#reason to take a gap year number 3!

[bonivers]

counting on my fingers like hmm how will i get to the rihanna superbowl, bad bunny & frank ocean coachella, and concerts for beyonc��, sza, paramore, arctic monkeys, and the killers. frankly im at a loss. so is my bank account

[bunny-jpeg]

the music sounds better with you

max verstappen - team principal au

cw: smut/pwp, team principal!max, driver!reader, power dynamic, age gap (20s/40s), jealous!max, drunk!reader, drinking & recreational drug use, stern!max, spanking/punishments, dirty talk & degradation

a/n: the hotline is open for requests in this universe, i'd love to hear your thoughts & feelings <3

the thump of the club had you a little dizzy. it was hard to get around on heels. you were used to the sneakers you wore around the track. you never never a "girls-girl" in the sense that you dressed in restrictive clothing. but, since you were out at the club with a few of the other drivers, you had to put a little more effort into your appearance.

you and your teammate managed to sneak in the new driver from ferrari. he was the son of charles leclerc and turning eighteen in two months. your teammate nudged you to show off a little more of your skin to get the new driver in. as you pouted at the bouncer you said, "c'mon, sir. let us in." and who was about to say no to the number one driver in the world.

it wasn't long before your night was filled with recreational substance abuse. you kept feeling the young leclerc drinks and laughing when the younger boy sputtered from the intense taste of hard liquor. even when your teammate went home, you were still drinking with the rookie.

and without thinking, you texted your boss, max verstappen.

you explained, "don't worry, he's really cool. like really, really cool. you know he let me drive his boat a little!".

the boy looked at you and nodded dumbly, 'that's crazy, what the fuck." then rested his head back against the bar counter. you sent a text to max and gave your location.

"please come pick me up sir! i'm really drunk!!!! i need you to come here like now!! take me home pleaseeeeeee <33333"

max was home alone when he got the message, he was watching a movie after dinner. you sent a few more messages with horrible spelling errors, and max knew that he couldn't leave you to your devices to find an uber. so he was quickly dressed and out the door.

he soon pulled up to the club, he quickly got out of the car to wait for you. you sounded painfully drunk in your initial text and the ones that followed after. as he rested against the car he looked over to see if he could find you. instead he saw an unlikely face.

"charles?"

the other man turned to look at him and broke into a grin, "max, how are you, mate?" he went over to hug the other man, "what are you doing here?"

"here to pick up my driver."

"the girl?"

"yeah."

charles nodded, "the one who got my son drunk." he gave max a look when the other man's expression fell.

"she did what?" max felt something in his chest. while your teammate he had little reason to care for what he did (he was a one year contract), he had higher expectations for you. and to find out that you got the new driver of formula one, who was underage, drunk. it didn't sit well with the older man.

charles leaned up against max's car, "i get a text message from him that he's at a bar that your driver snuck him into... and now he's sick."

max made a face, "i'll speak to her about that." then gave his best smile to his long time rival and friend.

charles made a snide remark, "well if the press is right, you'll be doing a lot more than just talking to her." he looked forward towards the bar, "just be careful, max."

max nodded. he sensed no judgement from charles and rolled his shoulders, "always am, mate." then saw you stumble out of the bar. you had charle's son's arm draped over your shoulders.

you were both painfully drunk, while you kept the young man steady you also had to keep yourself steady. "alright, alright. we're almost there." you looked out and saw max standing there. you made a slight face, "hey, mister verstappen! and... friend!" from the distance you couldn't tell who it was.

charles laughed, "does she call you that in bed too."

max felt his ears burn, "shut up." then pulled away from the car to go help you. charles did the same. the team principal got a hold of you while charles did his son. max held you steady to make you look at the other pair, "what do you say to charles?" max's arm was around you and your hand was in his t-shirt, swaying a little.

you pouted a little, there was a slight sway to your stance, "i'm sorry, mister leclerc... sorry for getting your son plastered." you look like you were going to cry. charles understood why max kept you around. a wobbly bottom lip and doe eyes can go a long way.

charles smiled, "well, if he throws up in the car. i'll just send the cleaning bill to your lovely boss." max made another face and watched his friend leave with his son in tow.

the older dutchman got a hold of you better and got you into the car. he got a good look at your panties when the skirt of your dress lifted. he buckled you in and roughly patted your cheek. he said, "you've been a bad girl."

you whined when he closed the door like an unruly little girl. max knew he a stern talking to wasn't going to do much. so when he got into the driver's seat and started the car. he put it into drive and placed a hand on your thigh.

"i have no words."

"oh like you've never gotten anyone drunk." you tried to defend yourself.

max's grip on your thigh tightened, "well, i didn't get the son of a famous driver drunk when he was underage. then have to go crying to my team principal because i had one too many drinks."

you pouted, "who else was i going to call? it's not like i have a boyfriend! you won't let me date." you crossed your arms.

"you'll lose focus. plus, there's no man in monaco worthy of you." in reality max wanted you all to himself. he was selfish that way, he let too many women throughout the years get lost because of his drive to race. so why not find a woman who was in racing so max could have his cake and eat it too. it also didn't help that max was pulled to you.

his little protege. drunk in his car while he held onto you tightly. you weren't getting away that easily. back at his apartment, he helped you inside and you so easily held onto him.

"i'm sorry, mister verstappen." you said as you gripped the front of his t-shirt. you could feel the muscle under your fingers. your cheek pressed against him while he held you.

"a little too late to say sorry. what if someone got the wrong idea. city's full of bad men who would do horrible things to you. they'd hurt you. and i don't want you to get hurt." he said with a sense of tenderness, "so i need to teach you how to be good for me. you want to be number one, right?"

you nodded, "i do."

he took you out of the elevator and into his home. you kicked off your heels, only to put them nicely by the door when max gave you a look. you weren't going to make a mess of his home. he soon got a hold of you and lifted you. you kicked out your legs. you weren't the skinniest or smallest thing on the track, but max grabbed you with ease and got you over the arm of the couch, you kicked out your legs as he started to undress you.

"mister verstappen!" you cried out.

"good girls get to luxury of clothes. you seem to have forgotten that." he said, his voice almost cold as his large hands palmed your exposed ass cheeks. he groped them in the hopes of bruising them.

"i'm sorry."

"sorry is not going to cut it, my little driver."

you pouted with your face pressed against the leather, it felt cool for a brief moment under your skin, but soon warmed because of the heat in your body. "you don't do this to him."

your teammate. the snobby brit who always tried to get the upper hand with you, to steal max's attention away from you. you yelped when you felt max's hand across your ass in a hard smack that echoed through the living room.

"why would i? he behaves. he listens both on the radio and out in public. he doesn't need to be trained like you." your teammate came from a family that could flash a little money max's way to get him onto the team.

max didn't care, the british driver wasn't who max wanted to make into the perfect driver. he was a seat filler. you on the other hand clawed our way from your small town in the middle of nowhere to become the best. so max felt inclined to make that dream of yours a reality. your teammate would be gone by the end of the season while you'll have the championship with pride.

max laid down the law with you. smacks across your round ass left you whining and wet. he could see the hint of your wetness smeared across your pussy lips from the angle he had you at. you were always a glutton for punishment. someone didn't have a good relationship with their daddy. you yelped once more while your short nails dug into the fabric of the couch.

"you need to be good. you know there are cameras everywhere." he said before he smacked your ass once more. he could feel himself strained in his jeans. he was certain someone took some kind of video of you at the club, "if you want to act like a whore on camera, then i can easily make a tape with you." he leaned over you as he grabbed at the heated, bruised skin, "would you like that? having my camera in your face while i make you finish over and over again."

he heard your moaned and he chuckled. he shook his head before he was upright with his clothed cock against your bare cunt, "you'd love that, dirty girl. imagine if that got leaked? imagine if the whole world saw how you take me. they'd think i was a monster for taking advantage of such a sweet thing. little do they know." he started to undo his belt and grabbed you by the arms. it forced your face first onto the couch as he bound your wrists behind your back, "that you're just a little whore. begging for your team principal's cock."

"m..max." you whimpered. it felt weird saying his name. you were painfully drunk. both off of too many cranberry/vodka's and lust. max knew how to get in your head. that's why you two made a good team, he could reinforce you when you were hesitant on the track. but, he could also use it to his sick sexual advantage.

you were bound over the couch, your hips in the air. perfect for max to get his cock out of his expensive calvin klein jeans and rubbed up against your slick, hot pussy. he watched you squirm a little and it made him run warm. always so responsive.

he sank his cock into you without much introduction. he watched your squirm from the stretch. by now, with how many times max had fucked you, you should've been able to take him easier. he chalked it up to you needing more training in that department. maybe at the next event for the team, he'd keep you nice and full of a toy so at the end of the night you wouldn't be causing a scene with how much he stretched your poor pussy out.

he held onto the belt that was secured around your wrist and fucked you without much softness. he needed to get into your drunk little head that you needed to behave. you had to be good for him. for the team. he can't have a source of controversy on his team, as much as he loved fucking you.

it would be a real shame to have to cut your contract short and you probably won't find another seat on the grid (max would make sure of that), but max wouldn't send you back to your little town. you'd just be in a different role. someone a little more exclusive. mrs. max verstappen. the little lick of pleasure in the back of his head. the fantasy that coursed through his head while he was deep inside of you.

"please, sir." you arched your back a little further and whined into the covers. you felt the heat of pleasure i the back of your head. you wanted to claw into the couch, but he kept your wrists pinned. even with the stretch of the muscles, you were forced to be bound. you felt the heat pool in your gut the more he fucked you.

he thrusts were dominating, there was little way for you to gain the upper hand. even if your squirmed or cried, big fat tears down your face, it wouldn't make a difference. this was punishment. max set guidelines for what he expected from a protege, and if you didn't follow them. then, well, there was consequences. he knew you were young and a little dumb, but you weren't the stupidest thing on the grid. you had promise and max wanted to expose that to the world.

but you'd only expose your cunt to him. your contract and the metaphorical leash to your collar were in his hands. was he not the best? you could see some of the trophies in the room where he was fucking you. your bruised ass bounced against his hips. he was a rich champion, he had a legacy that blew most out the water.

he was your boss and mentor, and you had the audacity to not listen to him. thankfully max wasn't one to give up. he could never give up on you. maybe it was love, or max's idea of love. a bound little driver getting her poor cervix bruised as punishment for getting so drunk.

he leaned over you, the angle got deeper and you gasped, he kissed your sweaty temple, "see, this is how you should be."

"i thought i had to be mean on the track."

he kissed you once more, feeling your heated skin under his lips, "of course, my little driver. my treasure. you run them off the fucking track if you have to. but when you're with me, i like when you're gentle. a beautiful little thing under me." his pace picked up and it made you go dizzy for a moment.

"a good girl?"

"exactly." see you're already becoming behaved." he knew that your wrists were being rubbed raw to the point of bruising because of the belt around them. you looked so pretty in a state of bondage.

bound and submissive to him. this was what he yearned for. what he craved for at the sight of you. you were beyond beautiful, even when you drove his nerves up the wall. he pushed you further against the couch and fucked you with an intensity that left you loud.

while he couldn't indulge in his appreciation for your noises very often, when he could. he wanted to hear his little driver get loud. his heart raced as he felt close to his climax. you felt the same way, you tried to meet his pace, but it was bruising to the point where you felt nothing in between your ears.

your poor little brain had enough and left the building. rationality was a thing a few hours ago, but now you were panting like a hungry puppy against the hot leather of the couch. your tongue could taste the leather of the seat.

back arched, pussy ruined. you really did look like the model driver. you whimpered a little louder, unable to form many words. you could feel the race in your gut and the twist in the area.

"perfect." he said, one way to train you was to fuck you into a soft submission. to finish inside of you so many times that you couldn't think straight.

he continued to fuck you, losing the pace rather quickly as the need to climax started to overtake. you felt the heat in your gut bloom into your brain as you struggled against the binds. but your beloved boss kept you down onto the couch and continued to fuck you feverishly.

you were near brain dead by the time you felt the hold of orgasm clutch you. you moaned loudly and tensed up. you climaxed around his cock and arched your back a little more. your noises were pathetic, but music to max's ears. he pressed into your further, his hands on your hips for the best leverage.

the poor little drunk driver fucked to heaven and back by her intimidating boss. it was hot, max thought it would make a good porno plot (he knew it existed, he checked. the woman they got to play you couldn't hold a candle to your beauty). he shoved every last inch of his cock into you with a heavy groan. he came inside of you and felt the heat in his brain.

he stayed there for a moment, cock buried into you. not really caring that he just finished inside of you, completely bare. you made a few more noises before max pulled away and got his cock back into his jeans. your wetness stained the front of the denim.

he undid you wrists and got you upright. you whimpered and leaned against him. he kept a protective hold on you, "alright, my love." he said, "let's get you into bed before you cause any more trouble."

when he finally got you into bed, you remained naked. the alcohol and pleasure made you run hot. and max took it upon himself to snap a few pictures of your bruised behind and soft, sleepy expression. that would be saved for when he can't get his hands on you.

-

you woke up in the morning with a headache and a dry mouth. the sun that gleamed in through the blinds made everything hurt more. when you lifted your head, you noticed that max wasn't in bed with you. you were wrapped up in the sheets and whined loudly.

you heard footsteps and were soon greeted by your boss in the doorway. his arms crossed. you squinted at him and said, "everything hurts."

max replied, "you act like you've never been hungover before." he sat on the edge of the bed and pinched your cheek till you whined, "i hope you know that your punishment isn't over. we have all day to put you back on the right path. you're a driver, have some respect for yourself." you whined again.

"you're a meanie, mister verstappen."

"i know, but i told you i'd make you a superstar. and that means behaving. i'll make you some breakfast, but today you'll be learning how to behave. i'll even be nice and let you kneel on a pillow while we go over your recent driving blunders."

you squirmed a little in bed. you hated when he did that. made you sit there and watch your races, but it was only fair. mister verstappen promised you the wdc, and you weren't going to get that by getting black out drunk, were you? max verstappen, head of verstappen racing, may be mean to you. but you'd be his champion in no time at all. <3

[hocktuah]

ｃａｓｕａｌｔｉｅｓ

☆ ｎ. ｈｉｓｃｈｉｅｒ ☆

summary: you & nico agreed to keep things casual, but ten seconds into the third period of tonight’s home game & a costly injury changes the fate of your affair indefinitely. (warning: mentions of bodily injury, allusions to smut, and a reference to my blurb, ‘learning the game’ — read at your own discretion!)

genre: angst + happy ending

word count: 3.9k

You swear the last eight seconds were a nightmare Nico would wake you up from with his husky voice and dewy lips against clammy skin. As the gaps between his eyelids remain dazed, and the grimace on his face persists, though, you find yourself pinching the skin on your forearm for confirmation. What you just witnessed on his flat screen wasn’t a figmentation—the team captain you love was undoubtedly harmed on the ice. It is a vast juxtaposition to the end of the second period, where he’d scored his second natural hat trick of his career and beamed under the rain of toques, baseball caps, and what looked to be a fairly immodest brassiere. You take no acknowledgment of the last-mentioned and instead celebrate with him as though you are in the rink with the rest of the chanting crowd. At one point, you whipped out your cell phone and texted him: So proud of you, call me when you can! <3 In the quiet apartment located on the outskirts of New Jersey, you cheered boastfully during the swap of the goalie nets, and squealed to nobody in particular, “That’s my boyfriend!”

There was nobody you could announce it to. As far as your friends and family know, your relationship with Nico hasn’t passed into the territory of exclusive, which was true at the start. A few coffee dates here, and a Sunday hike there are all that you’ve indulged their prying ears in for the last year. The late-night phone calls, extra team hoodie with his last name and number emblazoned on the back, and key to his home you now shared stayed confidential. Even Nico’s teammates–the ones he would go as far as to call “brothers”--probably knew less than your mother did.

The idea of keeping your relationship private never bothered you much, though. You’d never been the type to kiss and tell. (A hottie lamottie ice hockey captain is no exception.) Plus, Nico’s inclination to protect you from both the limelight and vulturous media teams made the option to object when he insisted it would be best for the two of you a moot point. Were you exhilarated by the late-night rendezvous spent in some hole-in-the-wall dive bar, or the thrilling mission to keep what you two had like a dirty little secret? Not necessarily. But you trust him with your whole heart, and that is reason enough for you.

★☆★☆★ ★☆★☆★

“Any reason for the undercover gear?” Nico’s eyes did all the gesturing for him as he viewed your ensemble. He vowed to be the only person present at The Prudential Center (or “The Rock” as he refers to it) for your private tour of his workplace. True to his word, the arena is soaked in an eerie silence with only two bodies occupying it. Minus the rooting fans, referees and red uniforms, it could pass for a game night. He refused to spill how he managed to have this okayed by the building owners, management, etc. You remembered him shrugging at your gawk when he first proposed it, flashing his teeth as he answered, “Perks of being captain.”

This time, it was you who played innocent. As you stared up into his curious eyes, you hoped he wouldn't read your lustful intentions easily. “Just wanted to try something new.” The khaki dress mimicking a trench coat skirted your calves as he guided you past the bleachers, penalty boxes and player seating. When you adjourned to the locker rooms, an unmistakable flare of sweat and metal singed your nostrils but Nico paid no mind to it. As long as he’d been working here, he’d probably ask what smell you’re referring to if you commented on it.

“Alright, Schatz, let’s put some gear on you and I think you’ll be ready to skate.” Nico unlatched the hinge to a spare locker, where spare padding was stowed away from prying eyes. While his back was toward you, a tentative hand began toying with the bound knot at the front of the gown. “I hope you don’t run cold, I forgot to sneak an extra pair of gloves in here since the last game. What are you wearing under there anyway?” He turned back to face you and stiffened at the sight of your naked figure, and the aforementioned dress forgotten in a pile beside you.

“Oh…” He didn’t hesitate to approach you with a slow-building smirk. Mirth lingered in his eyes as his fingers took purchase of your hips and drew your body closer to his. A chill trickled down your spine from the icy fingerprints that left indents on your skin, and you could feel your nipples begin to harden with the lack of cloth. Scratchy chuckles echoed throughout the room, as desire rolled off of you in waves. The mutual yearning was palpable in his voice.“Guess that answers my question.”

“What can I say? We wagered. And I’m a woman of my word.” A delighted hum escaped him, as he started rubbing teasing circles in the spaces of your lower ribs.

“That you are.”

The wager in question was a spur-of-the-moment stake you offered last night prior to the game. You were wishing him luck from the other side of the phone after flipping to the channel the game would be broadcasted from, and his confidence was deflating by the second as he rambled on about how the last few practice days were going awry, and the games before those were an even bigger shit show. He needed motivation, and you were elated to offer it.

“Why don’t we make things interesting?”

“What do you mean?”

Biting your lip, you asked him “Is anyone around?”

“Just me. Why?”

“Every goal you score, I’ll reward you.”

“Reward me, huh?” His voice morphed into a more uppity tone. “How so?”

“Use your imagination. And tell me what you come up with…good luck, baby.”

“Wait, Y/N-” You hung up the phone before he could ask if you were insinuating what he thought you were. No more than an hour later, he’d be scoring the first natural hat trick and beaming for two different reasons.

“I’ve thought of a few different ways you could reward me…” his hot breath and coarse mustache tickled the shell of your ear as he pressed a kiss below it. “You ready?”

“I’m all yours, cap.” Minutes later, the placid locker room was overflowing with moans and pants and other debauchery.

★☆★☆★ ★☆★☆★

“I’ll tell you now folks, this is the nastiest hit we’ve seen one of the Devils take in a while. Let’s see that again.” Per the commentator’s cue, the television and all its high-definition project the casualty from a new (and arguably better) angle. The rubber puck glides in the air of the rink after being whomped by the stick of an opposing team member. Against the wall of the rink, Nico never takes his eyes from the disc until the last moment, when a burly player sporting a jersey of differing colors checks him harshly against the bordering plexiglass, and the wobbling saucer collides into the shield protruding from his helmet.

You couldn’t hold back your wince at the gruesome replay, much like analysts who are now rattling off about a possible power play for the home team. You wish to see how bad the extent of his injuries truly are instead of what caused them with a small clue that “Hischier will be taking a visit to the sports med in the dressing room for that one.” The camera cuts back to his red jersey retreating past the stands as he clutches his side and limps away with assistance from one of the refs. When the cameraman pans over to the sanitization team scraping crimson droplets from the ice, you are already exiting the door with Nico’s car keys clutched in a fist.

Amidst your night drive to Prudential Stadium, you listen hopelessly to the radio static while flipping from station to station. The dimly lit street lamps and traffic only build your anxiety to new heights, as you cruise through any side roads at her disposal. “Come on, come on…” you murmur, unsure if the plea is for the next station to be discussing tonight’s game or hoping the wind will catch your begs and carry them to Nico’s ear. The unharmonious crackling and overplayed pop hits persist, before being broken up by two familiar voices.

“...been a monumental night for the New Jersey Devils as they’re close to celebrating the fifth win of their season.”

“Yes.” You hiss victoriously.

“And it looks like we’re still waiting on an update from the medical team on the captain, Nico Hischier, who took a pretty hard hit earlier tonight.” A knot slowly tightens in your stomach as you press your foot to the gas pedal and barrel through a yellow light. “It didn’t look pretty when he was being escorted off the ice, and I know some fans watching the game tonight are pretty devastated. The rest of the team is staying determined though, as the opposing player at fault only got put in a two-minute penalty during the powerplay at the beginning of this quarter.” Your grip around the steering wheel tightens.

“Bastard shouldn’t be allowed back on the ice at all.” You spit.

As you navigate through the congested arena’s parking lot for a free space, you feel foolish. What would he think to see you in person at one of his games? Drawing unwanted attention and interrogative questions about the relationship that neither of you had discussed proper answers to is all the reason for keeping this affair hush-hush. Would he pretend like you’re just another fan in the crowd supporting her home team? Would he drop his eyelid in a wink and skate off with a smug smirk? More importantly, what would you do in that position? How would you even get inside without a pass—

How are you expected to be let inside at all?

Before you can fall victim to a deeper thought spiral, the sound of your boyfriend’s name brings your attention back to the radio.

“And it looks like the medical team is coming to us with an update on Hischier. We’ll be back with that after these messages from our sponsors.”

“Unbelievable.” You scowl and lean back against the rough polyester car seat. The silence and not knowing are becoming torturous for you minute by minute. Sparing a glance in the rearview mirror, red watery eyes woefully greet you. “Please be okay, baby, please…” You cry out, yearning for his warm embrace or his fuzzy voice to sing you a lullaby or scruffy beard to tickle your skin in between relieved kisses. “Please be okay.” Your voice comes out raspy as you turn your gaze to the glove box. Feeling sticky and snotty from the tears, you unlatch the compartment’s handle and relish in the sight of his secret stash of drive-thru napkins. Your clammy, trembling hands grab a few for good measure but halt at the sight of a red, velvet cube peeking out of the rest of the impromptu tissues.

You peer from car window to car window, observing the empty parking lot and settling your gaze back on the box. Wasting no more time, your napkin-free hand rushes to grab it and flick on the interior light in the process. You fling the lid open and almost begin crying again. The gemstone encrusted in diamonds glints beneath the yellowed wash, and it takes little time to deduce that the ring wasn’t a simple splurge, but one of the first steps to forever with Nico.

