her closer. "Just you and me, Y/n. No one to bother us, no distractions."

They stand there, their bodies pressed together, gazes locked in a silent, charged moment. For a few seconds, time seems to stand still as they take each other in, their breathing heavy and their hearts pounding in their chests.

The air between them crackles with electricity, their connection undeniable. Lewis' hands move up from her hips, tracing along her sides, and Y/n shivers at his touch, her skin tingling from his caress.

Lewis pulls her even closer, their bodies now flush against each other. Y/n can feel every muscle, every contour of his body against hers, and she can't help but shiver again. She lifts her chin, her lips parting slightly as she gazes up at him, her eyes hooded with desire.

Without warning, Lewis loses control and closes the gap between them, his lips crashing into hers in a kiss that's all hunger and need. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, fueled by the alcohol and the mounting tension between them.

Y/n responds instantly, her lips parting willingly under his as she returns the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers tangling into his braids as she clings to him, her body arching into his.

The kiss deepens, their mouths moving together in a frenzied, sloppy dance of desire. Teeth clash and tongues tangle, as they pour all their pent-up frustration and lust into the kiss.

Lewis' hands roam freely across her body, pulling her closer, his touch possessive and urgent. Y/n moans into his mouth, her body responding to his touch, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

After a few moments that feel like an eternity, Y/n manages to pull herself back, breaking the kiss. Her chest is heaving with every labored breath, her body ablaze with desire. Her eyes flutter open, and she gazes at Lewis, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed.

Y/n glances up at Lewis, her expression a little dazed and a little amused. "Damn, you know what? You're a pretty good kisser. I might just have to marry you for that reason alone."

Lewis laughs, his head leaning back against the wall. "Is that all it takes, huh? A good kiss and you're ready to tie the knot?"

Y/n grins, tilting her head to the side. "Hey, I'm just saying, I think you'd make a pretty good husband… as long as you keep kissing me like that."

Lewis chuckles, his hands still resting on her hips, his grip a little looser now. "Is that a threat or a promise?" he teases, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Y/n pretends to think for a moment, her index finger tapping her chin. "A little bit of both, I think," she replies, a cheeky smile on her lips. "I'll expect a ring, but you'll have to keep up with those kisses… among other things."

Lewis laughs, shaking his head in bemusement. "You know what? Sure, why not? Let's do it. I'll marry you. I guess a good kissing record is enough to secure the deal."

Y/n, giggling like a schoolgirl, grabs Lewis's hand and pulls him out of the club. The cool night air hits them, and she shivers slightly, her head still spinning from the alcohol. "Let's go! Let's go get married!"

Monday, 8:57 AM

Y/n groans as she slowly opens her eyes, blinking against the bright light streaming through the curtains. She lifts her head, her mind fuzzy and disoriented, and takes in her surroundings. She's lying in a hotel room, the unfamiliar surroundings taking a moment to register in her hungover mind.

As her vision clears, she becomes aware of the weight and heat of another body pressed against hers. She turns her head slightly and sees Lewis lying next to her, fast asleep, their hands intertwined between them.

Y/n's eyes widen as she glances down at her hand, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of the ring on her finger. Her head is still fuzzy from the alcohol and her memories of the previous night are hazy, but the ring on her finger is undeniable.

She tries to pull her hand away from Lewis's grasp, but his fingers remain tightly interlaced with hers, even in his sleep. The realization of what happened slowly starts to sink in, and Y/n looks from her hand to Lewis's sleeping face, her mind buzzing with confusion and disbelief.

The room is silent, apart from the steady sound of Lewis's breathing. Y/n lies still, her heart pounding as her mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. She glances at the ring again, her stomach churning with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a hint of excitement.

She's married. She's actually married. To Lewis. The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating, and Y/n isn't sure if it's the alcohol still lingering in her system or the sheer absurdity of the situation that's making her feel so lightheaded.

She lies there for a few more moments, her hand still trapped in Lewis's grip, her mind swirling with a million thoughts and questions. What did she get herself into? How did this happen? And most importantly, how is she going to face Lewis when he wakes up?

As the minutes tick by, Y/n takes deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She glances at Lewis again, his peaceful expression a stark contrast to the turmoil in her head. She can feel the warm weight of his leg draped over hers, their bodies intertwined in the narrow hotel bed.

A small part of her is scared, unsure of what the future holds now that she's inadvertently married Lewis. But another part of her, the part fueled by alcohol-induced courage and impulsiveness, is curious, excited even, at the possibility of what this unexpected turn of events could mean.

Still, her head is throbbing with a headache, a reminder of the night before and the alcohol they consumed. She tries to piece together the events that led them to this point, but her memories are hazy and fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle that refuse to fit together.

Y/n attempts to wake Lewis up, gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name in a soft, hoarse voice. "Lewis… wake up, Lewis…" she murmurs, her head still aching as she speaks.

Lewis stirs at the sound of her voice, his eyes slowly opening as he blinks against the bright light filtering through the curtains. He looks disoriented for a moment, his gaze bleary as he takes in his surroundings and slowly registers where he is, and more importantly, who he is with.

As his eyes focus on Y/n's face, a look of realization dawns on his own. He lifts his head, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief as he looks down at their intertwined hands. His fingers, still linked with hers, tighten around hers as he processes their current predicament.

"Holy shit," he mutters under his breath, his voice hoarse and dry from sleep. "Did we…?" He trails off, his gaze shifting from their hands to her face, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

Y/n nods slowly, her heart hammering in her chest as she meets his gaze. The reality of their situation is crashing down on her now, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as she responds. "Yeah… I think we did, Lewis. We…" she swallows hard, the words stuck in her throat. "…I think we got married."

Lewis's eyes widen further, his surprise mirrored in his expression. He sits up slowly, still holding her hand in his. "We got married," he repeats, his tone disbelieving. He runs his free hand through his bed-rumpled hair, a look of disbelief and confusion on his face. "How the hell did that happen?"

Y/n shakes her head, her own disbelief just as evident. "I don't know. I can barely remember last night. We were at the club, and we were both drunk and…" her voice trails off as the memories of the previous night continue to elude her.

Lewis lets out a deep sigh, his hand still firmly holding hers. "Yeah, same here. It's all a blur to me too. I remember having a few drinks, and then…" He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is insane. We got married. Like, actually married."

Y/n nods again, her eyes still on their intertwined hands. "I know. It's unbelievable. We were just… having fun, you know? Having drinks, dancing, joking around. And now…" she trails off again, her mind struggling to process the situation.

Y/n lets out a slew of profanities under her breath, her frustration and disbelief spilling out in a rush of colorful words. "This is unbelievable. I can't believe we actually got married. Of all the stupid things we could have done, we tied the knot. What were we thinking?"

Her head is still throbbing with a killer hangover headache, and the reality of their situation is hitting her like a freight train. She glances over at Lewis, who is still sitting up next to her, looking just as shocked and bewildered as she feels.

Part of her wants to pinch herself to see if it's all real, but the presence of the ring on her finger and the warm weight of Lewis's hand holding hers confirms that it is indeed no dream.

Y/n's eyes widen as she looks at the documents on the table. They're official documents, a marriage certificate bearing both her name and Lewis's. Her heart skips a beat as the reality of the situation hits her like a ton of bricks. This is really happening. They're really, legally married.

The weight of this realization makes her feel dizzy, and she has to steady herself against the table, her hand clenching the edge of it. Her mind is spinning, the headache and the alcohol from the previous night not helping her process this new level of insanity.

Lewis stands up next to her, his movements slow and slightly groggy as he takes the documents from her. He glances through them, his eyes skimming the words and official stamps, the reality of their situation sinking in with each line he reads.

Lewis puts the papers back down on the table, his expression still laced with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. He turns towards Y/n, his expression serious now. "I think we need to talk about this. We can't just ignore the fact that we're apparently married now."

Y/n nods, her own expression solemn. She's still struggling to wrap her mind around the situation, but she knows he's right. They can't just pretend it never happened, not when there's a signed marriage certificate sitting right there.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. "You're right. We need to talk about this. But I don't even know where to start."

Lewis lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair again. "Neither do I," he admits. "But I guess we start with the obvious questions. Like, how the hell did we even end up getting married in the first place?"

Y/n shakes her head, her confusion mirrored on her face. "I have no idea. I remember us drinking, and dancing, and… well, not much else. It's all pretty blurry after a certain point."

Lewis nods, his expression thoughtful. "Same here. I remember having drinks, and things being fun and light-hearted, and then the next thing I know, we're waking up here, married. It's like a gap in my memory or something."

As the two of them continue to discuss their predicament, out of nowhere, a fragment of Y/n's memory resurfaces, a flash of her father's words from a few days ago. Her face twists with a mix of surprise and frustration as the recollection comes to her.

The memory of her father's words comes rushing back to her now, a sudden realization dawning on her face. The strange, cryptic instructions he'd given her a few days ago about being married come back to her, and now they make a terrible, twisted sort of sense in the context of her current situation.

She looks at Lewis, her eyes suddenly wide with shock and realization. "Oh my god… my dad," she mutters under her breath. The memory of her father telling her she needed to be married for the family business suddenly has a new, and very unnerving, meaning.

Lewis looks at her, confusion and concern on his face. "Your dad? What about him?" he asks, his voice filled with a sense of dread at her sudden outburst.

Y/n explains the situation to Lewis, revealing the deal she had made with her father regarding the inheritance and the family business. She also suggests that they stay married for a little while, just long enough for her to inherit, and then they could get a divorce.

Lewis looks stunned by her revelation and her proposal, his eyes widening as he absorbs the information. "So you're saying we only have to stay married until you inherit? Then we divorce?" he asks, his tone laced with disbelief.

Y/n nods, her expression earnest. "Yes, that's what I'm proposing. We stay married for a while, for the sake of the deal with my father, and then we get a divorce as soon as I inherit. It will be a temporary arrangement, nothing more."

Lewis looks at her, his expression still a mix of disbelief and contemplation. "Married for a while, then divorce," he says slowly, tasting the words on his tongue as he mulls over the idea.

He runs a hand through his hair again, his eyes locked with hers. "It's a lot to take in," he says finally. "Like, we're talking about getting divorced already, and we've only been married for…" He checks the date on the marriage certificate, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "…for less than 24 hours, apparently."

He lets out a dry laugh, rubbing his face with one hand. "This is insane," he mutters. "Married. And already planning a divorce."

He looks back at Y/n, his expression a mix of uncertainty and a touch of humor. "You know, most couples don't start planning their divorce on their first day of marriage," he jokes.

Y/n manages a weak smile in response, the joke lifting the tension a bit. "Yeah, I know," she concedes. "But most couples don't get married in a drunken haze after partying all night either."

Y/n nods and extends her hand for a handshake. "Alright, it's a deal," she says. "We stay married until I inherit, and then we get a divorce. Agreed?"

Lewis looks down at her offered hand, a resigned acceptance in his eyes. He nods and takes her hand firmly, giving it a firm shake. "Agreed," he says. "Temporary spouses, here we go."

Lewis' expression suddenly shifts as he realizes the implications of their agreement. "Oh, fuck," he mutters, his eyes widening. "My PR team is going to have a field day with this."

He looks at her, his expression still one of disbelief at the situation. "My PR team," he clarifies. "You know, the people who manage my public image. They're going to have a lot to handle with this unexpected… development. It's not every day your client gets married out of the blue after a night of heavy drinking."

Y/n looks at him, a realization beginning to dawn on her. "Wait a second," she says, her eyes narrowed in thought. "You have a PR team," she repeats, her voice laced with disbelief. "Why on earth would you need a PR team… unless you're some kind of celebrity or something?"

Lewis laughs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, uh, about that," he says, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I kind of forgot to mention that part. I'm, um, a professional Formula 1 racer, actually."

Y/n's jaw drops at his revelation. "Formula 1?" she echoes, her surprise evident. "You're a professional racer? And you didn't think to mention that before?"

Lewis grimaces slightly, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that. It slipped my mind last night, with all the drinking and… well, the whole getting married thing. I didn't think it would come up quite like this, to be honest."

Her expression remains one of disbelief, but there's also a hint of intrigue. "Formula 1," she repeats, her mind now processing this new piece of information. "So you race high-speed cars for a living."

Lewis nods, his face now showing a hint of pride. "That's right," he confirms. "I race for Mercedes- Ferrari soon enough. It's a pretty public profession, hence the PR team."

Y/n takes a moment to process this new revelation. "Okay, so you're a professional racer, with a whole team dedicated to managing your image and public relations. And we… got married last night, without knowing any of that about each other."

Lewis nods, a rueful smile on his face. "Exactly," he concurs. "We had absolutely no idea who each other was, got drunk, got married, and now I have to deal with the fallout with my PR team."

Y/n can't help but find the situation a little insane, but she can also see the humor in it. "Well, this is certainly, uh, interesting," she says finally, her voice almost a laugh. "I can only imagine the look on your PR team's faces when you tell them about this."

Lewis lets out a dry laugh, hiding his face in between his hands. "Yeah, I am not looking forward to that conversation," he confesses. "But I guess it's part of the package when you're a public figure. Nothing stays private, even if you don't want it to."

Y/n's expression softens a bit as she looks at him, seeing the tension in his face. As much as this situation is affecting her, she can't imagine the added layer of scrutiny he has to deal with due to his job. "You really have to consider everything when you're in the public eye, huh?" she comments, her tone a touch sympathetic.

She puts a hand on her forehead, the lingering effects of the hangover headache making her wince. "You know what," she says, "we should probably get some aspirin or something. I can't stand this headache much longer."

Lewis nods in agreement, his hand still massaging his temples. "Yeah, you read my mind," he says. "I don't know about you, but I can't think straight with this headache pounding in my skull."

Y/n gets up from her seat, her movements a bit unsteady as she stands up to look for her bag. "I think I have some Advil in my bag," she says. "I always keep some handy for hangovers like this."

Lewis watches as she rummages through her bag, trying to focus despite the persistent headache. "You're always prepared, aren't you?" he teases, his tone a mix of light humor and genuine admiration.

Y/n flashes him a small smile over her shoulder. "I try," she replies, her hand pulling out a small bottle of pain reliever. "I've learned the hard way that hangovers are no joke after a night of partying. It pays to be prepared."

