#learns the truth about what she has done for him. And he goes to be with her!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gghostwriter · 6 months ago

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You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face.

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.”

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.”

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.”

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?”

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?”

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice.

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?”

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.”

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.”

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?”

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater.

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?”

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk.

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation.

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?”

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed.

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth.

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.”

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory.

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up.

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who.

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.”

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?”

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them.

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language.

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?”

“What? No! No, of course not!”

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow.

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend.

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue.

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course.

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down.

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking?

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time.

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk.

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement.

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered.

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement.

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with.

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance.

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest.

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.”

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #gw fics

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shrimpybbq · 3 months ago

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season 1 rafe with his gf & son

i have to be sooo truthful here in that rafe is like 90% the actual worst during the events of season 1 to high school gf!

he's still doing drugs and going to parties, never coming home until the early morning if at all

maybe he was on better terms with his gf for a while, but everyone on the island knows that the pair are always on-and-off

when they are good, rafe is surprisingly sweet to her. he's always opening doors and looking after their son so she can rest. rafe is so much more physically affectionate too during these times, with his hands always on her, stroking her hip or playing with her hair

and then when they fight, it's like all that goes away and he's back to ignoring her

she lives in the main house now as that's where their son's nursery is, but most of the time she's sleeping in the guest room after they argue

rafe's idea of family bonding is going to the country club, drinking his expensive whiskey and eating overpriced food. he likes seeing his son look around wide-eyed at the new sights and new people, and he enjoys having his son sit in his lap while he drinks, mumbling nonsense to see his little smile

he tries to take his son out golfing once only to realise that he couldn't be away from his mother for so long, much to his annoyance. it's fine though bc he's insisting they all go together next time - problem solved in his mind

rafe and high school gf! go to midsummer's together as each others dates. rafe wouldn't have let her go with anyone else anyway, but he likes the display of having her on his arm. he matches his suit to the floral design of her gown to make the statement even clearer (they have a child together and he's worried about people knowing she's his???)

he manages to hide a lot of the events that go on from his gf, but some of them still reach her ears courtesy of sarah, and he can't stand the disappointed look she gives him. sometimes though, he makes her sit down and listen to his explanation, trying to get her to see his side. he's so relieved when she nods and no longer looks at him in that way (but she still doesn't tell him he was right, he always notes)

when barry burns rafe, he's knocking on the door of the guest room with tears in his eyes, clutching his badly burnt arm to his chest. gf just looks at him wide-eyed, telling him to sit on her bed while she grabs the first aid kit. rafe can't help but let the tears stream down his face as she cleans, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as he sobs. that night is the first time he sleeps with her in the guest room, his head nuzzled into her chest as she cradles him

ok but if barry ever threatens his girl and kid rafe won't let it go. he's landing a punch on the drug dealer's face immediately, his rage spiking instantaneously. barry learns not to threaten them again after the second time he wore purple bruises on his chin

oh, sweet pretty gf has no idea what rafe has done to the sheriff, and he plans to keep it that way. he wanted to protect his dad, but he absolutely refuses to let anything happen to his own family. she's so shocked when he tells her of john b's actions, the boy having lived down the hall from them, and rafe plays into the role of protector again. he's got her in his arms as she cries about how he was around their son, and rafe just hums and tells her "i would never let someone hurt either of you, you know that right?". it warms his heart to see her nod into his chest.

sometimes his gf walks into the nursery only to see her son not in his crib, but she knows exactly where he is. pushing open rafe's door she sees the two of them in bed, her sweet baby cuddled up on rafe's bare chest as they both sleep. he needs to be with his son when he has a bad day, which seems to be more often than not nowadays

rafe is rapidly growing more mentally unwell and the only thing that seems to soothe him is his gf and son, and he spends as much time as he can with them. the little baby is always in his arms as he coos down at him, watching his kid's eyes brighten at the sight of his dada. rafe reasons with himself that everything he does is to protect his family and that he couldn't be wrong then, could he?

Click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

Click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

Oh this was a bit of a novel, but rafe truly has so many facets to explore, let alone once you give him a big motivator like a kid!

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron blurb #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanons #outer banks fanfiction #high school gf! au #dad!rafe au #dad!rafe

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mallowsweetmiri · 5 months ago

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Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

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The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

#fred weasley smut #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x y/n #weasley smut #harry potter headcanon #fred weasley headcanons #weasley twins #hp headcanon #hp fanfic #hp smut #george weasley #george weasly x reader #mallowsweetmiri

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 6 months ago

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You know what would make the Lucky Charm more balanced? Make it so that there are times where other characters figure it out, not just Ladybug. That way, it doesn't make Ladybug hypercompent and makes it possible for other people to save the day.

I don't mind Ladybug being the one best suited to Lucky Charm. I don't think it makes her hyper competent because you don't need a Lucky Charm to save the day. It's just the way that she saves the day. The other characters should have their own unique talents that let them win fights. Generally speaking, that's how strong teams work.

For a random example, let's talk about the teenage mutant ninja turtles simply because I think most people know something about that franchise. The character Donatello (aka Donnie) is the team's tech guy. He makes all kinds of inventions that help them save the day. The show would not be improved if all four of the turtles were able to take on this inventor role. I'd argue that it would actually be lessened because the characters would become interchangeable. This is something that the franchise seems to agree with as each version of the show gives each turtle unique skills and personality traits that makes each of them indispensable in their own way, which is what I think Miraculous should have done with the temp heroes.

That being said, I do think that there's a way to make your idea work. I'd just go a slightly different, more lore balancing route since Lucky Charm is technically bad lore and you all know how I feel about bad lore. So let's talk about giving it a minor tweak and how I think that would actually improve things.

Tikki is supposed to be Creation, not Luck, so the Lucky Charm shouldn't have anything to do with Luck. It should just be pure Creation where the holder comes up with a thing they want and that thing then pops up. It could also have a give and take element where the holder gets what they asked for if they want something specific, but they could also just call the power as a hail Mary and Tikki would come up with something on the fly, leading to the occasional puzzle.

This leads me to my proposed changed.

I personally think it would be hilarious and honestly more fun for Marinette's character if she could summon anything she wanted, but the Lucky Charms stay exactly the same because that's just how her mind works. Even when Tikki is helping, it's still all wacky items because Tikki knows how Marinette is and just goes with it.

For example, in Copy Cat, Ladybug turns a spoon into a hook for a cobbled together fishing pole. Wouldn't it be even funnier if Marinette summoned a spoon on purpose because she was thinking of the makeshift thing she cobbled together in order to fish up something she dropped from her balcony? Then, post fight, Chat Noir praises her like always, only to then ask, "So why a spoon and not a fishing hook?" And Ladybug just stares at him because oh, right, those are things they make. She could have done that. Ooops.

And in Malediktator where she summons a sniper rifle to get a laser pointer? Well, she was thinking about this silly comic about a cat assassin! She totally spaced on the fact that you could just get a laser pointer by itself.

Eventually, her team learns to just go with it and not ask questions. Meanwhile, the general public thinks that the Lucky Charm is some random item that Ladybug has to figure out and no one bothers to correct this misunderstanding. You can even have a running gag of new team members learning the truth and going through the acceptance process of, "Hey, you try thinking up how to set a trap while a 5 meter tall lollipop is trying to crush you! Your mind goes to what it knows, not to the ideal solution, okay???"

If we go with this setup, then other people can wield the Ladybug and use Lucky Charm effectively, they'll just use it in a very different way from the way Marinette uses it. There will also be people who are just not suited to the Ladybug since that was initially how the powers were supposed to work and it made perfect sense. Kwamis should have ideal holders along with okay backups and terrible backups. I personally think Alya would be an okay backup since she's creative, but not creative in the same way Marinette is, leading her to be a lesser Ladybug. Adrien, on the other hand, should generally suck at the Ladybug as he simply doesn't have that style of creative thinking. Which is fine. Better than fine, even! You don't want your characters to be interchangeable! They should all have strengths and weaknesses!

This is one of the show's big flaws. Since everything is on Marinette's shoulders, the other characters rarely get a chance to shine and so they feel interchangeable. For example, if gift always shows the target what THEY want, then why does Rose need to be the one to wield it? Juleka could wield it just as easily. And if Ladybug is generally the one telling Marc and Nathaniel what to summon with their powers, then their creativity is not needed. Anyone could wield the rooster and the goat! The show has completely failed to understand what makes teams memorable and so we have a bloated, boring team whose presence I'm dreading because they had five seasons to set these guys up and yet here we are.

#anon ask #ml writing critical #ml writing salt

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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there's this video you've probably seen already where a woman is shaking in front of a microphone and delicately tries to ask - how can i make my husband listen to me, i've tried everything, i don't want to seem ungrateful and the other man laughs - the problem is that you married a man, we're only listening 25% of the time and we only understand 5% of that! and the audience laughs and the woman laughs and you just sat there, phone in your hand, letting the sound of it echo

and the thing is that people make think-pieces about it (isn't this one of them) and satire versions and "flipping the script" which is good and fun but at the end of the day, there's some truth in that man's response about men-not-listening. and you have tried to language that feeling for years, this sense that you can only take up 33% of a conversation before others view it as being "dominating".

it's not that they aren't listening, it's that the action they're taking is purposefully silencing. it's different. you accidentally-don't-listen a lot; just because the world is loud and you're distracted. you don't mean anything by it. and the truth is that the man who spoke is relying on that to be true of you; the way it's true of everyone. but there is a different undertone to his kind of not-listening. what he means is they don't respect you and you shouldn't expect them to. there is a difference between oh shit i forgot to take the trash out and why didn't you remind me to do it, just like there is a difference between i didn't realize you wanted to go out this weekend and why do you expect me to plan things why can't you just tell me where we're going.

and the thing is that it isn't just him, and it's actually not just because of your gender - your skin, your class status, your weight, their ableism - it happens often. so often it feels like a tightness around your throat and a weight in your stomach. you're not even "really" allowed to be upset about it, because to them it's a joke. and they laugh. and you know exactly the amount of work that goes into every conversation. how you have to work to condense down your thoughts into intelligent, crisp soundbites; worried someone will try to swoop in and cut you off. and there's this sense from everyone else - oh stop being so sensitive, are you really upset just because they weren't listening and you don't know how to say the way that feels when it happens constantly.

there's that video of the science summit where a woman in the audience finally says let her speak please! and the whole crowd bursts into applause and the man leading the summit holds up his hands and bows his head and says oops, sorry! like what he did was awkward and embarrassing, a little social gaffe that happens easily. later in your meetings, you're asked to take notes, and you don't say anything, you just hear let her speak please! ringing in your head and know that you'll never be brave enough for that kind of thing. and besides. think of all the people who agree this was a one-off, he just got excited and all of the people who say one man is not indicative of all of society

at the dinner table you're talking about someone you don't like and how he's not good to his girlfriend and how she always has to remind him to put the effort in and before him, she was glowing with curiosity and passion but now she just seems... tired, unhappy. that he likes the way she burns out; she stays home and takes care of him and their 2 kids. and your father sniffs and says that men take a while to learn those kinds of things. and you just stare at him and think about your childhood and are like - no wonder i turned out like this

and you want to say - there's no fucking secret school or mystic form of communication. i was not sent to Rearing a Child University. i did not graduate from Getting Chores Done College. i ask questions and i listen and i pay attention, because that's basic fucking human decency. it stems from respect, and how i respect others and their agency. i clean the house because someone should clean. not because it comes "naturally".

hell, you had to google "how to boil an egg" the other day, just because you usually make them scrambled. you can never remember which of the 2 bathroom cleaners make chlorine gas, only that two of them definitely do. you've accidentally bleached your clothes. it took you like 3 years of self-teaching before you figured out how to actually cook things correctly - for that whole time, you burnt or undercooked everything. but you did teach yourself; just like you taught yourself how to listen with empathy. just like how you taught yourself to think before you speak. to be kind first, to be better at communicating. it seemed like a good thing, an adult thing.

the joke the man in the video makes is that women say i'm fine! when they are not fine. and you think about the 150 conversations that happened around that; about how she probably has had so many arguments with her husband. how she said i'm upset you don't take me anywhere and he got mad at her because of course i do, you made me go to that stupid restaurant like last week and she probably said that's not what i'm saying and he said now i'm supposed to be psychic or something and she said no of course not and he said how am i supposed to know what to do when you don't even like everything and she said i do like things and he said well how am i supposed to win? and her pastor probably told her to be more grateful because they do things at all, even if she has to plan them and her mom probably told her that's just how men are honey and she probably cried over her journal, trying to figure out why the fuck she "has everything" and is still so bitterly, horribly unhappy

and how, in your life, for so many reasons, you looked down the barrel of another argument; of explaining yourself and being vulnerable and begging for help again. how many times you just said i'm fine because it was better than doing that again; it was better than wringing yourself out when it's literally easier to just pretend. because he wasn't going to listen. your father wasn't going to be better and your boyfriend wasn't going to be better and your boss wasn't going to be more respectful.

and you sit in front of a video of a woman shaking, looking horrible and guilt-wrought that she's even asking this question. and you know; deep in your heart - that's you. in a different life, you are her. you've stood in her spot. and you had to listen while someone else cackled - why would we bother to notice when you talk?