As the commercials over the radio conclude, your phone begins buzzing in sync with it. Jumping in fright, you delicately close the box to tuck it away in your hoodie pocket. The phone illuminates the inside of the car even more with a photo of Nico taken just a month ago.

★☆★☆★ ★☆★☆★

His eyes peeled open at the sound of a camera shutter, and your whispered swears. The cool bed sheets splayed over your bodies coaxed him awake, as he exhaled sharply through his nose, and while you fiddled distractedly with the volume of your phone, Nico took the chance to tighten his hold on your hips and position himself above you. You squeaked between devious giggles, hand still clutching your phone with a small smile. He drew his face closer to yours and relished in the sweet aroma of your conditioner. In a few instances, his hair reeked of the same sugary fragrance and you had to bite back a smile at his usual excuse: “s’not my fault yours smells better.”

“Whatcha doin’?” He asked innocently.

“Nothing.” Your response was just as harmless, but his eyes flickered down to the phone being pressed further against your chest, and he quickly became skeptical. He emitted a low hum, and you bit your lip to shield a grin.

“That so?” He tried again.

“Yup.” The answer is curt and accumulated more suspicion when complemented by reddened cheeks. Another low hum escaped him as he nuzzled his bearded face into the crevice of your neck and shoulder. After he pressed a chaste kiss to your skin, he rambled something in German, far beyond your comprehension.

“Du hast glück, dass ich dich liebe, Schnügel.”

“You love me and want to…snuggle?” You tried translating anyway and earned a few quiet laughs in response. The vibration of his laughs against your body kindled a homely warmth in the depths of your stomach. You never dealt with the fabled butterflies when it came to Nico, only a burning comfort that never seemed to be extinguished.

“I want you to show me what you’re hiding.” He once again attempted to reach for your phone, which you slid beneath the pillow, barely out of his grasp.

“Uh-uh, don’t think so.”

“Is it a sequel to Hockey for Dummies?” He guessed. You scoffed and shook your head.

“Nope.”

He gasped and raised his eyebrows. Something tantalizing swirled in his eyes as he continued to prod, “Is it…a naughty picture of you?” His voice lowered to a whisper.

“No.” You whispered back and giggled, squirming embarrassed beneath him. “You got to see all of me last night, anyway, perv.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugged. “So what is it then? Do you have a secret shrine dedicated to me that you’re adding to, or something?” You snorted and rolled your eyes.

“If a couple of old t-shirts and a bottle of your shampoo count as a shrine, then yes. That’s precisely it.” He gasped.

“That’s all?” Feigning agony, he flopped down to his original spot on the mattress. Like a soldier wounded on the battlefield, his hand that was once teasing the skin around your hip reached up to clutch his heart. “Here I was, thinking you truly loved me. I have books you’ve read, a blanket you’ve knitted, even the perfume you wore to dinner last night.”

“Maybe because I brought that bottle of perfume over last night, you goof.” The knitted blanket was gifted to him last winter by her, too. You’d be more offended had he not mentioned it. Playfully, you poked him. “Anyway, I’d probably have more of your stuff to show off if you…” Your voice trailed off, as did her gaze on the comforter still haphazardly covering them. Nico knew where you were going with the sentence, though. He admitted to you and himself on several occasions you weren't deserving of the commute to his home, nor the excuses of work always getting in the way of nights they could be spending together at your humble abode. And humble, it was. The first night he stayed over at your studio apartment he felt like he’d been crammed into a pintrest-ified dollhouse. You argue that the limited space makes it more “cozy” .

“I know, meine liebe, I know." His hand rose to entangle in her locks, and the feeling of his digits as they ran through her messy tendrils was near orgasmic. You reached to reclaim her phone beneath the pillowcase and frowned at the screen which still displayed a photo of him as he blissfully snoozed.

“Sometimes it gets hard, not waking up next to you.” The realization dawned on Nico, then. This was not about having two separate places to talk, eat, and sleep together whenever they preferred. It’s about the fact that they have not discussed narrowing it down to one. He shifts his gaze to the nightstand, where your retainer case stayed. Then they flickered to the top drawer of his chest, where a piece of your cheeky briefs dangled precariously on the corner. Your body wash settled in the corner of his bathtub rail. You, a mesmerizing sight to behold as you laid lackadaisical in his shirt and under his sheets. Nico concluded he didn’t want bits and pieces anymore. He wanted the whole damn package. He wants all of you.

“Come on, up.” He insisted as he jostled her arm.

“Huh?” Confused, you followed his lead and crawled out of bed anyway to join him at the foot of it. “Where are we going?” He couldn’t hide his grin. There had been no him or her since their first month together. It was always both of them.

“To make a copy of my house key for you.” Your eyes widened, and now he’d felt unsure for jumping at the opportunity. “Unless you plan to pick the lock every time I’m not here–”

Your body collided with his in an instant, aglow with radiance and devotion for the man that stood in front of you. “Yes, please.” You answered as though it were a proposal, rather than a gentle command on his part.

Proposal. He pondered the word to himself on the drive to the nearest handy store, sparing glances at you every few moments that you weren’t looking back. Is that what’s next for the two of you?

“Did you want to stop for coffee on the way? You never got to make your morning cup.” You gently reminded, before adding with a sly smirk, “Plus, we did keep each other up pretty late last night.”

But Nico didn’t need to keep second-guessing with you.

All the answers were simple because all of them were yes.

★☆★☆★ ★☆★☆★

Through her discovery and onslaught of tears, you muster a fond smile and answer the call.

“N-neeks?” You get out through stuttering breaths.

“Love, are you crying? What happened?” You wanted to hug him and slap him across the face at the same time for the idiotic question.

“What do you mean ‘what happened?’ Twenty minutes ago you got slammed to the floor and a hockey puck to the face, that’s what happened!” You catch a quiet wince on the other end of the line and are now wanting to slap yourself. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

“Nico…”

“I swear I’m okay. Just had a bruised rib and a couple of cuts on my cheek. The sports doctor just left and cleared me for our game two weeks from now.”

“No broken bones?”

“Nope.”

“Heart’s still beating?”

“It better be, or my girlfriend’s gonna kill me.” He coughs out a few laughs, but you can feel the hurt behind them.

“Um…I was so freaked out when I saw them lead you to the dressing room that I drove here.” You sniffle, looking up at the car’s roof.

“Wait you–you’re at the stadium right now?”

“Yeah, pretty stupid of me considering I can’t go inside.” Nico wants to ask what’s stopping you before it dawns on him; you have no ticket, no pass to the locker rooms, not even acknowledged to be related to any member of the team like the other WAGS (“As in Wives and Girlfriends” he remembers you telling him).

“Meine Liebe, where are you parked?” Amidst all of the turmoil tonight’s put the two of you through, you manage a dry laugh.

“Nico, you can’t sneak out in the middle of your own game.” Part of you hopes his injury warrants omitting the post-game interviews, photo ops, and everything else in between, so you won’t be wasting much more time in the humming car.

“What? No, of course not.” He insists, “I’m sneaking you in.” Your laughter turns to a choke.

“Excuse me? That’s a ridiculous idea!” You want to add the fact that nobody would recognize you, let alone be as amicable as they are to Nico. As pure as your intentions are, you’re still a stranger. A foreign body. (And to some very appreciative fans, a threat.)

He exhales something between a breath of relief and a humored laugh. You hear it bounce off of the locker room walls. “Petal, I don’t know if I can hide you any longer. I-I don’t want to. Do you?” He volleys you the question, and the weight of the velvet box nestled in your pocket increases ten-fold.

“No. I don’t think I’ve wanted us to be a secret for a while…” You admit through a wobbling lip.

“Where are you parked?” He asks once again. The buzzer sounds through his end of the phone, and this time you aren’t reluctant to answer.

His appearance was like a car wreck you couldn’t look away from. The disheveled hair (once slicked and combed) and patchwork of bandages and bruises on ivory skin was gut-churning to view up close, but before you could properly scold him, his swollen lips were greeting yours in a sentimental reunion. Bodies we’re filing into the corridor as you did so. A chattering stream of staff, coaches, players, and WAGS come at you head on like a wave.

“Woah, Hischier! We leave you alone for half a period and you manage to find a girlfriend?” A deep, accented voice slices through the invisible line your mouths convene at, and you turn your attention to the source. A brawny figure topped with blonde hair marches up to you in a striking red jersey matching Nico’s. You glance at the number 63 on his sleeve, and it only confirms your assumptions. Jesper Bratt was exactly as Nico described him to be, chaff jokes and all.

Another body donned in red pushes past Jesper’s to stand before you. He leans down, and says with a monkeying smile and voice just loud enough for those around to hear, “Ma’am, if you’re in any danger, blink twice.” You glance down at his sleeve, too. 86. Luke Hughes, you think, or is it Jack?

“Oh, fuck off!” Nico’s arm stretches out to shove him away, before situating the limb around your waist. When his hand bumps into a firm object poking out the side of your pocket. He stiffens beside you immediately, and you gulp as if you’d done something worthy of punishment. Of course, you were going to bring it up one way or another to him later in the night after all the post-game chaos had ticked by, but you suppose him finding out this way works just as well. The players forming a crowd around the two of you only grows, and they’re too caught up in laughing at their antics to notice their captain’s ungiving posture.

“Well, you gonna introduce us, or what?” Luke, (definitely Luke) queries. In the center of eyes and lingering questions, Nico’s whiskey ones connect with yours for a silent proposal. Without wasting any more time, you nod.

“Everyone, this is Y/N, my fiancée.”

[botwstoriesandsuch]

HEYA WHO WANTS TO LEARN ABOUT GRASS AND VOLCANOES

Yes I'm alive and yes I'm making posts and music again. Ok so moving on HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GRASS???

This patch of grass is from a Youtube video by Quincyvhs ranking grass in Tears of the Kingdom. He's a cool guy and has a similar video on Breath of the Wild and I highly recommend you watch it cause his editing is very cool.

HOWEVER. He made an egregious error today by ranking this patch of grass, this lovely, magnificent, extraordinary patch of grass upon Death Mountain as a mere B Tier. It clearly is an S Tier.

How do I know this? Well this patch of grass indicates miracles. It indicates determination. It indicates the spirit of adventure, of change, of liberty and mayhaps even the purest form of happiness the world round...

...and as later corroborated by the actual geologist that I am dating, it is an indication of the massive shift in Hyrule's ecosystem and climate.

Let's Begin.

Using my ace detective skills I have located the site in question in both Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom (Botw and Totk). The general consensus is that there is a 5~ year time gap between the two games.

Given that the grass does not exist here in Botw, this means that this patch of grass took at maximum 5 years to grow. However, I'm going to prove that it probably took even less time than even that.

Below is the site on Botw's Map:

We are unable to get an accurate temperature reading of the area because the Sheikah Slate decided to give up. So we're going to use science to determine this soon to be important number

Given that wood near instantly ignites at this location in Botw, we can conclude that the temperature in the air is around 370 degrees Celcius or 700 degrees Fahrenheit.

Now typically, rock and soil serve as good insulators of heat, so the air temperature around a volcano itself isnot usually that much higher than the ambient temperature (unless you are actively within a Pyroclastic flow, which would be a more pressing problem than analyzing grass to say the least)

However, when near the presence of lava, that temperature of the air can actually reach up to 1000 degrees Celcius (1800F) so this reading is actually even more reasonable when you note that we are in good distance of the Medingo Lava Pool.

Conversely, we can actually grab an active temperature reading of the area during the time of Totk thanks to the Purah Pad.

It's 102 degrees Fahrenheit.

Easy. Simple. Fantastic. I love when my job doesn't require four hours of research for every single question!

Anyhow, here are some figures from the Oregon State Volcanology Laboratory on the rate of lava cooling

Yes this post is still about grass, stay with me.

To truly appreciate the glory of science and the glory of this patch of grass, we are going to calculate the exact amount of time needed for the temperatures to lower on Death Mountain to one sustanable for growth (That being around 100 degrees Farenheit).

SPOILER ALERT: It takes less than 5 years. This is insanely impressive considering grass of this type* typically takes DECADES.

Anyhow, The Figure 2 and 3 have to do with the depth of the lava, and Figure 4 deals with the thickness. (Many thanks again to my partner for providing their geological expertise and resources)

The thickness of the Medingo Lava is very easy to calculate given that Link can literally jump in with a splash and drown in it like the world's worst hot tub--the bitch ain't thick at all. So we use the lowest listed reading for that.

The depth of the lava is more tricky, but comparing the lava pool in Botw and Totk, and using Link as a marker of around 5 feet, we can say that the pool is around 10 feet deep.

Therefore, the Medingo Lava Pool took around 2-3 years to cool after Death Mountain stopped erupting.

Now when exactly did Death Mountain stop erupting?

According to the catalog of Volcanoes of the World by the Smithsonian Institution, 93% of volcanos stop erupting within 3 years.

Now I know that Death Mountain only started erupting because of the return of the Divine Beast Vah Rudania, and Link only "stops" the eruption of Death Mountain by defeating it. So one could argue that Death Mountain's "eruption" had to be less than a year or something.

My rebuttal to that would be 1) Within the game's canon, I don't see how we could justify Link taking one day, or even one month to wake up from the Great Plateau, travel immeidately all the way to Death Mountain. and then tame the Divine Beast in less than a month, and 2) Link didn't really stop shit because we can clearly still see active lava flow after taming Rudania. He only stopped the rock falls caused by the Divine Beast, the actual activity of Death Mountain still continues.

Given its insane size, I am going to say it took the full 3 years for its active lava flow to stop on Death Mountain. Volconologists in the notes, feel free to correct me.

SO! The Timeline is:

3 years for Death Mountain to stop actively flowing

2 years minimum for Medingo Lava Pool to cool

= >1 year for temperatures to be right for grass to grow!

This is an insanely quick time period for grass to thrive! The literal instant that the conditions were correct, we are able to see not just grass, but stoloniferous grass as well other types of shrubbery thrive! We would usually need several years for the volcanic rock to erode to rich soil (such as the soil in the Akkala region)

Allow me to elaborate:

This is Fountain Grass. Fountain grass is usually the fist type of grass that you would see in a volcanic region. They grow from a rhizome root system, which is a very vertical downward root system as you can see. This is good for young volcanic regions where only specific dotted areas are good enough for plants to grip onto and grow.

They grow something like this:

This patch of grass below I would call some sort of rhizome. (Botanists feel free to correct me in the notes)

THIS. however. (amazingly) is an example of stoloniferous grass!

This is thick bladed grass (as opposed to the more thin, fine-bladed grass with rhizomes) that grow in a stolon spreading pattern that is much more horizontal. It's a lot like the grass that might grow in your front lawn, if you're rich enough to have one of those in this economy--

They grow a bit more like this:

This type of grass need soil! Especially if we want to classify that other red flower behind the rock there as some sort of volcanic flower

We're basically talking about mass, rapid volcanic erosion in less than a year for this to happen. For context, the soil necessary for the region of Akkala to grow could have taken anywhere between a decade to thousands of years. The weather and erosion necessary for this patch of grass to grow took, at most, 3 years.

And all this in the period of time following an actual apocalypse. How quickly the tides have turned for Hyrule's ecosystem!!!!

IT'S A VERY IMPRESSIVE AND COOL PATCH OF GRASS AND THUS IS DESERVING OF THE S TIER RANKING

Also here's some behind the scenes of what my much smarter than me partner had to say about it ["Last pictures referencing the rhizome grass which, indeed, would be the oldest grass among the patch given it needs the least specific conditions to thrive/less soil to get started]

Growth is cool.

[fruitbasketball]

ncaa recap: uconn vs. usc

first of all: what a way to lose a completely winnable game. WHAT a thing to do. truly!!! i applaud it. i’m SHOCKED at it, really - bc no way you wanna lose every fucking top 10 matchup y’all have. there’s just no way!!!

and now i have to do the thing i have been dreading all season, bc i have such immense respect for this man.

geno. what. the fuck. are you. doing.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING BRO????????????

what’s the game plan?? HUH???? no matter what happens, it’s paige’s fault??? the best player in the fucking country stayed an extra year to play for you, and THIS is how you do her???

quit playing her off ball bro PLEASE matter of fact she can’t play off ball. yup! CAN’T do it. every single one of her numbers but efficiency is down from last season, so i can conclude that you need to stop playing that bitch off ball.

put the ball in paige’s fucking hands luigi or i swear to god i will shove it up your ass. you have the most CREATIVE, TALENTED, INTELLIGENT scoring pg in the country and you’re playing her OFF BALL???? WHAT THE SHIT?????

and paige bro. we don’t get to pick and choose when we wanna play basketball. you don’t get to ONLY show up the second half. and MAN was that a fucking monster second half. like my legs are still shaking from it jesus fucking christ. but when we do THAT SHIT!!! right???? when we DON’T PLAY THE FULL 40???

it comes down to a freshman and her free throws. sarah strong, you are a perfect angel. you did NOTHING wrong. the play was all wrong, it shouldn’t have come down to you, i am so so sorry it did. sarah has been so unbelievably consistent, and i just KNOW she’s blaming herself for it.

what’s the reasoning behind these last few possessions. like what the fuck is up bro. why are we going for the 2 when we’re down 3. why are we fouling with no fouls left to give. if you’re gonna do that shit take the 3!!! close the gap completely. why are we willing to widen the possession margin??? i understand the technicality of the strategy here, and it might be the smartest thing possible in ANOTHER situation.

in MY mind tho: take the 3, tie the game. get a stop on the other end, set a decoy, have paige or ash take the 3. or send jana down low for a 2. but it was so obviously a matter of geno not trusting the defense. which is NUTS - because this is one of the strongest defenses in the country. and it wouldn’t have been a perimeter job. probably not!! probably would’ve been a juju middy or kiki down low!! REALISTICALLY!!!

i just, like… those last few CRUCIAL possessions were really muddled and it pissed me tf off. like actually made me so fucking mad.

anyway bro’s yapping again - bc if kk is a game changer, keep her in the fuckin game dawg. idk just a thought.

SIT ice, START jana, and SHUT THE FUCK UP ‼️‼️‼️ hm i wonder who will be a better match for the best power forward in the nation - the 6’5 paint beast, or the big who’s been showing you she lowk CANNOT PLAY BASKETBALL

anyway i just wanna say - to anyone who thinks paige got outplayed this game, fuck all the way off. juju couldn’t even guard paige the whole game, while paige did not let up. if juju had a hard time scoring, it’s because paige was in her mouth the whole time. that’s a two way player. so i don’t wanna hear shit.

in conclusion: MANE FUCK THIS SHIT

[babiebom]

How Many kids I think the Bachelor/ettes would (want to) have

A/N: because I like thinking about things~ also because I started thinking about it because I want a lot of kids and I wondered who I would actually work well with. Late Merry Christmas btw!!! And happy holidays!!

Tw:sex, maybe cursing idk I always put cursing, childbirth/children, mentions of issues with childbirth, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of adoptions and other stuff surrounding it.

Wc: at least 5 bullet points for each

Sdv Masterlist

Sebastian

I think he would want either one kid only or as many as his partner wants

Because I can see him being a good dad to his kids

But like I also think that people like him only have one kid because they didn’t get along with their own siblings

So the trauma is like I don’t want to have to choose between my kids when they don’t get along and I don’t want any problems so having one is good

But I also thinks he would want to see how close siblings could be to live somewhat through them

So it’s literally a toss up

On the topic of adoption though he’d probably adopt an older kid if you’re okay with it

Like a teen that doesn’t have a family and is about to age out

I think he’s that type of person and you could adopt a baby or a younger kid later on.

I also think Robin would be present but not like constantly there. Like it’s grandmas for Christmas and other holidays and sometimes she visits but that’s it.

I do think that he would probably end up with a lot of kids bc he can’t keep it in his pants now that he has a significant other.

Sam

He’s going to have at least 3

I see him having 2 boys and a girl if I’m being honest and it would be really cute

All of them are learning to skateboard and something about music

I think he would be a very chaotic dad

Like you have a heart attack every couple of minutes being married to him

Like “yeah! Junior lost a tooth” “how’d he lose a tooth?” “He absolutely ate shit at the skatepark”

I think he would be happy to adopt but probably wouldn’t because of Jodi

I do headcanon Jodi as bit of judgemental

Like she won’t say anything outright but she will be passive aggressive like “I love allllll of my grandkids! Even (adopted child’s name)”

So if you guys do end up adopting for one reason or another you’ll only see Jodi for big holidays unless Sam can get her to change

Vincent is a sweet uncle though and Kent is a decent grandfather. Refuses to tell stories of the war to them though. Jodi is an overbearing but GREAT grandmother when she’s not being petty

Shane

Well he already has Jas so he either will have one more so she has a sibling/cousin

or he will have like 4 more to make the total 5

I do think he would like a big family

But all of the kids are a couple years apart at least because he does want to make sure they all are happy

It takes a while for you two to have kids or adopt because he does still have depression and thinks he would be a shitty father

But he’d be the best out of the bachelors I think maybe number two

Because I feel like out of all of them his love would be greater simply because he does have that self hate and he wants to make sure he’s doing as well as he can

Jas is VERY happy to be a big sister

Harvey

Harvey is a 2 kid guy

Like he would be a 1 kid guy but he’s afraid that the child would be lonely

I also think he would be an only child so he doesn’t want his kid to have the same childhood as him

But the kids would definitely have an age gap

Like at least 8 years because he wants to make sure you(if you’re a person who can give birth) are okay after giving birth.

I also think that if he adopts he would go for siblings specifically

Like two kids that don’t want to be separated by the system or two kids who are biologically related he would go for them

Simply because he wants two kids anyways and keeping people together is what would make him happy

Alex

Either 1 or 4 there’s no in between

I feel like you would have either all boys or all girls with him

Like his genes are very predictable not gonna lie

No matter what gender I think he would make all of them play gridball

Would be hella sad if none of the kids liked the sport bc COME ON

I do think that in his heart he would like to adopt

Especially if it’s to save a kid that’s in a bad family situation

Because in a way his grandparents adopted him after his father left and his mother died

Like those are his parents for lack of actual mom and dad

Very sweet dad but does have sexist tendencies

Like if you have daughters he would be much more strict with them but also would spoil them rotten

And while he’s not as strict with the boys he’s also not as sweet on them.

You have to get him to open up and realize that raising the kids in a specific way can breed resentment towards him. He gets smarter the more kids you have.

Elliott

I think Elliott would want one or two

I don’t know why but I see him as a guy that doesn’t have a lot of kids

Mostly because I feel like he would still like to have time with his partner and having a lot of kids would take away from that unless you can get a sitter or something

But I also feel like he wouldn’t want daycare or a babysitter or nanny

He wants to raise the kids together especially because you both work from home

Also having more than I think 3 for him would make it so he has no time to work on writing

And having only a couple would mean he can evenly give enough attention to the kids.

While for some people having a lot of kids is not a problem with attention and love I think Elliot knows that he’s the type of person that cannot be spread too thin.

Which isn’t a bad thing.

If you’re same sex he is not opposed to adoption

Would like to adopt twins though

Would prefer boy girl twins but obviously won’t throw a fit if it doesn’t work out that way

You’re adopting kids not a dog.