Lewis gets out of bed as well, wincing slightly at the sudden movement. "I wish I had your foresight," he says sheepishly, a rueful chuckle escaping him. "I seem to forget about the aftermath until it's too late."

Y/n shakes a couple of pills out into her palm, handing him a couple of them along with a bottle of water. "Learn from this experience, then," she suggests with a smirk. "Maybe next time you'll remember the consequences before you drink the night away."

Lewis accepts the pills from Y/n, his expression is still sheepish but his tone still holds some humor. "Yeah, maybe next time I won't find myself accidentally married," he quips, dryly. "Lesson learned."

Y/n can't help but chuckle at his attempt at humor, appreciating his ability to see the lighter side even in such a bizarre situation. "I'm sure we both learned a lot last night," she remarks, her tone lighthearted. "Mostly about the dangers of too much alcohol, I think."

Lewis downs the pills, washing them down with a long gulp of water. He hands the bottle back to her, his expression now a bit more sober and serious. "Yeah, it's definitely a lesson in moderation, among other things," he concurs. "And… communication, it seems."

Y/n takes the bottle back, her eyes meeting his. She understands his meaning - that maybe they should have been more open and communicative with each other before getting into this mess. "You're right," she agrees. "We definitely could have avoided a lot if we'd just… talked first, before…" she trails off, gesturing toward the marriage certificate on the table.

Y/n holds up a hand, signaling that she needs to excuse herself. "I'm going to use the bathroom real quick," she says, her voice a bit quieter now. "Then we can…" She trails off, leaving the sentence hanging, implying they can continue their conversation once she returns.

Lewis nods in understanding, his eyes following her as she leaves the room. Once she's out of earshot, he lets out a long sigh and sits back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples again. "This is a lot to process," he mutters to himself, his mind swirling with the events of the previous night.

Y/n closes the bathroom door behind her and takes a moment to breathe, trying to gather her thoughts. She leans against the sink, her hands gripping the edges, as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes still slightly bloodshot from the effects of the previous night's indulgence.

She splashes some cold water on her face, trying to clear her head and shake off the last remnants of the hangover. As she blots her face with a towel, her mind drifts back to the conversation she just had with Lewis, and the magnitude of the situation they now find themselves in settles heavily on her shoulders.

Y/n leans against the wall near the sink, her mind going over their agreement. Stay married temporarily until she inherits, and then divorce. It all sounds so simple, so logical when put like that. But she couldn't shake the feeling that there's more to it, that they're getting into something bigger than they're prepared for.

She looks at herself in the mirror again, her eyes betraying the turmoil inside her. On one hand, she knows they have to go through with this, for the sake of her inheritance and the future of her family's business. But on the other hand, she can't ignore the twinge of guilt and doubt that comes with the decision to play house with almost a stranger.

Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a jumble of pragmatism and uncertainty. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. There will be time to deal with the emotional aspects later, she tells herself. For now, they have to focus on the practicality of the situation, on navigating this new reality of being married, even if it's only temporary.

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

taglist

@nepobbylver

[taeaura]

hello, I was wondering if you could do a Thomas Hewitt x reader that has two kids. Both being under 10. Like how feels about it and the whole family. You can do wild and do whatever you want for this. I love your writing so much! I hope you have a good day and make sure to take care of yourself. Thank you if you do this.

Father!Thomas Hewitt With Two Kids *Under Ten*

Hi!!! I'm so sorry this took a while to get to - I've been busy with life things 😭 Enjoy Tommy + the family with his two precious angels

Also ty ty!!!!

I feel like Hoyt call Tommy's kids his "little buddies"...no idea why lmao

_____

The day he saw his children was the day Thomas was 'reborn.' He had a purpose outside of killing, outside of his uncle. He had you. He had your children. His own little *or not so little* family - Two mini-me's, what could go wrong?

A lot.

Thomas can get a bit overwhelmed when his uncles are yelling at him, or you, to "shut those kids up" - It reminds him of his childhood...not fun times.

Thomas worries quite a bit. About what, you ask? Everything…

What if they’re ostracized? What if they’ll suffer just as he does? What if he isn’t a good father? A good husband? Are they going to be okay? Safe? Are you going to be okay?

If he could, he'd be praising his babies to hell and back - He loves them so so much. If they happen to have the same skin condition as he does, or the same cleft-lip, you'll find him crying just thinking about their future. He really doesn't want them to hurt like he did. Like he does. He'll pray to the Lord above to keep them safe.

Okay...now back to the happy headcanons!

Tommy has chubby babies - Doesn't matter what size his partner is, the babies are FAT !! Tall kids, too. Chunky mini-me's with curly dark hair and freckles - Maybe a cleft lip??

He loves his babies very much - a very VERY protective and slightly overbearing dad {he just wants what’s best} 

He’d probably wrestle with them if he was in the mood. He'll go easy on them, don't worry :)

Would NEVER let them in the basement. Ever. Do you know how dangerous it is down there? Not to mention how traumatizing it could be…

Always always ALWAYS willing to help. He knows you're tired, and he's willing to do anything to help relieve some stress for both you and the family. He's surprisingly good with bedtimes, too. Although he can't read to his kids, he gives really good hugs before bed.

Totally would sew clothing and toys for his babies - They're a bit patchy and disheveled, but that's the aesthetic of this family, let's be real.

—

Luda Mae loves her grandkids, don’t get me wrong, but lord, does that woman need a break. Two kids under the age of 10 PLUS Jedidiah? Uh-uh. Nada. No. 

"Go outside and play with the dogs, you're messing up the kitchen!" Type shit

trust me when I say she will happily discipline them if you or Thomas don’t feel like it lmao

Definitely the type to baby-talk them even when they get older, yet at the same time increase their responsibilities lol

She's always there to support them - Showering her grand babies with compliments {except Jedidiah...poor guy}

—

Jedidiah will “babysit” sometimes. AKA, play dates! hooray…

He’ll ask to hold them {he’s kinda hesitant though}, draw with them, draw portraits of them {though poorly…he’s trying}, teach them about baseball {because I think he’s into that canonically? I don’t remember}

He loves his…cousins? Siblings? Depends on who you ask, I guess....?

—

Monty does not care. At all. 

“Will someone shut that baby up?” *he mutters under his breath 

“Will you cut out that racket?!” 

Would probably keep his dog away from the kids..for good reason {That thing bites}

Pouty faces and eye rolls all the time lol. Don’t be surprised if the kids end up with his attitude at times 

“Ugly little things…”

He has love for them….somewhere. Deep down…..very deep down.

—

Hoyt, as we saw in TCM 2003, doesn’t mind kids - let alone babies. At least not when he’s “working.”

He'll coo at them - "You look just like your daddy, don'tcha? Huh?" - He's the type of uncle who's always asking/assuring that "he's the favorite"....okay buddy

Would make minor jokes about Thomas "finally getting laid" and "getting a family of his own." In all actuality Hoyt Charlie is proud of him. Jealous to bits, but proud - and happy.

_____

Yay okay! We've reached the end. Sorry if it's a bit short, my brain is still trying to get back into Tumblr-writing lol

[uselesssomebody]

𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕦𝕡 - post!d&w!logan howlett x reader

complete masterlist | logan howlett - coming soon!

words || 𝟚.𝟡𝕜

summary || in which the reader gets stood up, and logan consoles her - in more than one way

a/n || self indulgent :)) guess what happened to me guys !!

➵ i know i've been literally dead but i may be back! not sure fully yet lol but i've missed writing. shocker, college is in fact hard and i've spent a whileeee adjusting. that also means my writing is prob a bit shit here but i just wanted to get this out

➵ first time writing logan - i watched deadpool & wolverine and oh my godddd this man can fucking get it. haven't watched the x-men movies so i kinda had to guess his accent, sorry if it's inconsistent. this is set after the events of deadpool & wolverine

➵ shall i revamp the blog theme guys? i don't have any ideas but idk if you guys are bored by it haha

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smut/a wee bit of angst

➵ fingering

➵ age gap (not a plot point)

(tell me if i miss anything)

having 2 people in a one bedroom apartment was already cramped. 3 is insane. as much as wade tried, he felt bad for poor hugh's - *cough* logan's back for constantly swapping between the dingy couch and the mattress on the floor to sleep.

and the wolverine was never the type to ask for help, it pissed him off. they had been nearly atomized together for christ's sake!

another room on the floor had opened up, and as much as wade wanted to kick blind al off to that room instead, he knew the old lady wouldn't be able to pay the whole rent herself, and he had to make sure she didn't use too much fun-time sugar under fox's watchful eye. luckily, neither did logan have to live alone, as wade was quick to find a down-on-her-luck college girl who needed cheap rent.

so, now wade's stuck with an ornery old woman, and pretty-boy - well, man - logan got to have a cute girl as his roommate. just his luck. he checked in on his fellow invincible often, and as much as logan didn't talk, wade knew he didn't mind her one bit.

she tried to be a good roommate - cook breakfast for the both of them, pick up a sweet treat for him too if she was getting one for herself, and trying to keep to herself with the studying. but she couldn't help the little crush that she had on her roommate. like, come on.

older, mature, mysterious, downright yummy? what's a girl to do? she kept it to herself, but seeing him smirk or chuckle when she realizes she's accidentally been staring at him in that leather jacket or shirtless going to bed. at least she doesn't make him uncomfortable, but it feels pretty dismissive - how he sees her as such a fucking kid that he can't even take her attraction seriously.

logan took it very fucking seriously.

every day was a mental challenge - truly, god gives his worst temptations to his strongest soldiers. the liquor on his breath was still strong, not now because his life was ruined, but rather because his mind was.

this cute, young girl who looked at him like he was the solution to all her relationship issues, like his old-man body was good enough to fucking eat? it was a miracle that he hadn't taken her. and she just looked so beautiful as she got ready for bed, or as she bobbed her head to music while she studied, or as she buzzed around the small kitchen to cook her third cheap pasta for the week.

it didn't help how she'd always ask how he is, buy him little things to keep his mood up, and always offered to take the couch. he'd rather eat glass than let her sleep on the couch, but nonetheless, she offered every day.

fuck. it was impossible to sleep when she was just behind the wall, in her fucking shorts and tank. unbelievable. he needed a fucking drink.

some nights, he'll come home in the evenings to an empty house. it's rare - she doesn't have too much money to go out, but when she does, she'll usually warn him she'll be home late. he always makes sure to stay awake until she gets home, and even had the privilege of going into downtown to pick her up after the friends she was with had managed to lose her. she had hiccuped, tearing up in embarrassment as she watched him approach her drunk form leaning on a tree outside. she had thought the stern arch of his brow was because of her calling him so late, when really, he was just angry that her friends had the audacity to put her in such a dangerous situation.

"it's windy." he grunts, and she looks down at her short, strappy dress, ashamed.

"s-sorry. we drove here." she tries to explain, and logan relents, brow going from angry to grumpy.

"yeah." he finally sighs, walking with her back to their place. seeing her hands go to cradle her elbows, he places his leather jacket over her shoulders, and she swallows thickly.

"you don't have to-" but he's lighting a cigar as she speaks, in just his wifebeater he'd been lounging in. she decides to shut up, silent until they reach the house.

he helps her in and then waits outside to finish the cigar, and after she gets in, she sighs softly, carefully placing the jacket down. she starts trying to make logan some dinner as a thank-you, but passes out at the dinner table half-way through. luckily, she hadn't had the stove on, and logan's heart melts as he sees her, halfway through mixing a few eggs, head lolling off the chair as she drools a little.

cutie, he thinks, separating her fingers from the fork and bowl, and carrying her into the bed. as he tries to set her down, her fingers clutch his arm, and a small, sleepy whine leaves her.

logan's not a man to blush, but hearing that little beg for him to stay makes him fucking burn. he looks down at her, a hand running through his hair, and he gently tries to let her down again. she just holds on tighter, groaning, "warm..." a little mumble escapes her, and logan huffs. of course it's not that she wants him, she's just cold. he sighs, sitting down and letting her cuddle into his arm.

he had planned to leave once she'd passed out, but it was late, and he was old, so he had ended up just sleeping next to her anyways. the sun's rays the next morning pierce his eyes, and he sighs softly, waking up next to her. he swallows thickly, watching the way the sun hits her form, bathing her exposed skin in orange and amber.

the moment is broken by her startling awake. for a moment, she sighs happily, thinking that this was just a continuation of her dream about logan, where she wakes up next to him after a night of great sex, and they both live happily ever after. then she blinks.

his bicep feels bigger than in the dream, his face looks a little more real, he's- real?!

she squeaks, immediately sitting up.

"logan?"

"don't go getting any ideas in your head." he immediately defends, sighing. "you called me last night."

she bites her lip.

"you took me home?"

"put you in bed too. then ya fucking kept me on ya like a boa." he's joking, but she still struggles to tell between his grumpy voice and his joking grumpy voice.

"fuck, i'm really sorry, must have ruined your night-" she starts, and he gets up, ruffling her hair.

"it's okay. better knowing you were safe." it leaves her a little star struck, especially when he then goes to continue making the omelette she had tried to make last night.

he's cooking for her for once and she gets such a nice view of his broad back in that wife-beater. maybe things aren't that bad.

knowing how she always texts if she's out late, he's a bit confused to come home to an empty room. he huffs, trying not to panic, but he can't help how much he care for the girl. he leans back, lounging on the couch.

as an hour passes with no texts, he's about to get up and ... do something. look for her, call her - something.

just then, she walks through the door, purse dropping on the floor with a thud.

that's an attitude he hadn't seen before. she looks like a deer in headlights when she notices that he is in fact home.

"o-oh." she blinks, quickly picking up the purse, as if to console it. "wade said you weren't home." logan raises a brow, a little curious why the other man would say that.

"long day?" he finally comments, and she breathes out.

"shit day." she corrects. logan's brow furrows.

"hmm." he murmurs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch. an open invitation. she hesitates but... he looks warm.

conservatively, she sits beside him, hands in her lap. she's not even paying attention to whatever channel logan has on as background noise.

theres maybe 5 solid minutes of silence.

finally, she sighs.

"i'm gonna go to bed." she murmurs softly, getting up. logan wraps his fingers around her palm.