#writeblr #warm up #this is something im legit still unpacking the effects of #btw this is one of those intersectional feminist blogs #gender plays a role but let's be honest - this silencing comes from disrespect which can come from MANY things #white women will do it to women of color #it exists in many forms and permutations #but fuck that video made my blood run COLD #you know it's bad out there when my HORRIFICALLY right-wing trad cath father even admitted ''it's bad out right now''

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joelscurls · 1 year ago

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feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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writing-makes-me-human · 2 years ago

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🌊Love And Guests🌊

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Aonung x reader

PART TWO: HERE

Summary: Aonung has put out your usual sass with his recent flirting and it’s driving you insane. When he finally gets to speak with you alone as he shows off his spear throwing expertise it gets heated quickly

Warnings: Sexual tension and heated word choices, no smut but it gets close, mention of genitals

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: No updates, I’m getting back into writing after months of breaks so I’m sorry if i’m rusty. Also I feel like it goes without saying that Aonung is of age in all of my writing. I am not just writing about a minor, you are close in age. 19 years old.

┕━»•» 🌺 «•«━━━━━┙

"I still don't know why you think it's better that I teach you instead of my brother", Tsireya warmly suggested as she handed you a beginner's spear to practice with.

"Because I want to learn from the best", was all you managed to say as you took the spear in your hands and inspected it with wandering hands.

The real reason you were so eager to meet up with Tsireya instead of Aonung was laughable. Aonung had been playing a dangerous game with your feelings, making you feel a way you shouldn't to fuel your thoughts about the chief's son. Avoiding the brat to the best of your abilities for weeks now was the only way you could fight the fact you were slowly starting to become infatuated with the boy that was growing into a young man.

He had become cocky now that he was of age, and while he still had a few years of learning left before becoming chief, it had become clear his training was making him more and more defined. The way his body moved with every hearty laugh or every faux wrestling match with his friends drove you up the wall, so you decided it was best to try and stop seeing him altogether.

However, this was becoming a challenge as he had recently decided to spend more of his free time harassing you than anyone else. It was very confusing, as you thought you had put this bullying behind you when you were children. That could easily be forgotten, though, as he was indeed still the next leader, and that could explain his rudeness, but what couldn't be helped was the blush that overgrew you every time he towered over you with that smirk that he didn't know affected you in such unforgiving ways.

"Well, thank you, I'm flattered", she giggled, then continued, "but Aonung is the top in the clan at spear throwing, and he's not gonna be happy if he finds out you asked me instead of him", she never felt bad for her brother. Still, when it came to the matter of his undying yet, painfully expressed crush on you, she felt merciful.

You scoffed, squaring yourself next to her as you looked towards the targets drawn on the ground.

The target range for spear-throwing was closer to the village than any of the other training areas because you needed the clear ground to allow a large windup for hurling the stick through the air. It was still private, which you enjoyed because you had a feeling this was going to be an embarrassingly miserable display of physical prowess.

The targets were set up in the distance and made up of 3 circles of fine white sand sprinkled in precise shapes on the ground. Tsireya had already collected the sand earlier in the day and laid out the rings in exchange for you to be the one that churned the sand into the dirt when you were done so the next person who came to train could easily set up the rings and get started.

"I don't think I could handle his smugness at having me asking him a favor", you smiled at her, holding up the spear like you had seen Aonung and his friends do when they came here to learn when you were younger.

It was the truth. Honestly, you wouldn't have been able to handle his smug looks or laugh or the fact that to teach you meant one on one time by yourselves. You would prefer being lectured by Ronal, and that was saying something.

She nodded, trying to copy you as she held up the pointed end of the spear into the air, getting herself ready to fling the wooden spike. The artillery was too large for her, and you watched in curiosity as she heaved it up a little higher with a grunt.

"Alright, so what you want to do is pull back and using your back leg, you want to push--" she was cut off by the sound of laughter in the near vicinity. Before she could resume her instructions, you heard the sound of foliage and leafs being broken as a group of four boys emerged into the clearing, each of them but one with their spears by their side.

Aonung was still laughing at something Rotxo had said, but when he looked up and saw you, with your arms still raised as his sister mirrored you, he felt his heart skip a beat and his face light up with delight.

You cursed under your breath and dropped the stick like it was a venomous snake, instantly turning around to hide your slightly tinged face.

This was so unfair! He hadn't even said anything so far. All he had done was smile and laugh! He never had this much of a hold on you when he was younger. As he got older and his hair grew past his shoulders, and his muscles became larger, you became less aware of what to do with yourself.

"I have to go", you mumbled, feeling the tinge fade as you turned to pick up the burlap sack you had brought with you and leave for the village.

"Well, what is going on here?" Aonung called out in the conceited tone he saved for when he was talking to you. His deep voice boomed around the clearing, forcing its way into your ears and silencing the chatter between his other friends.

You didn't respond and instead made your way in the opposite direction they had come from, but before you could escape, a few words were yelled out, making your face nearly melt off your skull and onto the floor below you.

"Somewhere to be, pretty girl?" Aonung called out while his friends spread out, tossing down their training gear and lunches they had packed in preparation for a few hours of training.

You turned sharply, trying to calm your breathing so the blood would move from the gathering in your cheeks down to your heart which desperately needed the extra help because the poor thing was beating overtime.

"Just remembered I have somewhere to be", you said rather awkwardly, not allowing yourself to come across as timid but not quite having the energy to yell back at him with the same enthusiasm.

"Oh, come on! You said you wanted to learn from the best, and he's right here!" Tsireya spoke. She lay down her spear next to yours and jogged up to you. She grinned as she gently tugged on your hand, coaxing you to come and stand to talk to the boys who were checking over their weapons.

You sighed, then gave in, dropping the sack and letting her drag you over to Aonung, who was still standing in the same spot. As you walked over, he had a proud smile etched on his face, and you wanted nothing more than to slap it off.

Your face dropped so you could look anywhere but into his eyes that would have caught you in his dangerous trap of good looks and gentle teasing and never let you go.

"Come on, teach her!" Tsireya was far too excited, nearly jumping up and down while her older brother rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Who said I wanted to help?" He snarkly asked, then continued, "and next time you're thinking of using my spear, ask!" He spat, gesturing to the spike that was laid on the ground rather carelessly. That cleared up the question of why the spear had nearly tipped her over when she held it up.

She elbowed him roughly in the chest with her free arm causing him to bend down a little in pain and scowl at her, but no sound of agony came out.

He quickly straightened himself and snarled at Tsireya, but she gave him a pointed look before her eyes darted to you several times. After a few seconds, he finally got her unspoken threat and sighed, pushing past the both of you to walk over to collect his projectile.

You ignored the feeling of his hand burning on your shoulder as he pushed between you two, breaking the hold Tsireya had on you.

"Come on, pretty girl, let's see what you can do", he called out, not bothering to turn around because he knew you'd be following.

You looked over to Tsireya before you elbowed her yourself, questioning her with a look. She knew you didn't want to speak with him, yet here he was and instead of ushering him away, she had insisted he teaches you.

She simply shrugged at you and pushed you forward before running off to sit next to her brother's friends.

You passed by Rotxo and nodded to him in greetings which he returned before tucking into the fruits he had brought with him. He was chatting with his friends, who all found a spot under a nearby tree that was far enough away from the targets that they wouldn't hear you and Aonung's words to each other but still close enough that they could still see any funny failings.Your eyes settled on Aonung's back, and you took a deep breath, you didn't even have the shame to look away when he crouched down and picked up his spear, checking it over for dirt or marks.

"You watch me first, then you try", he said, glancing over to see you were watching him with eyes slightly wide at the idea of trying to copy his expert throw with an audience.

He smiled at you, which caused you to blush and break the stare you had been holding on his body, which only made him grin, thus continuing the terrible cycle.

"Eyes on me, nobody else is watching, so you can look at me as much as you want", he called you out with a smirk when you finally scowled, giving him a reaction that he couldn't help but chuckle at.

"I worry for anybody that enjoys looking at you", you hissed while taking a step back, knowing he would have to have some space to move when he threw the spike.

He didn't say anything this time but didn't have to. His eyes spoke for him as they shone like the sea on a sunny day.

"So she speaks! I was beginning to worry!" He watched you roll your eyes in amusement with a slight smile on your face, and he silently swore at himself in his head for turning so you wouldn't see his sly grin that he only got when he made you happy.

"Let's start", he wasted no more time and held the wooden stick over his head. You watched with slightly awestruck eyes as his body moved so purposefully.

He raised the spear, and using his other arm, he aimed to secure the direction he was throwing in. He could feel your eyes on him, and it made him cocky. He wanted to show off, to show you he was strong and worthy of praise.

He pulled back his left leg, then after taking a breath, he threw it with as much strength as it took to land directly in the centre of the target. They were far closer than he usually had them, but it was to be expected since you were a beginner.

The weapon shot through the air before the sharp spearhead dug into the ground with a thud, landing directly in the centre of the most petite ring. A perfect bullseye.

He leaned back with a satisfied grin. He turned to look at you with the hopes you would be at least slightly impressed. You were still staring, mouth open in an 'o' shape, struck somewhat by just how gifted at the sport he was, and it made a part of his internal body tingle when you turned with the look changing from amazement to an affectionate smile.

"I'll admit you aren't bad, I've seen worse", you couldn't help the smile anymore. He always had a way of killing off your anxiety, and right now was no different. His cocky grin made your heart speed up, but your mind just wanted to insult him until he dropped.

"If that's all it takes to impress you, I am afraid to know how easy it is to please you", he took no shame in his words, and your smile quickly dropped to embarrassed growls as you hid your face, turning to look over at his friends that were all talking to Tsireya about something at the same time. The discussion looked heated, and none of them paid attention to you two.

You watched, eyes as focused as ever.

"Arrogant brat", was all you could get out as you looked down at your feet and kicked at the dirt.

"Oh, did I touch a nerve? I didn't know you were such a goody-goody", he didn't wait for your smart-ass answer and walked off to tug his spear out of the ground sharply. Your mind was reeling as you heard a soft grunt escape his lips as he yanked his prize out of the ground.

You shook your head and bent down to pick up the training spear you had been given, not taking notice of your position that had your back to the sky until you felt a hand smack into your backside harshly.

The slap was loud, making your face turn scarlet red as you jumped up, abandoning the spike to glare at Aonung with a death stare.

You were shocked, he had never been so bold with his teasing, and while it wouldn't have crossed a line had you been alone, you could feel the four pairs of eyes gawking at the back of your head.

"Don't", you gently warned. You didn't want to admit it, and you knew it was wrong, and the pompous imp should have been ashamed of himself, Aonung should have been on his hands and knees begging to be forgiven, but a part of your brain was fighting not to jump his bones right now and embarrass him in front of his friends.

And he dared to look proud of himself as he laughed at your face, raising his hand in a half-assed attempt to hide the smile while you geared up to smack him across the face.

He noted how livid you looked and sighed. He hadn't meant to offend you. But when he was walking back and saw how your ass was staring at him like that, he couldn't resist the temptation.

"All right, I'm sorry" he held his hands up in surrender as a beam of playfulness poured from his eyes as a flirtatious grin overtook him.

"If you want to touch my body, ask, coward", you bit back, letting yourself grin as he took his turn of letting his mouth go slack at your actions.

"What's wrong pretty boy? Need some help?" you chuckled, nodding your head south. His eyes followed yours with a confused quirk on his brow as he looked down, and his eyes widened as he nervously took in that he had a half chub under his loin cloth.

You took a step back from him, feeling the heat between your legs signal it was time to go before you made some terrible mistakes that led you both behind a tree somewhere doing things you wanted to make him wait for.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, and as you felt the roles reversing, you suddenly understood why Aonung found the teasing so fun.