Penny

Easily at least 6

I don’t think she would have the most easy pregnancies

But she will make it look as if she’s the perfect housewife and that bearing children is a breeze for her

She loves kids and wants a big happy family especially because of her upbringing

So if you marry her expect her to want to have kids that are all at least a year apart in age

Doesn’t mind getting pregnant again as soon as you’re cleared for sex

I do think she would prefer to bear children instead of adopt but she’s not opposed to it

I could also see her becoming a foster mother at some point and taking in a bunch of children because she has an empty nest

If you’re the same sex she would probably want ivf

Like obviously this isn’t meant to be offensive and some people have different takes

But she also won’t like be upset that you have to adopt and she would make sure to adopt a BUNCH of children

Is a good mother and tries hard to spread her attention evenly.

You having a farm is great for this type of situation not gonna lie

Leah

To be VERY honest I see Leah as the kind of woman to be a single mom

Not because she gets divorced or her partner dies

It’s literally by choice only her and her kid in their cabin painting.

BUT OBVIOUSLY in this scenario she’s married to you

She would still only have 1 or 2 kids

I don’t think she would really enjoy being pregnant

Like she would like doing the pregnancy art things

But the state of being that she’s in is HORRIBLE she HATES IT

But she loves her kid so much that she’s like okay I can do it one more time.

Maru

Maru is either a one person kid or a 5 person kid tbh

And I do think that science people be lowkey freaky

So I do think she would have a lot of kids

Like somehow she’s always pregnant and everyone is like ?????? Another kid?????

And shes like YEAH I KNOW ISNT THE HUMAN BODY AMAZING????

Y’all’s kids are super smart ngl

Like you’re like???????wtf

Like even if you end up adopting they’re super smart and you’re like ????????? WTF HOW

Though they are still very interested in farming.

Somehow combines the two and creates a super farm

Like you make so much more money after having kids it’s insane.

Haley

Two or three kid woman

No matter how strong your genes are your kids will always have either blonde hair or blue eyes if not both.

Out of all the people having kids your kids with her would have the most normal names

She was a mean girl in high school she’s not setting up her kids for failure from the beginning

Unlike the others who would be on board with homeschooling if that’s what you wanted Haley wants the kids in public or private school.

Shes not much of a teacher and you’re always working on the farm so she wants them to have a good chance of being smart.

I think that y’all would have tons of baby books for the kids because she takes at least 10 pictures a day

Like there is no running out of embarrassing baby pictures your kids better behave lmao

Actually a good mom and ends up being one of those “I’m a cool mom right” women

But she’s actually kinda cool when she’s not making dated references.

Emily

One kid that is just as weird as she is

It doesn’t matter if the kid is adopted or not they behave just like her

But also I think she would go for adopting or fostering the more troubled children because they need love too

And I think she’s the perfect person to understand people on a different level than others.

A very sweet mother that is different than the other bachelor/ettes

Your kid turns out very happy, kind, and connected to the world

They might be a little weird like her

But are well liked by the people who find themselves misunderstood.

She would also be the type of person to run a foster home.

Abigail

I think Abby would like 2 kids.

I think she was very lonely as a kid

Especially with her father only focusing on his work and her mother hanging out with her but not really understanding her likes and hobbies

If she had a sibling there could be a chance that they won’t get along but she feels in her heart that they would’ve been close

So she would have two kids that are like maybe 2 years apart or 5 years apart

I don’t think she would enjoy being pregnant but she enjoys it more than she thought she would

Is not willing to go through giving birth again

So if you’re a person who could give birth if you want more than 2 kids then you’re giving birth

If you’re a person that can get others pregnant then you better plan for a surrogate or adoption because like I said she’s not going through that labor shit again

She is open to having more than 2 kids but like there’s other things that you have to do if you want them

Is a decent mom is kinda awkward with mothering but tries her best

[mywritingonlyfans]

Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud! Reader (Smut) Part 2 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9K.

a/n: I'll need to add one more part, I hope you still feel like reading them! Thank you for waiting all this time! (I'll try my best to finish the last part soon)

HERE'S PART1

Alex promptly notified campus authorities about the boys. Although he didn't know their names, his detailed description enabled other professors to identify them. He ultimately concluded that they weren't a real threat, just a bunch of troublemakers. Nevertheless, he did his part, unwilling to let the situation slide and subject himself to any torment for having overlooked their inappropriate behavior. In the same way, he'd be watching you just as closely, not only because he wanted you to be okay but also because of the intensity that had built up inside him (thoughts and a tiny bit of obsession) after the last time he saw you.

…

His messy and crooked handwriting on the napkin somehow lingered in your mind. Not as much as the possibility of him being someone other than yours, but it persistently surrounded your aura. Your idealization of Professor Turner did not fit with him being a traitor, so yes, the way you portrayed him in your mind did not allow for such a possibility unless he proved otherwise. And that hurts, from deep within your core to the bitterness in your mouth and the burning in your throat. It was frustrating, yet you still wanted him around. What continued to motivate you to read the book he had given you and delve into his notes was the feeling of having him by your side, reading every word with you. Sometimes you were certain that if you closed your eyes, you could hear his rough, accentuated voice blending with the characters.

Perhaps, if you were his age and already held a degree, maybe even a professor specializing in romantic literature, there might have been something between you two. Picture it: a rainy afternoon, your head resting on his chest, his warm lips near your ear as he read to you. You hadn't openly acknowledged it yet, but you felt a certain compatibility despite the numbers of years difference. It took you a while to realize, but his demeanor softened whenever he saw you, his gaze growing more serene, and even the beloved wrinkle between his eyebrows had time to relax. His voice became gentler. You weren't completely oblivious to these cues, though you did have your doubts.

It all traced back to that one night when he had come to your aid, opening your eyes to the possibility that he could belong to someone. The faint, woody scent of his blazer had found its way to your home. He had even apologized for pulling back from a kiss, not wanting to be rude, and left his phone number in your belongings with a simple message: "Call me if you need me, lil’ one." He left no room for doubt; your mind still spun, and you felt helpless, uncertain about what steps to take. But your desire to do something about it burned brightly.

"I can hear your breathing," his tone was relaxed. Just as you hoped it would be with you, and then you wondered if he could recognize you by your breathing alone.

You remained silent, there was no plausible reason or emergency that had made you call. It wasn't strange, just unusual. He laughed, which made you imagine him with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a breath on the balcony with his mouth slightly open to blow out the smoke. Maybe he just smoked too much, and you weren't obsessed.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence." He laughed, in a way that filled your lungs, and the little wrinkles around his eyes appeared for contemplation. At least in your mind, just for you.

You exhaled, your eyes filling with tears. It wasn't exactly a desire to cry, but you felt genuinely sad knowing that you weren't and wouldn't be his.

"How do you know it's me, Mr. Turner?" You wanted to sound playful, but your voice came out so shaky that it made calling him that seem inappropriate.

"It was a guess. Besides, I can't think of anyone who would call me at this hour and stay in deep silence. And, well," there was a pause, his guttural and muffled breathing making you take a deep breath. Enough time for a drag, you thought. "You know, I was ‘oping you’d call." He was sincere, typical of him. He always seemed too clear when he wanted to be. Everyone said he was strict, but you couldn't think of a time when he had made his students confused or uncertain about something he demanded. Demanded, that was a word that suited him in the classroom.

"Waited?" And you saw him nod with a sweet look for you, as if he were by your side. In fact, he just mumbled. "Expected me to be in trouble?" You tried to sound more cheerful.

There was a pause; you lay down, staring at the walls until you buried your nose in the pillow in a hug. He was close to his phone; you could hear him wet his lips and breathe lightly. You wanted to run your fingers over his face and hair again, but you couldn't deny that this was as magnificent as it got.

"Not at all, but I wouldn't hesitate to save you." His eyes closed tightly. The silence grew deeper, still comfortable, it was cute. If you had the chance, you would kiss him before that, before it got too cute. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding regretful, just reluctant due to your brief absence.

You laughed, not saying anything, but it was enough for him to understand that everything was okay.

"Are you sad?"

Then you felt the pillow get a little damp.

"Am I really that transparent?"

He let out a breath through his nose, his lips curving. If he closed his eyes just right, just like you did, he would also be able to feel your fingers dancing around him.

"Only when you write, but I blame myself for watchin’ you too much during this time." You sounded the same way as when he pushed you a little too hard with his pragmatic comments, and although he found it adorable, over the phone, without being able to do anything about it, it made him a little uncomfortable. His words took brief seconds to be spoken; he wondered if you noticed how nervous he was that he needed to formulate sentences before speaking. And even then, he regretted some of them, not that they were bad, but he didn't want to hurt you.

"I guess I am,"

"Guess?" The air caught in your throat, the back of your nose starting to burn, and you feared it would be difficult to keep tears from flowing.

You didn't want to comment on the woman in the photo, at least not at that moment; you wanted to enjoy being with him as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, you decided to omit the reason but still let him know that you were genuinely upset. Maybe it was because he had helped you; you didn't know why, but you trusted him to a moderate extent that included your feelings. You believed and knew that talking to him would make you feel better.

"I think I'm just stressed," it wasn't a lie. His body shivered, unable to hold you close to comfort you. You felt a little pathetic making such a confession to a 37-year-old man who didn't have the same problems as you.

"I feel like I'm trying so hard for nothing, the days of writing have been a burden, and everything I write is so thought out and time-consuming that I feel like no one would want to read it, I'm almost certain I'm a fraud. I'm just waiting for the day they'll realize." Your throat was already scratchy enough to be closed from the middle to the end; your face was wet, and your head pounded in pulses. This was a recurring thought of yours; you had never verbalized it to anyone.

He listened, his steady breathing becoming slightly faster, and in a way, it calmed you over the phone. The whimsical feeling that he was there for you, even if it was a situation made up in your head, put you at ease.

Alex had noticed that you were insecure about your writing; it was clear how you reacted to his notes and negative feedback. But that was one of the things that made you good, the persistence in wanting to recognize your mistakes, listen, and do things differently. He wished all his students were like that. Although you had a special place in his mind and heart. Alex found you talented and determined; weakness didn't align with your gentle and loving personality. He wanted to make you see yourself through his eyes and free you from that feeling.

"I don't think you are, lil’ one; I know you're not," the pet name brought a smile to your face, and Alex noticed, his chest warming with the satisfaction of successfully soothing your worries. "You'll reach your goals. You write well, pay great attention to detail, and I love every touch of romance in your writing. I mean it now, and I'll mean it even more in the near future. You’re quite meant for this." He settled into his bed, clearing his mind as he imagined you lying beside him. Alex could almost see your gaze darting away from his, just as you often did during his lectures, as if you hoped he wouldn't notice.

You wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't discover it, but you felt more confident and better in this emotional aspect after his classes. You recognized that you felt even worse about this in the months before you even knew Alex. Now it was different, and you liked that.

"Do you really think so?" It didn't sound like you wanted to hear him repeat the same words. It was more like you still had traces of doubt. He could even see your nose wrinkling, a habit of yours when you were uncertain, which he found endearing. Just like hearing your weak voice like that, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Sometimes I'm certain that I'm not worth the opportunity that someone needs to give me so I can succeed in something, something that hasn't even happened yet and might never," Alex didn't let you linger on that and hushed you until your voice diminished. If he found it painful to hear you talk about yourself this way, he couldn't imagine how you were dealing with it inside your head. "I don't want you to talk ‘bout yourself like that." His voice was firmer, and you shrunk back; it was good to hear above all. "You'll make it. You're worried ‘bout a future you can't control. You're still young, and you haven't even finished your degree. Give things time. Like I said, you're talented, and you'll have good opportunities. And I'd help you in any way possible." Inside his head, he concluded, and in the impossible too. He wished he could hug you, have your body close, and be sure that you were comforted and that your voice was no longer filled with tears, but all he had were words.

Even without a turn of phrase, he noticed you calming down, and he could feel your exaggerated heartbeat through the call. Or maybe that was just his worries. You were a mess. And even though you were frustrated, he didn't want to be anywhere else that night but on the phone with you (even though he preferred you in person next to him).

"Do you think it gets better with time, Mr. Turner?" You smiled; it was forced, he knew that, but he was relieved that you were trying. Then he scratched his nose with a funny look, the way you called him still sending shivers through his body, but he also found it cute how the sound came from your lips.

"The insecurity you're feeling?" You nodded in a mumble. "It doesn't get better, but we learn to deal with it better, I think." You laughed again, with more enthusiasm, and Alex felt accomplished, feeling his own cheeks blush.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." You said softly, closing your eyes, the phone pressed against your cheek, still hugging your pillow even tighter. His breath truly acted as a calming agent on you.

"Little one?" He noticed you were tired. "You can call me Alex if you want; there's no reason to be so formal." He felt awkward asking for that, even though the whole situation was awkward.

"Okay," you said softly, not quite able to bring yourself to say his name. The way you sounded thoughtful even with such a small word made Alex chuckle quietly in a discreet way. You were so adorable in his eyes.

Silence took over, in the same warm and familiar tone as throughout the call. You began to smell his scent on your sheets and remembered lying there with his blazer before, although for now, it was likely just a figment of your imagination. But it felt so real; you were really drowsy from sleep.

"Turner?" He murmured to let you know he was still there, finding the evolution of you avoiding "mister" quite sweet, as it made him feel less old compared to you than he actually was.

"I've been writing different works; I'd like you to take a look. I like it when you assist me without taking away my freedom." He ran his hand over his abdomen, his body warm, and he felt guilty once again for pulling you into this with him, even if that was your will too.

"I'd love to. I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over." It sounded subtle and right. Neither of you could tell if it was the effect of sleep, but he liked the idea of having you at his house again and being able to talk to you outside the academic environment. You took a while to respond, and he almost took back his earlier words.

"Is it not a problem?" Your mind went back to how he could have someone who was his person.

"No," he said, not sounding pensive, but he was wondering if someone important at the university found out it could give you problems. He knew it wasn't right for him, but he didn't care as much about what could happen to him; you had more to lose than he did, you were at the beginning of your academic career, and he wouldn't do that to you. "Do you think it could be a problem for you?"

You denied it, realizing you needed to speak for him to know the answer. "No, I think it's a good idea," you concluded, deciding that you would make the most of it, whatever it was. It was the first time you felt attracted - you liked him, you were a bit obsessed, you were afraid - and you were almost certain he felt the same way, and you didn't want to waste it.

After a few short minutes, you continued, "I love the way you write about being in love, as if there's only room for that one person in your head, and nothing else matters. I hope that if someone ever falls in love with me, it's at least 10% of how you describe that feeling." He knew you read his publications, yet he felt a delightful warmth, like receiving a handwritten note from your middle school crush confessing the same feelings. He appreciated your work, and your appreciation of his made him feel great. "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I won't settle for anything less." Although Alex had written this a while ago, he found himself contemplating how well it matched what he felt for you.

You couldn't find more words, but both of you could sense each other's presence, the subtle laughter, and the soft breaths. Words weren't the sole means of communication; you both comprehended the situation and willingly let things progress at their own tempo. With this feeling of ease, you slipped into a peaceful and rejuvenating slumber, so unaware of it.

A few before this, he commented about needing to dispose of the ashes and the ashtray, and your face brightened in the darkness upon realizing you were right. He was smoking this whole time. Once you drifted off to sleep, Alex allowed himself to do the same, filled with the assurance that you were safe.

…

Your gaze appeared distant, and your fingers, on the verge of digging into your arm's skin due to impatience, twitched nervously. You leaned against the wall, seeking to evade the curious glances of passersby, well aware that your tension was conspicuously written across your features.

"Hey, what happened?" His voice carried deep concern, and as his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but fear that someone had issued a threat you were blissfully unaware of. He didn't hesitate, closing the gap between you, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. He was clearly worried.

It took a moment for you to find yourself as you briskly navigated the corridor leading to the reception desk, anxiety clutching at your chest.

"They're having issues with my documents, for dear God. I need them to apply to some campus. I did everything correctly, notified them of my need for these documents, and I'm still well within the deadline…" Your voice trailed off, caught in the charged atmosphere, your mind aflame.

His gaze remained steady upon you, his countenance markedly soothed now that your anxiety had heightened the stakes of the situation. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and extended a reassuring touch, his fingertips coming to rest gently upon your hand.

Moistening his lips and making that soft, almost playful sound one uses to capture a cat's attention, you couldn't help but release a small, albeit apprehensive chuckle, providing relief to both you and Mr Turner; he was doing well.

His presence, grounding and reassuring, helped to temper your nerves. He remained with you until your breathing found its way back to the present.

Glancing around, his eyes found no one in close proximity. He dipped his head slightly to align himself with your level, a tremor of emotion causing your cheeks to twitch. His face and the tip of his nose were red.

Running his fingers softly across your cheek, he offered you a warm smile despite your obvious reluctance stemming from the absence of his hand in yours.

"It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine, little one." His voice gradually dissolved your anxiety and the gripping sensation in your chest. He brought his fingers to his lips, tenderly kissing them before tracing their path back to your face.

First, he lightly pressed against your forehead, then your nose, and finally your cheek before his hands slid back into his pockets.

Unbidden, the thought crossed your mind that he would've kissed your tears away, a gesture of comfort he was undoubtedly willing to extend, if only the circumstances allowed. And then your mind ached at the brief reminder that you had woken up in the double bed in his room that night.

His laughter filled the space, eyes glistening with warmth, and the wrinkles around them adding to his features. In that moment, you fervently wished he could be yours, even as your self-awareness acknowledged the depth of your feelings.

"Where do you intend to apply?" Your gaze descended to his chest, buttons undone, and a gleaming chain vying for your touch.

"Huh, I... I plan to apply to a university in California. That's the crucial one, although I'll be submitting applications to others as well. Missing this deadline is simply not an option."

He nodded in understanding, skillfully alleviating the awkwardness you felt over your hesitant words. You remained unaccustomed to the unwavering attention he directed your way, where your words and actions seemed to bear a significant weight. He made you feel noticed and appreciated, you liked that.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back."

That said, he didn't take long to re-enter the room you had left about 40 minutes earlier and resolve your issue. He emerged with a furrowed brow, the self-assured smile gradually returning to his lips as he made his way back to you. It almost felt unfair how swiftly he had solved the problem, but then you remembered that he wasn't known for his friendliness to everyone. You imagined the firmness in his voice and expression as he demanded to know the whereabouts of your documents from whomever happened to be present. A sense of relief washed over you as he asked if this was what you needed and handed you the envelope. With a quick glance inside, you confirmed that your documents were indeed there.

He seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help, but you didn't quite notice. Your reaction was instinctual as you rose on your tiptoes and let your body collapse onto his, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. He took a deep breath, unprepared for this, but he managed to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder and circled his arm securely around you. His nose brushed against your hair, and he hoped your scent would linger on his clothes for at least a few more minutes.

It was brief, both aware of the potential consequences of this closeness. You apologized, although a smile remained on your face. He could have frozen that moment in reality, gazing at you for hours, your short shirt rumpled from your previous touch, knee socks slightly disheveled inside your tall boots, while you clung to the documents he had just retrieved. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was evident how you found comfort in each other's presence. And he easily concluded that you suited California.

"I need to go," he said, his thoughts consumed with the image of you sitting in his classroom in a few hours and potentially at his home later if you hadn't changed your mind. He didn't want to bring it up, wanting the decision to be entirely yours. If you decided not to show up, he'd understand, and you knew that. You appreciated the pressure he removed from you. His desires were quite evident, and even though you still needed to address the matter of the photo in his room, his intentions were anything but unclear.

…

On that day, you sat a few desks behind due to the front-row seat's creaking issue. Every time he entered the room, your attention soared. You enjoyed admiring how he placed his brown bag on the desk, neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted his blazer before starting the class. However, you noticed how his eyes searched for you before initiating this ritual, his face stern and composed, his hand tracing his jaw until he reached the spot where he found you, a few desks back. Your radiant smile met his timid one, and your hands fidgeted with your skirt. At that moment, you both knew that neither of you concealed your feelings well. It was evident in the softening of his expression upon finding you and the shy smile that curved his lips; with crooked lower teeth and cute prominent lines. It warmed your heart.

The following minutes went as expected, with your heart racing when he addressed you, and he posed questions that he was confident you could answer or raise thought-provoking ones. You remained addicted to gaining his favor, even though you no longer needed it. There was no doubt you were his favorite one.

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, dismissing the others, which included you. Yet, you hesitated to pack your things and leave. You wanted to show him that you still intended to meet him later, fearful that he might think otherwise.

Initiating the conversation didn't come naturally. You leaned against the closed door, observing him tidy up the last of his belongings. You felt uneasy, and he sported a self-assured smile. He was yours, soon you'd gradually become aware of it.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence," he offered, approaching you. Your nervousness was palpable, and you couldn't even contemplate forming words. "There's no one on the other side of the door," he reassured, peering through the small glass window. "I wouldn't force or manipulate you into anything you don't want to do." He was cautious, but the idea that he thought you might think of him like that made you shake your head vigorously.

"I know you wouldn't, Professor Turner." His nose wrinkled slightly as you insisted on calling him that. His cheeks gained color, and you loved that.

You pushed your hair back, trying to clear your head. "I just wanted to confirm that you still want to see me tonight, and also to say thank you for helping me after the bar incident. I don't want you to think badly of me. I—" You paused, swallowing hard. Dry throat, just like your eyes, which couldn't stop blinking. His attention was fully on you, and it didn't help. Seeing your struggle, he moved closer, gently removing your hand from your hair. He whispered while still close, "I don't think anything bad 'bout you, and I'll still be waiting for you if you want to be there."

You nodded, your eyes lost in his, feeling as if you could almost touch his skin without making physical contact. Your hand involuntarily touched the collar of his shirt, your palm pressing awkwardly against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the coolness of his necklace. His fingers followed yours, resting on top of your hand with a pleasant size contrast. Your touch affected his body in ways you couldn't fully fathom, but he was better at concealing it. Your mind briefly entertained the idea of his lips brushing against yours, but this thought was soon supplanted by a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your chest met his as in an embrace, and it lasted long enough for you to feel his fingers below your knee, lifting your high socks until they were even with the other. It sent a great burn through your thigh and made you want to keep him close, but then he was stepping away. "I just want you to feel comfortable with me, pet." Your words once again choked in your throat. You wanted to hear him say he wanted you, but you refrained from vocalizing it, and you understood, but you still longed to hear it from him. Just as you wanted to shout that you felt good with him, despite being a novice in matters of the heart.

…

In your imagination, Professor Turner was someone who didn't shy away from the daylight, and you believed he was just that, even though it was amusing to picture a darker side to him that other students described. When you told your roommate that you wouldn't be back that day, and she suspected it might be related to him, you received a playful, "Take care, don't let him pull you to the dark side." It made you laugh and think about how some of your classmates had asked you to talk to Alex about his grading approach because they had noticed his fondness for you and were in desperate need of a miracle. You didn't think your intervention would change anything, but your curiosity would lead you to take the risk.

The air felt trapped in your lungs, and there was still an alert in your mind that being there was wrong. Students were gossips (your friend even more so), if he had someone, you would know, right?

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestured for you to enter. The same calm and gentleness that always characterized his demeanor toward you, as your roommate had reminded you over the phone just minutes ago. Your mouth quivered, and your hands turned cold as he looked at you. His expression was meticulous, as if trying to read every one of your signals. The sensation within you intensified as you adjusted your knee socks, and his attention followed you until he realized how his hands clenched around nothing. This time, it was you who laughed.