"talk to me." he mumbles gruffly, and she knows that's a pretty big first step for him. she bites her lip, sitting back down, and takes a deep breath.

"got stood up." it's little more than a whisper, and she feels a pout forming on her lips, which she tries to reverse, to little avail. it's silent again, and she wonders if logan heard her.

of course, he did - spending a moment processing who the hell would stand her up.

"i'm sorry." his rough fingers press over hers, comforting, and she can't help but sink more into him than the couch cushions.

it feels nice, more right than the kisses she'd shared with the guy she'd been seeing.

"whatever." she tries to mumble, trying not to show her hurt.

"he's an idiot." his hand slips around her shoulders, and he can feel her pulse quicken.

"i'm an idiot."

"he's an idiot." he repeats sternly. "who was he?" she bites her lip.

"some... guy." logan suppresses a scoffing bark.

"not if he's got you like this." he looks down at her. she's ashamed to look up at him.

"i don't know... i just really liked him. i thought he liked me too." she feels a tear slip out, and logan's fist squeezes in anger as he sees her quickly wipe it away.

"he should be singin' his prayers that he even got your attention." that makes her giggle - strained, but there. he prefers the sound to her defeated mumbles. "look at me." he murmurs, taking her chin and angling it to face him. his eyes travel down to the cute dress she'd put on for her date - low cut, perfectly form fitting, "he's a fucking idiot." he whispers, hand slipping down to her waist.

"yeah?" she whispers, significantly less focused on aforementioned 'fucking idiot' now.

"yeah, princess." he murmurs, hand gently running up and down her side. he knows he shouldn't, but he can practically feel the jump of her heart at the endearment. "you like that? princess?" his voice almost has a teasing lilt, and her lids flutter at the difference in tension from 2 minutes ago.

"a little." her face looks so bashful, so unsure. after that depressing feeling of not being wanted - god, he wants to pull her out of that so bad.

"should be treated like a princess." she shifts imperceptibly closer.

"got a guy who'll do that for me?" she teases, and logan scoffs softly.

"you know i do." his voice carries that gruffness even with how quiet he is, speaking into the small space between their lips. "you know, princess."

she breathes out shakily, leaning forward, when logan pulls her chin, pressing his lips to hers. she whimpers softly, finding her hands and placing them at his nape, not wanting to let go. it's not rough, but needy, his other hand slipping to the hem of her dress on her thigh. she hums into his lips, as he pulls away, a little breathless.

"don't - we shouldn't." he whispers, and a pout graces her lips - a proper one.

"why?"

"yer upset." he sighs, but doesn't move away.

"about?" she says playfully, having fully forgotten about her evening; she'd been waiting for this for so long. he lets out a gruff bark of a laugh, pulling her closer, and she adjusts, getting on his lap.

"come on, bub." he scolds again, and she hums, leaning down to kiss him.

"please?" she whispers, against his lips. he groans.

"jesus, what're y'doin' to me?" his head tilts back, and she giggles, exhilarated that she's got him like this. her hands trail down his arms - god, his arms - tracing the veins, somehow always bulging, as she gently leans forward again, kissing him. this time, theres a bit more tongue, and he pulls her closer roughly, gnashing their teeth together. she moans softly into his mouth, fingers finding his rough palm. he grips them tight - not enough to hurt, but just enough to show that he's holding back.

"i'm not made of glass." she teases, and he scoffs softly.

"i could snap ya'n half." his mumble finds his way back into her lips, and she has to control herself to not showhow much the little quip affected her.

"maybe i want you to."

"jesus." he flips her over, onto her back, "got this pretty little dress on, fuck, that guy's an idiot." his hands travel down her thighs, and she bites her lip, a massive grin on her face.

"you like it?" she murmurs softly, playing with the strap of her dress.

"whadya think?" he huffs, and she giggles.

"and if i told you i got it for you?" logan presses a hot kiss to the side of her thigh.

"i'd tell ya to get a dozen more." his lips move up her thigh slowly, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"god, logan." her whispers of his name are like music to his ear, and he leaves a small bite by the hem of her dress.

"gotta tell me if i hurt you." he mutters, more seriously, and she smiles.

"only fun if it hurts."

"i'm serious, princess." she relents.

"i'll tell you." he sighs in content, gently riding her dress off.

"this okay?"

"more than okay." she helps him, pulling the dress over her hips, her lacy panties peeking under the fabric. when he spends just a bit too long staring, she giggles, "you can touch." she affirms, and he barks out a gruff lap.

"could'a guessed that much." his fingers trace the hem of them, travelling down her inner thighs. her breath hitches, and she gently rolls her hips, desperate for more.

"please, logan." she whispers, breathing a bit labored. though he'd love to tease, he's getting desperate too.

"gotta tell me what ya want, princess." he murmurs, and she bites her lip, almost shy again. it's cute.

"touch me?" she murmurs, almost like it's a favor she's asking. he kisses her thigh again, before gently peeling the panties off. he lets out a soft groan at how slick she is, fingers catching her arousal as they travel down her slit. she lets out a shocked gasp - practically a moan - and he fucking loves it.

`'need them, princess?" he smirks at her, and she nods, almost pathetically.

"god, i do." he obliges, gently prodding her entrance with his middle finger. he slips in with little resistance, but jesus, he can feel how tight she is.

"fuck, yer gonna be the death of me, princess." he groans softly, and she lets out a breathy giggle.

"thought that doesn't happen to you?"

"well, never had a girl as pretty as you." he murmurs, slipping another finger in. she flushes, back arching as his fingers do, body warm as she rocks her hips in time with his ministrations.

"faster?" she begs softly, and he could never say no to those big doe eyes. he starts moving faster, her slick absolutely coating his fingers, and she moans louder, hips moving in a more stuttered rhythm.

"like that?" that teasing lilt is in his voice, and she nods furiously.

"j-just like that-" she stammers, mind already foggy, "god, i'm close, please don't stop."

"not in a million years, princess." she lets out a loud moan as she can feel herself unraveling, the orgasm so powerful that her thighs shake around him as she cums. she pants as he helps her ride through it.

"good girl, just like that, princess," he consoles, "so fuckin' pretty for me, ain't cha?" he grins, as she starts to come down. as her breathing slows, so too do his fingers, before slowly sliding them out of her. he gently rubs her clit, just to see her jolt at the stimulation, before chuckling, and placing his soaked fingers onto his tongue.

she lets out another moan as she watches him, with lidded eyes.

"i'll cum again." she warns, playfully, and he's gleeful. she tastes like fruit.

"i plan on it, princess." she feels her cheeks warm.

"that's the hardest i've cum in a while." she admits shyly.

"sounded like it." he teases, but before they can get anything else out, there's banging on the wall that connected them to wade and blind al.

"these walls are paper thin!" al's screech sounds a little traumatized, and her scolding make both her and logan whip around, embarrassed.

"for once in my life, i agree with her! shut up, lovebirds, i wanna fucking sleep!" wade's voice is equally exasperated.

there's silence, until she calls back a bashful, "sorry!" she turns to logan, almost laughing, but still flushed with shame. "maybe we should stop. he scoffs.

"nah, just means i gotta teach ya to be quiet."

safe to say, she's not thinking at all about her date tonight.

[neonovember]

This is an idea that’s been on my mind lately because Carmy would be so protective and would 100% treat his gf like a princess, so I thought I’d send it in ifs it’s okay!!🤧

Can I please request Carmy x fem!reader where it’s based off the song “Treat You Better”, where she’s one of his chefs, and Carmy has a biiiig soft spot for her, like soft smiles, hand on the small of her back. Y/n is veryyyy soft spoken and quiet, a very stark contrast to the rest of The Beef/The Bear staff. The staff absolutely love her and are super protective of her: She’s best friends with Sydney (also she’s around the same age as Syd, early 20s), Tina sees her as a daughter, Marcus is always trying to make her laugh and asks her to try his pastries, Richie is more gentle with her than he is with everyone else, Ebra has a calmness around Y/n, Sugar (when she stops by) loves treating Y/n like the little sister she never had, and Carmy… Carmy is head over heels for Y/n. He’s so soft and gentle with her, never raising his voice at her in the kitchen, and he always has the cutest nicknames for her🤧. However… Y/n has a boyfriend, they all know it, and they all share an extreme dislike for him. He’s not very nice, and it all goes to a boiling point when they spot bruises, Y/n letting her hair fall over her face.🥺 Tina and Sydney probably noticing right as she walks in one morning, then the rest of the staff noticing too, the whole kitchen getting eerily quiet, Carmy pulling her aside to his office to talk to her, holding Y/n in his arms while she cries🥺 Carmy 100% taking his bat and beating the crap out of her bf… Now ex, and he offers for Y/n to stay with him because she has nowhere to go? Their relationship growing after that? Y/n kissing him one day, shook at herself, but he kisses her back?

July in November

carmen berzatto x fem! reader

warnings: heavy domestic abuse, controlling fiance, swearing, violence, carmen goes gives absolute no regard for felonies, (assumed) unrequited love, self deprecation, victim blaming

a/n: this entire fic is just time skips l swear, I've written something similar here as well if you liked this which i hope you did! dv is a heavy subject, and not something to trivialise. if you or someone you know is going through dv, please reach out x

banner from @firefly-graphics

The streaks of concealer do little to hide the bloom of dark purples and blues.

They stretch out, clawing up your side and past your ribs, shades of overlapping blotched bruises that were not yet healed.

You were a chef trained in Oslo for god sake, you had friends and family who loved you- and you let out a laugh when the words come out pathetic and dull. 

You were right where he left you.

You suppose from the continuous uphill of your career, the exhaustion had made it easier to just sit still, let it happen. He had proposed and you had said yes unblinking. It was what he told the countless people at dinner parties he dragged you to in attendance, 

“I had finally beat her down enough to finally fall in love with me” He smiled, his eyes shining and his grip on your waist bruising as the people smiled and laughed and you swallowed back his irony.

The cycles of abuse had started before you could truly remember, bouts of angry yelling before the hot dull beat of pain. And he was so kind after, so thoughtful and apologetic, his eyebrows furrowed and his touch gentle as he leaned over you.

Were you still a victim, if you wanted to stay just for the after?

You shake your head, slowly blinking at the reflection of your bloated torso. Peeling away your shirt gently before buttoning up one of your work shirts instead.

Your heart settled when you thought of the Bear. It was your haven, Richie’s rambled drivel, Sugar hovering every so near, Carmen with his eyes and his inked hands and his sweet mouth. It wrapped around you more tightly than those bruises ever could.

You look over to watch your fiancé, fast asleep content with a full stomach and tired fists. He was so vulnerable like that, and the feeling of anger unfurls in your gut. For once, just one time you wanted him to feel it, that gut wrenching frightened feeling.

You look over to the stone doorstep near his desk, the stupid thing that he had revered at one of his art conventions that was left keeping the door open. You wonder, just for a second, what it would feel like to lean over him with it between your hands, waiting for the slight blink of his eyes that clear away the sleep. 

Watch the fear melt into them, and smashing his fucking face with it.

You breathe deeply, arranging your hair so it is out of your face, flattening out the creases in your shit and avoiding your stomach as you stood up and grabbed your bag.

“Where are you going” 

You blink, hands gripping your work bag as his voice bellows “Work”

“Huh. We need to sort that out soon”

You stopped, closing your eyes as you fiddled with the loose threads from the shoulder strap. You knew this conversation, where he would bring up another thing in your life he wanted to talk about, as if your relationship was built on a solid base of understanding and conversation. You would wait until his voice would ripen with jealousy and rage, where thinly veiled inquisition would fall away and reveal what he truly wanted. 

You had given him enough of your life, let him change and control it. But you would soon let yourself be buried then let him take this too from you. No fucking way.

“Sure”

You pass by the door, pushing the stone to the side. It wasn’t heavy at all.

It’s when you enter the back door of the Bear do you realise you’ve spent your whole commute over holding your breath.

The smells of sauces and expensive meats lulls your anxiety into a mummering tremble, and you sigh softly to yourself as you sling your bag into your locker.

You can already hear Richie arguing, and the tired voice of Carmen biting back and you want to slap yourself for all the times you had grown annoyed at them. What you would give to hear them always, to feel this level of safety and comfort without the overhanging timer of when you would eventually have to leave.

You nod towards Sydney, carrying a large tray of roasted pecans over to Sam, her braids intricately wrapped around her head.

The walkway is framed with pictures of the family, from Mickey to the recent Polaroids of Sugar's newborn. You notice a framed picture of the team from years ago, when you had first started working at the Bear. You’re squished between Carmen and Fak, the backdrop of a renovating Bear behind you all. 

The timidiness of being new had not left then, and despite the family enveloping you as their own you had wondered why Carmen had chosen you out of all the decorated chefs that had surely applied. You had asked him this once, after an exhausting dinner rush and he had simply looked up at you from his plate of stolen steak and eggs. 

“You’ve got something, Kid. Maybe it’s because you hadn’t yet gotten the light beaten out from the culinary world but I need that. Need someone who pushes against the boundaries you know?”

You had stayed quiet as he talked

“And you’re a local. Boston isn’t for the faint of heart, you know your diners better than they know themselves. Call it prejudice, I call it a safety cushion.“

You wondered what she would think of you now, her wide eyed dream so close you could see her tight grip on her chef coat in the grainy photograph.

You follow the noise of the crew into the kitchen, when Carmen is hunched over a chopping board and Richie is pointing out problems in the seating arrangement for tonight.

He exhales, ready to start another contingent when he spots your figure walking through the entryway.

“Finally. Someone fucking competent in this place” 

“Hey Richie” You smile, tightening your apron before biting back a wince. The darkness of your life outside of the Bear had a way of seeping in at times, you had grown too comfortable.

“Hey baby, you good? yeah?” Richie replies

“Richie-“ Carmen interrupts, turning his head to face you for the first time in an hour (which you did not realise but Riche surely did) 

“Fuck off. Fuck you. You sure baby? Need me to get you somethin? I got a pack of Marlboros if you need a break”

“Leave her alone, dammit Richie, and a cigarette this early?”