He looked back up at your smug face and peeked toward the group behind you with a silent plea in his eyes. Don't drag their attention down to his excitement.

"You need to learn some manners, Aonung, it's not becoming of the next chief to be so blatant in public, you've really hurt my feelings", you gave a dramatic exaggeration of a pout to him while your hands came to lay on your heart.

He was blocked from the sight line of his peers by where you were standing, but one step to the left or right and even from this distance, it was undeniable that he was hard.

He hadn't moved to cover his crotch yet but he dropped the spear, staring at you with begging eyes. It seemed that your sudden 360 from being a blushed-out lovesick moron to a vengeful demon had done nothing to ease him down, if anything, you made it worse.

You leaned forward, taking great pleasure in standing on your feet a little to get even with his ear, your hot breath panted onto his neck and he couldn't do anything to stop you. One move, and you'd be exposing him to his closest friends.

"Compared to me, I think it's you that's easy to please", you smiled, and he hated how he could feel the heat from your mouth as your teeth came so close to his neck that it drove him mad.

You quickly pulled away and smiled when you saw his eyes were closed, he was focusing on his breathing like he had you doing from his actions so many times before, and it felt so good to see him like this. A grown man that was bigger than you in every way imaginable was trying to calm his breath over you and your words.

"Well, this has been fun, but I'll see you later, Aonung", you felt confident for the first time in weeks and slowly, you felt the old you coming back, the sarcastic you that had just as much bark in you as Aonung.

You turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to him, not quite flush against his body, lest one of the others looked up again and saw you two so close.

"Wait a few minutes, then follow me", he didn't give you the time to reply once again as he picked up the spear and finally had the dignity to cover himself with his free hand before walking off to go deeper into the forest without so much as a glance back.

Oh, you knew you shouldn't. You should turn around and leave, let the warrior get himself off in the forest like the animal he was acting like. Still, the heat that had signaled you to go nearly 5 minutes ago had grown, and you knew that even if it wasn't visible, your body was nearly 10x as horny as Aonung was.

You wanted him.

But you knew you couldn't mate here, and certainly not like this.

'Leave, leave leave', your mind screamed as your feet took step after step of their own volition after him.

You worried for a second that somebody would call out to you and ask where you were going, but a part of you knew that everyone had already worked out the nature of what was going on with you two. They had all been staring at you after he slapped your ass, so they must have.

"I'll just talk to him", you finally muttered to yourself as you set off in a faster pace, going off to find him.

#aonung #aonung x reader #aonung x you #ao'nung #ao'nung x y/n #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you #aonung x y/n #way of water #avatar 2 #avatar 2023 #avatar way of water #x reader #romance #aonung imagine #aoung x reader #atwow x reader #atwow headcanons #female reader

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georgiapeach30513 · 5 months ago

Text

Two Good Reasons, Part 3

Summary: Andy wants to know your truth

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: mild language, insecurities concerning reproduction, mentions of spousal neglect, mentions of cheating, touching in public, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Grab your things,” Andy says before he’s even fully exited Ransom’s office. Your boss’ face goes slack, and he looks at Andy with disdain. “This isn’t a request. We’re going for coffee.”

Your eyes ping pong from Ransom to Andy, and you politely shake your head no. You need the job, and it didn’t look professional if Andy demands you to leave. Ransom is the boss, “I have to work. This is business hours. And when I’m done I need to go pick up,” you gulp. Your eyes fall on Andy, and you shamefully shake your head.

“I know. I’ll make sure you make it to pick them up on time,” you look towards Ransom again, unsure of why you want to deny an actual conversation with Andy. Shame didn’t feel like the right word. You did nothing wrong. And yet there’s this gut wrenching guilt you feel, and you’re not sure why, “Ransom, she’s taking the rest of the day off.”

“I-I-I ugh,” groaning at the reality you’re in. You were not supposed to be worrying about things like this, “I can’t afford to.”

“He’s giving you paid leave,” Ransom groans behind you, but Andy grabs your coat anyways. “Doe,” there’s something in the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the way his hand slightly flinches towards you. He isn’t angry. He seems caring.

You stand up, leaving Ransom’s mouth slightly gaping at you, but you nod your farewell. It sounds like whatever this coffee conversation is, will take the rest of the day. “Sloane, can you tell Willow to cancel my day,” Sloane answers quickly, looking to you a bit confused, and you walk side by side with Andy Barber. Something you haven’t done in awhile.

“You drink your coffee the same?” You stutter a moment, “Doe, iced shaken latte?”

“Yeah,” how is he remembering this? And why? The answer that you refuse to let pass through your brain. You can’t go there right now. “But with oat milk now,” he gives you a sincere smile, motioning his head in a corner.

“That’s my table. Lots of privacy. I’ll be over there once I have the coffees,” your mind is reeling. Whatever happened in Ransom’s office, Andy’s coldness is now morphed into how he was. Especially that night. The way his hands brushed over every inch of your skin, and made you feel alive for the first time in years.

The ride here was brief, but so quiet. Andy’s fingers drummed on his knee, keeping rhythm to the music, and you hated yourself a bit for being the obedient quiet woman. You want to pick his brain, and ask what changed. He knew about the kids. You’re assuming he knows about Scott. They might not be in the same office, but they could have seen each other around. Been in the courtroom together. Anything.

Andy gives you a warm smile as he hands the cup to you. You take a slow drink, and smile up at him, “You remembered the vanilla bean powder.”

“It’s part of your order. Why the switch to oat milk?”

You take a sip, refusing to meet his eyes. You’re not ashamed you have children, you’re ashamed this is how the conversation is had. He knows, and not from you. “My youngest, Suede, has a lot of allergies and intolerances, and one is lactose. So it was easier for us all to make the switch. Audrey liked the taste of oat milk best. Suede doesn’t care as long as I make him chocolate sauce.”

His eyes light up as he takes a drink from his cup. You wonder if he still drinks his coffee with light cream. Or even if he would use plant based milk. “You make chocolate sauce?”

“When I make it, I don’t have to worry about whether Suede can have it,” so much of the eating habits changed when you learned that he had allergies. It wasn’t a hesitation for you. It wasn’t at first with Scott, until it became an inconvenience.

“How many children do you have?”

“Just the two,” you sigh, looking at his thick fingers. Andy was never shy about wanting a family, and you fear that now that you can’t give him that, things have been ruined before they can begin again. You can sense the question lingering on his tongue, and yet, he’s too nice to say anything. “You can ask.”

“I’d rather you just tell me, this is us as friends catching up,” of course he’d be the gentleman. He’d say the right things. Do the right things. But you aren’t putting yourself into this line of questioning if that isn’t what he wants to know. “It’ll sound insensitive.”

“I just want to make sure we’re going the way I think it is. It doesn’t hurt like it used to,” you had healthy and happy children. What more could a mother ask for? Of course you wanted more, but it wasn’t in the cards, and it just seems so arrogant to think you deserve more when you have two.

“So it wasn’t your decision to not have any more children?” So formal. And yet, it doesn’t sting. No one has ever talked to you about this. It was always about how Scott felt. And you’re the one that did all the work. The one that feels inadequate for not giving your husband what he claimed to desire. You just shake your head no. Only just noticing Andy’s left fingers have been grazing over your knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Does any woman want to talk about how she’s not able to have children and it’s taken away from her involuntarily? Too often our bodies and uteruses are discussed with very little regard for us as a human. Our bodies are meant to be incubators for men that want to reproduce. But no one wants to talk about our mental status if that’s striped away from us, do they?”

“While there are people, especially men, who think that way, you know I don’t, Doe. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was you,” instead of the tips of his fingers, his hand flattens, touching you more. He watches your face to see if you protest, but you don’t. Instead you wish he would hold you like he did when you were teenagers. His arms always were the best comfort. “Honey, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I never have been able to, passed the too clinical doctors. Even — even Scott,” you should have known the writing was on the wall for your marriage, but at that time you would have done anything to save it. Andy’s posture goes rigid, and his jaw clenches. His anger. Even now, Andy has this innate need to protect you. Still.

“Andy,” his eyes close so slowly. Like he’s trying to absorb your calmness. You’ve had some time to process your marriage, but Andy is just learning about this. You wait until his body relaxes, and proceed, “It’s not impossible. It’s just such a rare chance. We even did a year of IVF. It was miserable and never took. Our next step was surrogacy. Except I guess he was going the old fashioned route.”

You look to the left, trying to hold in your angry tears. Not because you’re sad that your sham of a marriage ended, but because of the lengths you went to preserve it. The constant mental turmoil, but when you caught him with Taylor, it wasn’t blind rage. It was anger for you. For the disrespect to your home and your kids being there. The door was unlocked, and had Audrey walked in — you can’t even think about it.

So many times in the past few months you try and think if there was a time you were truly happy with Scott. Or had you found the replacement to the man in front of you, and you just went through the motions. You look at your two children and how you have this unwavering love you have for them. They were your reasons. Being a mother has been the highlight of your life. You just wish they had a father like Andy to share it with.

“He cheated?” you can’t answer, so you nod. Andy sighs, he is well aware of your no cheating policy. “How did you find out?”

“It’s easy to find out when you find the babysitter bouncing on his cock, while our children were taking their nap,” his Adam’s apple bobs. His body tense and agitated. “I suppose she did me a favor if it wasn’t for her continuing to be in our life because Scott never knows how to be alone. Or for someone to ruin his perfect picture of his life. Of course, he’ll twist it and turn it into being my fault, and that Taylor is his true love. Anything to make the affair not be his fault.”

You see him take a tentative lean forward, but you lean back in your chair, “Andy, don’t get involved. You can’t save me from everything. This is my mess that I chose willingly to get into.”

“He’s trying to take your kids from you, and he can’t even make simple adjustments in his diet to make sure your son is safe?” A tearful laugh pushes past your lips. “This isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny. I’m just laughing because you haven’t changed. Why do you always need to protect me?”

“Because you never want to protect yourself,” the two of you stare for too long at each other. The most comfortable silence between you, and you don’t want to break the spell. The one thing you’ve always wanted is right in front of you. He’s close enough to touch, and grab him.

“How come you never got married?”

“Well, I never fell in love again. I tried. A few times, and then I just — you don’t want to hear about that,” you giggle, using your foot to playfully kick at his, and his fingers gently start rubbing on your knee again. “Did you love Scott?”

“Are you asking me a simple question, or is this you asking me if I loved him like I loved you?”

“Touché,” he raises his cup, already knowing your response before you even say it. His mouth turned into a cocky smirk.

“I was married to a lawyer, but was still in love with you, Andy. Maybe I did love him in ways. But maybe it was because he was close to being you. I know how sometimes a simple question can be quite complex,” his hand drifts a bit further up your leg. Still an appropriate amount, but there’s a neediness in it. A want to have things go back to normal. “No. I don’t think I was ever in love with him,” that hand travels up even further, and he smiles when your legs spread just an inch wider.

“What are we doing here, Doe?”

“We’re having coffee because you demanded that I leave my job for the rest of the day. We have less than an hour before I need to pick up two children from the daycare center.”

“I saw Audrey,” he smiles, his hand flattens on your thigh. “She looks beautiful just like her mom. Has your eyes. You wanna talk about them?”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m a mom, a damn good mom if I say so myself. They’re my life. The only reason I hang on to hope with this divorce. The idea of Scott getting full custody is something I can’t even comprehend. He isn’t even potty training Suede. And he’s not even patient with him as he tries to talk. Audrey is my talker. She’s so smart for how little she is. So protective of her brother, and intuitive with him. She even wakes me up and says she’s had a nightmare so I sleep in her bed with her. I think it’s because she doesn’t want me on the couch. But I can’t let my girl be scared. They’re amazing. And I seriously question how I deserved them, but I won’t live without them either. They’re mine.”

it’s a sentiment you know in the depths of your soul. Those babies are yours. You carried them, you birthed them, fed them, changed their diapers, became their everything. Scott might have provided the funds, but he was just that. The money. There were moments, and glimpses of him being a good dad, and enjoying at least Audrey. You wonder if Suede’s allergies, and being a more difficult baby overall, is when he started to check out.

Audrey is the perfect child that was easy to get on a schedule. The pregnancy was easy. She is a fast learner. But Suede, your sweet baby, had so many difficulties since he was conceived. You sometimes wonder if Scott blames the difficult pregnancy and labor on your son, and even your problems with conceiving on Suede. His need to want another child so quickly was possibly a do over. For — the mistake. He called Suede that one time. And you’ll never forgive him.