"I wish I could say you don't have to pay for things for me, but honestly, I wouldn't have had the money to come here," you explained, with more than a hint that you might be less financially stable than him. The age difference still nagged at your mind, but you had promised yourself to make the most of this situation. He had covered the Uber ride, just like last time, and now you felt guilty about him spending money on your meal, even though you found it adorable.

He was flushed, certainly not from embarrassment. "It's okay, I don't mind. I want you 'ere." It sounded so formal and yet so natural of him, it made you wonder if he did this often; seduce their own students. It was quite a torment for you to add to your worries, had he ever done that before? And why were you bothered by that? Why did you want to be the only one who had ever gone through this with him?

You only realized that you were standing there staring at him when you felt his hand lightly press your back and guide you to the living room. There were sheets and pillows on the wooden floor rug and the light was dim. He had thought about that and it made your cheeks hot, you were unable to contain a smile. Before sitting down, he took your bag off your shoulders and murmured, "Your thoughts are quite noisy, little one."

He sat next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. Your legs stretched out and your uncontrollable fingers played with the hem of your socks. You kept your eyes on the orange colored juice and some bread, your belly emptying and your head becoming fuller. “I just,” you looked at him, his messy hair and tired look but still giving you all the appreciation. "I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I'm not sure if it helps you either, but, I'm not, I'm not in the habit of bringing students to my house. You're the first one." You smiled, the weight of your body joining him. Alex noticed you becoming more comfortable and brought his hand closer to yours, then you rested your palm in his; bringing your fingers over the veins and calluses on his fingertips. You bit your lip at the thought of him actually playing the guitars in his room. And then you felt heavy once again at the thought that you wouldn't be able to be present in the moment with him if you didn't know if he had someone else.

You were careful to pull your hands away from his, stealing a piece of bread and pouring yourself some juice. His gaze on you was unmistakable, hard to ignore. Even though you enjoyed it, you felt like you were caught doing something bad.

"You can talk to me," he said, nothing but reassuring. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." And he didn't, it was in your head, and deep down you knew it.

As the orange, viscous liquid touched your lips, you noticed his flushed cheeks going harder, even though he remained confident. It was the same Mango and Passion Fruit blend you had at the campus bar. Your face lit up with a smile, and he wished it could always be like this. "This is almost an obsession." He laughed too, relieved that you didn't think he was crazy for it.

He had indeed asked in the following days what that drink was, and he had learned that you always ordered that, he was just trying to make you comfortable around him. Little did he know that it didn't take much. "I swear my intentions were for the best," he concluded to have succeeded as he held your gaze for a little longer, and then your head rested on his shoulder. Your arm was lazy at first but within minutes, it was around his waist, brushing the top of his pants and then pulling your body closer. You felt the scents mingling, and your head grew lighter. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. Silence was indeed a great friend of yours, something you both cherished.

"Do you have someone?" You weren't as confident as you'd like to be, though you thought the answer was no, you still feared the response. He held your chin close to his, so near that you could see the scar near his eye and the more expressive fine lines. A tear threatened to escape as he appeared puzzled. You didn't like letting him think that you thought ill of him, but you couldn't move forward without answers. "Please, say you don't." Your voice faltered.

He ran his fingers over your face, letting his forehead rest against yours. He definitely didn't like seeing you upset. "I don't have anyone romantically," he chuckled softly, finding it attractive how you nestled into his touch. Even though you were uncertain, you wanted to hear it from him first, and he found that so mature of you. He felt guilty for thinking of it that way, as a warning that this wasn't entirely right.

You nodded, your heavy gaze fixed on him, and yet he stayed with you. "But what 'bout the girl in the photo in your room and the double bed..." Your body tensed, your face pliable in his hands.

Alex felt the weight of it and wanted the words to sound painless for you. It wasn't your fault, and there was an easy explanation; it was a concrete and unchangeable situation, only painful. He held you close when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, with just the right amount of strength, and his chest ached as his own vision welled up. "I don't have her anymore, not anymore," and with that, you understood. His gaze and his voice, the tone of affection, you didn't feel jealous, and in a way, you understood.

Your response was to cradle his cheeks and kiss his face, not liking to see him sad gave you the courage you'd been seeking all along. His arms enveloped you, a subtle embrace, his nose brushing against your thin top, your bodies aligning inch by inch. It felt right, and it didn't seem so wrong anymore.

He chuckled against your neck, lacking much humor. "It's been a while, I'm not trying to replace her or anything." His hand traced his eyes, and you nodded in understanding. You didn't sense that from him. "It's okay, I just didn't expect that and got scared." You whispered, letting your nose touch his while his forehead sweet bangs tickled you. Soon, your fingers were lightly tugging at the nape of his neck, and he didn't avoid your gaze; he only seemed upset about worrying you. Your lips brushed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, making you feel compassionate.

Nevertheless, you let your lips touch his, soft and warm, drawing out a lingering sigh. His grip tightened around you, and with that, your hands went from entwining his collar to pulling him closer, as if you could make it better; you wanted to make him feel great.

He solemnly withdrew from you, keeping you close while planting kisses on your face as he did so. As he pulled back, you realized that your senses were more attuned to him than to yourself. You couldn't pinpoint at what moment during all this you ended up in his lap. You didn't feel bad about it, but you still felt like you should.

"I'm sorry," you began, but he didn't let you pull away from him. He didn't need to explain, but he did it anyway. "I stay 'ere to teach, not because of her. I loved her, and I probably still would, but I'm not bound to her in any way, or sustained by being in love with someone I won't see anymore. I just don't see myself forgetting her entirely after years as if nothing had happened, just as I don't want to make you think this distances me from you or makes you believe I'm trying to replace her with someone else." He was precise, his voice trembling like never before. The coherence as something he had planned to say before hurt you; he wanted to say it but avoided it, and you didn't blame him. "I just want you to know these things." Your response was to hug him, craving the ability to merge with his body. It was dramatic, but you wanted to take some of that weight off him. His broader back, along with the embrace, covered you entirely, and you could feel his breathing calming as your thighs and arms clung to him.

With your head feeling lighter, your face nestled deeper into his chest. Your nose brushed against his neck, his warmth matching yours. The roughness of his baby beard made you smile into nothing. You could swear you felt him shiver. He kissed your face, his lips finding every space from your mouth to your neck, and your jolly reaction was to pull him closer by his t-shirt's collar. Your body burned, in a comforting way, and before falling asleep with him enveloped in you, you thought about how you should have done more or even asked for more. You no longer felt hesitant towards him.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the lighting still cozy, just like the feeling of his chest. He held you tightly, his chin nestled on the top of your head, making you feel whole as one. As you shifted in his lap, you wanted to squeeze him, feel the flesh of his waist, and unbutton more of his shirt to accommodate your hand. You needed to take a deep breath, unable to avoid the initial sweat on your forehead. He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing your back and holding you as you bit your lip to hide a smile. His dark circles were more pronounced, his skin softer, although his eyes slightly puffy. You snuggled back into him, and he accommodated you, sealing the moment with more kisses.

"I'm sorry, Turner," the muffled laughter left you happy too, not that you weren't already. You ran your wrist over his mouth, he was still fixated on every part of you. In truth, you might not have known what you were doing, or you were just nervous. You didn't want to disappoint him.

"It's okay," he ran his fingers in circles on your waist. Your skirt crept up, and the position improved as he leaned against the wall. You could feel him better, every inch of him, and the thought that you were arousing him made you tense up a bit, even though it was good. He noticed and held your face, his lips touching where you had just tried to dry because you forgot you needed to breathe through your nose when kissing someone, "Hey, it's okay, lil' one. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I like you being with you."

You took his neck, your lips soft and moist, albeit timid against his skin, making him release adorable sounds that made you want more. This caused you to grip onto him, your hips moving closer to his, and you wished he would touch you, even if just for the mere thrill of feeling him.

"Please," you sighed, his face pressed against yours. Your fingers toyed with the closed buttons of his t-shirt as you shifted your gaze to your hands. Alex understood that you weren't entirely sure about what you were asking for, and this sweetly confirmed how much he considered you nothing but a good girl. It was evident that you wanted to be wonderful for him, and it was adorable to see in your eyes how you were eagerly waiting for him to lead the way in this dance of desire.

"I'm all yours, princess." He concluded with a mixture of pet names that both disconcerted and melted you into him. You took a deep breath as the pressure of his large hands adjusted your hips, your knees slightly burning, but you couldn't help but create the necessary friction to feel him better. You could indeed feel all of him, from the light fabric of his dress pants to the zipper, hitting you perfectly. "I know, little one, you're doing so great," he praised, mesmerized by how you lightly closed your eyes and then opened them to him, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging your success. It was attractive to see you feeling secure and knowing how to make yourself feel good. With your hands still held against him, he intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the remaining buttons to be undone, and then your palm found its place into his flesh.

He held you tighter, your body against his. "Don't move both together, use your legs or just grind against me, or you'll get tired quickly," he sounded precise, his deep and raspy voice filling you up. You obeyed. "That's my good girl," he said in a husky growl. This effectively worked to keep you going with him. His fingers gripped your nape, pulling your head to look at him, gazing down at your sleepy and pleading look. He clenched his jaw, sure that he could surrender for so little. His lips landed on your neck, his nose burying into your skin, so soon his teeth were pulling you into a light and pleasurable bite.

And then you were his, his hands working on you better than your legs were trying but failing to reach that level. Soon, he removed your top with the same gentleness and urgency with which he pulled you to him just to devour your breasts. His grip traveled to your waist, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, encircling how hard they were and sucking them into his mouth as if it was genuinely pleasurable for him. The tip of his nose brushed against your skin, and he caused pain by nibbling on the flesh ready for him to take. You found yourself liking how every sound you made was heard by him, and he understood every nuance to repeat or intensify whatever he was doing to you.

You fit him well; being with him and having him wrapped around you made you feel confident. You had been embarrassed to be so spontaneous with someone before, but with him, it was different. His calm presence over you, the tranquility and affection, as well as the satisfaction in his eyes and touch when he saw you well, made you want more and more of him and to surrender yourself to him even more.

"You're so delicious," and he meant it. He squeezed you tightly, and you were worried you might have marks afterward. In a way, you liked it; you wanted to see him sprawled over you when it was all over.

And at all times he paid attention to your high socks, fixing them in the right place and smoothing them so they wouldn't move from where they were; keeping them pretty on yourself.

To soothe your whimper, he nestled his thumb against your clit, adjusting his movements until it felt like it was working for you. Alex was flushed, and you wanted to capture the look he was giving you. He didn't feel entirely guilty, but something weighed on him, as if he were corrupting you; the sensation wasn't bad at all. He pulled the flimsy fabric upwards, giving you more traction, lightly laughing at the pastel color and the central bow, knowing that it would haunt his mind for many days to come when he was feeling drowsy. It was magnificent, every detail of you, and he marveled at having your tired and prolonged sighs and teary eyes, just as he always thought they would be when your weak body collapsed onto his in such adorable spasms.

…

Your body ached, but the electricity in you felt good. Your hands ran clumsily through the pleasurable haze. He placed his lips on your forehead, lingering there until your body melded to his like a magnet. "I need to go, but I don't mind if you stay 'ere, lil' one," he sounded even better after waking up, husky and lazy, yet strong. Gradually, you became aware of the fact that you were in his bed, wearing the button-up shirt that you admired on his body. You smelled like him. You remembered him covering you with it, draping your figure while he kissed your collarbone gently. You were so drowsy that you were so certain it had been a dream.

"Go where?" You asked absently, looking around. He pulled up your socks, your legs entwining with his beneath the sheets. He loved this, wanted to have you there forever. You slept so serenely, comforted by his touch, and he thought about leaving you there. But he remembered how scared you had been at the idea of him leaving without notice the night he took you from the bar. He didn't want to cause that in you again, especially knowing he wouldn't be there when you woke up. "I have to teach in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't mind if you stay 'ere if you want."

"And do you want me to stay?" Your lips quivered; you understood his careful approach to your desires, but you wanted to hear it from him without reservations.

"I want you to stay, very much. I still need to read your new work, and I want to hear more from you." Your smile widened, and your face met his neck. He stroked your hair, keeping you close. You had almost forgotten that you had tucked prints of your writings into your bag to leave with him, or to have him read while you waited for his shrewd criticisms. You didn't care as much anymore; you wanted to hear him. You wanted to hear everything he had to say about you, whatever it may be. This thought, combined with the reminder that he preferred printed works over email submissions, made you beam more against him. He pulled you close, looking at you curiously.

"Okay, I can stay here, old man. It's good that I can finish reading the book you gave me." His cheeks flushed, and he got up, making you laugh more and grumble in disapproval. Alex didn't make a fuss and went to the wardrobe, putting on a clean t-shirt and taking off the pants he had worn earlier. He was serene, and he didn't mind you watching, your calm eyes on him, unraveling with each visible patch of skin. You wanted to scream about how everything in you wished this could be your routine. When you looked around, the photo was no longer there, and it didn't seem strange. In fact, you didn't feel jealous of it. However, knowing that he had put it away in another place made you feel good. You thought you might ask him more about it soon; she was important to Alex, and you understood and respected that. You thought it was only fair for him to know you didn't think badly of it.

"Promise you won't be too harsh when reading my stuff?" The buttons were still opened when he turned to you, his eyebrow arched, and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkling.

"I'm not cruel," you huffed, making him suppress a sly smile. "At least not with you." Your cheeks burned. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he grabbed his toothbrush. You followed, sitting beside him on the large sink, attentive to him.

"You know, they told me to ask you to go easier on the students, at least in my class. They all seem to think you're pretty tough," you mentioned.

He chuckled. You liked this, it was intimate and comfortable. His hair was messy, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled; he was perfect. He wiped his mouth and kept his brows tense, "I'm not; the world is just not as perfect as most of you believe, and not everyone is as good as you." He was such a cute old bastard. You arched your brows, mimicking the expression he often made, and he laughed, softening for you. "I won't harm anyone; I just think lower grades make you all work harder." He clarified, placing himself between your legs, and you soon enclosed him in your embrace.

"That's cruel and unfair, Professor Turner." He kissed your face, seeing that it bothered you more than you pretended it did. "You don't have to agree with me, pet."

"And I don't." You sounded more irritated, and he liked that. "It's not very fair."

He laughed, nodding. "Well, know that I'm not going to change." You shook your head but stayed there. You pulled him closer, buttoning up the shirt just as he did, and then folding the cuffs as you had noticed he liked to leave them. He enjoyed that with a great goofy smile.

Briefly, his mind wandered to how he didn't have another place besides there. He might have already renewed the campus contract and then planned for another season in Europe. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself questioning that decision. He could go to other places if he wanted; his qualifications allowed him to move beyond where he was. Basically, all it took was his own mind. So he thought about postponing the decision of whether to renew or not. Things might change.

"Turner, aren't you going to be late?" He snapped back to reality, kissing your lips before he actually heard everything you said. His fingers played with the elastic of your knee socks, tugging gently and then letting go, causing you to gasp in pain against his mouth. "It's funny how you want to punish your students but don't even care about arriving on time." You narrowed your eyes, trying to sound intimidating, but your breath gave you away quite well. "You look beautiful like this." He ignored the irony and felt your legs tighten around him. "In my shirt, princess," he whispered between lip nibbles, amused at how easy it was to leave you speechless. He lifted your hips from the sink, aligning your body better with his.

"I want to feel you, taste you on tongue, princess, is that okay?" His nose brushed your face, trying to soothe you as his hands roamed around you, feeling you tense with nervousness. He loved that. Your lips touched his, with wetter and more intense kisses, and you felt silly when you realized from the way he was smiling that he wasn't talking about that. You swallowed hard and nodded. "I just won't know what to do," you said, feeling dizzy as you held your breath. "Don't do anything," his hands comforted your body, and you leaned in so that he could remove the damp fabric from under his (yours) shirt. "Just relax, don't think 'bout it for now." You agreed, eagerly watching him kneel in front of you.

You did as he said, settling in more comfortably and following his eyes as he spread your legs, playing slowly with your socks before slipping your legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his nose diving into the area, and then his teeth nibbled the skin as you gasped. He chuckled with delight. "Are you going to teach me how to make you feel good too, Mr. Turner?" He couldn't resist your sweet voice. He nodded, giving a kiss to your center, your flesh glistening in anticipation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, princess." And then that new, wet, and firm sensation invaded you, your eyes closed, your lips parted in a brief, silent sigh. Your breasts were highlighted in the white t-shirt, so hard that they were attractive to Alex's gaze from time to time.

Your fingers clutched his dark hair, while his eyes remained closed right after taking a great look at you, and he released such a beautiful prolonged, satisfied groan. The taste made him a little dizzy, but he loved every second of it. "You're divine, did you know that?" You couldn't respond anymore; his nose caressed you, and his fingertips marked your delicate skin. He liked the time he was taking; it was nothing more than his tongue, and he relished the sensation of exploring you slowly. You also liked it, and that was enough for him. He could feel his chin wet and his breath falter, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Don't stop, please." And all you heard was the hum of his confident laughter against you, along with the recent texture of the beard growing, while you only thought about making it easier for him as you spread yourself further and fully surrendered to him. You just knew you would feel the same way tasting him on your lips and tongue.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods

tagged only for teacher's pet (the one who asked for and people who asked for the part2) : @thenightslikeawhiirlwind @missbabyjay @kayla1717 @ladydraculasthings @tyatthiapoewy @depthhell @hvncae @raven-ql @kittyrob0t @jakethsims @mayaawesome10 @michelleisheres-blog @love-me-until-ilove-myself @est3va @viviannagiorgini

google forms!¡ (taglist)

Let me know if something is wrong or if you're not comfortable!

Also, I'm taking thoughts/ideas for part3 (it'll be the last one, I promise!)

[toythrob]

Too shy to slide in your dms but I need to get something off my chest. I saw how detailed your answer to the last ask about edging regiment was (that wasn't me btw) but it made me believe you'd be the best person to approach

I'm extremely new to this side of Tumblr. I literally didn't even know about edging until a month ago. I'm very interested in learning more about it. But, I've been cumming non stop since I had my first ever orgasm years ago. I've had like 3 orgasms a day at minimum. So it's not easy for me to just flip the switch and not cum again. I tried getting into edging myself but I'd literally end up cumming on the 3-4th edge.

I realised I needed actual guidance from someone, someone who can teach me and hold me accountable, so I made this Tumblr. Since then, I've encountered a few doms/mutuals who claimed they could help me in this journey. But their instructions were always "don't cum for the next 3 days", "don't touch yourself for a week" and punishments if I broke the rules. Obviously it went nowhere because i ended up cumming pretty quickly.

This is just leaving me more frustrated now. I know what I need, i need a schedule, i need someone to let me cum in the beginning and then slowly increase the gap between when I'm allowed to cum. Use my love for orgasms as a way to ease me into edging. But no dom seems to understand it.

Am i wrong for wanting this? Is this an absurd approach to even expect? am i just a failure at being an edgeslut?

Sorry if this is too long. Feel free to ignore if you don't want to respond, i totally don't mind!

- ✨

I‘m happy to hear from you. I’m sure that you’re not the only one in this situation, so I‘ll try my best to answer this in as much detail as possible as this could be helpful for others as well.

First of all, you’re not in the wrong at all and you‘re not a failure. Sometimes people can be too impatient or inconsiderate. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for you to start off slow, especially considering that you’re still quite new to all of this. You should always have fun and not feel like you’re being pushed to do anything.

I‘ve got a few ideas on how you could ease yourself into this and slowly increase the intensity.

For the beginning, it might be enough to try edging just once. Make sure to stop when you feel yourself getting close…it’s better to stop too soon rather than too late. Over time you will get a better feeling for how far you can push yourself before you inevitably cum. Then take a break for a minute in order to calm down again.

This might already be the point at which you want to reward yourself and make yourself cum. But depending on how you feel, you could also stop altogether and just go about your day (to practice being denied) or start over again with another edge (maybe pushing yourself just a little bit further this time). You could even see how long you can keep doing this and just edge again and again until you can’t control it anymore and finally cum.

I don’t know what the right starting point for you is. I could imagine that you might want to start increasing the number of edges first in order to get used to controlling yourself and stopping in time. Once you think that you’re comfortable with that, try denying yourself…for example start with a manageable amount of edges in the morning and wait until the evening to give yourself an orgasm (or maybe just a few hours if that’s too hard in the beginning). Next, try to increase the denial period and/or number of edges.

Regarding an exact plan, I’m not sure what the right approach for you is…that’s for you to decide. Especially after hearing about your experiences so far, I could understand if you wanted to start on your own and explore how far you can push yourself. Needless to say, it’s easier when someone else is in control and tells you what to do (as long as that’s reasonable). I‘m of course more than happy to help with that if you need it 😉 (communication is easier if you dm me but it’s not a problem if you want to keep this anonymous)

And don’t worry too much about the occasional accidental orgasm…you’re still very new to this and need to learn how your body reacts. As long as you’re not doing it on purpose, I don’t see a reason for such harsh punishments 😉

I hope that this was helpful for you. Let me know how you get on with edging and denial. As this is public, maybe also let others know what helped you and if you have some other useful tips and ideas for starting off.

[slushiesandshowtunesat3am]

you have a good point about the increasement of non con/dub con fanfiction. i just want to add that it's not surprise that Joel Miller's fanfiction are the one that always sexualize the word "kiddo" or are mostly about age gap because the fandom (and i'm talking here about Pedro Pascal fandom generally) has been more toxic in the recent years. big problem here is they tend to fetishize Pedro Pascal a lot so, when you scroll in his character tags, the stories you always found are about daddy kinks, age gap kinks, dbf/bfd, etc. it's look that a reader that is over 30 is a crime.

funny thing, this doesn't happen when i'm looking in other characters tags that aren't latinos, like Bucky Barnes or Steve Harrington, i wonder why🙄

This is an interesting perspective for a lot of reasons <3

The ask above and the text below is a response to concern about the growing number of infantilization and dub con/non con content that is taking over certain fanfiction spaces.

I will be using tags from those spaces to spread the message and further encourage conversation, so if you do not want to see my posts, block me now

Honestly, until reading this ask, I didn't realize just how severe the overt sexualization of Pedro Pascal has gotten.

I remember seeing videos of him reading certain fan tweets filled with the term daddy and I would cringe, but I just figured it was because I was a bit put off by one of my favorite actors being put in that situation.

But I do remember, before Pedro really started picking up traction as Joel Miller, his most sought after character was the Mandalorian, and I don't recall ever seeing as much non-con and infantilization content as I do now.

All of the dynamics explored, at least in the fics I read, where all based upon mutual protection because of the environment that Mando was in. Mutual respect, mutual responsibility, because it was life or death. And even if age was a concern, the term daddy was hardly ever uttered.

With Joel, it's almost the complete opposite. Despite the landscape for the show literally being the end of the world, it seems as though the most popular works for the fiction focus on age gaps. And a good number of them, aren't even focused on the actual plot line. It's all: Dad's best friend, hot older man next door, perv! Joel, etc.

And I get it, I do! It's fanFICTION for a reason, you're supposed to create your own stories, but there seeks to be an underlying theme here that I don't believe I'm comfortable with.

What was the shift?

And I can't help but view your other point as one of interest as well.

A post I made a while ago highlighted a lack of representation, or rather an exclusion of POC in fanfiction due to descriptive terms often catering to a white demographic.