“Oh! Oh! The addict wants to act holier than thou all of a sudden. Just because you slapped on a couple Nic patches-“

“It’s gum and it’s fucking working asshole”

“The L hold you up?” Richie says, throwing the finger at Carmen

“No, no, um, just got in a little fight with David” You reply, cutting your eyes away from him.

Richie rolls his eyes with a groan, a sour expression filters over his face in flash at the mention of your fiance’s name.

“That fuckin’ guy, I swear that boyfriend of yours” Richie groans

“It was my fault really.”

You notice Carmen’s movements stop abruptly, the chopping growing silent with his back turned to you.

“I highly doubt that” Carmen grumbles, before Tina and Sydney come through the door

“Hey, why were you late you missed out on that guy who tried fighting Fak-”

“Her stupid fucking boyfriend”

“Easy” Carmen replies, turning to face you again

“Hey, c’mon Carmen you of all people know that man does not deserve her one fucking bit”

“Darling you need to get rid of that man I’m telling you, he ain't treating you the way you deserve. There's no good keeping an angry man” Tina chides, eyebrows raised as she wipes her fingers on the cloth draped over her shoulder.

“Yeah, he's a dick. And he’s always just…hovering when he comes.” Sydney replies

“And always talk in this condescending tone, adding random words to sound smarter than he is” Marcus’s voice interjects, peeking from around the pastry corner

“Like pseudo-intellectual goddamn-” Tina grumbles, in lightning speed

“Yuppie” Fak continues, and Tina nods 

“All I’m saying doll, is that if you end up dumpin’ him we’d be right behind ya’. Might throw a little party here, a small one…how much does it cost to hire some fireworks?”

“Ease up guys, her love life ain’t got nothing to do with us alright. Let the girl be” Carmen voice bellows “And we got work to do”

He turns to the rest of them, shaking his head feigning annoyance at the team gathering together to gossip. And yet, his hands grip his towel tight enough to leave them white, and his teeth grind against his molars when he thinks of your boyfriend.

You don’t know how they'd react when they find out he proposed, you can’t exactly hide a ring.

“Hey” You smile towards Carmen, who’s twisted features blink into resolve when he hears you

“Hey” He nods, wincing as he pressed his fingers to his temple gingerly.

“Still got that headache?”

“I’ll be fine, just wish it would save the eye stabbing until after dinner service”

“Here”

“I’m alright-“

“Take it” you repeat, pressing some pain killers in his hand.

Carmen nods gratefully, hands clasped around yours for a second longer. Before they part.

He eyes the pills, and for a second you see this puzzled look gleam across his eyes.

He pops them in his mouth, you let out a breath from your chest quietly.

You kept your work and home life separate, Carmen didn’t need nor should carry the burden of this ugly secret that paints you from the inside out.

You had a lid on it. You were sure.

You let yourself get lost in the ingrained memory of moving around the kitchen, letting the slice of your knife against the flesh of meat and fruit melt away everything you had been shouldering the past year.

It gets busy, really busy, Richie and Carmen fail to cohabitate in the hours of the dinner service, multiple plates are dropped, you almost can’t keep up with the never ending orders coming in but its also fucking amazing. The rush of delivering every component of a plate in time, making sure the meat is cooked until just right, making sure the sauce isn't runny, it feels like dancing. 

Your legs and arms ache, you have a headache and your apron is stained and you can’t tell the difference between the end of the dinner service and hitting the last step of a choreographed dance.

The high that buzzes through your body is mirrored by everyone around you, and you take a second to sink in that feeling of euphoria as the last tables are cleared.  

“That was..” You start, un-hunching your shoulders as the rest of the team look up in a daze, surrounding the kitchen

“Fuckin’ amazing, might be our best night yet” Richie grins, bobbing his chin as it rests on his hands

“That was good..we could've been a bit better at turning the tables-” Carmen murmurs

“Oh c’mon Carmy, we can talk about the finalities later but even you can admit that was pretty good” Sydney calls out, leaning her head against the door frame, as exhausted pulls at her every feature

“Yeah…yeah it was good”

“No one go anywhere, I’ve got left over schnitzel and potatoes and I know none of you have taken a break”

“How long has it been since we’ve sat down for family?” Tina mumbles, wiping her stained apron tiredly

“Too long, I don’t mind fixin’ it up” You stretch out your arms, unbuttoning your chef's coat and folding it neatly, despite Sugar throwing them into the sink to soak for the night later.

“I’ll help” Carmen nods to you, doing the same with his apron. His dark crew neck that sticks to him reveals with every button, outlining the indentations of his chest and biceps.

Family usually consists of throwing whatever leftovers from the night's dinner service onto a large plate and proceeding to throw some forks near it. There had been a long trail of food combinations that either delighted the crew or had you throwing your towel in and going to the taco truck nearby.

Today however, the night had gone so well and had distracted you even better. You could at least make up some plates, make ‘em look pretty or whatever else your hands had been trained to do.

The rest of the team move the tables to form one large spanning diner in the middle of the Bear, the scrape of wood against flooring is all that fills the air as you and Carmen work silently. You’re good together, that sort of chemistry that only comes with understanding a person so well you can anticipate their next move. And the night feels like a dance again, moving left and right, handing him pieces of chicken and spoonfuls of sauce, wiping plates clean and centering them right.

It’s only when Richie comes tumbling through the double doors does it cause Carmen to jump, spilling the ladle of hot gravy across your shirt. You wince, Carmen lets out a garbled grunt and Richie cringes.

Carmen is quick, reaching for a nearby cloth as he begins to lift up your shirt gingerly. The sauce isn't boiling, but there is a slight stinging heat that radiates across your midsection and you're too distracted and uncomfortable that you forget yourself, and let Carmen reveal you.

It takes Carmen a second, he's pulling your shirt up just below your underbra, and his fingers pause against the fabric.

You’re confused just for a moment, but it stretches out, and you let yourself sit in the fantasy of unknowing, you let yourself imagine a life where what was sprawled across your skin was just the remnants of a soggy shirt and irritated skin.

The truth of it hits you when you watch Carmen's face change in front of you.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t-”

“What?” Richie calls, coming closer before throwing his head back

“Jesus fuckin' christ kid” 

“I-I we got into a fight-“

“A fight? He beat you!”

“You don’t understand-”

“Maybe I don’t but this-“ Carmen gestures to the welts and colours that paint your stomach “Is one of the worst things I’ve seen in a long time”

Carmen’s hands are still gripping your shirt, the rag dropped to the floor between you now as you lower your head and let your hair cover your eyes.

“I’m sorry-“ You croak out, tongue heavy and eyes blurring with tears.

“Sorry-?” Carmen circuses down to meet your eyes incredulously “You’re sorry? Why are you fucking sorry, look what he fucking did to you!- what has he done to you?”

“Hey hey, honey you need to tell us what happened. This isn’t right, no fight can justify this” Richie whispers, crouching near you as he watches Carmen carefully.

“It was an accident”

“Do you truly believe that?” Richie murmurs softly, and you look up with a furrow of your brow. 

You turn to Carmen whose face is twisted in anger, his eyes on your midsection, his hands around your sides and around you.

“I don’t know anymore..I’m just so tired” You whimper, your throat growing tight as Carmen’s brows furrow, blinking and grinding his jaw

“I’m going to fucking kill him-“

“Hey, Carmen wait just- wait” Richie is quick to reach Carmen as he rears back

“Look at her- he can’t-FUCK”

“I know, and we will. I want to break his goddamn legs but we got to think of her. We need to get her out of this, we need to think about her first”

Carmen closes his eyes as you watch their interaction, and he turns to you as you blink the tears that drop down your cheek. He frowns and waits for your approval and you nod, and Richie lets go of him and he gathers you in his arms and lets you cry the last of your resolve on his shoulder.

You don’t tell him anything, and he doesn’t ask. He lets you wet his shoulder as the silence that sits in the kitchen is consumed by your muffled cries instead. 

The commotion causes the rest of the team to flood in, putting the pieces together when they see your shoulders shaking with grief and your unbuttoned top. The bear hung with the sick reality of a beat woman, and the once hungry crew now felt the nauseous image in front of them fill their stomach.

Sydney is the one that eases you out of Carmen’s arms, and pulls your hair back as she whispers apologies into your ear. She takes you to the emergency room to make sure nothing is broken. When the nurses greet you by name she waits until you're in the examination room before sobbing into Tina’s arms.

“How did I not notice, I see her every goddamn day, how did I not notice he was hurting her?”

“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. There is only one person to blame”

The rest of the team follows, and they all sprawl across the waiting room, heads between their hands.

After one of the junior doctors gives you the all clear, and Carmen and Richie follow up on the police report you make your way down the linoleum hallway in the crumbled stained shirt that had started this all.

You blink as you watch the faces of everyone you love look up in worry, exhaustion is written into their bones and still they sit in the too small waiting chairs for you. You had never felt a love like that before, so profound and overwhelming clear and you breathe it in deeply like it's the last thing you’ll taste.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t you fuckin dare-”

“I know, I know, just please hear me.”

They relent, and you wait until they all nod towards you before continuing

“You guys have taken me as your own, made me feel a part of something greater than myself.  I don’t want you to think I was unloved” Your voice heightens with the wet tears that fill your throat

“Every single time I came through those doors I felt it okay? I never understood the power of it, of love, but I feel it now and I felt it then. It just got muddled in the middle of all of this, of all the things I keep hidden. And that is my fault, but you guys, the Bear? You guys kept me alive” You whisper the last part, your voice caught in your throat as you try to still the shake your hands.

“You did nothing wrong baby, nothing. It’s hard to leave isn’t it? It’s hard to even say it” Ebra is the first one to whisper, holding your hands gently and carefully. You look at him, as his eyes gleam with the heaviness of his past and you don’t quite understand how, but you believe he knows that well. 

“We’re your family, whatever it is that you're dealing with we shoulder it to, we carry that burden. That is what we're here for, and you can take all the time that you need. Let us help you, but you know what happens now, yes?” Richie murmurs

“I need to get out”

“Damn fucking right you do. And fast, I know it's going to be hard but you need to act like everything is normal. Get in, pack a bag and get out.”

You breathe in deeply, remembering all the half packed duffle bags that had been left near the door. This time you wouldn't be able to back out, this time Carmen would make sure of it.

“Where’s Carmen?” You suddenly say, and Richie shifts his gaze to the exit sign.

“Maybe give him a few moments Kid” Richie murmurs, but you ignore him, moving quickly towards and out of the doors into the smoking area in the alleyway.

You spot him hunched over, back against the stone wall, trails of grey smoke filters from his mouth as you tsk loudly when you near him.

He raises his head up, widening his eyes before looking down at the cigarette.

“You were doing so good” You smile softly

“Yeah? Felt like pulling teeth, not grabbing for one every couple hours.”

“But those chewing gums”

Carmen shakes his head “Don’t tell Rich, but they were fucking disgusting”

You let out a hearty laugh, leaning back on the wall beside him.

Carmen takes one last deep drag, before pressing the butt of the stick into the wall that isn't near you.

It’s silent, and you feel him watching you for a long time before his voice replies in a croaky tear filled tone you had never heard come out of his mouth before.

“Goddamn it kid”

“I know” You reply instantly, the tears that you thought had left you were big fat liars.

“I want to blame myself, I will for a long time but this isn’t about me is it”

You shake your head furiously, it was so far apart from him. 

“What can I do? What can I do to make it better?” Carmen whispers, turning to face you fully now, eyes red and blonde curls messy across his brows.

“It’s not something you can fix Carm, you just got to let me do it. Let me walk away completely”

Carmen grits his teeth, “I should’ve made more attention-”

“How? Between renovating the Bear, organising the menu, fucking opening and maintaining the dinner service every night?”

Carmen shakes his head and you tug at his arm gently

“I didn’t let you notice Carm, I hid it well sometimes I even forgot about it. The bear, you? You let me forget, you let me feel so safe I forgot what he was doing to me”

Carmen reaches for your hand, holding onto it gently 

You shake your head, shaking the tears along with it. You hadn’t so much as let yourself hear the truth of what had been happening, but it flowed out of your mouth like a river into Carmen.

“He got drunk one night” You whisper, biting your cheek as you bristle at the memory of it

“He got drunk one night, and started accusing me of these horrible things. Things I would never do. And when I tried talking to him he just turned to me with this look in his eyes, and it was so unlike him Carm. It was like someone else had come and taken his body, and his voice and his mouth”

“And when I reached for him he reached back. And then I suppose I got used to being afraid of him”

“I don’t know what changed that night, but it did. Or maybe he had always been that way and I had been to blind by the feeling of being wanted that I ignored it. But it got worse, he hit me, but he started controlling what I was doing. Always flinging my phone in my face so that he could look for something that wasn’t there, eyes always scrutinising me when I came home fucking exhausted from the Bear.”

“That was how it started, and I guess it never quite ended” You murmur, and when Carmen drags his thumb across your cheek, you understand the rage that he had kept covered for you.

“I’m going to hurt him. And that's more for me than it is for you, I know it and I don’t care. He doesn't get to walk away.” Carmen replies after a beat, and his voice is even. You can see his anger from before slipping into the darkness of his pupils, but his voice is clear and devoid.

“I know” You murmur

“And you’re going to stay with me till we get you a place. Tina and Syd offered and well the whole team, but I can’t-”

“I know, you can’t put them in danger”

“No. I can’t let it happen, you being alone, him somehow getting to you. You being hurt again-” Carmen shakes his head, grinding his jaw as he cuts his eyes away.

“Okay” You mumble, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your secret that had weighed you down every day fall away.

The month after had passed quicker than any other time in your life. And for that you were grateful. You had packed a bag and moved into Carmen's apartment that night, and he and Richie had made good on their promise. They watched, as well as the rest of the Bear with a sneer as your fiance was carried into the police station, and you watched the mirror of your injuries multiplied across his face. 

The police had been slow in taking action, even you know this, so you suppose their tight lipped expressions at the beaten man they found in your trashed apartment made up for that.

Carmen slept near the door for the first two weeks, a bat in his hand and his notebook of recipes filled with scribbled annotations. Tossing and turning enough times, made you wrap your blanket around yourself and join him by the door. You would wake up some nights, in a sweat from the terror of your nightmare imagining him somehow finding you, and you would join him those times as well.