Your mind easily spirals when it comes to Suede and Scott’s relationship. And you didn't care anymore. You didn’t have to beg for Scott to hold him, while you put Audrey to bed. Or to force him to try and talk to Suede. There’s a disconnect, and you hate him for it. Like any of his allergies were the baby’s fault. Fuck him. Fuck Scott, and his ways to make Suede insecure. Fuck. Him.

“I won’t let that happen,” Andy, sensing your growing anger, interrupts.

“I thought I told you not to get involved?”

His hand drifts up too high for public consumption. His fingers flutter over your covered core, and he smirks as his hand slides back down. Remaining too high, but you don’t care. You’ve not felt this way since Andy. “Doe, I’ve been involved since the moment I came into Ransom’s office and saw you. And since being inside of you, and coming in you, there’s no way that I’m not going to be involved. Even if it’s just to guide you to a better lawyer.”

“That’s who I can afford. And exactly why is Ransom telling you who my lawyer is? Especially considering he’s the one that is talking to Ray Smith for me. That’s who he’s hoping to take over my case,” Andy chuckles. Clearly Ransom left that piece out of what he told him. “He’s willing to set up — payment plans.”

You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about what Ransom was doing. For whatever reason that man wants everyone to think he’s a giant asshole, but you immediately saw right through his facade. Ransom is a good man, even if he didn’t want anyone to know about.

“Fine, I won’t get involved in court proceedings, but I will be involved with you as moral support.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly why,” his tone darkens, and you see lust ping his pupils.

“For unprotected sex, with all the creampies you can imagine?”

His hand shoots all the way to your core, and he flattens it over your covered mound. Giving you a crooked smile when you lean back, spreading your legs even further. “Sex with you is a bonus, not a requirement. But judging on how wet you are right now, means it’s not completely off the table. Now, if you want to act like I’m a sex crazed lunatic because you feel things are going too fast, that’s your prerogative, but don’t insult my intelligence.”

He removes his hand too soon. Lifting it to his mouth where he sucks on a finger. “Did anyone ever tell you that you taste delectable?”

“Yes. You have plenty of times.”

“Because I’m a smart man,” you watch as he puts another finger in his mouth. Can imagine that his tongue is circling the digit before he pulls it out. Smiling as he inserts another one. “Now that we have got your need to make a smart ass comment out of the way. No. I’m not getting involved for sex and creampies. My love for you extends past your cunt. All I have ever wanted was you. We were too young, and here I am as an adult with everything I wanted and I worked hard for, except for you.”

“I can’t have more children, and I don’t want to go through IVF again.”

“I’m not asking. I’m not even asking for us to jump into a relationship together. Us having kids, was just kids dreaming and talking, and thinking we had all our shit figured out. You have children,” you don’t want to say it, but the thought that he didn’t lingers on your mind. Something like that can make or break a relationship, and it’s better to be realistic and honest from the beginning. Scott had ruined you by thinking that your ability to produce him a child or lack thereof is your fault. Andy didn’t care. “Besides thinking about having more children, when you have two perfectly amazing humans already is a bit premature.”

“You’ve never even met them.”

“You already told me they are perfect. I trust you. Are you done with trying to make excuses to not have me in your life? I’m not talking about getting married tomorrow, I’m talking about you having a friend in Newton. Someone to talk to when you’re lonely, or feel you’re at your wits end. Don’t make any more excuses. I get it. You’re legally separated, you have two children, you’re becoming independent. I just want to be a part of that. As a friend.”

Now you’re not exactly an idiot. You and Andy were never able to be just friends. Hell, he’d already fucked you an entire night. But the sincerity in his voice, and the soothing feeling of having his hand on your knee again is comforting. It feels nice to not be alone, to not have to try and figure out how you’re even going to find a friend when your free time is being a mother.

“We should get your kids,” you glance to your phone on the table, seeing the time. “I’m just a friend you met at work,” you gulp. So much change has happened in their life, is Andy being present going to make it even worse? “No touching, no kissing, but I can’t guarantee I won’t smile.”

“Is this why you wanted me to take my car? Did you plan this?”

“This is me planning ahead. I saw the time before we left, and knew this could be awhile. I can get an Uber back to the office if that is what you want,” you want for your children to not be put in adult squabbles. You want them to feel comfortable getting in the car, and there’s a man with you that’s not their daddy. You want them to not think that Scott threw you away for Taylor.

“Do not get too friendly, okay? Suede won’t notice anything, but she will. Andy, I mean it,” your daughter noticed too much. And didn’t have a filter for saying things either. You didn’t want to stifle her voice or for her to think she couldn’t talk to you. Just some things you didn’t want to know. Like how Taylor rubs on her daddy’s belt all the time. Something you can only assume is her hand is too low on Scott.

“Why are you so worried?” Because you’re the weak one here. Andy’s ability to be nonchalant is infuriating. You want him, always have. But it’s time to put your big girl panties on for them, and not be a hormonal teenager.

“I’m not.”

“And you never lie, either,” Andy grins as he stands up from the table. That sly grin that tells you he knows how much you’re worried, and knows that you worry that you can’t be just friends with Andy.

“Shut up.”

“Andy,” you warn as he undoes his seatbelt. Placing his hand on the door handle. “You stay put.”

“Why?”

“Because I can check my kids out of daycare myself,” his fingers tense a moment on the handle, acting like he’s going to open the door. “You can’t just overstep my boundaries before we’ve even established anything. It’s going to be confusing enough for them with you in the car. Stay here,” he places a hand in his lap, smiling as you walk into the center.

Leaving him with his thoughts for too long. How the hell did you end up with someone like Scott? He saw a little glimpse of you just then, demanding he stay put, but there’s still this brokenness inside of you. One he thought you had gotten over. That your parents’ influence still didn’t linger. And yet, you found someone just like your dad.

Andy isn’t certain if he’s good enough for you or your children, but he will try. He will try to be everything that you have ever wanted. To be the man that you believed him to be. You even knew his little ticks, and just how protective he could be of you.

He didn’t have to think about your worry of not being able to have more children the traditional way. It was a non-argument. He didn't care. He could survive without siring a child, but what he couldn’t live without is you. You had children, and while he understands Scott is the unfortunate father, they’re still a part of you. And would be in his life. That would be enough.

How your soon to be ex husband couldn’t see what you had sacrificed for your family is unfathomable. The more he thinks about Scott, the more he hates him, and Andy can’t go down this road logically. He can’t sit and stew about the ways he’d like to destroy Scott, because he is your children’s father. And it sucks that he’s a lawyer, and he’s limited anyways.

Andy could be a hopeless romantic, but only with you. Everything he said he meant. It is silly to say it out loud, but all those women were never you. Even the ones he tried a relationship with. He was a grown adult man, and still longed for you. Not what the two of you dreamed about, but you. Life wasn’t a life without you.

Audrey is the first to notice him. You hold Suede in one arm, while holding her hand with the other. The little boy is very obviously a mama’s boy; his head leans over on your shoulder, while a chubby arm wraps around your neck. Audrey holds onto two lunch boxes, and has a backpack too large for her body, but she points at him in the car. She looks up at you, saying something, and you smile down at her.

Opening up the door on Suede’s side, Audrey crawls in first. Dumping the lunchboxes and backpack on the floor before crawling into her booster seat. “Audrey, Suede, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Andy. Andy, these are my kids Audrey and Suede.”

Suede gives him a wave, bashfully smiling as he looks up at you. But Audrey twists her head like a puppy staring at him. “You came to my house the other day,” you give a quick glance up at Andy. You knew he returned your wallet, and that Audrey had seen her, but you weren’t sure she’d remember.

“I did. I brought back your mom’s wallet. Did you have a good day at school?”

“Mommy already asked me, but yes.”

“Suede, did you have a good day, buddy?”

“Chess,” he answers, looking back up at you with a smile, and you kiss his head. You finish buckling him in, and walk over to Audrey’s side. Strapping her in and look at her. Of course she’d have a ton of questions and no way to focus them into words.

“Baby, you okay?” Maybe if you open the dialogue she could start talking. Vocalize her thoughts, so you understand what’s going on through her mind.

“Why is he here?”

“We had coffee, and lost track of time. So he came with me to get you,” you answer her as you get into the driver’s seat. Turning in your seat, you look at her. She isn’t done with her questions, and you want to allow time her to process everything.

“Do I have to keep this a secret from daddy?”

“No,” you try to remain calm, but your mind wanders to what she’s kept secret from you. “I told you, you tell daddy whatever it is that you want to tell him. We don’t have to have secrets. Secrets destroy relationships. We should be honest with each other.”

Her face scrunches up, trying to think of any question that might further help her figure out who Andy is, and why he’s here with you. “Is he staying for dinner?”

“Would you like him to?” She shrugs. She didn’t know him enough to form an answer. “If Andy would like to come to the house for dinner, he’s more than welcome to. I need to drop him off at the office.”

“Daddy’s office?” You shake your head no. “Is it out of the way like daddy’s office?”

“It kind of is,” Andy pipes in. He looks between the two kids, and Suede still smiles. He’s too sweet. “I bet the two of you are pretty hungry, and need a snack, right?” Suede enthusiastically, and claps his hands. “Audrey, you need a snack, too?”

“Yeah. Mommy and me made scotcharoos last night. I want ants on a log, too.”

“Ants on a log, huh? Your mom used to make that for me.”

Audrey smiles, kicking her little legs around, and you know that Andy has her. “Did she make it with sun butter or plant cheese?”

“She means plant based cream cheese. And I think I made it in all kinds of ways for Andy. Except he liked them with craisins,” Audrey curls her nose as she looks up at him, but Andy shrugs.

“Okay, so it’s settled, we’ll get a snack, and I can call an Uber. That way you and Suede don’t starve to death,” Audrey gives a giggle, and looks over at Suede who laughs with her. The two of them are in a fit of laughter, and you relax. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted them to like Andy. Even if he is just your friend.

Anything with Andy would rely heavily on them. If they didn’t like him — it would hurt. If they were influenced not to like him — you try to center yourself. You have no doubt that any man coming into your life Scott will try to influence their hatred. Even if you didn’t talk bad about Taylor in front of them.

If Taylor took a four year old to get a mani/pedi you smile, and thank her. Making sure to tell Audrey how pretty it looks, and hope she had a good time. When Taylor took Suede to get his haircut, you swallowed your pride, thanked her, and told Scott to next time ask, and make sure that he’s properly in his seat. If Taylor lets them swim at the pool without floaties, you try to remain calm, and wait for the kids to fall asleep, before going in on Scott. ‘It was a kiddie pool.’

You tried to remain neutral with Taylor, even though she’s part of the reason your marriage failed. But having the kids hate her isn’t going to solve anything. Especially since she’s in his life. Her bringing her cat around Suede is a different thing. You didn’t think you’d ever get the air purified for him. It’s bad enough when he’s around a space that the cat has been in. But bringing the cat here, and letting him hold her is different.

You didn’t hate the cat, but you want this space to be cat free since Suede lives with you. His home should be his sanctuary. “Hey,” Andy says beside you, “Get out of your head, and enjoy this moment,” he doesn’t touch you, even though he struggles not to. He smiles, and you look in the back at the giggling duo.

“Give me a good reason to continue this,” you look up at him, hoping that he remembers the thing. If one person is having second thoughts about something the other has to give one good reason and it makes things less scary. You’re terrified. This is early, but it is easy. Too easy.

“Andy, I need a good reason because,” you look back at them again, still laughing, and talking between themselves. “I’m scared.”

“This is just a friendship,” you roll your eyes, but continue to look at him. “And I’m scared, too. We’re in it together.”

You exhale slowly before putting the car in reverse. That was one good reason. You and him are scared. But the kids are happy. And you are. Yeah. You’re happier. You didn’t have to do this alone. You’re just friends. And even telling yourself that you know you’re a liar. You were never just friends with Andy Barber.

You try not to get attached to the sound. You try with all your might to not fall in love with this feeling. This is the first time he’s met them, of course it’s going to be easy. This is the easy stuff. Popping a tab in the dishwasher you start the contraption, and look around the kitchen. It took no time to clean up. Andy had offered to help, but instead the kids wanted to play with him.

And now all you hear is giggles, and the pitter patter of feet. They are playing chase or something, and it warms your heart that for at least today they enjoy him, and he is them. That takes away some of your jitters and concerns.