In a follow-up post I made, a response to an ask, I said that I couldn't help but wonder if the seemingly deliberate exclusion of inclusive vocabulary was because there has been a growing number of content feeding into this very lolita-esque style of reader. One of pink, princess purity, and sexuality found in corruption. And, because POC do not fit this image of purity in your mind, we are subconsciously removed from these spaces.

But now I'm wondering about other repercussions.

It's no secret that Latin women have been sexualized since Christopher Colonizer sailed the ocean blue, but I truly haven't looked at how Latin men may be as well.

As a black women, I know black men, (black women as well, but not as frequently) are often sexualized by other races for various reasons, but I wasn't aware that this may be happening in the Latin community as well.

Is it possible that Pedro, or rather his characters, present an easy target for blatant sexualization, even of graphic and exploitative content, because of this ideology?

Again, open to discussion.

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter nine: jesus christ 2005 god bless america

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 9.5k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, undefined relationship, small use of spanish cause joel is latino, pining joel, fingering, hand-job, dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft soft soft joel, sprinkle of possessive joel, Big Feelings, crying, mentions of depression diagnosis and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of co-parenting, signing away parental rights, effects of that situation on children, major guilt form both of 'em, this chapter has some heavier angst than before!

a/n: they're baaaaaaack <333 my babies! it's 2005 and summer #3 is officially underway and i can't wait to share it with you all. thank you so very much to the bestie/cousin/sister wife/sweet, sweet gf @northernbluess for beta-reading this chapter, and for shouting about these two with me. enjoy y'all x

You can count on your two hands the number of times you’ve been able to talk to Joel over the last year. Sarah’s schedule going into third grade was much busier, his work picking up even more business and expanding. Your job was demanding — long hours, coming in early and staying late, rejection after rejection of ideas you excitedly pitched. By a few months in, you took the hint: you were there to get coffees, do the grunt work, fill in the gaps even if it wasn’t in your job description. It wasn’t that you had a problem with doing all of those things; anyone in the industry, basically anyone with a corporate job has told you that you have to do your time, climb the rungs of the ladder to get to where you want to be. But it’s hard to justify a job that has taken you away from the one place that feels like home, the people who make you feel loved.

It came in waves at first, that feeling of heavy limbs, slogging thoughts, the perpetual cinch of your chest as if you were going to cry, with no reason to. In summer, it was easy to blame it on homesickness, adjusting to a new city, or getting used to living with your new roommates. The leaves changing brought new symptoms: staying in over the weekends, curled up in bed with the TV playing cable reruns for 48 hours straight, the lull of sleep overcoming you at odd hours. But this was merely because the cold was creeping in, and the daylight hours were waning.

Joel called one winter evening; well, the Caller ID read his name, but upon answering the phone, you were quick to realize it was someone else.

“Hello?”

“Posey, you answered! Hi!”

“Hey, Sare-Bear. What’s going on?” You find the means to prop yourself up on your pillows, turning down the volume of the TV and curling your knees toward your chest.

“Not too much, I asked Daddy if I could call you and he said yes, so I did! I was sad you couldn’t be home for Christmas last month. Santa brought me lots of presents! Oh, and Daddy took me to Disney World with Uncle Tommy after Christmas before school started again!”

Sarah’s chipper voice is scraping nails against your heart, tightening your lungs until all you can manage is shallow breaths. You hold it together long enough to hear about all her presents and the Miller family trip before you hear Joel in the background, coaxing the phone from his daughter.

“Daddy says he wants to talk to you so I have to give the phone to him. Bye, Posey, miss you!”

“Miss you too, sweet pea,” you choke out, sinking further into your bed with eyes filling with tears. You should be overjoyed to be hearing from Sarah; instead, it fills you with a reminder that you have no idea when you’ll see her again, no clue how to try to make yourself love this place.

“Hey, Mari.”

The sound of his voice was syrupy, the drawl in his tone basking you in the Texas sun that you missed so. He was like the warmth of a bonfire, the summer breeze messing with your hair while you rode in his truck with the windows down. Hearing him was like sinking into his mattress for the night, a solid, weighted arm slung around you safely.

“Hi, Joel.”

“Gotta say thank you again for the watch you sent me for my birthday. I know, you’re going to say that I’ve already said it about ten times but I need to do it again 'cause I just like havin’ a reminder of you every day.”

“You’re welcome,”  your voice wavers slightly, and you make a quick attempt to recover with a deep breath.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

No, not now, you can’t break now, you have to make it through the phone call.

Your tongue sits heavy in your mouth, your ears growing hot and tears pricking your eyes in pain as you hold it all in. One sniffle comes over you before you can catch it, concern lacing the other end of the call.

“Hey, darlin’—Hold on.”

Muffled thumps of footsteps heading upstairs crackle through the phone, the creak and click of a door closing popping in your ear pressed to the speaker.

“Sorry, I had to come up to my room. Now, what’s wrong, darlin’?” Joel’s gentle, airy tone breaks the final splinter of the dam, emotion overflowing.

“I shouldn’t let it all get to me, but, work has been awful, like all I've done this week is get coffee and take minutes for meetings, which don’t even get used because they have someone that gets to actually participate taking the minutes. And—and I can’t seem to find my place. My roommates are way closer with each other cause they’ve been working together before and at the office, it’s so cliquey and everybody keeps calling my accent cute—“

Attempting to make you smile, Joel interjects, “It is cute, sweetheart.”

“Well, you can say that ‘cause you’ve got one too. They just call me ‘Texas’ or ‘Y’all’ cause I said it once in front of the group. These people are all from around here, from generations of East Coast families and they know all about life here and constantly try to one-up each other and I can’t do it, Joel. I can’t—It’s too hard. It hurts so much.”

You’ve fully got tears streaming down your face, your voice thick with phlegm, and sniffling from your runny nose. 

“Oh, my sweet girl…” There’s a strain in his voice too, covered with a stuttered clearing sound. “Mariposa, my Mariposa, you can do It. I know it’s hard, I know. And mean people don’t make the adjustment any easier, but remember you’re the bigger person. Kill ‘em with kindness, baby.”

“It breaks my heart to hear you’re hurtin’, Mari. But you can do it. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, tough…Are you—are you talkin’ to anybody, sweetheart? A professional?”

“No…” you confess meekly, embarrassed by your lack of effort.

“It’s okay, baby, that’s okay. Maybe we can find you someone, alright? Might help to get out of the house, go see them, talk to them. We’ll find you someone, Mari. Promise.”

“Joel, I don’t want you to worry about me. You don’t have to help me find—“

“I want to. I worry about you constantly, mi amor. It’s hard not to when half of my heart’s across the country.” Silence falls over the line, picking up your hand to wipe at your tears. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

“I love you, Mariposa. Always going to.”

That was the last major phone call you had with him. He did help you find someone, a therapist, to talk to. But through them, you had come to the decision that this life wasn’t for you; corporate bullshit was leaving you burned out and defeated, and it was cooking up an unstable environment that let your sadness and disappointment fester into depressive episodes.

After that discovery, the choice was made and you phoned your parents to tell them you were planning on coming home at the end of your first-year contract if they would have you. They agreed, of course, to welcome you back home for as long as you need.  

You couldn’t bring yourself to call Joel. Hearing his disappointment in your quitting would ruin you. And, you couldn’t blame him if he got a bit angry either. You ran off and chose this life, and when it turned out to be shit, you were running home with your tail between your legs at the first opportunity. He expected so much from you and was so proud of you for choosing your dreams.

You couldn’t bear to tell him about your failure. So you didn’t.

Arrangements were made in the next few months: a replacement roommate found, a letter of resignation submitted, a one-way plane ticket purchased.

Joel wipes at his forehead, standing in the middle of the job site he was working by himself. It was rare for him to really get his hands dirty these days; Miller Construction has grown tenfold since it started, a wider team built and Joel taking the helm as more of a manager and owner. He had a hand in every project, being the one to design and plan everything, leaving the execution to be led by Tommy and his employees.

This was a particular job, though, and one he wanted to make sure was perfect.

Your dad had approached him in early Spring, walking over while Joel mowed the lawn. He explained what he was looking to get done — the basement converted into a studio apartment, with a new bathroom and kitchenette.

Joel agreed to help with the task, and out of curiosity he asked why they were making the change. Usually, it was in-laws, but maybe it was to increase the sale value. Maybe they were planning a move?

He heard it and zoned out immediately.

You? You were moving home?

He wracked his brain for any mention of these plans from you over the last few months, but he came up short when he realized it had been a couple of months since the last phone call. Life had gotten so busy, evenings spent with lawyers and Sarah home every weekend, trying to adjust her to the new arrangement as best as he could. There was his own news he had to tell you, but couldn’t ever find the right time to reach out when he knew how stressed out you were. He remembered missing a call from you, but he completely forgot to return it. Were you going to tell him then?

The phone call he made to you that night went to voicemail, and he left one in hopes you would return a call or message.

“Hey, Mariposa… Hope you’re doing well, amor. Your dad, uh, he came over today and asked me for help on the house. They wanna make the apartment a basement and—shit you definitely already know all of this… Are you—are you coming home?”

He couldn’t stand how he sounded, on the verge of begging and filled with nerves, so the voicemail ended after he asked. You didn’t return the call.

Standing back looking at his handiwork, he takes a deep breath. He’s poured over the decisions for every detail, your parents entrusting him with the project completely. He matched the floors to the rest of your house, but the walls are a soft green, one accented with wallpaper he painstakingly installed that is patterned with lavender, marigolds, and hydrangeas — small butterflies hidden in the flowers.

At one side of the studio space, Joel installed the bookshelf he made by hand in his garage, the built-in coming up halfway on the wall, molding covering the surface, and stained a rich, medium tone that complemented the paint choice. He imagined your rows and rows of beat-up paperbacks filling the spaces, knickknacks strewn along the top.

Your furniture was moved down from your bedroom, arranged by your mom to fit nicely within the space. It feels like you’re already living in this space, the touches of you from your things and the new items he tried to get perfectly ‘you’. A faint smile tugs at his lips, excitement trickling into his bloodstream and tingling all over.

You’re coming home.

The first day you were back, you didn’t leave your new room.

It was out of exhaustion, but mostly out of relishing in the new space, nearly brought to tears by the thoughtfulness of your parents. When they were showing you the new studio suite of yours, you couldn’t stop smiling, turning to your mom and asking, “How did you choose the paint color? And where’d you get the bookshelf?”

Your mom laughed, shrugging as she answered, “Believe it or not, Dad and I were so busy these last few months that we told Joel just to go wild! Well, not wild, but he made all the choices — only ran the cost by us.”

“Wait, Joel did this?”

“Oh yeah, did the whole thing for free labor, too. Stand up guy. Said he just wanted to help out a neighbor — and he did the whole thing himself too, none of his guys helped him. He did a great job, huh kiddo?” Your Dad gives you a grin, extending his arms as if showcasing the room you three were already in and poking around in.

“Yeah, he did do a great job. Guess I need to thank him…” You swallow hard and toy with your bedspread as you sit at the edge of your bed, one leg bent onto the mattress, “Thank you both for this and—and for letting me come home.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, kiddo. We love having you here, always. You stay however long you need, princess.” At that, it was simply closed, your parents never pushing for more detail than you were willing to offer at the time; both gave you a kiss on your head and a tender hug before they made their way back upstairs, leaving you to begin unpacking.

A fresh set of eyes rolls over the space, the context that each choice was Joel’s, made for you, lighting up small details. The color of the wood he used for the shelves, the wallpaper covered in your favorite flowers and butterflies; what catches your attention is a frame set on the surface of the built-ins. You pick it up, free hand jumping to your chest as you study the content.

A drawing, signed in the bottom right corner by a “Sarah M.” It’s of a garden, lush greenery with an opening in the middle. Joel stands at one side, with dark hair and a scribbled beard, Sarah in the middle with her bouncy curls. On the other side of Sarah is a depiction of you in your sundress from the day at the butterfly garden last summer. The closest thing to a photo of the three of you.

Placing the frame back where you had found it, you hold back your tears, rubbing circles in your thumping chest as you look around the room for five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

At the third out of four things you can touch, your eyes fall to your bed, pink plaid poking out from between your pillows drawing you nearer. You pull out the shape from your bedding, coming face to face with the long-eared, stuffed bunny that you passed down to Sarah last year. Flopsy.

You curl the animal into your chest, squeezing it as you climb onto your bed and lie down. Bringing it up to your face, you inhale the smell of the Miller house, the smell of your previous summers. It calms your rapid pulse, each deep breath lulling you to sleep.

Somehow, despite being each other’s next-door neighbors, you’ve managed to avoid Joel and he’s avoided you for the last few days. It wasn’t like you weren’t thinking about him — no, you were constantly thinking about him. Driving past his house, walking past his driveway, every time you wake up in your room and are faced with all of what he did for you. 

But finally seeing him, talking to him, you were going to be faced with the reality of telling him that you couldn’t make it, even with all of his support. The thought of watching his face fall when you have to admit you moved across the country for what amounted to nothing, broke his heart for dreams that ended up being the opposite of what you wanted.

Joel avoided you, simply to give you some time to adjust and also, to skirt around the fact that he wasn’t there for you when you must have needed him the most. Plus, he had his own news to share with you, and he kept it in to keep you from worrying. He knew if he had told you then, when you were away, you would be on the next flight home to help him. He couldn’t make you do that, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to you coming either. And now, he’ll have to admit all of this to you — to tell you that he kept this from you and watched your face fall into hurt.

This sunny Saturday morning, you’ve taken to walking door to door with all of the parents in the neighborhood, offering yourself to babysit or nanny to fill the summer while you figure out what you want to do with your life. Most were surprised to see you back home, but eager to take down your number, promising to reach out if they needed help. 

On your way back home, you’re on Joel’s side of the cul-de-sac, biting your lip as you get a view of his back in a white tee, shoulders straining as he stretches over the hood of his truck. He squeegees the front windshield, the truck covered in soap suds from him washing it.

As if feeling eyes on him, he turns over his shoulder to see you walking up. Completely turning around, he leans back against the hood, waving to you with a held-back smile. Joel eyes you in your cut-off shorts, licking his lips and humming to himself when he sees his navy t-shirt on you, the one he gave you last summer. 

“Now, Miller, I haven’t seen you wash that dirty ass truck once the past two summers. And now you’re out here in your little shorts and white tee as soon as I get back? Suspicious.”

On his driveway now, you stand a few feet apart, a bright teasing smile on your face. Joel can’t help but feel the familiar itch in his fingers, gripping the squeegee tighter. His butterfly is back in his stomach, stirring to life as its wings start fluttering at the sight of you, rising to his chest at the sound of your voice.

“Bit suspicious that this is the first time you just so happen to stop by to say hello, is it not, Mariposa?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, smirk tugging up one side of his lips and exposing his dimple.

“Wha—Oh, shut up. I was stopping by to offer to help you, for your information.”

“Oh yeah? Alright then, grab a sponge, sweetheart,” he nods to the bucket on the asphalt, tossing the squeegee into the grass. You pick up a sponge out of the bucket, ringing it out a bit before going over and starting to wash the other side of his car. Joel disappears around the side of the house, coming back with the hose running water to rinse the car off.

“Think you missed a spot, Joel,” you giggle, moving the sponge in circles.

“Y’know what? I think I missed a really big spot. Kind of on the other side by you.” He’s got a devilish smirk painting his face, mischief glinting his eyes in the sunlight. He stalks around the car, moving his thumb toward the end of the hose.

“Joel, don’t you dare…”

“What, darlin’? You look a little hot. Think you need to cool down.”

“Joel! Don’t, you shithead!”

In a last-ditch effort, you toss your sponge at his chest before trying to run away. It’s fruitless, shrieking as you feel the cold water spray at your legs. You turn around to face Joel chasing you with the hose, his thumb at the end to make the water pressure higher and shoot farther. It’s as if it’s raining, the water dripping from above; you cup your hands over your head, closing your eyes as you attempt to avoid the spray.

“Okay, okay! I've cooled down, please!”

All you hear is a laugh in response, the sound multiplying the goosebumps that the cold water has caused. With your eyes squeezed shut, you're blind as you run around the car, hitting directly into something solid, sturdy, but much softer than metal. A small ‘oof’ exhales out, one arm wrapping around you to steady you.

Opening your eyes, you see Joel with a wide, childish grin and a deepened dimple on his right cheek. The crinkles next to his eyes are showing and you can see the wet spot in his white shirt from the sponge hitting him.

“May I propose a treaty?”

“If it keeps you from spraying me with the hose, sure.”

He laughs again, sliding his hand across your back.

“You come over tonight and I won’t spray you again.”

“Hmm,” you hum as you consider it, eyes widening as Joel moves to get the hose on you again, “Okay, deal! Hose down, Miller!”

Happily, Joel throws the hose into the grass, tightening his arm in a half-hug. His lips as your ear, he speaks sweetly and kisses your cheek. “Good to have you home, Mari.”

You help him clean up the rest after he finishes rinsing the truck and shuts off the hose, lingering with him on the driveway.

He nods inside with a smile, “Someone else’s been waitin’ to see you if you wanna come in for a bit.”

“That would make my day. I’d love to see that someone,” you say through a smile, cheeks hurting from laughing and grinning for the past ten minutes.

Joel leads you inside, spotting Sarah on the couch. He walks ahead of you into the living space, heart swelling at the shocked reaction Sarah has to you standing in their house.

You are feeling the same — the ache in your bones from the last few months quells once you step foot in their house, limbs lightening when Sarah jumps off the couch and runs over, or well, runs into you.

“Posey! I can’t believe you’re back!” Sarah exclaims, giggling excitedly when you scoop her up into a hug and hold her flush against you. A kiss is pressed to the top of her head, a familiar scent in her hair from the product you use. You exchanged equally ecstatic greetings before she pulled you into the kitchen with Joel, sitting at the table to chat. Sarah sits across your lap, kicking her feet as she asks a million questions about why, how, what, and more.

You answer all of them, Joel interjecting for some as you explain to her that you’ll be here for the whole summer, at least, and that you’ll still be right next door.

Rubbing her back, you look down at Sarah with a gentle smile, “I have been meaning to come to ask you, sweet pea, but I found a mutual friend of ours on my bed when I came home. How did Flopsy end up back at my house? Did he get lost while your dad was working on my new room?”

“No, he isn’t lost! I know he’s there cause I put him there. I thought you might’ve missed him, and that he might make you happy and cheer you up because Daddy said you were missing home.”

Joel was unaware of the animal his daughter left behind, swallowing hard as she mentioned how he explained you were feeling homesick back then when you two had talked. His eyes are glued to you as he watches the emotions in your eyes, sadness flashing in them before you recover, visibly sitting up and the corners of your mouth tugging up into a gentle smile.

“He made me feel much better, sweet pea, so thank you. I can bring him back next time, okay?”

Sarah shakes her head firmly, making strong eye contact with you as she says, “No, you should keep him 'cause maybe you might need him while you get used to being home. He helped me get used to staying with Daddy all the time now, so I thought he could help you be at home again, too.”

You glance at Joel, who’s looking away from you now and toying with the edge of a placemat that’s laid out on the surface. Sarah turns her head, looking between the two of you before Joel clears his throat.

“Hey Bug, we gotta head out to get you over to Emily’s house for your sleepover tonight. Can you go get your bag from upstairs? And say goodbye to Posey.”

A quick hug and she is zipping off, leaving the two adults sitting at the table in a moment of silence. It’s Joel who breaks it again, looking at you with something unreadable on his face.

“You’re coming over tonight, yeah? I—I, um, I think we have some catching up to do.”

“Yeah, I think so too. I’ll see you tonight.” You stand up and he follows you to the door, taking your hand in his to pull you back as your hand reaches for the doorknob.

“It is really good to have you home, Mariposa. Feels like—I don’t know, life feels like summer again. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Joel. I’ll see you tonight,” you lean in, stretching up to kiss his cheek before slipping out of the door and into your backyard. 

At sunset, you slip out of the sliding glass door, walking across the pool area and into Joel’s backyard. Climbing up his deck stairs, you reach his back door and knock, biting back a smile when you can see him approaching with a puzzled expression. He opens the door, looking at you through the screen with a brown raised.

“Back door? This a new thing now?”

“S’closer to my new room.” You shrug and knock your knuckles on the metal frame of the screen door. Joel nods for you to step back, opening the door and holding it for you to come inside, shutting it and the windowed, wooden door behind it. Turning around to you, he steps forward, snaking his arms around your hips. A soft smile peels apart his lips with a relaxed sigh, leaning some of his weight into you.

“Hi, Mari.”

“Hey, J.”

“You smell good,” he says, muffled into your hair, lips pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “And I like that nickname.”

A quiet giggle breathes out from your mouth, hands coasting up and down his biceps. He moves to tuck your head under his chin, swaying back and forth in the middle of his kitchen.

“Thought we had stuff to talk about?” You question, biting your bottom lip and making no move to unfurl yourself from his arms. This is what you had been missing so much, feeling his radiating warmth and care. His tenderness, his love.

“We do. But I get to just hold you first, darlin’. Been waiting too long to do this again.” Squeezing you closer, he tucks his chin in to lay his lips against the top of your head, fingertips ghosting up your spine. It’s at least two minutes before he moves, untangling himself from you with one last kiss on your forehead.

“Alright, mi Mariposa, how about we sit on the couch? You can go first, sweetheart,” his voice crackles in your ears, feeling the reverb in your chest from his low drawl. Hands at your sides guide you into the living room, letting go to allow you to sit down, Joel taking a seat next to you and facing you. “You wanna go first, Mari? S’alright if you don’t…”

“No, I do. I think I should at least…” You sigh and focus your stare on a stitched seam of the back of the couch, tracing it with your fingers as you begin to recount what brought you home, “I don’t know if you remember that one phone call we had in the winter, but it was after that, you helped me find someone to talk to?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I started seeing them weekly, sometimes twice a week, and it helped to be able to talk about everything, but there wasn’t too much I could do to help the situation I was in. My, um, my therapist diagnosed me with depression.”

Your voice was thick, phlegm building up as your emotions started to get the best of you, stare still unfocused from Joel. His hand lays over yours, pulling you away from the movement and to his face. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only concern and piety. Without any words, he slides closer to you, pulling your legs across his lap and slipping an arm around your back.

“And in our sessions, I wasn’t really getting much better with the tools she was giving to me, so we made a plan. It started with her asking me where I felt the most myself, the most comfortable, where I could work on everything without the added…stress of work and feeling isolated. And then it was a bit of a no-brainer to make arrangements to come home. And—and I meant to call you, I really tried, Joel. But I couldn’t bear to have to tell you that I—I failed and that I broke your heart for nothing. You believed in me so much, and I couldn’t do it. I left everything behind, left you behind and nothing came out of it. And I couldn’t bring myself to call cause I couldn’t hear your reaction. I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back. If you would be mad or disappointed…”

You exhale with a long breath, tears flowing freely down your cheeks while Joel’s fingers work to wipe them away as quickly as they fall.

“Sweet girl…My Mariposa, I am so sorry you went through that. I’m so glad that you weren’t alone, that you had support, but I hate that I wasn’t there when you needed me,” he swallows and holds you against his chest, “I love you, sweet girl, always going to. I knew you had to go because I knew you might’ve regretted it if you didn’t try, but, darlin’, mi amor, I could give two shits if you live some big corporate life if it doesn’t make you happy. That is all I want for you, Mari, and if that wasn’t what you had up there, then I want you to find it wherever you are.”