The truth of all that had happened still had not yet been told, and you doubt that it ever will. But you were okay with that, and Carmen was too. And so when your fiance had been tried and sentenced, and the promise of broken bones hung over him even years after, Carmen had made no mention of finding you a place. 

And so you stayed, and made a home for yourself. Let your shoes get muddled and clutter the hallway, have your toothbrush besides his own. Move in the last pieces of yourself that had been left in that prison to a place that could maybe change them.

You spent Thursdays with Richie, he’d wait at the foyer for you and he'd take you out for lunch like clockwork. Divulging in your week as he did his, he let you steal some of his cigarettes and you let him ramble to you. Richie had surprised you, when all was said and done. He had known what to do, knew how to talk to you, and you think you credit him to a lot of where you were now. You suppose he blames himself a little as well, so you don’t mind that Thursdays were his way of checking up on you.

You let the team act the same way, Tina bringing you plates of food and tupper wares of lasagna till Carmen's fridge was hard to open, Sydney calling every day, Ebra and Marcus making sure you had someone who could walk you home if Carmen had to stay back. And when you had finally had enough, they nodded and backed away and let you out of their grip.

You're crouched in the fire escape of Carmen's building, passing a bottle of wine that you had snuck from service. 

“I visited him today”

“What?” Carmen replies, knowing immediately who you were talking about.

You shrug your shoulders, “I was too much of a mess to confront him, and the court proceedings left me too numb to even face him. But I went today, and I told him. What he had done, how he had changed.”

“But then he laughed and I punched him in his goddamn mouth”

“Atta girl” Carmen grins, his smile filling up the entire bottom of his face.

“So I can’t ever come back to the Boston Corrections facility, and boy am I glad. You know what this means though right?”

“Hm?” Carmen mumbles with a mouthful of street tacos

“You can’t ever get yourself thrown in prison” You chide, and you smile when he throws his head back in laughter

“Seriously Carm?” You bemoan, resting against the living room entryway

“Yes, the bed is strictly meant for you. What do you take me for? Letting a woman sleep on the couch” Carmen gruffs, carefully placing the duvet over the couch cushions.

“It’s been nearly a year since I’ve moved in, Carmen. I don’t think it's ridiculous to assume we can share a bed together”

Carmen grinds his jaw, swallowing back grunt at the thought of sharing a bed with you. As if it was no big thing, as if Carmen would be able to sleep with you next to him.

“It’s called being a host”

“I signed the lease 2 months ago, we’re technically de-facto” You raise your eyebrows, folding your hands across your chest

“The only time I’ll let the government decide what we are is when-if I put a ring on that finger” Carmen replies, the little slip causing him to cut his eyes from you and back to the duvet that was already folded.

You shake your head with a laugh “This you’re way of proposing Carm? Take a girl out for dinner first”

Carmen mumbles under his breath, flattening the duvet with his inked hands before his phone buzzes

“Goddamnit, that’s Richie. 

“Leave that sofa and let's go down to meet our friends and have a nice time. God knows we’ve earned more than a few drinks at Nick’s” You reply, swiping Carmen’s phone

“Hey!”

“You weren’t even going to answer him” You roll your eyes.

You send Richie a text that was all apologetic and none grammatically correct as you shuffle out of your work pants into some jeans. 

The team was already at the bear, halfway through the first round of drinks and you’d be damned if you let Carmen make the both of you late.

Carmen is in jeans as well, and the white shirt he always dons fits around his chest tightly. You can lie to yourself most days, but in times like this, where you both live in this domestic bubble your mind wanders.

You don’t let it too much.

But when you're visiting family, and you pass by the Louisiana welcome sign planted in the roadway, and the weather gets warm and the nights stretch out you let yourself think of him. You let yourself imagine a life where he was entwined, in you, your life, your days while you drink on the porch of your family home.

The thought of being in anything new scares you to no end, your past finds you in moments you least expect and dredges you down to the same feeling you felt when you were with him.

But Carmen was your past too wasn’t he? He was muddled and interlinked with all the memories that make your chest ache and your hands shake. Carmen didn’t feel new..you had already been living with each other for a year now, and you suppose the way you both flow into each other's lives was no different.

You’d be together, in the way you had always been but different also. You’d get to grow familiar of the taste of him, you’d get to feel him under your skin, beneath your fingers, and he’d sleep in that fucking bed for the first time in a year.

Then the sun would dip below the horizon, the sounds of the insects and birds would come back to you, and the creeping shadow of guilt and insecurity would remind you of who you were again. 

You’d taste the bitter embarrassment of forcing Carmen to be that way with you, throwing your head back as you gulp down the beer in your hand as you try to stave away the taste. The dream disappears each time from you, like the oranges and reds that paint the Louisiana sky every evening.

“Hey, we going or what?” Carmen says, his eyes narrowing at, you noticing the way your eyes glaze over.

“Yeah, yes” You nod, swallowing the thoughts of him quickly as you finish tying your boots and let Carmen lock the door behind you. 

The bar is surprisingly crowded on a Tuesday night, and you have to squeeze past crowds of leather wearing bikers before finally seeing the team seated in a long booth at the back.

“Finally!” Richie yells, hands in the air and his beer swishing out of the neck.

“We were about to send a search party” Tina smiles, looking toward you with a glint in her eyes when she notices Carmen’s arm at your back.

“Aren’t you guys like, a 2 minute walk from this place? Fak got here before you” Marcus replied, his old fashioned nursed in your arms.

“I had no involvement in our tardiness, he was too busy fixing his makeshift couch bed”

“Oh don’t tell me your still sleeping on that” Richie’s eyes widen

“You know that ain’t even a good couch right? We found it on the side of the road-“ 

“It’s not good for your back Carmen, all those cushions” Ebra shakes his head disapprovingly.

“It’s perfectly fine Ebra, and who would I be if I let a woman sleep on the couch?” Carmen grumbles, as both slide into the booth next to Sydney.

“I mean, there is an easy straightforward solution” Sydney murmurs, and everyone turns to her quickly.

“You could both just sleep in the same bed together” She replies, after looking at everyone dumbfounded.

“Only married people share a bed, that’s Sicilian tradition”

“Yeah, mixing work and personal life isn’t-“

“Mixing? They already live together!” Sydney replies, defensively.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already” Four murmured, before snapping his mouth closed when Carmen narrows his eyes to him.

“It’s not about fucking tradition, or whatever. I’m not gonna put her-you in that situation and make you uncomfortable”

“Why would you make me uncomfortable?” You murmur without thinking, and the booth goes quiet.

Carmen shakes his head, blinking as you remain quiet.

You wince at the silence, maneuvering your body quickly out of the booth as you almost fall out.

“Uh-I’m going to get a drink” You reply quickly 

Carmen's body isn’t fast enough for his legs and he stands up from his position on the booth quickly, almost tumbling over.

 “I’ll come with you”

You shake your head, forcing a tight smile as you wave him off.

“It’s okay, I know your order” You reply quickly, turning around without seeing the look on Carmen’s face.

You slide into one of the vacant barstools, signalling to the bartender as they make the rounds across the counter.

The rows of silver bracelets that hang around the bartender's wrists cling as they mix and shake drinks, and you let yourself get lost in the glittering light show of them reflecting off the bar lights. They distract you enough to not notice the man that now leers over you.

You flinch when you feel his hand touch your shoulder, and when you turn expecting one of the guys from the Bear you're taken back when you're met with a five o clock shadow and a stink of vodka.

“What's a girl like you doin’ all alone?” 

“I’m good” You grit out from between your teeth

“Oh c’mon, you girls love to play hard but what you really need-”

“I said leave me alone asswhole” You spit, roughly moving his latched fingers from your shoulder. 

The man sneers, his voice growing louder and sloppy as he begins to swear at you. His hands find their way to your waist, and the shiver of disgust turns into a familiar sharp pain as you shout out.

“You fucking bitch” The man starts, before you see the flash of dirty blonde curls cover your vision and the feeling of his fingers around you is wrenched off.

Carmen’s hands are around his neck, and he slams him into the wooden floors of the Bar with ease. He holds him there before turning to look up at you, his eyes blown out and his eyebrows furrowed behind his curls. Your chest heaves as you meet his gaze, and you watch as his eyes trail down your body, almost surveying the extent of your injuries and filing it into his mind so that it is all he thinks about when he breaks the skin across his knuckles.

You watch Carmen work, watch the way his shoulders and back contorts under every movement that lands a punch into the man's face. The buzzing chatter of the bar increases, as people begin to take notice of the shouts of frazzled swears and slobby slurs that leave the man's mouth. Someone screams there is a fight, and the bartender mutters obscenities as they try to push through the crowd.

Carmen lands punch after punch into his face, with no real sense of stopping as his movements grow more and more crazed with every crack of skin and dribble of blood that paints his hands. Carmen's eyes look determined, like he had a goal to all of this, and when Richie and the rest of the team pushes past the crowd and shouts out to him to stop, he looks up at you do you know.

You didn’t get to see what he had done to your husband, or how. But now, he takes his time with the man under him who kicks and fails, blubbering out blood and drool. He continues to stare at you, and the rest of the patrons look on in horror as the man under Carmen becomes disguised by the brutality of Carmens fists across his body. You hear the crack of bone, and when the man screams out a loose and garbled apology from the swollen tongue of his mouth, does Carmen flick his eyes down to him.

“You’re sorry? Yeah?” Carmen murmurs, softly

The man nods eagerly, his mouth filling with blood and his eyes swollen

“I’m not sure I believe that” Carmen replies, sending his foot into the mans stomach as he keels over

“Okay, Carmen that's enough” Richie calls out

“All I did was ask her a question!” The man screams out, his words jagged and unclear

“Hey, you shut the fuck up” Richie replies, before clocking his head to try and meet Carmens gaze who is back on you

“Look man, I get it. That one time wasn’t enough, but you can’t keep doing this”

Carmen grinds his teeth, as you look on in awe as his knuckles bleed violently, throwing his arm up and swinging down onto the man.

You got what you needed from this, and so when you step closer to Carmen and turn your head to the side you can only think of one thing

“I’m banned for at least 12 months” 

You watch his fingers loosen around the man's bloody shirt, and Carmen wipes his hands across the man's chest before slowly straightening up from his crouched position.

“Get the fuck out, the both of you before the cops get here” The bartender grits out, shaking his head.

Carmen nods, “I’m not fucking sorry”

“Yeah yeah I know” The bartender rolls his eyes, before you grab Carmen's arm and push through the gawking faces of onlookers

You find a door leading out to a side alleyway, and you both fall out from the door into a combined heap.

“I had to do it okay? The way he was looking at you and that fucking hand around your side I couldn’t just let him-“ Carmen starts, chest heaving up and down and the splatter of spit and blood across his jaw

You don’t let him finish the rushed words that fall out of his mouth before you cover it with your own. Gripping onto the loose collar of his shirt, you drink down the anger and violence that had been festering on the both of you.

Carmen tastes sweet, like the cranberry jus he had been preparing, and rough too, like his worn workmen jacket and the pepper taste of his nicotine gum.

You realise then that you would never taste something as great as that, and that you would be chasing the feeling of how Carmen’s lips against your own vibrates through you from head to foot.

You pull away with quickness, chest heaving and eyes wide as you feel Carmen’s mouth warm your chest.

Carmen doesn’t blink, he stares at you, the brittle Chicago winter blowing his hair across his forehead and the distant sound of sirens and he stares at you.

“I’m not sorry” You whisper, pressing your lips together

“Good” Carmen replies before you’ve even uttered the last word.

And when you blink the cold smoke of his breath is over you again, his inked fingers cradle your head and he takes your mouth again.

You don’t stop the crash of your open mouths and dipping tongues until the warmth of Carmen covers you entirely, until November in Chicago feels like July.

taglist !

@kpopgirlbtssvt @hansfics @nolita-fairytale @parmforcarm @rooster-bradshaw

[longing-for-rain]

Katara and the “Mom Friend” Trope

Both in-universe and among fans, Katara has always been identified as the “mom friend.” While often used as a joke, the trope does reveal a deeper and more tragic aspect of Katara’s character: the way the war has forced her to grow up quickly and take on a parental role at a young age.

This is a frequently misunderstood part of Katara’s character, despite it being central to her arc. Since the show first aired, Katara has been the butt of many jokes and has always been one of the most hated characters by fans. From tasteless jokes about how she talks about the loss of her mother too much to accusations of being too emotional and bossy, Katara’s character has always been under attack by fans.

In past years, and still in certain parts of the internet, this behavior was blatant, but lately I’ve noticed a more subtle spin on this. As it becomes slightly less socially acceptable to say blatantly misogynistic things about female characters—particularly here on tumblr—I’ve noticed fans express the same negative sentiments about Katara, but dressed up to appear more progressive. The most common way I see this sentiment expressed is fans downplaying Katara’s role as “team mom” and trying to make it seem as if Katara is less mature and responsible than she really is.

Of course, these individuals would have you believe that their reasoning for these opinions is that they really care so much about Katara and want to “let her be a kid.” But in reality, when you ignore the way that Katara is forced into a parental role in canon, you also ignore and disregard the context for many of her character traits, leading into the accusations of her being bossy and overly emotional that I mentioned earlier. It erases, and therefore minimizes, a huge source of stress and trauma that weighs on Katara throughout the series.

The idea that Katara fans created the concept of her being a “mom friend” is ridiculous. This is mentioned so much in canon that it’s practically a running joke. Toph accuses Katara of acting like everyone’s mom in The Chase. A similar conflict arises again in The Runaway, when Sokka even admits that he thinks of Katara as a mother figure, despite him being her older brother.

Katara seems pretty hurt by this too, and it’s still never properly addressed again.

In The Headband, Katara actually pretends to be Aang’s mother.

And looking at everything we know about Katara, it’s very clear how she assumed this role. Think about what she says in the exposition of the entire show:

Katara: Ever since mom died, I've been doing all the work around camp while you've been off playing soldier! I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks?

The moment Katara is introduced, the audience is given a critical piece of information about Katara—that she’s lost her mother and essentially assumed her role. While Sokka is more or less playing and occasionally hunting (we hardly ever see him do this in canon by the way), Katara is doing the overlooked, underappreciated labor that keeps everything moving. There is a great post here by @theotterpenguin that details this and the inherent misogyny in devaluing the kind of work Katara does, and how many fans tend to do this.