Andy comes running into the kitchen first. Darting behind you, and wrapping an arm around your waist, shielding himself from the two kids who giggle in front of you. “That’s cheating! Release the mommy!”

“Chess!” Suede nods pointing at Andy.

He leans forward, his chin resting on your shoulder. While it isn’t the most loving thing, it is a playful way for him to be close to you. His beard tickles your neck, “I’ll take Suede, you take Audrey.”

“Suedey! They’re planning something.”

“On the count of three. One.”

“Oh no!” Suede pretends to shiver in place.

“Two.”

“We won’t get out of this!”

“Three!” Everyone scatters. The kids bolt back into the living room, and you and Andy chase after them. The loudest screaming giggles reverberate around the house and back into your soul. You haven’t heard them so happy in so long. Hadn’t felt comfortable enjoying your home since that day.

Catching up to them would be easy, and shorten this moment. It would take away all the love and joy you feel, and also how thankful you are for Andy because he reminded you that life isn’t over, and it’s worth living. And even these small moments make it all the better. It doesn’t matter that the fort in the living room created a huge mess and is left abandoned. What matters is the almost musical noise your children make for this day.

This will be the last day that they’re this old. Tomorrow they’ll be a day older, but right now this is your slice of heaven for the day. Everyone ends up in a pile in the living room on top of the discarded couch cushions. Breathless and still laughing. “Can Andy have dinner with us every night?”

“Chess!” Andy shrugs, smiling over at you.

“It is kinda lonely in my condo. It’s hard to cook for one. But��if it is a hassle, maybe we can just do it twice a week,” Audrey and Suede protest. Practically begging you to say yes to every night. There’s a lot to think about. Scott got them every other Friday until Sunday afternoon.

“I’m — yeah, w-w-we can figure this out. And now! It’s time to wash up for quiet time,” there’s a soft objection, but you straighten up. “And we’ve got to put the cushions back. Come on. It’ll be bedtime before we know it, and you guys have school tomorrow.”

—

Walking down the hallway, you smile, still seeing Andy sitting on the couch. He scrolls through his phone, until your figure blocks out the light, he glances up. Putting down his phone, he gives the couch a few taps with his hand. Smiling, you saunter towards him.

Sitting too far away for his liking, so he pulls you closer to him. Those deep blue eyes staring right into the depths of your soul. Beating down the walls that you swore you had painstakingly built up. Telling yourself it would just be you and them. “They’re great.”

“It’s because it was a good night.”

“With a happy mama,” bashfully you look away from him, but he pulls your chin up, making you look at him. “I don’t want to insert myself where I’m not wanted. You hesitated with me being here every night. So be honest, do you not want me here or is it your fear?”

“My fear,” he solemnly nods. “And Scott.”

“I don’t care about him.”

“I can tell. You get all tense when he’s brought up,” the fist his hand is making relaxes. “He’ll always be a part of my life. Those babies are half of him. And while I don’t like him, I won’t bad mouth him, not to them. You neither.”

He exhales. It’s long and drawn out. Too dramatic to be real, but he pulls you even closer. Your legs that were curled into your body, he brings over his lap, and he smooths his hand over your thigh. “I won’t bad mouth him to them. But you also need to vent sometimes. I don’t want a relationship where we talk about him nonstop. I don’t want him in our relationship, unless necessary. Tonight was nice. It was us. All of us. And he was a non-factor.”

“So what is happening between us?” Picking up your hand, he compares sizes. Ghosting his finger over yours before he circles your ring finger. And you stutter. That fear creeping back up because there’s no way he is meaning what you think he is, “Andy?”

“I’m going to marry you. I told you then, and I’m telling you now. Maybe not in a month or a year. But I will marry you. I meant what I said earlier. This is your pace. I’ve waited and waited, and I have you back, and I’ll wait more if I have to. But, I really should call an Uber.”

“You should,” you lean in closer. So close there’s only whispers between you. “Dinner tomorrow?” Moving your lips causes them to brush against his.

“Yeah,” he answers, and you can’t respond as the gap completely closes. These kisses aren’t needy, they’re so sweet. Gentle pecks that turn more lingering, and you pull away. “One more, and I’ll have a car pick me up.”

“Okay,” you make this kiss deeper. Pulling him into you by his shirt, and his strong arms wrap you up even tighter. Holding you like you are going to escape him again. Life has taken you a different path than you thought, and yet you still hold all this love for him. Things are different, they’re adult now with adult problems. But in his arms feels right. You don’t want to fight it. You want to embrace it through the fear.

His arms always give you so much comfort. Like the way he holds you can stop the world from spinning and you can live in a moment of no noise, no movement, just peace. Being in a bubble with him has always felt so right. “Andy,” you breathlessly say, pulling apart.

Literally having to push on his chest to get air. “I’m sorry,” his head tilts to the side, giving you an inquisitive look. “You waited, and I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t wait, you wouldn’t have Audrey and Suede. I’m not sorry,” smiling, he picks up his phone. Scheduling a pick up before returning to look at you. “You’re a package deal. And I like it all. This life is what I wanted with you, and I’ll have it.”

“You’ve always been so cock sure.”

He hisses, leaning back into the couch as he clicks on the tv, “With a cock like mine, and being able to pull those sounds out of your body, yeah.”

“Oh, stop it,” you playfully smack at him, before laying your head on his shoulder, and just basque in his warmth. Settling on him like he belongs here with you. Getting in one sitcom episode before turning in for the night. Having him here to help with the kids, the household chores, but to have him as your best friend. And your constant.

“You know, you don’t have to be so calm and controlled with me, right?” His hand rubs over your ass, almost trying to push you into his lap instead of just leaning on him. “I can be your calm, too.”

“I know, Doe,” and you know he really means, but I’m the protector. That part of him is never going to change. So you just embrace it. Embrace that your divorce led you right where you needed to be. Yes, it sucked. Yes, it hurt. You wanted to hit him. Wanted Scott to hurt the way you did, but now you see the silver lining. You see Andy.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

#two good reasons #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfics #chris evans #chris evans character #defending jacob

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hijinxinprogress · 1 year ago

Text

YJ being awful at sharing things (mostly bc they’re used to handling things themselves bc there was no one for them to depend on during their childhood)

YJ is great at subterfuge and lying but they keep unnecessary things on a need-to-know basis like their favorite colors so when people are like “why didn’t you tell me?? I can help! I hope you know you can come to me if you need anything” and yj responds like a stray animal being shown affection for the first time “with what?? nothing’s wrong…go away…” but they’re always injured or about to be whether it’s physical or psychological

Cissie didn’t tell anyone she was allergic to walnuts until Oliver almost killed her at a mandatory family dinner (they also didn’t know she was in the Olympics or dating Kon until they were cornered by reporters in public who wanted to know if Kon was aware she had a relationship with Oliver Queen) (Roy had a very one sided beef with Kon for about three weeks once he saw the interviews)

Yj is outed for smoking when Bart gets caught with weed and the jl (mostly Barry) are lecturing him about the dangers of marijuana and Wally’s yelling bc they thought it was the titans smoking while bart just shrugs and he’s like “I thought you knew, it’s not like we were hiding it” they call a meeting w/ yj but Cissie’s just like “I mean what are you gonna do about it? You’re a couple years too late to be concerned” and behind them, an irritated Kon passes a handful of bills to a smug Anita

Or Tim’s been stabbed for the 5th time this week (and didn’t tell anyone bc he’s Tim) Cassie tries to hand him tequila and Bart looks at them like they’re stupid “he can’t drink that” and dicks in the background “no he can’t bc he’s literally a baby and so are all of you!!” and Anita reaches over to Kon who’s not paying attention and he’s like “yeah, rob got stabbed like an hour ago and didn’t say anything bc he’s a squirrelly little shit” and dick launches himself across the room holding 17 medical packs (he was supposed off planet for the next three months)

Diana hears yj refer to Cassie with they/them pronouns and pulls them aside to ask if they want to change their name (hero and civilian) and why they didn’t feel comfortable sharing their identity with her and Cassie just goes “I didn’t think it was a big deal”

Most people think that Anita’s raising her children so older heroes with make comments about her being too young to be a parent or being irresponsible for being a parent so young along with how it makes them unable to trust her judgment as a hero (Steph once made an offhanded comment about Anita being a real hero for raising twins after she cussed out an older hero) but no one outside of yj learns the truth until dr. fate shows up talking about irreparable damage being done to the timeline (the nearest speedster gets dirty looks despite not being at fault this time)

Yj invites Greta to the watchtower and she meets Constantine who starts going on about her being death-touched, possessed, and rambling about dark magic so he ends up calling the rest of jl dark which is how the jl finds out about Secret years after the fact

Kon casually makes jokes about Lex’s attempts on his life, Lex and Clark attempting to win him over to get one over on each other, Lex or Clark disliking him, his death, and the period of time Kon was homeless which is usually how anyone outside of yj finds out about things going on in his life

The jl loses their shit when they learn how often yj hide each other in their homes when they don’t have anywhere else to go (batman buys trackers in bulk when he finds out Tim has a secret house)

#bart allen #kon el #cissie king jones #anita fite #cassie sandsmark #greta hayes #tim drake #young just us #young justice #gnc!cassie sandsmark #dc comics #justice league #dc impulse #superboy #dc empress #wondergirl #dc secret #dc red robin #Cissie has a walnut allergy and only knows this bc Tim keeps running tests on yjs dna

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chronicallyonline101 · 19 days ago

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hi its me, i LOOVEEE the way you've characterised everyone in DK and it makes me wonder how many HCs you have for them all????? because theyre so unique down to the littlest of details, like Formaggio liking Smashmouth and Ghiaccio preffering Warhammer over DnD! i want to hear ur headcannons. share them with the class

hello again !!!! i will share !

I've got... a LOT. so i'll put them under cut!

La Squadra Headcanons!

Risotto HCs:

Started the hitman team at age 21 in 1994.

- Lived with his Aunt and Uncle growing up because his Catholic parents thought he was a 'bad omen'.

- Started a band with his cousin when they were around ten or eleven, stopped playing instruments after his cousin died.

- Was technically 'kidnapped' by Passione after killing the man who hit his cousin, emotionally manipulated under the guise that the organisation had 'saved' him from being sent to prison. This is one of the reasons he turned traitor.

- Likes writing poetry and short stories; particularly graphic, gory horror stories. When he was younger, he had wanted to be an author. Nowwadays he can't really see a future for himself.

- Keeps one of those diaries where when you input the code a song plays and it opens.

The song he chose is Enter Sandman, by Metallica. It's his favourite because it reminds him of himself, but if anyone asks him his favourite song he'll say something obscure like Creeping Death because he doesn't want to be seen as some basic poser.

- Forced Prosciutto to listen to The Grateful Dead.

- He's normally quite cordial with his workspace; the Hideout and his office are clean and proper, but his bedroom is extremely messy. It's his own space, so he lets it get tatty because he doesn't want to associate it with the stress of work.

- Has a really bad posture because he always has to hunch over to do paperwork.

- He's always quiet, not because he's mysterious and cool but because he was very isolated as a teenager and has ZERO social skills - he's always scared he'll mess up and say something weird, so he's very reserved.

In turn, he's created a sort of 'Boogeyman of Passione' name for himself. He's learnt to embrace his timid nature.

- The bells on his coxcomb are a test of stealth for himself. When you put a bell on a cat, it learns to hunt without ringing it; he's done the same.

On the contrary, though, it's not uncommon to hear jangling inside the hideout as he goes about his business because he doesn't feel the need to conceal himself within the presence of his teammates.

- Had anaemia growing up, was shot with the arrow and obtained Metallica; it cured his anaemia, but then he developed haemochromatosis - which is a result of too much iron building up in the blood over a prolonged period of time.

Since Metallica is his stand, his case of haemochromatosis isn't too severe and the symptoms aren't bad. It doesn't affect his work too much, but he can often become very fatigued and experiences a lot of joint pain.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Prosciutto HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1994.

- Pesci and Prosciutto are half-brothers; they share the same mother but have different fathers. Pesci looks more like their mum while Prosciutto looks more like his father - this caused a rift in their family because Pesci ended up being the favourite child.

- Was raised Catholic; claims to be atheist, but in truth upholds agnostic ideologies that he will sometimes accidentally project onto his teammates.

- Doesn't like smoking, but it's a habit he's gotten stuck into. He doesn't know how to quit.

- Joined La Squadra two years before Pesci, during this time Pesci thought he had died.