You sniffle and wrap your arms around his neck, both of you embracing each other tightly — so tightly you nearly can’t breathe, but it feels comforting, like a weighted blanket over your body and soul.

“Selfishly, I’m glad you came home. Missed you, my sweet girl, and ‘m always gonna be here for you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, I should have been better, but there was just so much happening…” he admits, guilt and shame oozing out of his words and tone.

You pull back, brow furrowed as you hold the side of his jaw.

“Did something happen?”

“Um, yeah. Something did happen, in the spring…” he runs a hand over his face, sighing before he drops his forehead against yours, staying silent for a moment before sitting up again and gripping onto the fabric of your shirt.

“I have full custody of Sarah now.”

He watches as confusion falls over your face, melding into concern as he sees your thought process happening. He knows you’re thinking about Sarah, all of the little things she said earlier this afternoon must be clicking finally. The rhythm of his heart is racing, waiting for your questions.

“What? What happened? How? Are you okay, is Sarah okay?”

“It’s alright, Mari, I’m okay. Sarah’s adjusting. It was just sudden, and I had to scramble to get everything in order while also figuring out how to tell her. I really haven’t told her the truth, I c—I can’t do that to her…” His voice drops to a whisper as he trails off, eyes welling with tears of his own.

“Oh, J, babe, what happened? If you want to tell me, I’m here for you.”

He clears his throat, twisting the handful of fabric he’s got, “Tiff approached me after her last drop off when Sarah was inside the house, and she told me that…She basically said she met someone new, he was movin’ out of state for his job, and she wouldn’t be able to afford her child support anymore. I asked her what she was gettin’ at and she said, she said she wanted to sign her rights away. That she couldn’t do it all anymore.”

“I mean, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Sarah that—that her mom didn’t want to take care of her anymore. So I only told her that she would be gone for a while and that she would be staying at home for all her weekends for now. I don’t know what to do, baby. And it was all so chaotic, and I couldn’t call you 'cause I didn’t want to add to your stress with work and life up there.”

In response, you hold yourself around him silently, arms at his neck, straddling his lap and wrapping your legs around his waist like a koala in a tree. Joel relaxes into you, damp droplets soaking into your shirt and skin as he lays his head on your shoulder. All of his stress, his anxieties come out. He knows he should also be comforting you, for everything you’ve told him, but it’s like a door has opened and everything is piling out of him. He’s held it together for months now, his only person to talk to being Tommy, but he doesn’t want to burden his younger brother with all of his problems all the time.

Not that he wants to do that to you, either, especially with what you’ve been through, but at this moment, all he can think about is your touch, your warmth, your care.

“You could never be anything but an addition to my life, Joel. Even if it’s a problem, I want to help you solve it or be there for you while you work through it. ‘M here now, we both are, so we can get through our things together.”

At his next sniffle, he pulls away, staying wrapped up in you but sitting so he can see your face.

“Guess these last few months have been messes for both of us, huh?” You break the seriousness of the moment with your chuckle, sending Joel into a fit of laughter as he nods.

“Guess so. Might’ve been better if either of us called. Don’t think we’d be here right now crying.”

“That’s life though, isn’t it? At least ours. Miscommunication continually brings us back together. I think maybe we should quit that habit though.”

“I agree…” he smiles sweetly, eyes pouring adoration into yours, “All this talk about us, I guess my other question would be, what are we? I mean, you don’t have an end to the summer, right? So maybe we could—“

“Let’s give us a proper shot. No expiration date. We can just be together and see what comes of it, yeah?”

“Yeah, Mariposa, yeah. I would love that,” Joel leans in, catching your lips in a slow, syrupy kiss. It’s languid, stealing your breath and giving you his, melting your tongues together and sighing at the taste of you. He pulls back, ghosting his lips over yours with an infectious smile.

“So, is that it? Are you officially mine, Mariposa? Mi Mariposa es solo mi Mariposa (My butterfly is only my butterfly)?”

“Yours. And you’re mine, so don’t forget it,” you chuckle and he kisses you sweetly again, shaking his head as his nose fits against yours.

“Never going to forget that, are you kidding me? Hearing that automatically entered my top five best life moments.”

“God, you’re such an idiot…”

“Yeah, I am, baby. An idiot in love. A fool for you,” he laughs and tightens his grip around you, arms settling under your thighs as he stands from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs, “Also an idiot who’s getting to go to bed with the girl of his dreams. So, really, who’s an idiot now? Think I made some damn good decisions.”

“Can I take back my answer to your question?” You tease, shrieking when he drops you onto his bed, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head.

“No takebacks. Stuck with me now, Mariposa,” he climbs over you and kisses you again, deeper than before but as innocent as the giggly kisses you shared earlier.

“Good thing you’re a good kisser.”

“Yeah? Bet you know what else I’m good at, don’t you, sweetheart?” He sits back on his haunches, eyes dragging over you laying back on his bed, tongue poking out to lick his lips.

“Can I have you, darlin’? Pretty please?”

A hard swallow comes from your throat, crossing your arms over your stomach as you look up from the mattress to Joel.

“I want you to, but I’ve…I haven’t done anything since—“

“I understand, sweet girl. You wanna ease back into it with me, hermosa? We’ll go slow,” he watches you nod, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt to under your breasts, “No bra? Sigues siendo mi diablita, no? (You’re still my little devil, aren’t you?)”

As you sit up, he tugs the materials over your head, folding over to attach his lips to one of your already pebbled nipples. A whimper slips from your mouth, tangling fingers into his hair and arching into his mouth. He pays the same attention to the other side, soft moans filling the room.

Joel separates from you with a pop of his lips, grinning as he reaches for the back collar of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head. You happily sigh as you run your hands across his strong chest and shoulders, tickling your fingertips down his stomach as he watches you slip his shorts’ waistband down a few inches.

“Mm, I have an idea, sweetheart…You wanna try something we haven’t done before?” Joel kisses your lips before peppering kisses along your jaw.

“What d’you have in mind?”

“Take the rest of your clothes off, darlin’. ‘M gonna sit up at my headboard and you come sit on my lap, m’kay?”

You follow his instructions, licking your lips as you watch him stand and strip in front of you, his hard cock slapping against his stomach, leaking already out of need. He sits on his bed, head leaned against the headboard with pillows supporting his back. With your shorts and panties thrown into a heap with his clothes, you walk over the mattress on your knees, lifting one to the other side of his thighs.

“So beautiful, Mariposa. The most beautiful,” he sighs as he licks into your mouth, grabbing handfuls of your ass, “How did I get so damn lucky?”

“Could say the same thing about you, J. Pretty boy.” 

He chuckles against your lips, shaking his head. “Not as pretty as you, mi amor. Estás preciosa. Mucho más preciosa que cualquier flor o puesta de sol o estrella. La cosa más hermosa que he visto.”

“What does that all mean?”

“You are gorgeous. Much more gorgeous than any flower or sunset or star. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Joel speaks softly, tenderness in his eyes as he brushes your hair away from your face. 

Heat spans across the back of your neck and up to the tips of your ears, heart pounding from the look he is giving you. It feels like it’s breaking down any facade you had left, completely exposed to him with the bashful smile on your face.

“I love you, Mariposa,” he punctuates with a stealing kiss, one hand roaming around to your front to slip between your legs. Two fingers collect your arousal on their tips, dragging some to your clit as you sigh into Joel’s mouth. 

“Now, ‘m gonna touch you, baby, and if you want, you touch me at the same time, yeah?” He pulls away from your lips, nudging his nose into your cheek.

“I want to, I really want to.”

His fingers move to your entrance, gathering more along his whole fingers before pulling from between your legs and wrapping his own hand around his cock. He gives himself a few long strokes, looking into your eyes.

“Think you can spare some for me, sweet girl? Got you fucking drenched from barely even touchin’ you,” he sighs contently, leaning his head back more, “Spit on it for me, baby, and use your own hand, m’kay?”

You nod, eager to follow instructions. Folding forward, you drop saliva onto his waiting cock, watching as it slips down the side and mixes with your slick. He takes his hand away and your own wraps around his base, starting slow and teasing strokes.

“Fuck,” he exhales, dragging it out as long as his sigh is, “Missed you so much, sweet girl. You’re my sweet girl now, aren’t you? Only mine.”

His fingers find your core again, slow circles matching the energy of your strokes. A whine slips out, brows scrunching as you attempt to move your hips to get more friction.

“Please, Joel, please. Want more…”

“You want more, mi Mariposa? You want me to fuck you with my fingers, hm?” At your rapid nod, he chuckles darkly, nipping at your neck.

“Gotta give me more to get more, sweetheart. ‘M aching for you, just giving you the same treatment.”

“Mean,” you breathe out, gasping as his thick fingers tease your entrance.

“You ain’t seen mean yet, cariño,” he kisses you again as he slips one finger inside of you, the pace of your hand moving faster when you get more of what you wanted. He groans, the sound muffled into your tongue as it flicks against his, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit. You start to bounce your hips in rhythm with your hand, imagining his cock inside of you again.

With a lewd noise, he pulls away, shallow breaths fanning across your collarbone.

“Mm, that’s right, baby. Fuck yourself on my fingers while you stroke my cock.”

His voice makes you flood his finger even more, easily slipping another into you for a few strokes before adding a third.

“Feel full, sweet girl? Feel anything like my cock?” He whispers to you as you continue to ride his hand, moving your hips and hand faster.

“So full, J. Not as good as your cock, nothing ever is, but fuck—oh fuck! Feels so good.” Your eyes close tightly as the frays of tightly coiled rope start to break inside of you. Joel takes over as your body stills with stimulation, fucking his fingers into you quickly with wet noises while his own hips move under your grip to fuck your hand.

“Come for me, my sweet girl. Let me feel what I’ve missed about this pussy. Still mine, isn’t it?”

“Yesyesyes, Joel! Oh my god, fuck I’m coming!” You open your eyes as the last fibers of the rope snap, pleasure radiating over every nerve while he continues to move under you and inside of you. The aftershocks of your orgasm fade as he whimpers in front of you, shots of warm cum coating your hand and his stomach.

“Oh fuck, Mari…” Joel picks his head up and looks at you with a breathless laugh and smile, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he pulls his fingers out of you.

“I love you, my girl. Mi Mariposa. Let’s get you cleaned up and get to sleep, yeah?” 

Slumber reaches the edge of your vision, drooping your eyelids as Joel guides you to his en-suite, washing your hands for you before washing his, and wiping a warm cloth between your legs. He peppers kisses to your head, shoulders, and neck as he does it all, whispering sweet nothings as he pulls you back into his bed.

“Night, Mari.”

“Night, J…Mm, before I forget, we’re getting you new sheets tomorrow. No more navy, you’ve got a girl in your life now.”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head and holding you closer to his side as he exhales, “Sure thing, my sweet girl. Can’t have all the other ladies I randomly bring up to my room think I don’t have a woman in my life, Mariposa.”

The tone is overly sarcastic and you flick his chest half awake.

“It’s not for other women to know, it’s so I don’t feel like I’m with a junior in college. Makes you look like a frat star.”

Joel laughs louder, your head shaking with his chest moving and a smile turning your lips up, before he calms himself and strokes your spine, “Okay, okay, it is the task for the morning. We’ll pick up Sarah and head to…”

“HomeGoods.”

“Alright, HomeGoods it is. Now sleep.”

Sarah darts ahead of you both as Joel holds the door open, beelining in her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas to the first open booth she sees. Easily sliding into one side, she moves toward the wall as you two approach, patting the spot next to her.

“Posey, come sit with me!”

With a smile, you take the offered seat and look over to Joel as he settles in on the opposite side, shaking his head as he gives Sarah a playfully hurt face.

“You don’t want me to sit next to you, Bug?” he pouts.

“I wanna sit with Posey 'cause I always have to sit with you when we go places. It gets boring.”

You laugh loudly and cover your mouth when you get glares from other customers, Joel’s jaw drops for a moment before he looks at you and starts laughing as well.

“Never lose your honesty, mija.”

Sarah doesn’t seem phased by her dad’s response, moving to sit on her knees in the booth and look over the kids’ menu. Reaching up, you fluff her curls, smiling at her when she turns to look at you.

“How was the sleepover, Sare-Bear? I see you got some tinsel in your hair, it’s very pretty.”

“It was fun, but I kinda missed my stuffed animals and my own bed. I wanna have a sleepover at our house, Daddy,” Sarah looks up from the menu and to Joel, awaiting an answer. With one look at Joel, you can see the idea makes him nervous, having a handful of young girls to entertain for a whole night as a single dad. Sarah is one thing, she’s his and he can handle her attitude or boredom, but with other kids, he isn’t so sure he has a lot of tolerance.

“Um, I’m not sure, Bug. Can I think about it?” he asks with his brow furrowed, reaching across the table to nudge her arm with a smile. Sarah sighs and sits back, clearly disappointed in her father’s answer.

“Well, what about if you had a sleepover with me? I would be honored to be invited over. We could watch movies and I could do your hair or your makeup. We could paint our nails — a whole girls’ night. Plus your dad,” you turn back to Joel with a grin, winking as he chuckles.

Sarah immediately perks up, grinning wildly and bouncing in her seat, “You would come over for that, Posey? I want to have a sleepover with you. Please, Daddy, please can Posey come over?”

Joel gives you a knowing look, the secret shared between you two not living on for much longer, and he nods with a grin, “Sure, Bug. Posey can come over and stay whenever you want.”

Breakfast is filled with conversation about what you could do at said sleepover, making plans for movies, and going to the drug store to get some new nail polishes. Joel orders for the table so you can stay engrossed in conversation, and he can’t help but put a hand to his chest as he observes the two of you talking like you are best friends, despite the nearly twenty-year age difference. You treat Sarah like your own, and he reminds himself to thank you for that, someday.

When the chocolate waffles are set in front of you and Sarah, and a typical two eggs, toast, and bacon meal is laid in front of Joel, the conversation slows. After taking a sip of water, Joel faces Sarah, sharing one quick glance with you.

“So, mija, do you remember last summer when you were telling me about those classmates of yours that were boyfriend and girlfriend and they spent recess together?”

“Yeah, Luke and Katie. They are not boyfriend girlfriend anymore,” she says with an exasperated sigh, taking another bite of her waffle.

“Well, that’s too bad…Anyways, Bug, d’you remember what you told me when Posey was moving away? Like what you told me I should ask her?” You forgo your breakfast for a moment, sipping your water and darting your eyes between Joel and Sarah. She seems perplexed for a minute, tapping her chin as she thinks back in her young memory.

“I think I remember, Daddy. Why?”

Joel adjusts in his seat, clearing his throat — he’s never had to have this type of conversation with Sarah. Every woman he dated before had never gotten to this point, and after over two years of this back and forth with you, over a year of being head over heels for you, he knows it’s appropriate and that it’s time and that this is going to last until the end. If everything goes, well, how he is hoping it will go, this will be the only time he has to have a conversation like this with Sarah.

If only he knew how you were just as nervous, clammy hands gripping your condensation-covered plastic cup tighter and looking over at Sarah. Sure, she loves you, but that is as her nanny. As a family friend. Would she change her opinion if you were dating her dad? Your mind told you that you couldn’t be sure despite the way your heart was yelling at you to tell you that it would be all fine.

“I was askin’ you all this 'cause I have a big question I wanted to ask you. It’s okay to be honest, princess, I want you to know you can say whatever it is you feel, yeah?” Sarah nods in confirmation, encouraging Joel to continue, “What would you think about Posey being my girlfriend?”

“Is she your girlfriend, Daddy?” Her head whips to the side, curls bouncing as a grin grows on her face, “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”

The younger Miller volleys her gaze between you and Joel, eyes widened with her brows raised as she sits up eagerly. You make eye contact with Joel, nodding to him with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, mija, Posey’s my girlfriend now. Can you believe she said yes to your silly dad?” He teases and can’t help but laugh along with her as she giggles excitedly, the infectiousness of it bringing out a laugh from you.

“I’m so excited! Wait, so that means Posey is gonna be hanging out with you lots of times? And she’ll be at our house and can play with me?” Her tiny arms wrap around your bicep closest to her, leaning into your side. You drop your head onto hers and both of you look over at Joel.

“As much as Posey wants to come over, we’d be happy to have her, right Bug?” He smiles sweetly at you, holding your eyes for a lingering moment before Sarah pipes up again.

“Well, you can’t take up all the time Posey is over, Daddy, ‘cause I want to hang out with her, too.” Her arms tighten possessively and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“No need to worry about that, sweet pea,” acting as if you’re sharing a secret with her, you lean in, “Don’t tell your dad, but I think we’ll hang out the most.”

Sarah giggles at your joke, leaning back in the booth and letting go of your arm. Joel’s daughter starts to list everything she wants to do this summer, now with you instead of only her dad, and you look up to face Joel for a moment. He shrugs and smiles at you, reaching over and stealing a bite of your waffle. At your gasp, he chuckles and grins smugly, chewing the swiped sweet.

“Hey, Daddy, that’s not very polite,” Sarah reprimands, turning back to her food.

“I was makin’ sure it wasn’t poisoned, mija, just like I’m going to make sure yours isn’t too,” he takes the same from her plate, and in retaliation, you reach over and grab a piece of bacon, splitting it in half and giving one to Sarah.

“Hey! I don’t have that much bacon, y’all have massive waffles.”

“Sharing is caring. That’s what you always say to me, Daddy.”

“Yeah, J, sharing is caring. Can’t give the lesson if you can’t follow it.” You playfully stick your tongue out and Sarah imitates it, too. Joel sighs and shakes his head, leaning back in the booth.

“Is the two of you teaming up on me gonna be a thing now?”

“Yeah,” you answer at the same time as Sarah, the three of you laughing with each other.

It was bold to come to a HomeGoods on a Sunday, all of the aisles packed with people browsing on this relaxing weekend, stowing away in the air conditioning before venturing to the other stores in the commons. Sarah grips your hand, poking around the shelves while Joel stands behind you, a hand on your waist to keep you close.

The aisle filled with sheet sets is finally discovered by the three of you, excusing yourselves to the center of the aisle past a few fellow shoppers, looking up and down before facing Joel.

“Alright, your choice. Anything but plain ol’ navy, please.”

Joel’s eyes follow the same path that yours had, combing over the options before shrugging and staring down at you again.

“You choose for me.”

“Okay, that is not the point, it is still your room and your house.”

“I made choices for your room for you, sweetheart, you choose for me now,” his timbre rings in your ears as he presses his lips into the side of your head, fingertips rubbing circles in your lower back. Sarah wanders off down the aisle and Joel calls out a warning to stay where he can see her, waiting for you as you peruse the options. After some consideration, you select a thin pinstriped set and a plain white one, holding the sets against your chest.

“What d’ya think of these? Like either of ‘em?” Joel checks them out, shrugging and smiling.

“Both look great to me. You wanna look at anything else, mi amor?” He leads you out of the aisle, taking the sets and holding them under his arm. Pursuing the store, the three of you weave around aisles, checking out some other things. Sarah excitedly runs ahead to explore the kids’ section, drawn in by glitter, sequins, and bright colors. Joel takes your hand with his open one, nodding to some furniture on display.

“D’you like any of that?” You hum, turning your attention to him when you hear his question, following his gaze to the mix of pieces. Shrugging, you squeeze his hand and grab his bicep with your opposite one.

“The chair’s nice. Personally, I prefer my handcrafted, artisan bookshelf though.”

Joel scoffs and laughs a bit at your descriptors, “M’glad to hear that, the amount of splinters I got for that thing was brutal.”

“There’s literally blood, sweat, and tears put into it then,” you tease, continuing to scan over the goods, “None of this compares to a Joel Miller original.”

“I mean, thank you, sweetheart, but I do want you to feel at home with us. I’d get whatever you liked—well, maybe not something I could make 'cause it’s less expensive for me to just do it, but I want you to have a hand in our home. Make it as much of your space as it is ours.”

“I do feel at home with you both cause it’s the two of you. I mean, I didn’t really feel completely at home until I was at your place. The drawing from Sarah and Flopsy and the fact that you built my studio for me made me feel so much more comfortable, but it was like something really settled when I saw you.” 

“Y’know, I like having little reminders of you every day, darlin’. Bedsheets, stolen bites of waffle, the stuffed animals on Sarah’s bed, my watch from you,” he lifts his left wrist to show off the round face with the army green band, kissing your cheek, “And I want whatever you are willing to give me, even if it is just those tiny moments. I would be content with that for the summer; no matter where you decide to end up, I’d cherish all the small things with you.”

Looking up at him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, “Think we both know what I’m gonna decide, J.”

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @beee-haw @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @jupitren @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @livingdeadmaria @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost

[metalhoops]

Steddie Week Day 3: 

Discover/ First Kiss/ Kiss on My List by Hall and Oates

Steve’s first kiss was with Tommy Hagen. He was eleven and neither of them had spoken about it since. 

Steve’s first official kiss was with a girl named Melissa. He’d been fourteen, and she’d been a whole year older than him. At the time the twelve-month age gap felt like it spanned the length and breadth of the Indiana state lines. She’d smelled like Farrah Fawcett's hair spray and tasted like coconut lip balm. By the time he turned fifteen, he’d kissed half a dozen girls, and he’d felt the same Indiana-length distance between himself at fourteen and himself at fifteen. As the years went on, Steve lost count of the number of girls he’d kissed. Some mattered more than others. 

At twenty, Steve was looking for quality over quantity, so he could count the number of girls he’d kissed in the last two years on one hand. Still, it surprised Steve to hear Robin and Eddie commiserating over their lack of any first kisses one afternoon at the family video store. 

“Wait, so you’re telling me you two haven’t kissed anyone, ever?” Steve echoed, looking up from stacking the latest returned rentals, making sure he’d heard them right. 

“You ever tried being a lesbian in a small town, Dingus?” Robin asked, leaning against the front counter. Eddie made a sound of agreement from his spot in the horror section. 

Steve was sure Eddie liked men. He was doubly sure Robin knew, but neither had said anything to him about it, so he hadn’t pushed. It hurt, knowing Eddie had likely asked Robin not to tell him, but he got it. He’d been a dick in high school. He’d hoped Robin would be able to reassure Eddie he was cool with it, but he knew how people thought. Being okay with Robin being a lesbian and Eddie being gay were two different things. He’d wanted to assure Eddie he wasn’t like that, but he never knew how to broach the topic. 

“I see your point but, it’s not... impossible. I mean- Eddie, you’re left-handed, right?” Steve asked out of nowhere. 

Eddie stood on his toes to peer over the shelf of videos dividing them, taking a piece of his hair and toying with it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Yeah. Thanks for noticing?” Eddie breathed, sounding perplexed. 

“I mean, everyone knows someone who’s left-handed, right? There were three people in our senior year who had those weird left-handed desks in Mrs Click’s class. So, ten percent of the population is left-handed, right? And ten percent of the population is gay. That’s gotta mean there’s at least one age-appropriate and available person to kiss in Hawkins. You’ve just gotta find ‘em and take the initiative,” Steve reasoned with a shrug of his shoulders. Eddie was giving him a disbelieving smirk. 

“Did you just try to use math to tell Robin she’s got no game because she can’t find a girl to kiss? And here I was thinking you were an ally,” Eddie mused, resting his chin on the top shelf.  

Steve shrugged and returned to stacking. The word ‘ally’ sat strangely with him. 