This trend continues throughout the course of the show. Katara is always the voice of reason who keeps things moving. She reigns in Sokka and Aang, who are constantly getting themselves into trouble.

There are countless examples, but to name a few:

As early as The Warriors of Kyoshi, she’s trying to get Aang to behave and not endanger himself to look cool. And having him mouth off when she gently suggests that he help with a minor chore.

In The Storm, Katara warns Sokka not to take a risky job, which he ignores and nearly gets himself killed.

In The Blue Spirit, Katara is trying the whole time to do something productive via Momo, remaining vigilant despite the sickness wearing her down.

In The Chase, being the one to politely ask Toph to help out, and honestly doing a pretty good job of keeping her cool as long as she did.

The entirety of The Desert episode. While everyone else was drugged up, hopeless, and even outright hostile, Katara kept everything moving and saved everyone’s lives.

Whenever Aang goes into the Avatar State, it’s always Katara tasked with calming him down, despite how dangerous and volatile the Avatar State is when not properly controlled.

Additionally, there are so many small details that add to this picture. Katara is always the one we see getting food, preparing food, doing chores, everything of that nature. Everyone else would be completely lost without her.

And sadly, this is something never properly addressed by the narrative nor acknowledged by fans. There is a great post here by @ecoterrorist-katara explaining the tragedy in this. Katara is constantly burdened with the responsibility of keeping everything moving and doing the invisible labor that is never appreciated but keeps everyone moving, which is the reason why she’s viewed as being in a maternal role. Because that’s what she very clearly is to her friends.

This really wasn’t meant to be a ship related post, but it is kind of the elephant in the room here. I know a lot of the motivation in downplaying Katara’s “mom friend” role stems from shipping discourse, in particular, the hatred of the idea of Katara and Zuko acting as team parents. Some people associate Momtara as a Zutara trope and as a result, relentlessly bash it as they do anything even tangentially related to Zutara. But did you ever consider why it’s a Zutara trope? Because a lot of fans recognize everything I mentioned previously, and enjoy the idea of someone helping to share that responsibility. Sokka, Aang, and Toph clearly didn’t, so that leaves…guess who.

Zuko: You should get some rest. We'll be there in a few hours. You'll need all your strength.

It’s tiring seeing this trend from people who clearly don’t care about Katara or her character. Sure, you might try to act like you’re downplaying Katara’s maternal role and how a huge part of her canon character was the war forcing her to assume that role out of “wanting her to be a kid” but you really aren’t that different from more blatantly misogynistic fans who call her immature and annoying. You don’t recognize or respect the work she’s constantly putting in to protect those around her, and then you have the audacity to get mad at fans of Katara who actually like the idea of someone taking some of that burden off of her shoulders?

Same Katara hate, different font. She is forced into this material role, and refusing to acknowledge this is disrespectful not just to Katara’s character, but all the real life women and girls forced into similar roles who see themselves in Katara.

[flwrstqr]

— HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS ! an advice writer, you, starts on a bold new project for an article aiming to explain how to drive a man away in just 10 days. your editor is supports, so you set out to find a suitable man for her experiment. meanwhile, executive heeseung is equally confident in his ability to make any woman fall in love with him within 10 days. when you and heeseung cross paths, things slightly go off plan.

THE CAST heeseung x writer! fem reader

GENRE s2l, fluff, comedy, romance

WORD COUNT 5k+

WARNINGS parties, kissing, small grammar errors, yn kind of playing with heeseung at first, swearing, angst, crying

DANi NOTEZ hii this is for my liz's new event!!! this i based the rom com, how to lose a guy in 10 days. i kind of changed up scenes but the main idea and plot is based on the iconic 2000s movie. i've been writing this for abt 2-3 days? i thought it was good enough for liz' event so here i am. anyways i hope u enjoy it ><

BEING A WRITER HAS BEEN YOUR NUMBER ONE GOAL EVER SINCE HIGH SCHOOL. Now, at age 23, you were finally standing at the gates of the biggest magazine company ever. The sight alone sent chills down your spine, filling you with exhilaration.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors and stepped inside. The bustling activity, the hum of the printer, and the aroma of bitter coffee greeted you. You made your way to the elevator and anxiously pressed the button for the 17th floor.

Upon arrival, you awkwardly walked into the office. Your heart was pounding, and your knees were slightly shaking. You approached the manager's office and opened the door, finding yourself sitting in front of your section's main manager.

"YN LN?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am," you replied stiffly, nerves evident in your voice.

"Welcome to our magazine company," she greeted, shaking your sweaty hand.

"Thank you," you responded with your usual sweet smile.

"Well, why don't you get to work?" she laughed. Your eyes widened, and you quickly stammered an apology, rushing to find your new desk and start brainstorming ideas.

For nearly two hours, you gazed out the window, feeling empty. No ideas were coming to you. It always seemed that the best ideas came at the worst times, and now, when you needed them most, your mind was blank.

"YN, just think…" you whispered to yourself, running your fingers through your hair. You glanced around the office, hoping for inspiration. Your eyes settled on a young man and woman engaged in a flirtatious conversation. Watching them smile and laugh together made you wonder if they were a couple or just interested in each other. (happy couples really did give you an ick.)

Then, it happened. The perfect idea. An idea that could possibly get you promoted and shake the whole world.

Quickly scribbling on your paper, the title snapped into your mind: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING, how do you even lose a guy in 10 days? Easy—just find a guy and drive him away by doing stereotypical “girl things.” Sounds like a piece of cake, right?

“YN, that is one of the BEST ideas I’ve ever heard!” your editor, Yeseo, exclaims.

“Really?” you ask, eagerly smiling.

“It’s perfect! It would catch everyone’s attention!” Yeseo explains, her eyes lighting up as she imagines the situation.

“So, how are you going to write this?” Yeseo raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll try it out myself and document my experiences. That way, it’s more authentic,” you shrug.

“That sounds great. Just journal your experiences each day,” Yeseo nods, agreeing with your plan. “I’m so excited to see the final product, YN. Email me once you’re finished, and we’ll get it published within weeks.”

You give her a quick smile before leaving her office, ready to start your new adventure.

PARTIES. USUALLY ONE OF THE THINGS YOU ABSOLUTELY HATED. The noise of couples kissing, people screaming, and music blasting through the speakers was just not your thing. The way sweaty bodies brush against each other as they chug alcohol. Parties are truly the thing you hate the most.

“So you’re telling me your new article for the magazine is about how to get a boy to dump you in 10 days?” Karina raised her eyebrow.

“In other words, yes,” you smiled. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Possibly it not working,” Giselle interjected.

“Well, it will. I’ve planned the whole thing,” you grinned with a hint of pride. “My editor was impressed. I’m sure it’ll work.”

“If you say so,” Karina laughed at your confidence.

“So basically, YN will get a boyfriend before me?” Ningning asked, shocked.

“Well, he’s not gonna be my boyfriend. He’s more like a test,” you replied uncertainty. As you continued to explain your plan, you felt a gaze fixed on you from across the room.

A FEW MINUTES BEFORE

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend,” Jake joked.

“I can,” Heeseung rolled his eyes.

“Wanna bet on it, then?” Jake's eyes glinted with playfulness.

“Deal,” Heeseung confirmed.

“If you get that girl over there as your girlfriend, then I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” Jake smirked, pointing at you across the room.

“Her?” Heeseung raised his eyebrow as he checked you out. You were pretty to his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to approach you.

“Yup, her,” Jake grinned.

“Deal, I’ll have her in my arms within a day,” Heeseung winked before walking over to ask for your number.

NOW

“No way my plan will fail–” your voice stopped as Heeseung approached, tapping your shoulder lightly.

“Hi,” he greeted you with a welcoming smile.

“Uh, hi?” you replied, confused.

“You’re kind of cute. Can I get your number?” Heeseung asked, the words not quite rolling off his tongue as he had never done this before.

Your cheeks burned slightly as you stared. “Sure?” He was quite cute, with his sweet smile and perfectly styled hair. You gave him your number, and he mentioned he would text you later before walking off.

“YN, you know what that means?” Giselle raised her eyebrow.

“Huh?” you looked confused.

“You can use him as your test,” Winter recalled. Your eyes then widened. Perfect! He would be the perfect subject for your new article. Now, how were you going to make him yours?

YOU SIT ON YOUR BED, staring at your phone, debating whether to text Heeseung first. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling inside you. Finally, you take a deep breath and type out a message.

YN: Hi, it’s YN. We met at the party earlier, you asked for my number. :)

You hit send and immediately feel a rush of anxiety. What if he doesn’t respond? What if he thinks you’re weird? You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, but the minutes feel like hours. Suddenly, your phone buzzes.

Heeseung: Hey, of course I remember. How's your night going? 

YN: It’s going good, just relaxing now. How about you?

Heeseung: Same here. Just got home. That party was a bit too much for me, tbh

You smile, feeling a little more at ease.

YN: Agreed, not rlly a party person lmao

Heeseung: Really? Me neither. I actually prefer a quiet night with some good music.

YN: Same, what kind of music do you like?

Heeseung: I listen to a lot like R&B and indie ig

YN: oh rlly? Same w me 

Heeseung: oh that’s cool

Heeseung: also wanna meet up one day?

YN: That would be amazing. I’m totally up for it.

Heeseung: Cool, it’s a date then. :)

You can’t help but smile at his message, feeling a flutter of excitement.

YN: Sounds like a plan.

Heeseung: It’s getting late. I should probably get some sleep. But I’m glad we got to talk tonight.

YN: Me too. Sleep well, Heeseung. Talk to you tomorrow?

Heeseung: Definitely. Goodnight, YN. :)

You set your phone down, a smile still on your face. This might just be the start of something interesting.

YOU TAKE A DEEP BREATH, smoothing out your outfit one last time before stepping into the restaurant. Heeseung is already there, waiting at a table near the window. He spots you and waves, a warm smile spreading across his face. You give a small smile back. 

“Hi,” you greet him as you sit down.

“Hey,” he replies, “You look great.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The waiter comes over to take your orders, and there’s a moment of awkward silence as you both look at the menus.

“So, uh, do you come here often?” Heeseung asks, attempting to break the ice.

“Actually, it’s my first time,” you admit.

“I see,” Heeseung awkwardly laughs. 

AFTER DINNER, you both step outside into the cool evening air, feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence.

“That was really nice,” Heeseung says, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, feeling a sense of relief that the awkwardness from earlier has faded.

You walk side by side down the quiet street, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

“Do you live far from here?” Heeseung asks, breaking the silence.

“Not too far. Just a few blocks away,” you reply, glancing at him.

“Oh I see,” he says, smiling.

As you continued walking, the two of you began to chatter off. The conversation flows effortlessly, and you find yourself laughing at his jokes and sharing your own stories.

“Did you see the sunset earlier?” Heeseung asks, pointing to the sky, which is now painted with shades of orange and pink.

“Yeah, it was beautiful,” you say, smiling at the sight.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Heeseung says, looking at you with a soft smile.

“Me too,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you reach your street, you both come to a stop.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways,” Heeseung says, looking a little reluctant to leave.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

“Thanks for tonight, YN. I had a great time,” he says, stepping closer to you, “Maybe another time we can hang out again.” 

“Thank you too, Heeseung. That sounds great,” you reply, feeling a rush of happiness.

 YOU DECIDE IT'S TIME TO PUT YOUR PLAN INTO ACTION. You’ve thought through every detail, determined to see if your article concept works in real life. Step one: find an ugly dog and some hideous clothes. You’ve got the perfect ideas in mind.

You meet Heeseung outside his apartment, holding a small, scruffy dog with a face only its owner could love. You flash him a bright smile as he opens the door.

“Surprise!” you exclaim. “I got us a dog!”

Heeseung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the dog. “Uh, wow, YN. That’s…unexpected.”

“Isn’t he adorable?” you gush, ignoring the bewilderment on Heeseung’s face. “I named him Snuggles.”

“Snuggles, huh?” Heeseung says, trying to muster enthusiasm. “Yeah, he’s…something.”

You place Snuggles in Heeseung’s arms, watching as the dog licks his face with an enthusiastic, slobbery tongue. Heeseung grimaces slightly but manages a strained smile.

“Let’s take him for a walk,” you suggest brightly, grabbing a garishly colored leash from your bag.

Later that evening, you bring out the next part of your plan: an outfit so hideous that it should be impossible for Heeseung to bear. You hand him a neon green tracksuit with orange polka dots and a pair of mismatched shoes.

“I thought we could match!” you say, revealing your identical outfit. “Isn’t it fun?”

Heeseung looks at the clothes, then back at you, clearly unsure how to respond. “Wow, YN. This is…unique.”

“You don’t like it?” you ask, pouting slightly.

“No, no, it’s great,” he says quickly. “I’ll just, uh, go change.”

When he returns, you both look like you’ve stepped out of a bad 80s workout video. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity, but Heeseung seems to be struggling to keep a straight face.

“Let’s go grab dinner,” you say, linking your arm with his. “I made reservations at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

At the restaurant, the two of you turn heads as you walk in, dressed in your eye-searing outfits. The hostess tries to maintain her professionalism as she leads you to your table, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

Throughout dinner, you do your best to be as irritating as possible. You chew with your mouth open, talk loudly, and insist on ordering the strangest items on the menu.

“Are you sure you want the pizza?” Heeseung asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“Absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “And I think you should try it too!”

Heeseung hesitates but eventually nods. “Sure, why not?” 

Here you were, sitting on your bed as you write your story. Typing away and zoning out, it had to be working right? He obviously would be over you by next week. All you needed was one more shove to drive him away soon as possible. Just 5 more days..

YOU PUSH YOUR CART THROUGH the aisles of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the items on your list. As you reach for a box of cereal, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“YN?”

You turn to see Heeseung approaching, a smile lighting up his face. “Oh, hi Heeseung,” you say with a smile.

“Nice to see you here,” he says, falling into step beside you.

“Yeah, I just needed to grab a few things,” you reply, feeling a bit flustered by his presence.

Heeseung nods, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence as you both continue browsing. Suddenly, you realize you can’t reach the item you need on the top shelf.