- Often uses their late mother as a way of manipulating Pesci: e.g. "What would she think of you behaving like this?" , "She'd be disappointed in you."

He doesn't realise how bad this behaviour is, he thinks he is doing the right thing in trying to mentor Pesci.

- Unlike Risotto, Prosciutto didn't know what he wanted to be while growing up. He was very focused on his classes in school, often earning lots of rewards and prizes but he only did it to try and earn his mothers affections. He never actually liked school.

That being said, his intellect is natural. He has always been very smart without trying.

- He has a gap in his front teeth and he HATES it because everyone tells him it looks cute and he doesn't want to look cute he wants to look scary and cool.

- Doesn't understand why Pesci is so morally upstanding. Why is it so hard for him to kill? Look, Prosciutto just killed twenty people! In one go!

Because of the Grateful Dead, it is very easy for Prosciutto to kill and not face the moral consequences of his actions. His kills are indirect and 'merciful', as he puts it - whereas Pesci has to get physical. He needs to come into direct contact to kill, so he has to deal with the moral turmoil that comes with murder.

- I also like to think he's got really prominent eyebags and forehead wrinkles because of how often he is subjected to the effects of his own stand.

Like, he seems to be able to control how his own body ages and shifts between old and young whenever a situation negates it, nd I don't think it's very good for his skin to be doing that all the time.

Maybe he has an extensive moisturising routine to combat the effects of his stand?

- Cleans messes on instinct; even if it isn't his own, he cleans up after everyone. He knows this is bad because it just gives everyone else a reason to be slobby, but he can't help it - nobody else ever cleans to the degree he likes anyways, so he might as well do it.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Formaggio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 23 in 1995.

- Gwess and Formaggio are also half-siblings! Different mothers, and about twenty-years difference between the two of them so Formaggio probably didn't know she existed until a LOT later in life.

ALSO. when i first watched Stone Ocean i kept mishearing Gwess' name as Gwyn, so I headcanon her to be Welsh, which means by default I also headcanon Formaggio to be Welsh !!! But that's a HC i tend to leave out of my fics cuz it's really outlandish.

- If he'd lived until 2012, I like to think he would have tried to break Gwess out of prison. Probably would have failed.

- Got his cat as a gift from his mother when he was a teenager, it's the only thing he has left from his mother and so he tries his hardest to take care of her - even if he is struggling to take care of himself.

Despite this, he still shoves his cat into bottles and jars and things. It's a really cool party trick! Everyone always thinks he's so cool, like some kind of magician!

- Unlike Risotto and Prosciutto, who were both raised Catholic, Formaggio's parents were both atheist. His mother attended Church, but it was mostly an excuse to get away from his father and he never bothered to go with her.

- Has joint pain and muscle soreness from how often he has to shrink himself and then re-grow himself.

- Like's to collect mini-things; like those little baking kits. He thinks they are so cute!

- He is a natural redhead, like in the manga, but dyes his hair grey, like in the anime, so that he doesn't get bullied.

- He is a natural stand user (born with ability.)

Pesci HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1996.

- Pesci would rather be doing ANYTHING else. He never wanted to be a hitman. He doesn't like killing - not because he's all soft and sensitive like people make him out to be, but because he has morals and??? killing people? is wrong?

So why is he a hitman?

Well, I think Pesci has had the WORST life humanely possible. At twelve, his dad died in a boating accident. At sixteen, his brother 'went missing', presumed dead. At seventeen, his mother died. He was so lonely, and isolated, that when he realised his brother was in fact alive, he was willing to do anything to try and give himself purpose.

- Despite joining the team years beforehand, Pesci only had his first kill in 2001. This was because Prosciutto still coddles him as his little brother and he can get away with doing less on hits.

It's kind of manipulative - like, weaponizing faux incompetence, but he doesn't care.

- He wanted to be a fisherman when he grew up, like his father had been; he rarely has time to go fishing since joining the hitman team.

- If he could leave the team, he probably would.

- That being said, I think if he had lived past the events of VA he would have had the potential to become one of the most powerful hitmen on the team - and that is why Prosciutto never gave up on him, despite his supposed 'cowardice'

- His hair matts really easy so he tries to keep it short; he'll spend hours before bed trying to brush knots out of it.

- He is a night-owl, and likes staying up until quite late into the night listening to music or doing some of his other hobbies, like painting or drawing - he is extremely creative!

But because of this, when he does go to sleep, he often ends up sleeping until the late hours of the day. He is always criticised for this by Prosciutto.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit with arrow.)

Melone HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 18 in 1994.

- Pookie... where do I even start.......

- I think he has mild heterochromia; one of his eyes is a blue-ish green and the other is blue. He used to be bullied for it, which is why he covers it.

Since joining the hitman team and meeting Risotto - who, yk, has funky eyes - he has learnt to like his eyes a bit more.

- Melone wanted to be a doctor or a scientist when he grew up. He loves biology and chemistry, particularly in regards to the creation of human life: reflected in his stand, Babyface.

I like to think that he had toyed with 'creating life' even before he got his stand; as a teenager he would do old fashioned experiments with homunuculuses and other alchemy.

- Since Junior is not connected to his body, he often does not get injured during missions. He is the least muscular and most lithe out of everyone on the Hitman team, however, maintains a semi-athletic built as he maintains a very firm exercise routine - being a Hitman takes a lot of muscle, so he can't get away with not exercising in the same way his teamates do, even if he experiences less threat than them.

- He also has a lot less scars than the rest of them for this very reason.

- His teammates are hot-headed, quick-thinkers; he is not. He is slow, cold and calculated. Since he is almost never in the heat of a battle, he is allowed to sit back and think. He has the time to calculate his next move.

This is his downfall, however; when Giorno's snake finds him in the trainstation he isn't given a chance to think through his next decision. The attack is quick and painful. ☹️.

- Unlike the rest of the team, he didn't know his parents that well. They sold him to Passione when he was very young, so any memory he does have of them has been soured.

- They were likely atheists, though.

- He can be quite manipulative at times, and he knows exactly what he's doing. In fact, he has a chart on Babyface which shows him the traits and weak-points of all his teammates; he knows near everything about them, and can poke and prod in a way that gets him exactly what he wants.

- His outfit squeaks whenever he walks. He's really bad at stealth missions.

- He also has REALLY bad posture (which I think is semi-canon tbh cuz, during that one scene where they are searching Donatella's house he walks into the room and HE LOOKS LIKE A SHRIMP.)

- I also have a transfem hc for Melone, but the last time I shared that with someone they started tweaking and told me it was weird so I mostly keep that to myself now 😭

- If he had lived, I think he would have had a MySpace and Tumblr, I think he'd of liked how you can customise your own blog and how it's your own little space to yap about whatever!

- Has a HORRIBLE sleep schedule. Not because he has insomnia or anything, but just because he always gets distracted on his laptop right before bed and ends up staying up until 4-5am.

Like Pesci, he is more of a night-owl anyways. The two often end up bumping into each other in the middle of the night.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by arrow.)

Ghiaccio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 20 in 1994.

- His brash personality is a result of his bad upbringing. His parents were very abusive, and so he is used to having to bite back at those around him; he is constantly in 'defence mode' and snaps at the people around him often unintentionally.

He feels bad about it, but doesn't know how to stop. It's especially hard to recover from this habit when his teammates are always plucking at his nerves.

- With that in mind; his parents are rich.

Like, how else could he have that convertible??? La Squadra was getting paid PENNIES and then he rolls up to HQ in his shiny new eighty-one-million lira (i did the math for this) car????

- His parents seemed to think buying him nice stuff would win his affections. He got the car for his 18th birthday, and still uses it despite having since cut off his parents.

- He went to a private school growing up and is objectively the most educated on the entire team.

- Because of the way he was raised, he detests authorative figures. He didn't like Risotto when he first joined the team, but has since learnt to respect his stoic leader.

- Reads play-scripts for fun. (im projecting)

- REALLY likes tabletop RPGS, but would rather die than tell ANYONE about his little hobby.

He finds it to be a good distraction, especially after getting mad and blowing up at someone; painting the figures, or reading the rules, or playing the game can be a good way for him to focus on something else and relax.

His favourite is Warhammer, though. He doesn't like D&D, he thinks its for mainstream wannabe nerds. Not him. He's cool. (he's not.)

- He pretends to hate Fallout, but secretly loves it. I've talked abt it on my blog before, but I think when the first game came out in 1997 he was SO mad that RPG games were getting popular - Formaggio got into it and he felt like his interests were getting invaded, so he refused to play the game for like a year until the second Fallout came out in 1998, and he realised it was actually a really good game.

He is probably rolling around in his grave watching how Bethesda is slowly destroying the franchise.

- His family was Catholic, but he is an atheist.

- If he had lived, I like to think he would have DEFINITELY had a Reddit and 4Chan acct, but he wouldn't use it often because it would piss him off how stupid everyone is on there.

- He desperately needs a hug but doesn't know it and refuses to ask anyone for it. He is SO touch starved.

- Unlike Melone, he has a really good sleep schedule but suffers with insomnia. He takes melatonin gummies to go to sleep.

- He has a very good schedule in general; he exercises regularly, eats healthily, showers every day - with special shampoo to retain his curls, and likes to go for at least half an hour walks outside. A routine keeps him stable, he would fall into bad habits if he didn't have complete dictation over his own life.

- Because of this, he can grow extremely irritated when there are disruptions to his routine. Which happens often, since being a Hitman can be quite unpredictable.

- His stand is natural (born with ability.)

Illuso HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1995.

- Knows everything about everyone and WILL use it as blackmail.

- He is EXTREMELY nosy and will stick himself into EVERYONES business. Nobody is safe.

- Can be quite rude at times, but he never actually means it. It's just his way of showing affection. He has quite a sarcastic sense of humour that other people on the team *COUGH* GHIACCO *COUGH* don't get.

- Had to become very independent from a young age. He didn't have a father, only his mother which meant that when she developed a deadly sickness in his teens he was forced to support for the family by himself.

- BUT because of the fact that he was raised by his mother, he respects women! Yay! It's why he's into more 'feminine' stuff, he's never really seen an issue with being girly, and sometimes the others bully him for it but he doesn't care.

- He was probably raised Catholic, but doesn't really care for religion.

- He is a sleepwalker AND a sleep-stand-user (a term I made up), and will routinely freak everyone out by showing up in their mirrors in the middle of the night.

- He is so self-centred, yet blindingly insecure, that he thinks anyone who so-as-much spares him a glance is interested in him. With that in mind, he is oblivious to people who actually show interest in him.

- Illuso didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. He was forced into a role of authority so quickly, that he was never actually given a chance to think for himself.

- If he did get given a chance to pick his own career, he would likely stay on the Hitman team. He doesn't have the school-grades to get any job that is actually worthwhile, and he doesn't see a reason to leave his team.

- Refuses to let any of his teammates use two-in-one shampoo. If he sees it, he's throwing it. He once caught Formaggio using three-in-one and almost had a heart attack.

- Like Melone, if he had lived he probably would have owned a MySpace account.

- He is a natural stand user (born with stand)

Sorbet & Gelato HCs:

Joined the hitman team at ages 21 in 1995.

- I don't have a lot for these two, BUT, i could never forget them.

- I like to think they met in secondary-school, (high-school, for the Americans) but they didn't get together for a WHILE.

- This is because they were in totally different social circles. Gelato was quite popular and chatty, he knew a lot of people and was invited to parties like every weekend - yk, classic airheaded blond - whereas Sorbet was a social outcast and didn't have a lot of friends.

- But they are both extremely virile and violent.

- I think Gelato used to get a kick out of hurting other things. It started with animals, but eventually turned to that of people - he likes having control over things, knowing he is more powerful than those around him. He was a rampant bully, and took to hurting those he saw as 'less-than' him.

- Sorbet on the other hand, while he didn't actively go around hurting people for control, was into very grotesque things. He liked those weird, sexual slasher films of the 80's and took extreme interest in blood and gore and the likes.

- BECAUSE OF THIS, when they did eventually find each other, they clicked immediately! I'm not gonna share how I HC them having met, because it's spoilers for DK 🤭 but it's dramatic, it's bloody, and it's romantic!

- A lot of people interpret them both as being money hungry, but I don't think that's the case! In the series, when asked where they are, Ghiaccio suggests they might be "Playing hooky" (i hate that phrase sm), BUT THEN Risotto says "Gelato, maybe, but Sorbet always comes for his cut of the pay."