“How old were you when you had your first kiss, Stevie?” Eddie asked curiously. Normally he’d say fourteen, but today he decided to tell the truth. 

“Eleven.” Eddie let out a low whistle. 

“That’s young. The Harrington charm actually worked back then, huh?” 

Steve rolled his eyes and grumbled, ‘shut up,’ under his breath. 

“Well, you can’t stop there, Casanova. What’s her name? I haven’t heard this story,” Robin chipped in, sounding intrigued. 

Steve took a deep breath. He felt sheltered from the other’s eyes from where he kneeled behind the shelves. He decided it was time to tell the truth. 

“Thomas,” Steve whispered, feeling a sudden tremble in his fingers. 

The silence was deafening inside the video store. He could hear the distant call of birds and the screech of tires on asphalt drifting in from the outside world, but neither Eddie nor Robin made a sound.  

Steve felt like a dying star, moments from collapse. His shoulders were hunched and his breaths were uneven. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Only after the words left his mouth had he thought how badly the confession could go. 

Steve felt the weight of a body pressed against his back and Robin’s thin arms wrapped tightly around his middle, holding his shaky frame together. 

“Thomas, as in Tommy H? Total dud, dude,” Robin breathed, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. Steve tried not to fall face-first into the ‘Action’ section as her weight bore down on him. It was comforting. He chuckled and nudged his face against her.

“Yeah, total dud,” He agreed. 

“Is there room for one more in there?” 

Steve looked up to find Eddie crouching in front of the two, awkwardly pretzeled together, half on the floor of the video store. Steve gave a little nod and felt another pair of arms around him. 

He wasn’t sure how long the three stayed like that. When they broke apart, it was almost closing time.

“I’m going to head out, guys,” Eddie uttered, looking as though he wanted to say more. 

“Steve’ll walk you to the van, won’t you, Steve?” Robin prompted, looking between the two thoughtfully. 

“I... yeah?” Steve mumbled. Robin shot him a thumbs up over his shoulder as he trailed after Eddie to his van. 

Eddie’s eyes were fixed on the ground as he kicked dirt off his faded white Reeboks and buried his hands deep within the pockets of his jeans. 

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie said, looking up for a moment to survey the empty parking lot, as though checking for the prying eyes of the cultist-hunting-jocks of years past.

“Yeah?” 

“Tommy Hagan really is a shit first kiss,” He chuckled, taking a step closer. Steve snorted and raised a brow. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for your input, dude.” 

“You know who I’d choose for a first kiss?” Eddie asked, the air between them electric. The distant birds were silent, as though the sky were too thick to fly through. 

Steve thought he knew where this was going, but he wanted Eddie to take his hand and lead him there. 

Eddie’s ringed fingers brushed across his neck and pulled him closer. 

“Go on then,” Steve pushed with a wicked grin.

“Take the initiative, Munson.” 

That was all the prompting Eddie needed to push Steve roughly against the side of his van and crash their lips together. It was a proper first kiss, with the clumsy colliding of teeth, bumping of noses and awkward trade-off of tongues. It wasn’t the perfect kiss, but it was the perfect moment.

Steve wanted to teach Eddie the art of hands in hair and skin on skin. He wanted to find out what made Eddie tick, map out the parts of his body that made his toes curl and his breath grow shallow. 

It was their first kiss, but Steve sure as hell wouldn’t let it be their last. 

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Gwen's superhero identity, grief, and what her relationship with Miles means to her

GUESS WHO, ONCE AGAIN, WAS WRITING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE, AND WROTE SO MUCH IT WARRANTED ITS OWN POST.

How I keep doing this I don't get it.

Regardless, this post will talk about Gwen using her hero identity instead of working on her emotional situation; and how she holds onto that identity until it makes her lose everything.

So, what is her situation at the beginning of the movie?

Pretty depressing.

Okay, I don't think it needs to be said how much losing Peter messed up Gwen. We don't really know the situation in full detail, however, we are aware that they had known each other for 12 years (As stated by George at the beginning of the movie during the interview,) and considering all the memories he has with the family, needless to say, Peter has been a part for most of Gwen's life.

No idea how was her situation before Peter's death, but I don't think is weird to believe she didn't have many friends besides Peter; maybe people she got along (like her bandmates,) were okay to hang out with, but Peter was the closest to her. Maybe this wouldn't be the case, if it wasn't for Spider-woman.

Here is the thing, did Gwen probably decide to put her distance after Peter's death? For sure, do I think Gwen probably leaned too much into the superhero lifestyle? Also yes.

I think the clue to that is in this part, where we see Gwen changing between her Spider-woman suit and her civilian self.

We could believe part of this is because of her grief, she learned more about her identity as a spider-woman, though I still think she may have focused a lot on it already.

I don't have a lot of proof, but I do have how her fear and her protectives of her hero cost her.

(And yes, I see Miles in the reflection, we will mention him later.)

Again, one image with many frames, because we need to make this quick.

All of this shows that Peter tries, in a way, to breach the gap between them. The only proof I have of this is 1) How Peter was getting pictures of Gwen as Spider-Woman, 2) How he was trying to defend her, believing in her despite what the police, news, and Gwen's dad say.

(Hey, is it just me, or do you think how Miles would end up drawing Gwen because he misses her, and Peter being afar from Gwen, taking pictures of both sides of her, just like Miles draws her both as Spider-Woman and her normal self?)

Guys, you don't want to know the number of times I cried during this scene of Gwen and Peter.

And is tragic on multiple levels, but something that really breaks me in this particular scene, is when Peter is calling her name, revealing how all of this was for how much he admires and looks up to her, and in his last moments, he tries to take out the mask, to see her face.

...And Gwen, in panic, trying to protect herself and her identity, refuses to let him take the mask. Meaning the last thing Peter saw, was the superhero version of Gwen, a version I don't doubt he admired and loved, but was a mask her best friend put to protect herself, and refused to let him see her for who she truly was one last time before he passed away.

I am not sure, what type of bond Peter and Gwen had, if they were crushing, just best friends, etc. For me, Peter at least had a crush on Gwen, and for Gwen well, what they were.

Because let me tell you something, what Peter and Gwen were was more than friendship, but doesn't necessarily need to be romantic; I think Gwen could have fallen for Peter, but for now he was him.

Why this is important? Because of all their history; Peter has known her since she was around 4 years (if we assume Gwen is 16 when George said they had known each other for 12 years, thought depending on the timeline Gwen maybe be 15 and know Peter since 3.) They had been close to each other for most of their lives, they had shared a table for what seemed almost daily, I wouldn't be surprised if part of the reason they were close, was because Gwen lost her mom, and Peter lost his parents, and they became friends while living in the same building with George, Ben and May supporting each other with the kids.

(Yes, that last part is a headcanon, until we have proof of the contrary I will roll with that. Feel free to have your own.)

And then Gwen keeps the secret, she tries to act dumb in front of Peter, refusing to let him. She probably is used to defending Peter, and depending on the scenario this can be weighted on him in different ways (aka if Ben died or not, if Peter has seen how much Gwen risks her life and is worried about her, if wants to be strong to help other and stand at her side.)

So this hits even harder because of how much Peter matters to her, and she didn't realize that this was driving a gap between them, a gap Peter try to close by all the means necessary until he died.

This is not to say Gwen is to blame for Peter's death, FUCK NO. Peter risking something like this means some type of doubt or insecurity that is a lot heavier than just a girl, maybe we could talk about how the school system failed Peter by allowing the bullying to continue to happen (After all, Gwen shouldn't need to defend him, this shouldn't need to happen.) Even if this hurt Peter, Gwen cannot be responsible for his well-being, close or not, this shouldn't be her job.

However, do I think Gwen could feel guilty about it, for how this identity drove them to this point? OH YES.

She said so in Into the Spiderverse "I couldn't save my best friend Peter, and I don't do friends anymore." She isolated herself for this.

Except that hey, remember how Miles was the exception? Time to talk about Miles!

I find the wording here important, "before Miles, there was Peter." She is putting Miles at the same level as Peter.

Now, I don't think Gwen means she had a crush on Peter (to be honest, I am not sure if at this point Gwen admitted to herself what Miles meant for her, seriously half of what this girl does is related to hiding her feelings even from herself.) But the role they play in her life.

While Miles didn't know Gwen as much as Peter, I think we need to remember what Miles and those ideas in 1610 could have meant for her.

At this point, Gwen doesn't have any friends, is grieving, and her dad is looking to capture her, her life sucks basically.

Then she ends up traveling to another dimension, while not exactly fun for the most part (or painless.) She had the chance to lay low, reset from her current drama; heck she even got to meet Miles a bit before he was officially bitten, and met him just how he is, and at least find him funny.

And I think while short-lived, she being around Miles as spider-woman helped her, because Miles represents the bridge between those worlds.

She met him when he was starting, and while she has been doing this for 2 years, that means she has been painfully enduring this alone for 2 years.

Miles is someone her age, someone who enjoys being around even if it isn't about being spiders, and also understands the pains of being a hero and the pressure that is on your shoulders, as well as the excitement and the desire to do the right thing.

Peter was a big part of her life, but Miles represents all of her being seen, for someone who likes her for who she is, and who she can be honest with.

For the most part.

Because she still clings to the mantle.

Look, feel free to call me crazy, but I believe this part, is sadly, related to this.

I just established how Gwen had put her identity as spider-woman over other people, including those close to her and those who could have been close to her, allowing Miles as an exception basically because they are both spiders, and being a big reason why Miles is important to her.

One way or another, this cost her, and what she does do when she loses someone? Concentrating on being a Spider-woman, of course!

While I don't doubt Gwen is genuinely excited about being part of the organization, something that I can't stop thinking about is how no Jessica Drew, Peter B, Hobie, or anyone in the organization, could feel the gap Gwen felt. The gap that drove her to spend an afternoon with Miles despite what was at stake.

And Jess's being Gwen's mentor is something that is the reason this post keep coming, (because George's parent skills, Gwen clinging to being a hero, are all connected to that.)

Ultimately, it doesn't matter how much she clings to being a Spider-Woman, it can't replace a bond with someone.

Also, as @ficsinhistory said in a reply to one of my post, you are right! Gwen is definitely Captain Stacy's daughter.

Because while he clings to being a cop, not just as a job, but also as his way of life and moral compass (Which gets in the way of his connection with his daughter,) Gwen also clings to being a hero, instead of dealing with her grief and her fears. She probably did the same because well that's what she learned from him right?

Hey does this mean generational traum- I'll See Myself Out.

This, is the face Gwen makes while Miguel tells Miles he needs to let Jeff die.

A lot of people wonder why so many spiders are doing this, and while that's another massive post I am working on (more investigation, why? Because why I would make things easy for myself.) Let's give the clip notes version here.

The surprise is not that Gwen is going along, is how absolutely heartwrenching is to see this when you put in context everything.

You see, for a while, Gwen cling to being spider-woman because it was a way to avoid her grief, now? She doesn't have anything.

While she puts emphasis on her hero work, let's remember what is probably going on in her universe: Gwen is supposed to be a student, to be in a band, to be a regular teen. Being Gwen Stacy is what she has known most of her life, and what should be her main focus, and now everything she ever knows? As far as she is aware, she lost it, she can't have her life back without risking having her own dad send her to jail.

I cannot call Gwen homeless because she has the organization, but that's not much better. Remember how she believes if she fucks this up, she could get sent back home, meaning going to prison and having her dad try to persecute her?

Forget she using this to not deal with her trauma, she was forced to pick up this life because it was this or still lose everything, but everyone may hate her.

The question is now why Gwen did it, is how anyone can see this situation, and can the question ethical when Gwen is having her risk her life, and not in the life and death kind of way, but the type that is the reason life is worth it.

And she clings to this until the bitter end, until-

She got her own band.

We don't know, what will happen in the third movie; but I don't think would be crazy to believe they would try to keep in contact if that's possible.

Here is the thing, regardless of any previous friendship Gwen had with any of them, the fact is this: Gwen said it herself, she is mostly a solo act, and even with thousands of spiders, she can't bring herself to be vulnerable and open up from the most part. Not having people wasn't the problem anymore, was her being unsure to do the first step.

And she has this band, because she wants to save Miles, because regardless of any mistakes she may had done, he is worth the risk, he is worth fighting for, and if she needs to get help to do right by him, so be it.

So who knows, perhaps Gwen gets to stick with this band, all because she decided to think less about what is the right thing to do and to fight for the people who are worth fighting for.

Because Miles became that first friend after Peter, she had the chance to open up and make more, as well as recover those she thought she lost (like her dad.)

Wouldn't that be a beautiful way to end her arc?

[inkbyajm]

of unspoken words

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tropes: fluff, angst, hurt-comfort, slow-burn

warnings: 11 year age-gap (reader is 24-25, joel is 35-36), clothing description, arguing

word count: ~6300

author’s note: this took forever to put out because life got in the way, but i did have fun writing angst. this chapter takes course in a span of a year. goodbye, 2003.

————-　❈　————-

Five

He found her in the crowd of the Auditorium shores.

Four

Her back facing him, she stood in front of Tommy as he looked down at her.

Three

Grasping her shoulders, Tommy flashed her a smile.

Two

He leaned down, his face disappearing behind her head.

One

Joel didn't have to see in the darkness to know what was happening.

Happy New Year!

"Hey!" Joel snapped out of his daze, frowning at Tommy who was behind the wheel. "You sleepin'?"

"No, just...thinkin' of stuff."

"Good, 'cause we're here." 

Tommy had begged Joel to go out drinking with him for some time, the latter never feeling up to it: he was either tired, busy, hanging out with Sarah, or whatever other excuses he came up with. The only reason they were walking up the steps to 'Lucky Luke's' was because he had lost the bet on how long their project was going to take. They finished much earlier than Joel had confidently anticipated. He had a suspicion his brother set him up for failure, but he didn't bother to bring it up, wanting to enjoy his evening after a successful job. They entered the establishment which turned out to be bigger than it appeared from the outside. The interior was old and rustic, everything from the chairs to the panels on the walls was made of hardwood. There were all kinds of lights strung up about the ceiling, the walls were decorated with pictures of patrons, sports-related posters, number plates, flags, and so on. The music, thankfully, was quiet enough for people to hear each other. The brothers sat down at the far end of the L-shaped counter, waiting for someone to take their order.

"Remind me why we didn't go to Buddy's?" Joel asked somewhat annoyedly. He wasn't the biggest fan of changing environments.

"Because fuck Luiz and his overpriced beer. Besides, I have a feeling you'll find this place a lot more interesting."

Rubbing his face, Joel scrunched his nose. "Christ, Tommy, we've never been here. How do you know their shit don't taste like flavored tap water?"

"I trust the person who works here." Tommy replied, looking ahead.

The eldest Miller followed his gaze and saw her there, rapidly getting two glasses from under the bar and serving a young couple their cocktails. Fumbling with her notepad, she made her way across to the pair, pen in hand.

"Hi, how can I help you?" and it was only then that she looked up to see Tommy and Joel with their arms folded in front of them, the former giving her a childish smile along with a wave. "What- how'd you find out I work here? Did you stalk me? Should I get the FBI involved?"

"Good to see you too, (Y/N/N). Heard some of the guys talk about a pretty lady workin' at Lucky Luke's. Description matched so I thought it was finally time to check it out and see your impressive skills for myself," he said, clapping Joel on his shoulder. "Brought this one along with me. You don't mind, do you?"

She looked at her employer, who only gave her a brow raise. They hadn't seen much of each other since the year started, since the countdown at the Auditorium shores, since she and Tommy shared a moment much more intimate than the one they'd had on Christmas Eve. He knew he shouldn't have involved himself, especially not with the babysitter out of all people; but she gave him a scarf, a scarf she took time to knit and embroider his initials on. It sparked something in him he hadn't felt in a long time, thinking she'd felt it too. Who are you kidding? She was young, she was ambitious, and he had no business involving himself with her unless he wanted to come off as a creep. So he stopped, and boy did it eat him up inside.

They watched as she looked at the clock and disappeared behind the door near the other end of the counter. They sat in confusion for a couple of minutes until the door opened again and she walked out without her apron.

“What are you boys having?”

Tommy squinted at the board next to them, “I’ll have a pint of Blood & Honey, pretty please. Joel?”

The other brother sat with his brows furrowed, having a difficult time making a choice. Possibly running out of patience, (Y/N) took three-pint glasses from the hanging shelf above her head and poured yellow liquids into two of them, the last one appearing brown. She slid the latter to Joel, then hopped up and over the wooden counter to take a seat next to Tommy.

“You have great timing, I happen to have finished my shift,” she said and raised her glass to clink it against his. “So, what’s new?”

While Tommy talked restlessly about the day they’ve had, the bet they made, and exciting events coming up, Joel quietly nodded along every now and then, but mostly he observed her. She seemed different in an environment made for adults than she did at home with his 12-year-old kid. Ripped dark-blue jeans, sturdy boots, a military-green tank top, and a plaid shirt – she seemed like she belonged. Looking was fair game, as long as he didn’t interact too much, everything was going to be fine.

One pint down, Tommy excused himself to the bathroom, leaving his brother in a situation he didn’t want to be in. The two sat in silence for a bit, looking at their folded hands on the countertop.

“We got married pretty young, me and my ex-wife,” he suddenly spoke, keeping his eyes low. “She was my high-school sweetheart, my world. Then we got married and it all went downhill. To be honest, I’m not sure what happened even to this day. Maybe she felt suffocated, overwhelmed; I remember how hard the pregnancy was for her. In the end, a short time after Sarah was born, we had…an explosive argument. She loved her, she did, but it wasn’t enough to commit to that life. So she left, and I never saw or heard from her again.”

(Y/N) sat unmoving, then took the last sip from her glass. “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Miller?”

The formal address stung more than it should have. “Thought you deserved to know.”

“Is this what you’ve been contemplating for the past three months you’ve been freezing me out?” she laughed bitterly, looking at him for the first time since she sat down. “’ Should I or should I not provide additional lore on the mystery that is Joel Miller’?”

“(Y/N/N)-”

“Respectfully, sir, you don’t get to move the boundary lines whenever and however you want. You don’t want to be friends? That’s perfectly fine, I’ll remain respectful from now on-”

“No, just- I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to freeze you out, I-” he stared at the empty glass in his hand before she took it and hopped back over the bar to refill both of their drinks. “I don’t really have friends, and I certainly wouldn’t want our relationship to affect yours with Sarah-”

“You don’t trust me to do a good enough job despite my feelings?” she looked less angry then, more dejected.

“I do. I trust you to look after Sarah more than I do that meathead over there,” both of them looked at the far end of the room to find Tommy, with an already half-empty glass, talking with some townsfolk. “It’s myself I don’t trust.”

(Y/N) looked at him then, at the hint of sorrow displayed on his face, and leaned against the counter, their faces merely inches away from one another, “You were doing just fine, Joel. Just talk to me, okay? I promise I’m as reasonable and as patient as they come.”

He could beat himself up over having his heart squeeze at the sight of her smile later. At that moment, all he wanted to do was get to know another side of the woman he could proudly call a friend.

————-　❈　————-

Summer came much quicker than any of them had anticipated. And while (Y/N) had already made plans to stay with her family until September, her schedule for the first half of June was empty. And thankfully it was because if there's one thing she did not have in her 2002 bingo card, it's a cruise trip in the Caribbean.

"What's this?" she said as she stared at the envelope given to her by Joel. Sarah sat in the living room, whatever she was watching on the television long forgotten as she tried to concentrate on the conversation going on in the kitchen. 

"Open it."

"Are you paying me early this month?" she chuckled as she began to carefully tear it open. Her hands froze when she pulled out the printed tickets.

"An all-expenses-paid trip to cruise around with us in June," he pointed at the black-and-white printing, noting her silence. "Shit, I didn't think of- You're not busy, are you?"

"N-no, I'm leaving on the 17th but," she looked up at him. "Joel, I can't take this."

"What do you mean?"

"I- this is crazy. It probably cost you hundreds of dollars, I mean it's too generous-"

"I bought the tickets at a cheaper price months ago. Think of it as the other half of your Christmas present," he explained, his body filled with dread at the idea of making such a bold gesture. "Look, I don't want to make you feel like we're forcing you into anything. If you don't want to go, it's fine. I can get a full refund-"

She jumped on him then, with her arms tightly wrapped around him, she was almost hanging off his neck. He gladly caught her, chuckling in relief. "Of course, I'll come, I'd be more than happy to."

Rapid steps were heard coming from the living room and just as (Y/N) had detached herself from the man in front of her, a smaller body crashed into hers. "You're coming! We're gonna have so much fun!" said Sarah, jumping up and down excitedly.

The young woman wasn't exactly sure of what there was to do on a gigantic boat in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. However, she soon found out they had programs for the entirety of their 4-night stay, which included karaoke, dancing, games, and trivia nights. 

On the first day, (Y/N) found out the Miller brothers had pipes on them, singing and jamming to songs from Radiohead and the like. She’d never seen Joel that relaxed, carefree, or joyful; he moved as if nothing else in the world mattered but that moment they were living in. She and Sarah performed ABBA and Hallican Drops songs, riding on the confidence boost given by the crowd cheering them on enthusiastically.

Another day passed, and while Sarah went to join kids her age for ‘Youth Night’, the adults hit the bar for ‘Trivia Night’. The following things were facts: Joel and (Y/N) are equally competitive, Joel is a sore loser, (Y/N) gets loud when she’s passionate, and Tommy is there to have a drink and a laugh. Despite the small disputes and a few I-told-you-so’s, team ‘Lucky Jackasses’ managed to secure second place and win $120 worth of beverages as well as a three-course meal dinner for all the team members.

After the event, once everyone was settled with drinks in their hands, Tommy walked towards the railing to find (Y/N) leaning against it, gazing at the vast ocean.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Her head turned, the startled expression replaced by a smile as he put his jacket around her shoulders. “Just lookin’, admiring.”

“For such a nice lady, I didn’t think you could turn so intense so quick.”

She laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed at the amount of times she’d slammed the table or wildly gestured with her hands. “Yeah, I can get really competitive when it comes to games and such. I can take a loss, though, not like a certain someone.”

“Now imagine how I felt growing up. Thank the lord I was never like that, or else we woulda killed each other a long time ago.” he reminisced.

“Where is he anyway?”

“Went to put Sarah to bed. Think he might have hit the hay himself, the old man.”

There was a minute of silence where both of them just stared at the daunting darkness ahead of them.

“He ain’t the slickest when it comes to things like this. You gotta be more obvious with him, or else you’ll torture yourself for a long time until he finally makes a decision.”

She felt pressure in her chest. Of course, Tommy would find out. “What are you referring to?”

“Come on, (Y/N/N),” he chuckled, looking at her with sympathy. “You’re not exactly hiding it. Look, Joel’s a great guy, and I’m his brother, I’d take any occasion to shit on him.”

“Tom-“

“It takes a lot to get through to him. His fear from past experiences and the need to protect Sarah hold him back, he might not even know that you’re feeling what you’re feeling. You do what you want to do, but my advice is: show him what it is you need him to see and make no room for ambiguity.”

She wanted to share her thoughts, express her doubts to the man she considered a close friend. But she couldn’t, not at that moment. So she spoke the very next thought aloud instead:

“It is so crazy to think we’re floating on a piece of metal in the middle of a large mass of water. So many creatures underneath us, so many people on board. Have you seen Titanic?”

“We are not talkin’, let alone thinkin’, about the Titanic right now.” Tommy said as he began physically retracting himself from the conversation.