“Um, Heeseung, do you think you could help me with something?” you ask, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Of course, what do you need?” he replies, stepping closer.

“I just need to grab that box up there,” you say, pointing to the top shelf.

“Sure thing,” Heeseung says, reaching up to grab the box.

But as he stretches, you accidentally bump into him, causing him to lose his balance. In a split second, you reach out to steady him, but instead, you end up stumbling backward, crashing to the ground on top of him. Your face merely inches from each other. 

“I’m sorry about that!” you exclaim, your face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, his cheeks also flushed as he helps you up.

“Um, we should probably get up,” you say, feeling flustered.

“Yeah, definitely,” Heeseung agrees, scrambling to his feet.

You both straighten your clothes and try to regain your composure, but the awkwardness lingers in the air.

“Well, um, thanks for trying to help,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Anytime,” Heeseung replies with a sheepish smile. You exchange a quick awkward glance before awkwardly walking back to do your own things.

YOU AND HEESEUNG STEP INTO THE DIMLY LIT MOVIE THEATER, the smell of popcorn filling the air. You’ve been looking forward to this night out, hoping it will help end your plan to drive him away. As you settle into your seats, the lights dim, and the movie begins.

The film is a romantic comedy, and as the story unfolds, you find yourself getting lost in the plot. But when the characters share a kiss on screen, you feel a sudden tension between you and Heeseung.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and you can see that he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You both look away awkwardly, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

As the movie progresses, the tension between you only grows. You can feel Heeseung’s eyes on you, and you struggle to focus on the screen, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly, as another kiss happens, Heeseung leans in closer to you. You freeze, unsure of what to do. Is he going to kiss you? But then, almost as if on cue, Heeseung leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. His breath mingles with yours, his warm exhales tickling your skin as he leans in, his lips drawing closer to yours. You can feel the gentle brush of his breath against your mouth, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. And then, in a heartbeat, he closes the gap between you, his lips pressing softly against yours. It’s a gentle kiss, but hesitant at first, but soon it deepens. You can’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

You melt into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours.  When you finally pull away, your heart is racing, and your mind is buzzing with emotions. You meet Heeseung’s gaze, and you can see the same uncertainty reflected in his eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the movie.

“Yeah,” you murmur, at a loss for words.

As the movie comes to an end, you both sit in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging in the air. But despite the awkwardness, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

As you leave the theater, you can’t help but replay the kiss in your mind, feeling a sense of warmth and longing that you can’t ignore. And as you walk hand in hand with Heeseung, you realize with a start that maybe, just maybe, you’re falling in love.

AS YOU LIE IN BED THAT NIGHT, the events of the evening replay in your mind. The gentle touch of Heeseung's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace—it all stuck in your head. 

You stare up at the ceiling, think to yourself.  Love? It's a word you're not ready to utter, a feeling too intense to comprehend. You try to push the thought aside. 

You roll onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you. You couldn’t be in love? All that effort you put in to get rid of him. It was your 8th day, just two more days. You couldn’t do it anymore. As you drift off to sleep, the question echoes in your mind. Are you falling in love with Heeseung? 

THE REALIZATION HITS YOU like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling breathless. Could it be true? Are you actually falling in love with Heeseung?

The thought consumes you as you go about your day. By the time evening arrives, you can't shake the feeling that you needed to end it.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you pick up your phone and dial your editor's number. When she answers, you get yourself together for the conversation ahead.

"Hey, it's me," you begin, "I need to talk to you about the article."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the curiosity in her voice as she responds. "Sure, what's up?"

"I… I can't write it," you admit, the words feeling like a confession. "I just don't feel right about it anymore."

There's a moment of silence before your editor speaks again, her tone firm."No, you're writing it," she says, leaving no room for argument.

"But—" you start to protest, but she cuts you off before you can continue.

"No buts," she insists. "We've already agreed on the topic, and you're the best person for the job. I expect to see the first draft on my desk by the end of the week."

You sigh, feeling defeated. It's clear that your editor isn't going to budge on this issue, and you know that arguing further would be a waste.

"Okay," you say reluctantly, resigning yourself to the task at hand. "I'll get it done."

AS YOU SIT ON YOUR COUCH, trying to make sense of everything that's happened, until you hear Heeseung pick up a call. 

“ Heeseung!" Jake's voice crackles through the phone, filled with excitement. "So, have you sealed the deal yet? Win YN over?"

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of your name and you instinctively lean in closer, eager to hear his response. But as you listen, the color drains from your face, and a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

"The bet that I could get YN in 10 days?," Heeseung's voice comes through the phone, his words cutting through the air, "I thought I could, but…" 

Your heart shatters. Your knees started to shake. How could you have been so blind? How could you have let yourself fall for someone who was playing a game with your feelings?

Before you can hear the rest of his sentence, you leave the room silently. "I thought I could, but…" The words replay in your head.As the reality sinks in, you realize that you may have just broken your own heart, listening in on a conversation that was never meant for your ears.  He played with you. He was using you. You feel like a fool, blindsided by the truth that's been staring you in the face all along. 

You walk yourself to the nearest taxi before coming back to your empty apartment. You lie on bed, your palms on your eyes, sobbing quietly. Why should you care? I mean he was just an experiment — right? 

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERS through the curtains as you sit on your bed, thoughts rushing through your mind. The wounds from last night were still raw, as you feel tired and sick. You kew what you have to do. You began to type your last paragraph of the article before submitting it to your editor. 

With the article sent, you feel a mix of anxiety and relief. You know the revised piece is honest and raw, reflecting your own experience. But there’s one more thing you need to do to truly move forward.

To: Editor Yeseo

Subject: Resignation Letter

Dear Yeseo,

I am writing to formally resign from my position as a writer, effective immediately. I appreciate the opportunities I have had here and the support from the team, but I must prioritize my well-being at this time.

Thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely, YN

You hit send, feeling an overwhelming amount of pain. Being a writer had been your dream job, but now, it feels like a chapter you need to close. As you sit in your now-quiet apartment, you feel a pang of sadness. The memories of the past few weeks with Heeseung linger, but you push them aside. 

You start with your closet, pulling out clothes and sorting them into piles: keep, donate, and toss. You take down the photos and posters from the walls, each one a reminder of the life you’re leaving behind.

Next, you move to the kitchen, packing up dishes, utensils, and small appliances. You wrap everything carefully, methodically, as if each item represents a piece of your heart that you’re trying to protect. 

Your phone buzzes with messages from Heeseung, but you ignore them. Making them be left on delivered. You move to the living room, packing up books, DVDs, and mementos. You’re not just packing up your belongings; you’re packing up your old life, preparing to move on and start new.

IN HIS DIMLY LIT APARTMENT, Heeseung sits on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop screen casting shadows across his face. His heart pounds in his chest as he opens the email attachment—a document titled "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days—And Fall in Love in the Process" by [Your Name].

As the page loads, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to read. The cursor hovers over the first paragraph, and with a trembling hand, he begins to scroll down. 

Heeseung sits at his desk, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads the article that has just landed in his inbox. With each word, his emotions spiral into a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

"When I set out to write this article..."

He reads the opening sentence, his brow furrowing in confusion. What article is this? And why does it sound so familiar?

As he continues to read, the pieces start to fall into place. The description of the article, the unexpected turn of events—it's all too familiar, too painful to ignore.

"I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject..."

Heeseung's breath catches in his throat as he realizes what he's reading. This is about him. About the bet, about the article he overheard, about everything.

He reads on, his heart pounding louder with each passing sentence:

When I set out to write this article, the plan was simple: follow a set of steps to make a guy dump me in ten days. It was supposed to be a fun, light-hearted challenge—a piece to entertain our readers. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

I met someone who was supposed to be just a test subject. But as the days went by, something unexpected happened. The more I tried to push him away, the closer we became. Every awkward moment, every forced argument, every silly plan to drive him away only brought us closer together.

I found myself laughing at his jokes, looking forward to our time together, and, against all odds, feeling a connection I hadn't anticipated. What started as a challenge turned into a journey of discovery—not just about him, but about myself.

I realized that love isn't something you can plan or control. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, breaking down the walls you've carefully built around your heart. And sometimes, the person you're trying to lose ends up being the one you can't imagine living without.

So, dear readers, this isn't the article I set out to write. It's not about foolproof ways to make a guy dump you. Instead, it's a story about how, in the process of trying to push someone away, I found myself falling in love. It's messy, it's unexpected, and it's beautiful.

Life has a funny way of turning our plans upside down. And sometimes, the best stories are the ones we never meant to write.

He closes the magazine, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you how he feels. He can't let this opportunity slip away, can't let the chance to be with you slip through his fingers.

With a sense of determination, Heeseung rises from his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he has to find you, to tell you how he feels, to see if maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way too.

HEESEUNG'S HEART RACES AS HE RUSHES THROUGH THE STREETS, his mind consumed with thoughts of you. He knows he needs to find you, to talk to you, to tell you everything.

As he rounds the corner, he sees your apartment building looming ahead. His steps quicken, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He's so close now, so close to finally telling you how he feels.

But as he reaches your building, his heart sinks at the sight before him. He sees movers loading boxes into a truck parked outside, and he realizes with a sinking feeling that you're moving away.

Heeseung's chest tightens with panic, his mind racing as he searches for a solution. He can't let you slip away, can't let this chance to be with you slip through his fingers. He rushes toward the building, his thoughts jumbled all up. 

As he bursts through the door, he sees you standing in the hallway, a suitcase at your feet, tears streaming down your face. His heart breaks at the sight of your sadness, and he knows he needs to act fast.

"Y/N!" he calls out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. You turn to face him, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him standing there.

"Heeseung?" you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "What are you doing here?"

Heeseung takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "I need to talk to you," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "There's something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago."

He steps closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I was part of the bet," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it was never about winning a thousand dollars or proving anything to Jake. It was about proving something to myself—to prove that I could be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his confession, your heart aching with a mix of sadness and hope. "Heeseung…" you whisper, reaching out to touch his hand.

But Heeseung doesn't wait for you to say anything more. With a surge of courage, he leans in and presses his lips to yours, pouring all of his love and longing into the kiss. 

As Heeseung's lips meet yours in that soft, tender kiss, his hands gently find their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, the closeness intensifying the sensation of his lips moving against yours. His touch is gentle yet possessive, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as if memorizing every curve of your body.

You pull away, staring and laughing for a moment. 

"I love you," you whisper softly. 

"I love you more," he smiles back, quietly leaning his forehead against yours to quickly catch his lips on yours again. Maybe writing that article wasn't so bad after all.

[w2soneshots]

Reunited -W2S

words: 1.0k+

warnings: none.

summary: after not seeing your boyfriend for months you surprise him during a cheap vs expensive sidemen video.

notes: hello loves! Here’s the request💓. This is really fluffy and cute. I hope you enjoy!!🌺🫶🏼

For the past few months I've been in New York working on a very important deal for my company. Meaning that I haven't seen Harry in a long time. We facetime every night but it's obviously not the same and I really miss him. Thankfully though I have a week off and was planning on going back to the uk to surprise Harry but it turns out that he's going to be shooting for the sidemen abroad. So I decided to text Josh; since he's organising the whole video.

Josh and I made a plan. Harry was going to be on the good team for the cheap vs expensive video so I could surprise him at the destination instead. I loved the idea and he thought it would be great for the video. Tobi and Ethan will also be there along with Harry, which will be nice since I haven't seen them (or the rest of the boys) in ages.

I packed my suitcase and headed to the airport. When the plane landed I got in a taxi that took me to the villa. I said hello to Josh and the crew who were already there and Josh showed me to my room so I could freshen up since the other boys would be arriving in just a short amount of time.

Once I'd gotten changed into some more appropriate clothes for the hot weather, I went downstairs. "Hey." I sat down next to Josh, in the huge living room. He smiled at me, acknowledging my presence. "So, how are we gonna do this?" I asked. "Well, I thought you could just be standing there when they arrive. Harry's quite oblivious so I think it'll be funny since it'll probably take him a second to spot you," He explained. I nodded with a chuckle. "They should be here within the next twenty minutes." He added.

I was almost shaking with excitement and nerves as I waited. When the van pulled up outside a wide smile spread across my face. Me, Josh and the crew stood at the front door. The boys jumped out of the car and my heart practically skipped a beat at the sight of my boyfriend. We've been together for a year and are completely in love so not being with him twenty four seven has been torture. I couldn't wait to hug him, feel his lips on mine and see his cute little smile.

All three of them walked up the concrete path and when his eyes met mine he stopped in his tracks. His mouth dropped open in utter shock. "y/n! What are you doing here!" Ethan and Tobi walked towards me with excitement. But I barely noticed them. Harry finally clicked back into reality, he quickly ran towards me, wrapping me in a bear hug. My eyes fluttered closed, savouring the moment. "Hey." I whispered softly. He sniffed. I could immediately tell he was getting upset but that he was trying not to embarrass himself in front of all the cameras.

As we pulled away I smiled at him, tears forming in my eyes that I'd been holding in. "How are you here? What-" he stumbled, his voice cracking. "I managed to get a week off work and when I realised you'd be filming I thought it'd be a fun surprise." I answered him. "So earlier when you didn't answer me-" "I was on a plane." I cut in. The boys let us have a moment so stepped inside and began filming the boy's reaction to the massive villa.

Since there wasn't anyone watching Harry brought me into a soft kiss. "Fuck. I missed you so much." He whispered, our lips just millimetres apart. "I missed you too Haz and I really missed those lips." I joked. He chuckled. "You look so beautiful." He complemented, looking me up and down. "So do you." I winked at him with a cheeky grin. His eyes sparkled.

They finished filming the video and we all decided to get in the pool. Me and Harry headed to our shared room to get into some swimwear. I grabbed a bikini from my suitcase then quickly slipped it on. I turned around to see Harry sat at the end of the bed staring at my body.

I cleared my throat. "Sorry." His eyes flickered back up to my face. I giggled, walking towards him and standing between his legs. His hands immediately landed on my hips. "Come on, everyone's waiting." I slid from his grasp then walked towards the door, he quickly followed.