- Which makes me believe that out of the two of them, Sorbet is the greedy one. I think that Gelato doesn't care about money, and if he had been in charge the two wouldn't have tried to go against the Boss - but he loves Sorbet, and he wanted him to be happy. So when the discussion was first brought up, he had his reservations but trusted that they could pull this off.

THATS ALL. its all i can think of rn... i probably have more somewhere but ong I can't remember :(

75 notes · View notes

nonymous-nb · 6 months ago

Text

•────~❉᯽❉~───────────────•

Medkit x Reader

•───────────────~❉᯽❉~────•

"Charged kisses."

PHIGHTING! | One-shot | Fluff | Romantic.

Warning/s: [fluff. :( ]

Extra: [Hi, I'm still alive + not fully proofread]

You and Medkit have been dating for almost a year now, it was quite the shock when some of the other phighters found out about it.. Other than Subspace and their Biografts, of course. The same also goes for the warden and his "family" as he didn't trust them with the information of him dating you, yet. Sword mostly did the cheering for the both of you. (He also teased Medkit about it and he didn't get any healing from him during the phights after that.) The day the Broker found out about it gave Medkit a slight panic attack, he does not want the Broker to turn you into a blackmail for him to do more stuffs than he already has, he was considering having a break-up with you due to not want to endanger you, but also doesn't want to tell you about the stuffs he went through with the said "family". That was until Scythe had accidentally met you and found you quite entertaining, she even treated you as a part of the "family" even if you weren't in the cult. Even saying how she sees you as a "sibling" as you both hangout, that didn't calm Medkit's nerves though. Medkit couldn't help but tell you the half of the truth about what he has been doing for work and what he truly was.

A criminal.

Medkit was sure you were going to leave him as you finally knew about what he does and what he truly is, his heart slowly breaking and sinking as you only stayed silent for a while. He was about to apologize and leave until you took his hands in yours, smiling at him softly and told him that you still love him as him and not even his work would ruin his and yours relationship, you were gonna make the man cry and emotional as you shower him with love and care.

Medkit really does hold you dear.

After a few more months he then finally found the courage and trust for you to learn more about his background, what he does in his work and his very.. very interesting co-workers. Sure it did still give you a slight fright due to them being criminals; how much they've done to innocent people and all that jazz, but that didn't deter your love for him, nuh uh, he's stuck to you till the very end until you die. How did you even get this fine man?

Though, since he has work 24/7 as it can sometimes go for even a week straight; that never deter both of your love and admiration for each other. Now you're here, stuck in your own shared apartment.. All alone with nothing to do than try to entertain yourself as you wait for your lover's arrival as he last texted.

You stared at the ceiling; feeling bored as hell as you can't seem to think of anything to do this time as you usually do. Plus, your lover is almost coming back home from work. You sighed as you sat up from the couch and took your phone; scrolling through stuffs to see if you could do something to entertain yourself for a while as you wait. You scrolled a few more times before stopping, scrolling back up to see what you found interesting. "Oh, it's a new plushie." The design was really quite alright, a humanoid person with a black hat and an eye for a head was the new plushie on the plush shop that you liked and bought at least twice on.

You were about to click it to see more until a notification popped up on your phone, distracting you. Seeing a very familiar name on the notification, you clicked on it which took you to the messaging app as a familiar demon messages you.

═══════════▣◎▣═══════════

⏎ [ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: {Attachment_stling_mney.lnk}

: you should def buy sum of this stufs fr ×:3

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: Broker.. I'm not falling for that.

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: dam worth a shot 😔

: ok thus is what i actually wanna send ya!

: [Attachment_rppring_lpstck.lnk]

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: I don't do makeups as well Broker ತ⁠_⁠ತ

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: nah dis thing is like invis then appers later on

: yo culd prank mskit wit dis too!

: i kno ya bord so think bout da offer ×:3

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: Alrighty then I will

: But first off, why do you now type like that—

[ The Best Dealer🤫🧏 ]

: Ops aft me LOL

: OH SJIT THR WATDEN IS HERE TOO

[ Remaining Eyes < You ]

: O h

: Goodluck escaping—

═══════════▣◎▣═══════════

"Rip Broker.." You let out an airy chuckle not even wondering what that demon did. You looked back at the link that Broker sent you thinking about the said offer. Finding that it's actually a good little harmless prank on your lover when he comes home from a long day of work, You then nodded to yourself and quickly read through the reviews seeing if it's legit or not. After finding the reviews all positive with a couple of showcasing, you then ordered the lipstick. "This will be interesting.."

Now you just need to wait for a few days to get it. You sent a quick peace sign to Broker, telling him you got it as he replied with the thumbs up emoji.

Now you just have to wait for your package.

A few days had past and your package finally arrived!

as well as your lover.. :0

"Buying some stuffs online again, I see." Medkit hummed as he carries a small boxed package, handing it to you. "So, what did you order online this time?" Medkit gave you a small peck on your forehead as he went inside your shared apartments, sitting down on the couch to rest and placed his little kit on the couch as well. "Well, y'know.. some typical me stuffs." You told him as you close the door, walking to the table to place the box on it. "How's work this time? A certain dealer still bothering you?" You changed the subject not wanting him to get curious about your little package. Medkit groaned at the mention of a certain dealer. "He kept asking me about.. something. And later on 'telling' me how I shouldn't mess up on some things." Medkit vents about his frustrations about the dealer and how stressful work is. You hummed as you went to where he was and sat down beside him, slowly and gently taking his hands in yours; pulling him gently towards you as you made him lean into your arms. His hands lightly flinched at the small gesture as he stopped talking for a few minutes, not expecting the sudden physical contact. After some time he relaxed; adjusting his postion and slowly hugs your waist as you fully lay him onto you, nuzzling his head a bit onto your shoulder while being mindful of his horns. You both knew that he still wasn't fully the one for physical touches as he's had a fair share of trauma, but he quickly relaxes, you were different, you feel so warm and comforting.. he loves and cherishes the feelings he always has with you whenever he's free from the hell he calls work.

"But, other than those it was alright.. Scythe has protected me during the phights whenever I get targeted by a certain scientist and.. it's creation." You began to massage Medkit's temple feeling that he's getting even more stressed by thinking about it, you could slightly hear a small bit of rumbling from Medkit.. it almost sounds like a soft purr. "Both the boss and the dealer said hi to you as well." He murmured as he got comfortable at his laying position. "You should definitely get some rest now. You got some work tomorrow too, don't you?" You asked him as you tried to get him to sit up so he could sleep and rest in your shared bedroom. He let out a slight groan as he wants to stay in that position and spend time with you as it's been so long since you both could spend a whole day together. Though he knew you were also right, he reluctantly sat up from his position and let you drag him towards the bedroom.

You let him change his clothings privately first.

You then led him into the bedroom, laying him down and tucking him in the bed. "I'll do something real quick alright? I'll be back later." You told him as you were about to leave the room. He wanted to ask what you were going to do, but quite hesitant to do so. So he laid back down in bed waiting for you to return. You'll come back either way.. he hopes so, as you close the bedroom's door.

You would be back later though, you just need to put your little package somewhere so he doesn't see the product.

You then open your little package to reveal a packed up lipstick with a light slightly transparent teal case and a silver lid. Opening the lid revealed a clear clear wax, inside of it having cute little designs containing stars and flowers. "Huh, pretty.." You admired the lipstick before closing it up and standing up from the couch, heading straight to the drawer that's near the couch placing it inside; making sure it's hidden.

You then went straight back into the bedroom; sitting down onto the bed beside Medkit as you tuck in yourself into the blanket you both are sharing; making yourself comfortable. "Goodnight, Medkit.." You whispered thinking that he's already asleep as you nuzzle onto his side slightly but still keeping a some distance incase he wants his space in his sleep. "Goodnight.." You lightly flinched not expecting any reply back, you were about to ask why he's still awake until he moved to face you, hugging your figure close to him. You were about to lightly tease him until he spoke again. "Say something about this and I'm sleeping on the couch."

You then stayed silent during the night.

≻───────── ⋆TimeSkip⋆ ─────────≺

Morning finally came.

You did some light stretching as you finally wake up, your arms still wrapped around your lover's sleeping form, you tried to open your eyes to look at the clock.. yeaaah, bad idea. You then let out a light hiss as the sun greeted you head on from your window, you quickly flipped it off as you tried to adjust your vision at the sudden brightness. "Stupid sun's brightness so early in the morning.." You grumbled out as your vision finally adjusted, you moved away from Medkit to check the time. Medkit let out a groan at the lost of warmth as he tried to get you back for more sleep, you just held his hand as he lightly drifted off to another sleep.

"5am.. Medkit, my beloved, it's time to wake up my dear." You said hushly, yawning at the same time as you let go of his hand. You heard another groan from your lover as he begrudgingly sat up; still tired as he rub his working eye lightly. You then stood up from your bed to do your usual morning routine, Medkit did his after you finished.

You were now in the kitchen making Medkit some quick breakfast and his dark coffee, your mind quickly drifted off to the lipstick. "Oh, the lipstick!" You finally remembered what you and Broker talked about, you then thought of scenario for it as you let out a few silent chuckle at the idea. You then placed his breakfast and coffee on the table while waiting for him innocently.

Medkit then came out of your shared bedroom, ready for work, going to the table to where the food is not before giving you a small forehead kiss before going to sit and eat. "Aren't you gonna eat as well?" Medkit asked you as you chilled on the couch. "Hmm, not hungry yet.. I'll eat later so don't worry!" Medkit nodded at you while saying something along the lines that you should. While Medkit is busy eating and his attention is on the food, you quietly reach for the drawer taking out the familiar lipstick, as you hid it behind you, you'll put it on after he's done eating to make sure the lipstick won't show early and ruin the little prank.

It wasn't that long till Medkit finished his breakfast as he made his way into the kitchen to wash his plate. You then took out the lipstick that you're hiding observig it before putting some on you, as you're done you took out your phone to see if it's visible and man was it not. Now the question, does it appear later on? As you were pondering about if it's going to appear or not, Medkit came out of the kitchen and grab his case. "I'll be going now, I shall see you when I get home soon." He said as put on his shoes and was going to open the door.

"Wait!"

Medkit stopped on his tracks as he looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. "A kiss before you go?" Damm, you getting real bold right now, you still couldn't help the slight blush of embarrassment creeping in. "Oh? Care to explain why?" You pouted at his question. "Because it might take you another whole week off.. and I'll miss you.." You guys are dating for almost a year, ALMOST and yet you're still shy about asking for some type of affection due to you being the one who always show him some affection. You could feel Medkit's little sly smile as he knew what he was doing, he letting out a pleased chuckle he then went to where you were and placed a kiss on your forehead. "There, now I'll be goi— mphh?!" Medkit let out a small yelped as you pull him back in for an actual kiss, you could feel his face heating up as you didn't let go and kept kissing him a bit more longer. Medkit could feel his face heating up more and his heart beating fast as you don't pull away.

Someone save him. :(

You finally pulled back after leaving a few more kisses on his face. Now, finally getting a good look at Medkit, he looks like he's still processing what even happened as his face look like a giant lightbulb as he pull back and let out a light cough on his hand, still not facing you. "I.. think it's time for work— uhm.. see you later." He then gave you a nod as he went to go out the door to leave. Oh how you love to see that old man flustered at times.

"Hehe, I wonder what his reaction would look like when he gets home.."

≻──────── ⋆At Medkit⋆ ────────≺

Scythe and Broker was casually chatting the other polishing their weapon as the other laid on the couch. "OH!! And get this: a certain warden was stupid enough to—"

The door opened.

Scythe perked up at the sound of the door opening. "Howdy, 'kit! Ya should hear what happened with the warde—" Scythe then stopped in her tracks as she observes Medkit face. Medkit senses her stare as he look at her. "Wha—" Before he could ask what is going on, Broker let out some loud giggles and cooing noises. Medkit just gave him a narrowed glance until a weight was added onto his shoulder. "Damn 'kit~ didn't know ya and the jewel were getting freaky at it!"

Medkit choked on his saliva as he pull away, face heating up at the slight thought. "What— No! We never did, what are you talking about.?" He asked, quite shock as he never expected that I mean.. you both just shared some kisses, but neither Scythe and the Broker needs to know that. What even got Scythe to say such thing? "Awh, no need to be so shy Meds! It's totally fine by us!" Now it was the Broker's turn to tease him. Scythe snickered as she patted Medkit on the back of his shoulder. Medkit moved away a bit and gave the two a narrowed look. "I don't have anymore patience to deal with the both of your shenanigans. What is it?" Oh how he wish he could just walk out of here and go home. "Hah! No need to be so snarky 'kit!" Scythe laughed as she took out her phone and places it in front of Medkit's face.

". . ."

≻──────── ⋆At Reader⋆ ────────≺

You were casually flipping through channels on your television until you hear a notification popping on from your phone, curious. You took your phone that's on your side of the couch and check out who caused the notification.

You then froze as you read the notification.

[ Handsome Old Man♡: I'll be charging you 5000 bux per kiss stains you've left on me today, now Scythe and the Broker won't stop bothering me about it. Oh and your punishment is that you'll be receiving no kisses nor cuddles from me for a whole month. ]

"Well, fu—"

#—♡nb writings #phighting x reader #phighting medkit #medkit x reader #medkit phighting #romantic #x reader #roblox x reader

162 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Note

Pleaseeee part two of media relations!!!

Maybe J*s’ texts and comments to reader get brought up and Mac and Charles get all protective (maybe time skip with a mini verstappen 👀)

- 📚 @ireadthensuetheauthors

Media Relations Part Two

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: angst

Summary: Max and Charles get protective when Jos goes a bit to far.

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, lestappen if you squint, rough pregnancy and birth,

Notes: Reminder that I'm not a doctor :)

Masterlist

Charles had mixed feelings about the whole situation. Angry that Ferrari and Redbull screwed over his sister and friend. Happy that they don’t have to pretend to be in love anymore. Sad that she moved out of his apartment and into Max’s. Now he adds confused to his list.

The two had come over to his apartment for dinner. He wanted to show his appreciation for his sister and what she'd tried to do for him regardless of if falling through.

The female, though, had been anxiously eyeing her phone screen. It had buzzed a few times against the table, but she hadn't picked it up. It looked like she was even getting farther away from it.

When she excused herself, Charles jumped on the opportunity. "Is she okay? She's been acting a bit strangley."

Max sighs and stares at her empty place at the table. "She insists everything is fine, but you and I have known her long enough to see when something is off." Max looks at Charles, and the Monegasque can see the worry on his face. "She's been eating less and has barely touched her phone. She hasn't talked to anyone outside of me or you in a while."

"Yes, I know. My mother is getting worried about her."

Both of them had come to the conclusion that it's possible she's just going through a rough patch.

It's crazy how things change over the course of a year. Her and Max had been flourishing. Absolutely in love.

Max had been planning on proposing. Even going to Charles to ask his blessing.

The Dutch had yet to learn that plans change on a whim. That when he found his hopefully soon to be fiance crying on the bathroom floor of his hotel room his world would be changed again.

He sets himself down onto the floor and pulls her into him.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpers, handing Max a plastic stick. Ten of them, actually.

“You’re pregnant?”

She starts sobbing again but Max feels the opposite. He’s all smiles and warmth.

It’s not shocking she’s upset. Not to him, at least. She’s been on the receiving end of hate over the last year. Someone had leaked that they were originally doing this for a contract. Another reason Max wants to marry her. Help her insecurities about the whole thing.

“There is no reason to apologize.” He kisses her head.

“Your not mad at me? What if this is another distraction?”

“Another distraction? Where did you get that idea?”

She freezes. Her chest was barely moving. “No reason - just my brain being dumb." She starts wiping her tears away, but Max moves her hands aside and does it for her.

"Marry me?"

"What?"

“Marry me, please.” It was supposed to be romantic. He’ll make it romantic eventually. But as he stares at the smile on her face and shine in her eyes, he knew he made the right choice/

“Yes.”

Charles was the first to know. She’d called him much more excited then when Max had found her on the floor. She had yet to tell him about the threats she’d been receiving. He had his own things to worry about, specially with the contract leak. She didn’t want to bother him with her problems.

She’s two months in and laying on the floor in Charles apartment waiting for Max to come get her. “Charlie, what if this is a bad idea?”

Charles looks up from his phone. “What is a bad idea?”

“Max, the baby, everything I’ve ever done in my life.” She sighs.

Charles rolls his eyes at her. “You used to never ask these questions. I think there is something else going on.”

“Nothing at all.”

Charles once again want to push for answers. She got better for a while. Now she’s worse again. The truth is that mental health is not a straight road and he knows that, but he wishes for nothing more then his sister to communicate with him.

Four months now. She’s struggling worse then she ever has been. She loves Max with every fiber of her being. Yet she can’t bring herself to tell him the vile things Jos whispers to her when he’s not around or the texts she receives whenever he catches wind of what they do in their off time.

She’s struggling with the pregnancy in and it’s only been three months. She’s had to stay with her mother while Max is traveling. The doctor keeping a close eye on her.

She didn’t want to be a problem while he’s working. Maybe that’s the reason he’s dominating right now. She’s not there to Interfere.

She knows Max loves her. It’s what she clings to daily. The reason she pulls herself together every morning despite the fans and Jos.

It’s the thought that puts her to sleep as she curls up in bed and dreams of him.

Jos leaves with a huff when he gets no response.

Is the pain supposed to be this bad? Where’s her phone? Everything is fuzzy and if she could just find someone who could help her maybe she’d be okay.

But the exhaustion hits to soon. The floor becoming her new home.

Seven months. She’s going to see him race seven months pregnant. It’s the last race before summer break. She wanted to see at least one race before they go on holiday.

That’s how she got herself here. Standing in hospitality with Jos Verstappen.

She needs Max. Jos had been not so subtly telling her she shouldn’t be here. She’d turned her brain off after the first paragraph.

Her water had broken after the second.

She needs Max. Or Charles. Or literally anyone at this point.

“Are you even listening to me?!” When did he get so close? She’s three months early so the stress of the situation must have cause an early labor. It doesn’t help that she’s not listening and the feeling of liquid on her leg isn’t helping.

“Charles! Have you seen your sister anywhere?” Max gets the Monegasque’s attention.

Charles spins on his heels to face him. “She was in the Redbull garage last time I heard from her. Have you tried hospitality?”

“No, not yet. Might be a bit stupid for that one.” He chuckles.

“Mind if I come with? She looked pale when I left her before the race.”

“Only if you’re okay with the stares.” They both laugh and chat on the way. Since the female Leclerc has become a common factor between them, they’ve grown into quite the pair themselves.

They walk leisurely together through the paddock until Max catches sight of his father. The older male stomps in their direction.

"Tell that girl of yours to be more respectful." He shoves past Max and continues his fit straight through the lines of people.

Max rolls his eyes. His fiancé hadn't hesitated to stand up to his father in the past when it came to him. She was willing to fight anyone for people she cares about. Most likely, that's what happened.

Though there is a feeling in his gut that something else is going on. He and Charles now jog to the entrance.

Why are there so many people around?

His eyes fall to the figure on the floor, and he freezes. Clueless on what to do.

"We've called an ambulance for her." Says somone in the area. He can't tell who. Everyone's voices are swimming.

Charles' hand on his shoulder shakes him from his trance. Max's body is kneeling next to her in seconds.

Charles is calling his mother. She knows everything about her recent medical history forwards and backward.

"She's in labor, I think." Says a different female.

Labor? She's three months early. His mind is reeling, and he knows he needs to get a grip.

He looks at Charles for any sort of support, but the Monegasque is ranting in reach over the phone. Charles does catch his gaze, however, sliding to the floor on the other side of her.

It feels like an eternity until the ambulance gets there. Then Max and Charles are driving to meet her there.

Of course, it's the one week they are in a different country with no family around. He'd texted Christian, the Austrian was more than understanding. He even said he can't wait to meet the mini Verstappen.

The realization hadn't sunk in that he's going to become a father here shortly. "Charles I'm going to be a dad."

"And I'm going to be an uncle. We've known this for a while, mate." Charles is smiling, but Max can see the fear behind his eyes. Passing out is never a good sign.

Max is brought back to her room immediately. Charles had to wait for now until she could give permission. Apperently, she'd woken up screaming for Max.

It was too late for any kind of pain medication. The labor was induced by stress. Things didn't look like they should, and Max was panicking when they told him.

They get him sanitized so he can go in the room, and he dosen't know what to do. So he does the one thing he knows how to do and holds her hand.

"Max, it hurts so much." He can see the sweat and tears in her eyes.

It's long and tiring on her end.

But the sound of her baby's cries are all worth it.

Charles gets to go see them hours later when she's cleaned up. She looks exhausted when he peeks in the door. The baby lays peacefully on her chest.

Max is sitting next to her, waving him in with a massive grin.

"Charlie." She whispers. "Meet Jules." A baby boy is handed over to him and he dosen't know what to do with himself.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired and sore. Where is maman?"

"She'll be here as soon as she can." He smooths some hair out if her face.

"Charles, can I talk to you outside for a moment?" The Monegasque nods his head and hands the tiny body back to his sister.

Him and Max step outside the door, it shutting behind them with a small click.

"They said it was a stress induced labor. She suffered immensely because of it. Both her and the baby are going to need extra care for a little bit." Max explains.

Charles can hear the waiver in his voice. "Stress from what? The race ended perfectly." Charles taps his chin. His brain trying to think back.

"Do you - do you think it could have been my dad?" Max asks. Teary-eyed and exhausted, the Dutch doesn't know what else it could be.

"You don't think?-"

Max creeps back out of the room a second later. His lover and son asleep on the bed.

He clutches her phone in his hand. "I don't like invading her privacy."

"She's been scared of her phone for around two years now. I think we need to look for her safety and health."

Max unlocks the phone and sees a million unread messages. The majority is from an unsaved number.

Max keels over when he reads them. It's his dad's number. He'd texted his dad when the baby was delivered. He's coming to the hospital shortly to visit.

He feels idiotic. How had he not caught this sooner?

Charles helps Max back to his feet. "My dad's been sending her threats. Convincing her not to come to races. Telling her my success is better when she's not around to distract me." Saying the words out loud makes him feel sick again.

Charles takes the phone from his hands and scrolls through the messages so he disent have too. "I don't like how he calls the baby a parasite." He scrunchs up his nose in disgust.

Charles turns off the phone and grabs Max by the shoulders. "You cannot blame yourself for this. It's your dad, and you are not him. You are gentle and kind, and you've treated my sister better than I could've asked for." Max dries his eyes and nods his head.

She and his son both need him now.

Everything hurts. Her body feels weak and exhausted. But her mind hasn't been this elated in months.

Jules is lying on her chest. The name was something her and Charles fought over. Having then losing their godfather made them both want it. So it was decided that whoever had a child first gets the name.

Why does everything hurt so much? Charles and Max had to run back to the track to get their stuff but promised they'd be right back. That was twenty minutes ago, meaning they'll be back shortly.

When there's a knock at the door, she's surprised. Maybe her nap was longer then she thought?

Then, a familiar unfriendly face appears inside. "You had one job."

"Please get out."

"I told you to get rid of that thing." He snarls. Her mind is reeling, and the shouting wakes the baby.

She's crying as well, and his antics are doing nothing for her pain. Her heart rate was going up. She could hear it on the monitor.

She's frozen. The pain she felt from their last encounter back in full force.

She screams this time its so bad.

Max and Charles come running in the room. She didn't know how long she'd been screaming, but it was enough that people had heard.

Charles runs back out, yelling the word security.

Max's voice is fuzzy, but he's here. Her heart calmed with his presence. The beeping noise now less intense.

There are a few nurses around. One to take the baby, which makes her panic again. Another is to get her to breathe and give her something for the pain.

"You need to leave. I know what you've been doing now." Max seethes. He doesn't raise his voice, but he doesn't need to. His tone is enough to say everything and more.

They start speaking in Dutch. She can't keep up with it. She's too busy attempting to get Jules back anyway. Jos had threatened to take the baby a few times and being sperated like this with him in the room was doing nothing for her anxiety.

Charles comes back with security, who escort him out of the building. The room goes silent as he leaves.

"I told him never to speak to us again." Max is breathing heavily, and for a moment, she thinks she misheard. "I told him what he did is unforgivable, and he is never to speak to us again."

They both cry this time. The nurses leave them, and Charles is left holding Jules until the two calm down.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to ruin your relationship with him." She chokes. "I didn't want to be a hindrance for you or another problem to worry about."

All the hate she's received the past few years is not something she'd ever wish on someone. She just wants to live peacefully with her family.

"You have no reason to apologize. None of that is on you. They are jealous of you, and my dad is plain evil."

Max leans his forehead against hers. "We have our own little family now. I don't care what anyone has to say, I'm going to fight for it always."