I sat with my legs dangling in the pool as I spoke to Tobi, telling him all about my time in New York. "So how long have you got left out there? The parties are a lot more boring without you." Tobi asked. I smiled. "Thankfully I'm completely finished next month and I can come back to the uk, all of my coworkers are at least forty and have kids so there's no gossip, no parties, basically nothing fun. It's so boring." I replied.

"Harry's been in such an awful mood since you left. I bet he's so excited for you to come back." He added. I felt slightly guilty but Harry had been assuring me that he was okay every time we'd called.

After having some dinner everyone said good night and left for their bedrooms. Me and Harry shared a quick shower to wash the chlorine off of our bodies. Both of us were exhausted and boiling so we put some underwear on and slipped into the king sized bed. Harry wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into him. He let out a soft, content sigh.

"I was speaking with Tobi earlier and he said you'd been struggling, are you sure you're gonna be okay without me for another month?" I asked. He moved so he could see my face. "I'll be okay. It's just been weird coming home to an empty apartment every day." "I know. I feel the exact same, it's so lonely in New York." I replied softly. He kissed my forehead. "One more month." He whispered. "Mhm. Just one month." I echoed.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Surprise Meet The Parents

So...a while ago (years, decades, possibly even centuries) I received a prompt for an age gap meet the parent's fic with Melissa and at the time I wasn't sure how to go with it and someone tossed in the idea of a surprise meet. At the time, I'd started down a different path, but since then I've looped back around and decided to try the road not taken...

I will try and link the other fic (when I find it!) and it's my New Year's Resolution to create a masterlist and move my fics across to AO3. But in the meantime, thank you all for all your lovely comments and responses to my last couple of posts (work remains crazy and I am nowhere near ready for Christmas) so although I haven't had time to reply properly to them, they have honestly helped keep my sane and smiling!

Hope you enjoy the latest offering!

Melissa frowns at the couple waving enthusiastically in your direction.  They’re not parents she recognises.  “Who’s that?” she asks, nudging you.

“Um…” you hesitate, not quite knowing how to break the news.  “That…that is my mum and dad.”

The red head eyes widen as she turns to look at you.  “You didn’t say they were coming!”

“Neither did they!”

*

The surprise visit has certainly succeeded in it’s aim.  You are very surprised.  Somehow, your parents have been able to keep a transatlantic flight a secret and appeared just in time for the final bell.  Yes, you agree with your mum, it’s a cute idea they had to be here in time for picking you up from school, just like the old days.  It’s also absolutely thrown you for a loop. 

Hugs are exchanged and with nowhere to run, introductions made.  Melissa puts on her best act, but you can see she’s tense.  You’d talked about her meeting your parents, but them turning up out of the blue at Abbott was not the plan.

Your mum suggests dinner and a chance to sit down and talk properly.  The name of the restaurant she suggests looked nice on the drive over isn’t one you’re familiar with and you automatically counter with a suggestion for an old favourite haunt of you and Melissa’s.  The red head is nervous enough without going somewhere you’ve never been with a whole new menu she’s never looked at.

Thankfully, your parents seem more than happy to go along with your suggestion.  “Great, then how about I call and book, then I can message you with the address and we can meet there in a couple of hours’ time?  Give you guys time to settle in and us to wrap up here?”

*

By the time you both finish seeing your students off, manage to ward off the questions from your colleagues over the sudden appearance of your parents and get home, it’s a rush to get ready for dinner.

Preparations are not helped by Melissa’s panic over what to wear.  You know telling her she looks good in anything isn’t going to help right now, even if it is true.  Instead, you stand behind her where she continues to root through her closet, wrapping your arms tightly around her. 

“I sorry,” you tell her, nuzzling against the back of her neck.  “I know this isn’t how you wanted to meet my parents.  And if I had a choice this isn’t how you’d be meeting them either, but they are here and I’d love for you to meet them.”

She turns in your arms, resting your foreheads together.  “No, I’m sorry.  I’m freaking out and that’s not fair.  I’ve spoken to your parents on the phone and they’re nice people, but I just…”

You shake your head.  “You hate surprises and this is a big one.  So I get it.  Hell, the first time I met your family I was sweating buckets and could hardly string a sentence together.”

At this, Melissa smiles.  “I remember.  You made promise to watch out for sweat patches and take a spare shirt in my bag just in case.”

“You also didn’t leave my side,” you remind her.  “And I won’t leave yours.”

*

It was a promise you intended to keep, but you hadn’t quite factored into this the fact you would need to use the bathroom at some point.  Dinner isn’t exactly going badly.  In actual fact, it’s been going rather well, but you can still feel Melissa tense next to you and can see how tight her smile is.  Slipping you phone off the table, you quickly type a quick note before turning the screen so she can see it.

She offers you a slight nod and you excuse yourself, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before you go.  Your parents are good people.  You know they’re hardly likely to throw any barbs her way while you’re going, but she’s nervous, and you know she has a tendency to blurt out more than she means.  Hopefully, if you’re quick she won’t have time to say anything she would come to regret. 

Placing her hands on the table, Melissa takes a deep breath as you go, forcing herself to keep the smile on her face.  “I’m sure you have questions,” she offers when it’s just her and your parents.  “Or that I might not be quite what you expected.”

“You realise before you, all we got was photos of the city?  Or artwork her kids had done?  Random cats she meets on the street?” asks you mother.  “Since you, we pictures of her.  Smiling, happy, with you.  The city is in the background now.”

Melissa cheeks pink and she ducks her head.  She hadn’t realised there had been such a shift.  To her, with her, you were just as you had always been.  She’d asked her if she minded you sending pictures of the two of you to your friends and family.  The red head had always said as long as she looked good in them and there’s wasn’t too much cleavage she was good with it.  Afterall, much as she likes to showcase the girls, she wants to make a good impression.

Your mother leans across the table slightly, her voice low and tone gentle.  “She’s mentioned you’ve been worried about being a little older than she is.”

At this, Melissa pales, waiting for the cutting comment that’s sure to follow. 

“But,” she goes on, gesturing with her glass as she talks.  “You get to realise that when all your daughter’s favourite films and tv shows seem to revolve around female characters with at least a couple of decades on her, she might have a type.”  She leans back in her chair.  “I mean, she had Cybill on DVD as teenager, never missed an episode of Xena, not to mention the crush she’s had on Meryl Streep forever.”

The laugh has tumbled from her lips before she can stop it, and once she’s started, Melissa finds she can’t stop.  As the tension leaves her body, she can only shake her head and continue laughing.  Of all the things she thought your mother might say, your teenage taste in women were not among them.  “So you…don’t mind?” she asks when she’s calmed herself down. 

“We mind that you care about her,” your dad smiles.  He hadn’t missed the fact that Melissa had held doors for you, sorted your coat on the back of your chair, reminded you that you found the spicy mayo too spicy.  In short, she’d been a gentlewoman.  One that knew you well.  “We mind that she’s herself with you.  You realise you’re the first person she’s ever properly introduced?  Before it’s always been one of her friends let something slip, or we have to make a guess reading between the lines.  But with you she’s excited to tell us about things that you do together.  She doesn’t try and hide that you’re together like she’d done in other relationships.”

At this, she can only smile.  Yes, this may not be how she envisaged meeting your parents, but she’d be lying if she said it’s not going better than she ever could have hoped.  Whenever Jo would introduce her to someone, anyone, it was always with a derogatory comment about how hot a piece of ass she was.  Even if in private his words weren’t always so flattering.  You, however, apparently introduce her as someone you’re happy with.  Someone you share things with.  Who you share yourself with.  It’s a compliment she never realised you kept on giving her.  “I do care about her,” she says softly.  “A lot.  A helluva lot.”

“I’m glad,” smiles your dad.  “Because from what I’ve seen and heard you seem real nice, and I’d hate to have to hate you if you broke my little girl’s heart.”

Melissa holds you father’s gaze.  “I’m not perfect.  A long way from it, actually.  I’m grouchy and hot tempered, but I promise the last thing I want to do is hurt her.  She means too much to me.”  She pauses.  “That, and you’d have to join the queue in kicking my ass if I did.”

Now it’s your mum’s turn to smile.  “Long queue, huh?”

The red head laughs.  “I mean, I gotta lot of ass to kick, but that queue is already round the block.  My best friend at the front of the line.”

“Ouch,” winces your mother. 

“Yeah,” Melissa nods.  “I’ve already been warned that if it comes to picking sides my team is looking slim.  But I have no intention of it ever coming to that.”

Your mother lifts her glass, touching it to Melissa’s.  “Smart woman.”

Returning form the bathroom, you slide back into your seat, immediately feeling the shift in mood at the table.  “Everything okay?”

In answer, Melissa rests her arm along the back of your chair, her fingers gentle stroking the top of your arm.  You raise an eyebrow at the move, only to get a smile in return.  “Everything is great, actually.”

*

It’s not until later that night when you finally ask what had been said when you went to the bathroom.  You hadn’t asked on the car ride home, still riding the high of how well the evening had gone and the couple of glasses of wine that had gone along with it. 

Melissa looks up at you from where she’s propped up in bed, looking through her phone.  “What?” she asks, looking at you over the top of her glasses in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. 

“Tonight, when I went to the bathroom,” you repeat.  “You were all nervous before, then I come back and you’re all fine about it?”

“Your parents are nice people.  Why wouldn’t we get along?” she answers, her words frustratingly vague. 

You narrow your eyes at her, not buying it.  She’s not lying to you.  That much you know.  But you also know there is definitely more to this story.  “What did they say?”

She sighs, putting down her phone.  “All right, so when you went to pee, I asked if they had any questions about, well, me.  My age, that I might not be quite what they expected.”  She pauses with a smirk.  “But your mom told me that actually, I kinda was what they expected?”

At this, you frown.  Melissa is very different to your previous partners, so quite how she’s what your mum expected you’re not quite sure. 

“She told me you have a type.”  Melissa’s smirk is still firmly in place.  It makes you slightly nervous. 

This, again, is news to you.  That you have a type at all, even more that your mother seems to think you have one.  Turning out the light to the bathroom, you pause in the doorway, now not entirely sure you want to hear the rest of the conversation.    

“She seems to think from your younger viewing habits that you like older women,” divulges the red head.  “Cybill Shepherd got a mention.”

At this your cheeks flame red and Melissa’s smile only grows more devious.  She loves getting to tease you.

“So she was right?”

“Oh come on!” you exclaim.  “Cut poor little gay me some slack! between Cybill and that voice of hers, Christine Baranksi and the red head that played the daughter what hope did I have?”

Melissa’s shoulders begin to shake before she finally laughs.  Really laughs. 

You roll your eyes, but part of you can’t help but enjoy the red head’s delight at your reaction.  Turning off the light, you crawl into bed next to her.

“You’re adorable,” says Melissa as she calms down, pulling you into her arms. 

“Shut up,” you mumble into her shoulder.

“Wanna know what else your mom said?”

You groan against her skin.  There was more?”

“I hear you’re a Meryl Streep fan.”  Even without seeing her face, you know she’s grinning. 

“Oh come on!” you exclaim.  “Who isn’t?  The woman is an ever-appealing chameleon.”

The red head nods in the darkness.  “Fair,” she concedes.  “What about Xena?”

You’re glad you’ve turned the lights off as your cheeks flame red.  You’re going to murder your mother.  “I was a fan of strong female lead roles,” you huff defensively.

“Uh huh,” hums Melissa.  “So no credit to the wardrobe department?”

“You’re mean,” you mumble.

She laughs.  “No, I’m not.  I’m just enjoying this glimpse into the inner workings of your formative years.”

Taking your face from where it’s been hidden against her shoulder, you shift to press a kiss to her jaw.  You have to smile.  She’s enjoying this too much, and looking back, your teenage crushes were laughable in their less than subtle nature.  Especially given the fact you had no idea a the time.  “It might amuse you to hear that at the time, I genuinely thought I just preferred shows with strong female characters.  It wasn’t until years later I realised I fancied the absolute pants off them.”

The arm that had been wrapped around you pulls you more tightly to her.  “I’m glad you had that all figured out by the time you met me,” she smiles.  “I wouldn’t have had the patience to wait years.”

[hey-hey-j]

Okay hear me out. For the Flickory Egg-Bruce saves Floyd au thing. Cause canonically there is only a month between movie 2 and 3 (as much as I typically don’t subscribe to that personally it is more or less explicitly canon via Tiny Diamond’s age) so that means that Hickory doing his whole thing with Barb was happening WHILE FLOYD WAS CAPTIVE. So in my head I imagined like, Hickory explaining to Floyd that he’s got “a job” (idk how much Floyd knows about his man’s career choices lmao) and is like I gotta dip for a bit I won’t really be able to stay in contact but I /will/ be back. And then he leaves and like right after Floyd is like oh god there and egg oh GOD it’s Hickory’s and then cue kidnapping somewhere in there. And then after world tour Hickory comes back and Floyd is just GONE completely MIA and he has NO idea where he would have gone but cause Floyd is a pop troll and Hickory is literally friends with the Pop Queen he runs to Poppy like I HAVE A PROBLEM PLEASE and cue Poppy learning about the BroZone Branch thing via Hickory instead of JD and also HICKORY learning about it.

Just the face of him looking at Branch when Branch is like :squint eye emoji: did you just say Floyd? Like my brother? I mean not brother why would I have a brother HICKORY ARE YOU DATING MY NOT BROTHER???

no 'cause that's exactly how I've been picturing it going down. Picture Hickory taking the place of JD in this AU, essentially (and especially since they don't run into JD until way later here)

Branch tries not to get his hopes up initially because really, what are the odds that Hickory's Floyd is the same as his Floyd, right? Oh he's a Pop troll? Well what does he look like? 'Cause it's entirely possible that there just happens to be another missing Pop troll named—oh. Oh no yeah it's the same Floyd. Oh no. Oh no.

it's very funny to me that Branch has just spent an entire movie with this guy gallivanting around as a fake Country troll only to learn that this guy is, in fact, his brother's boyfriend

(also, for the sake of the AU I'm adding a few more months of time in between World Tour and Band Together. Hickory doesn't go to Poppy for help right away, maybe spends a few weeks trying to track down Floyd on his own before calling in his connections. At this point Floyd is already recuperating on Vacay Island but Hickory won't know this for a while.)