“I can’t help-”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pointing at her like one would at a misbehaving dog. “I am not letting anything or anyone fuck up my relaxation time.”

The two walked back to their adjacent rooms, slightly tipsy. They noted the darkness as soon as Tommy opened the door to his shared cabin - Joel was asleep until he wasn’t. Woken up by the faintest noise, he noticed the jacket she wore and the tired smile her face carried, indicating they had been out there for a long time. His hands clenched under the blanket at the sight of her hugging his brother goodnight as she whispered in his ear before departing.

—

The next day, as the ship docked at Cozumel, an island just off the coast of Mexico, the family decided to go out and explore what it had to offer. The activities mainly consisted of scuba diving, which Joel had reserved in advance due to Sarah’s insistence, swimming in crystal clear water, and exploring ruins. The eldest Miller seemed content and at peace, or at least he did at the beginning of their little expedition. (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice the cold emanating from him, the way he’d be quick to glue himself to Sarah even when he didn’t need to, those moments he’d be more interested in studying the bushes than interacting with her. Tommy was right, she needed to be more forward. The trip was an opportunity she didn’t want to waste. Realistically, the worst thing he could do is reject you and/or fire you, she thought, then you can go back to living your life without this anxiety. Or you could curl up in your cabin and cry. 

It started with small gestures: offering him water from her bottle, asking to take pictures of him and Sarah on her film camera, and pointing at pretty things during their diving session. Then, once she felt there was less resistance, she moved on to bumping shoulders with him, exchanging facts about the ancient Maya civilization, and splashing him with water as they all played in the sea. Just before they went out to swim, Sarah asked her babysitter if she could help with her sunscreen application. When she turned back to her towel, her eyes landed on a shirtless Joel. Her soon-to-be-35-year-old employer was exactly the kind of fit she imagined a father who works in construction to look like. He caught her staring, and to avoid drowning in embarrassment, she offered to apply sunscreen on his face. The entire process seemed way more intimate than it was. He stood very still, watching her work with such focus, gently gliding over the skin on his chin, his cheeks, under his eyes, his forehead, and his nose. Upon making accidental eye contact, he saw her get visibly flustered, causing her to take a step back.

“Could you get my back too?” he asked tentatively. “‘Afraid I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

Whispering a quick ‘sure’, she began rubbing the cream on his shoulders first. She believed she had the green light to ease the tension in his muscles while they were at it. Unbelievably stiff at first, Joel relaxed under her touch with every circular movement of her thumbs. Feeling like she’d been at it for far too long, the young woman pulled away, earning a genuine ‘thank you’ accompanied by a smile. She had made great progress that day, showing just the right amount of affection to not spook him away. He wasn’t put off by any of it, however, which gave her a great sense of relief, an indication she’d been going in the right direction so far. 

Once the evening came, the group split into two pairs: Joel and (Y/N) went on a stroll on the beach not far away from the pier while Sarah and Tommy went to quench their thirst at the bar further away. Though they shared a few jokes and remarks about the beauty of their surroundings, their walk was mostly filled with comfortable silence. At some point, Joel’s phone went off, prompting him to walk further away from the waves.

Something smacked itself against her leg and looking down, (Y/N) realized it was a straw-coloured boater hat.

“Sorry! That’s mine.” she heard someone exclaim above the waves crashing onto the sand. A young man, seemingly her age, jogged up to her with a warm smile. “Wind’s picking up, blew it right off my big head.”

His comment made her giggle, handing over the headwear, “No problem, it happens.”

“Are you from the Voyager?”

“I am.”

“Where’s your family? You didn’t go on a cruise all by yourself, did you?”

“No, that would be kind of sad,” she chuckled. “I’m here with the family I babysit for.”

“Wow, you must be a damn good nanny,” his brows raised in astonishment. “Do they need a cleaner by any chance? A driver, maybe? I don’t ask for much, I can live in the basement. Hell, a closet would do!”

This made her burst out laughing, triggering him to do the same. “I also do all of those things, not sure I want to compete with someone over a job I like.”

“Alright, so if we look at the CV of a successful nanny, we have,” he said, putting on imaginary glasses and comically squinting at the equally nonexistent paper in his hand. “Intelligent, talented, able to grow arms to flip pancakes and iron a t-shirt at the same time, strikingly beautiful obviously, excellent cook because of course you are, am I missing anything?”

“I happen to have a natural talent for board games,” she smiled, proudly. “You can actually ask my boss, he has yet to beat me.” 

But as she turned her head, she saw Joel rapidly making his way further away from them.

“Sorry, it seems I’ve got to go,” she muttered, giving him an apologetic look as she walked backward. “It was nice to meet you, take care of that hat!”

(Y/N) was forced to jog up almost 30 feet to catch up to the brooding man.

“Hey, why didn’t you call me? Is it Sarah? Is Tommy alright?” The latter’s name seemed to deepen his scowl.

“No, just thought I’d leave you and Harold Lloyd to yourselves.” he grumbled, looking strictly ahead.

“I’m sorry for getting caught up in the conversation. He was being nice, you know, friendly tourist banter?”

“He was hitting on you, (Y/N), and if you can’t see that then you’re more naive than I thought.”

He had never treated her like anything but his equal, so naturally being called childish not only hurt her but woke something up inside her as well, all of the pent-up frustration suddenly coming to the surface.

“Fine, so he was flirting. Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all,” he said unconvincingly. “Just doing my job as a wingman.”

It took her a second to realize what, or rather who, he was referring to. “What the fuck does this have to do with Tommy?” He didn’t answer her immediately, taking long and quick strides along the sand. “Joel!”

He only stopped when she abruptly tugged at his arm, finally meeting his eyes. “You like him, don’t you?”

The question almost came as a slap. Where was this coming from? “What? Since when?!”

“Since you first laid eyes on each other last Christmas. Or since your kiss on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know, I’m not exactly keeping track.”

Instead of tugging at her hair, a need she strongly wanted to give into, the young woman rubbed her face with frustration instead. "I know you aren't stupid, and Tommy did warn me about how oblivious you can be, but good God, to this extent?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I care about you, okay?" she shouted, sounding somewhat desperate.

Heavy silence passed, the only sounds being the relentless lapping of the waves accompanied by her heavy breathing. The two of them stared at each other as if truly seeing one another for the first time.

"I don't understand-"

"I like you, Joel. And I'm tired of tiptoeing around it." She sensed him battling with himself, his own emotions, his thoughts.

"You can't, you-" something resembling despair crossed his expression. "(Y/N/N), you're young-"

"Jesus, Joel, stop acting like you're decrepit!" she approached him then, noticing the way he took a couple of steps back. "You're just a guy in his thirties, raising a daughter, looking for...companionship in this messed-up world."

They were much closer now, chests almost touching, neither of them breaking eye contact. She caught him glancing at her lips for a millisecond, afraid to move even the slightest muscle. Her name didn't fully leave his mouth when she crashed her mouth onto his, shutting him up for good. She felt lightheaded yet more alive than ever, relishing in the feeling of his hands gently taking hold of her waist. They parted then to bring air back into their lungs as she pressed her forehead against his.

"You don't want to do this." he spoke in an almost pained whisper.

(Y/N) caressed his cheeks, maintaining eye contact. "Don't tell me what to do, Miller."

————-　❈　————-

Was the concept of love complicated in and of itself, or was it the people involved that made it unnecessarily difficult? The question floated around in his mind for months, like a ghost that needed to be laid to rest. Jane Eyre had fallen in love with the ever-brooding Mr Rochester. Elizabeth Bennett, too, succumbed to her feelings for the stubborn and slightly awkward Mr Darcy. And while it was common for young women to see older men in that period of history, an age gap as large as theirs was harder to deal with in modern days.

The months that followed their shared moment at the beach felt like torture. Joel tried to balance out his life, spending as much time with his daughter as he did working to make it a fun break for her. If there was one thing he didn’t want to be remembered for it’s being a negligent parent, someone who put their work before their own child. He also spent those long suffocating summer days thinking about her and wondering what she was getting up to. She had only sent one letter to the Millers for the entire duration of the season - it was a beautiful postcard along with a picture of herself and her friends surrounded by greenery. The back of the card read:

Dear Joel,

I hope your summer is going well. Mine certainly is! I sent you a picture of me and my friends in the middle of a hike, which was very difficult but oh so worth it! The views are spectacular here, I wish you could see it for yourself. Many kisses to you, to Tommy, and especially to Saz.

With love,

She seemed so happy, her face beaming despite her sore limbs and sweaty skin. She deserved that kind of life, the kind where she would smile and laugh more often than she cried or frowned, the kind where she could rely on her partner at all times to have her needs met and her concerns heard, the kind she would feel supported even for the smallest things. Joel wanted to give her that life, but he wasn’t sure if he could. What she didn’t deserve was unanswered calls, postponed dates, tired exchanges, weird glances, constant worry, concerned comments, or countless excuses. It wasn’t a certainty that life with him would be like that, but it was a possibility, which was already too much of a risk. She might have reconsidered her feelings already, using her time away to really think about what she was getting into. He didn’t know when she’d be back, either, so instead of obsessing over it, he decided to occupy his mind with other things.

When his 35th birthday came around, it started just about how he expected it to. He woke up, feeling just as old as ever, got dressed, and went downstairs to be welcomed by the sight of Sarah setting up his birthday breakfast with Tommy’s very generous help. Afterward, they packed Tommy’s truck for the day, drove the child to school, and went to work. In the evening, on their way home, Joel noticed how weirdly non-talkative his brother was, letting the radio fill the silence instead.

“What’s going on?”

Tommy looked at him confusedly, “What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully silent.”

“What, am I not allowed to be?” he chuckled in response. “Do you want me to talk? ‘Cause I can. In fact, I was thinking about how Johnny-”

“Never mind, just- just forget I said anything.” Joel sighed, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand.

Once they parked in front of the garage, the absence of light in the house didn’t go unnoticed by the owner.

“Did Sarah tell you about goin’ to a friend’s?” he asked, suddenly anxious.

“I don’t recall. Maybe she went to bed.” his brother shrugged, prompting his brother to check his watch. It was only half past eight.

Carefully, he walked up to the door, its unlocked state rendering him vigilant, and cautiously walked into the pitch-black living room.

“Sarah?” he called out into what seemed to be an empty room.

Before he could take another step, all of the smaller lights turned on simultaneously as a group of people yelled ‘Surprise!’, each of them wearing some kind of silly party accessories such as a hat, oversized colorful glasses, or a boa. He also noted the sudden presence of confetti on himself, turning his head to see Tommy grinning with a party popper in his hand. The individuals standing in his home were all the closest he had to ‘friends’: people he had worked and gotten along with, a couple of dads he befriended through Sarah’s soccer games and the Adlers. Everyone took turns to hug the birthday boy before engaging in conversations in separate parts of the room. Sarah was the last and he gladly swept her into the biggest and warmest hug, immensely proud of his little girl.

“Did you plan this?”

“Yeah, Uncle Tommy helped. Do you like it?”

It was only then that he really looked at the way the space was decorated with streamers, balloons, cut-outs, and a big banner that read ‘Happy 35th, Joel’.

“I love it, baby girl, thank you.” he squeezed her one more time before letting go and walking over to catch up with every guest. 

Everyone served themselves to the food put out on the coffee table, something the guests contributed to: deviled eggs, cheese pretzels, small cups of hummus and veggie sticks, fried shrimp, and a very well-assembled charcuterie board. After about an hour of chatting, Sarah announced it was time for his gift. His eyes were covered with a bandana then he heard her scurrying away towards the kitchen, turning the lights off on the way. He sat there for a few seconds and then heard it. He wasn’t sure if his ears were deceiving him, making him think (Y/N) was singing happy birthday to him. The pit in his stomach grew. She isn’t here, you’re making it up, you are losing it. But she sounded so vivid. When the song was over, he lowered the bandana with shaking hands and saw her standing in front of him, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the candles on the cake held by his daughter. Without thinking, he took a couple of steps and crashed his lips on hers rougher than he intended to. The deafening applause and cheering were drowned out by his emotions as he felt her flesh under his palms, desperately clinging onto her waist with one hand and her head with the other. Once they parted to catch their breath, he pressed his forehead against hers, wanting to keep her as close as possible.

“I missed you,” he whispered, the most vulnerable he’d ever been in front of others. “So damn much.”

“I missed you too,” she gently ran her thumbs across his cheeks, feeling many butterflies at the sight of his smile. “I meant what I said on the beach. I want to do this and a million more things with you.”

Their moment had to be interrupted by Tommy shoving a camcorder in their faces, asking to ‘say hello to the future’. Joel’s only response was to try and get the camera back (to no avail). The candles, long blown out by Sarah, were lit once more so he could properly make a wish. And all he could hope for as he stood there, surrounded by the people closest to him, was more moments just like it.

————-　❈　————-

Things only looked up for the pair from then on. They celebrated every single holiday together, dressed up for Halloween (after much pleading from (Y/N), who did not spare Joel’s little brother from her shenanigans) to enjoy the festivities with Sarah, organized countless movie nights and board-game sessions, and even frequented Sarah’s soccer games together more often than not. Everything was going smoothly until after her graduation when both of them realized what it meant for their future.

The weeks that followed were nothing but tense. It started with Joel distancing himself for no apparent reason, which naturally caused his lover to start asking questions. She was frustrated she had to pry him back open after they’d spent so much time together. He was avoidant, he was cold, and he made excuses, leading to the biggest argument they’d ever had after she barged into his house one evening when Sarah was away. It was a lot of yelling, many accusations, and even more words neither of them really meant.

“I can’t do this if you don’t talk to me, Joel.”

“Then don’t. Go,” he was heaving. She’d never seen him so angry. “I warned you. At the very beginning. I warned you and you didn’t listen, so this is all on you.”

She stepped out into the summer night with her face stained with endless tears, her eyes puffy, and her throat raw, hiccupping all the way to her car. As soon as the door closed, she broke down again, pouring her grief onto her steering wheel. That night was the last time she would visit the Miller residence. She said goodbye to Sarah alone a few weeks later, just before hitting the road. She would, however, see Joel again months later.

————-　❈　————-

September 26th, 2003.

09:06 pm

She walked down the street in downtown Austin, heading towards the bus that would take her on an hour-and-a-half trip to San Antonio. Vehicle in sight, she was only a few feet away from leaving the city behind before a voice called her name. She didn’t need to turn around to identify it. She wanted to be dramatic and petty and just get on the bus and not dwell on the past, but the past caught up to her. The past stood behind her as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, cursing her treacherous heart, her stupid heart, her naive heart that got her into this mess in the first place. Love and hatred pulled her in opposite directions, and she realized then that despite seemingly having made her mind up at the start of summer, she was to decide her future right then and there: standing at the border of two lives with little to no time. 

He called out for her again, and she gave in, owing herself a proper resolution to that affair.

“Hi, Joel.” she said, her tone flat as if talking to a stranger.

“I thought you left months ago.”

“I went on a trip around the country with some friends. They canceled my flight in San Antonio last week, and rescheduled it to 5 am tomorrow.” 

The rescheduling was a pain in the ass. It meant she had to either book a cheap hotel near the airport and pray she wouldn’t miss her flight, or worse, sleep directly at the terminal. She had a strange sensation the universe was trying to stop her from going anywhere.

“Oh, well,” he mumbled, his hands in his jean pockets, finding sudden interest in his shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Feeling like this interaction was going nowhere, (Y/N) bid him a good night and resumed her walk towards the bus. 

“For everything. I’m sorry for all of it.” his voice came closer. The feeling of deep-rooted sadness battled with the sensation of pent-up anger for control of her mind and body.

She scoffed, revealing a bit of that irritation, “And you call me difficult.”

“Look, I know, alright? I know I’m a stubborn asshole. I know that I can be cold and distant, I know I’m not very good at communicating. I wish-” he paused to catch his breath, or maybe think about his words before they slipped out. “I wish you hadn’t seen that side of me. God knows I haven’t felt so…at peace until I met you. I like who I am when you’re around, you balance me out. It’s selfish, very selfish, I mean you’ve got a whole future ahead of you, so many promising opportunities. And I guess I wanted to spare you from crashing and burning down the line, chained down to some guy going through a midlife crisis in Austin. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did that night and I won’t ever forgive myself for it, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you believing those words, so here I am.”

By the end of his monologue, small salty drops stained the ground beneath (Y/N)’s feet. Her heart ached for two reasons: the reassurance that he didn’t grow tired of her after all, and the grief of having to lose her love once again. She turned back to face him, noting his pleading eyes, and silently went up to wrap her arms around his neck, feeling his warmth, taking in his cologne, for the last time.

“I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I forgive you, Joel. Happy birthday.” Her hands stroked the back of his head soothingly. She realized he was crying too, her jacket bunched up in his fists, his heart audibly breaking.

This wasn’t a fairytale, like the ones she used to read to Sarah. It wasn’t one of her period romance novels. Their story came to a bittersweet end; she felt thankful, however, that it had an end at all.

“Please be happy, okay? I don’t want you sulking around just because I’m not here to act as your personal cheerleader.” she spoke quietly, holding his face, her world, in her hands.

Joel chuckled through tears, “Don’t worry, Sarah can cover for you.”

The mention of her name caused another round of tears to pool in her eyes. “Tell Saz I’m sorry, and that I love her greatly. Tell Tommy I’ll miss him too; his snoring, not so much.”

After another beat of laughter and silence, the two reluctantly parted, acknowledging that her bus was to leave at any minute. Before he lost her for good, Joel pulled her in for one last kiss, sharing her pain and heartache.

“Be good.” she whispered into his lips before forcing herself to board the bus with a heavy heart.

She saw him outside her window, putting up a palm against the glass for her to mimic. As the bus drove away from its station, she watched as her lover became smaller and smaller before receding from her view. With the family she cared for behind her, the young woman observed the disappearing scenery of the city she called her second home with a fresh set of tears.

————-　❈　————-

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

tags: @elliaze @joeldjarin

[landoom]

A little reflection on should McLaren have prioritised Lando earlier.

My take is that they could have for Monza but not before. So I took a look at the points they all had along the season to try and see if my feeling was supported by facts.

So here is the points scored by Max, Lando and Oscar and the gap between Lando and Max.

Pink races are sprints.

Orange are when Lando closes the gap to Max.

Let's now look at what happened :

Mclaren first win in Miami comes from upgrades brought for that race. Before that, they were competitive but mostly for points and podiums.

Still, after Miami, they don't win again before Hungary. You can't pretend to fight for the championship if you don't win races!

Monaco is a bit of an anomaly because on any other track, Max might have recovered more during the race. So for me, it wasn't a proof of RBR incoming struggle<;

RBR is quite consistent until Spain and then McLaren cleary catches up with them but RBR (Max mostly) is still there to fight for wins (Austria could have been a Max or Lando win, Silverstone too).

Hungary brings McLaren his second win but it's for Oscar.

Still, RBR shows some weaknesses and Lando can close the gap for the second time this year.

And with the gap coming under 80 points and McLaren being on an upward trajectory, people start talking about Lando's chances in the drivers' championship.

For me, it's then too early to make Lando the full #1 for three reasons: 1. we don't know yet that RBR will keep struggling and if Max delivers, Lando has no chance. 2. After what happened during the race, asking Oscar to become #2 would have been a hard take on the human side of things. 3. Lando still has only won 1 race.

In Belgium, Max is in front of Lando again. Constructors title is a real possibility now, drivers title is still a huge gamble.

Zandvoort is the turning point. Lando makes a statement both with the win and how it was achieved. RBR struggles are confirmed. But the gap is still huge. Oscar has been crazily consistent in the past races and McLaren knows that prioritising Lando could lose them a bit of confidence with Oscar. They are in a tricky position, no decision is CLEARLY better than the other.

McLaren decides to wait and let the drivers race in Monza.

So based on these facts, I think that McLaren could have prioritised Lando for Monza but not doing it yet is understandable because, prior to the race, RBR's struggles weren't as obvious and Lando's title chances were there but slim.

They chose the safest path... but one that could lead to tensions in the team too and to a loss of points for Lando.

Was it the right choice? Only time will tell but I think that when the decision was taken it wasn't such an obvious bad choice than some might think.

For me, it's more about the way they communicated around this, the way they could have changed their plans after quali when they saw Max qualifying badly and the way their post-Monza communication was incoherent with what they said before.

So now, I'll let you interpret the numbers as you wish but I've made up my mind and I'm ready to live with the disappointments that might come later...

Just remember that, if Lando loses the championship by a small margin, the decision to not prioritise him in Monza (because I think it couldn't have been done earlier) will only be one element... I'm madder about Silverstone than Monza personally!

[solarwynd]

i come with a hot take that i dont expect to be well received by others but here goes:

i think pjms really need to cut out the “thailand streaming farm” narrative, for several reasons.

streaming culture has been popularized by armys throughout the years. as far as i can remember, there has been a lot of discourse among chart-oriented armys for years (since the english trilogy era) about both vietnam’s and thailand’s streaming practices. they were the first ones’ to push the account-switching techniques that a lot of streamers use today. back then, it was deemed unsustainable and risky by most chartmys bc it led to large drops when people got tired of doing that. now, its the mainstream streaming practice in the fandom and other countries have managed to make it a more sustainable effort (i.e., LC’s longetivity in the US). the US is the most praised sector of pjms (and deservedly so, they work their asses off) while still using that technique so why are overall pjms much harsher with how they express themselves about thai armys/pjms vs us pjms? honestly sometimes it feels mildy xenophobic to me when is see those kinds of tweets/posts.

while i definitely get that their lack of consistency amd favoritism towards some members has been annoying in the past i don’t think we can say the same anymore. sgmb got more streams day one than nlg and every single jk song released last year (every.single.one and more than double for some of them).

i also cant believe i had to find this information out by a random jjk that popped up on my search this morning when i was looking up today’s sp update (you can imagine my horror when i confirmed those numbers).

jjks frequently and stupidly use the bot narrative for usa pjms, and in all honesty, pjms look just as dumb using the streaming farm narrative for thai armys/solos. its giving that meme of spidermens pointing at each other bc in reality were ALL “bots” were ALL “streaming farms”. we are all a somewhat small group of people (within the market) putting in an extreme effort for our artists. let’s not fool ourselves into cultish them vs us mentalities when (for some things) we are not that different.

Thailand streams get called out because the numbers they pull are not proportionate to the number of users that they have in their country. Look at SK for example. Their lowest entry right now is 4.3k. Top 50 12.8k Top 20 23k Top 10 37k Top 5 60k With top spot being LC with 118k. Proportionate. Brazil, a chart range somewhat similar to the US. Lowest entry is 182k. Top 50 381k Top 20 612k Top 10 882k Top 5 1.06M and Top spot 1.14M.

The lowest entry for Thai charts right now is 28k. Then you get to top 50, that’s 68k. Top 20 (which is Espresso by Sabrina) 98k Top 10 167k. From there is gets sus because to make a jump from that to the top 3 current spots which are 524k, 1.13M, 1.8M. (Down from 6/29 where Rockstar & SGMB had 2.5M and 2.2M respectively and the lowest entry was 26k.) Then you look at the #3 spot from that same day and it was 484k. The gap between #3 and #2 was around 1.7M. Like you cannot tell me that’s normal cause it isn’t. You don’t see those kinds of gaps on any other country chart. So It doesn’t have anything to do with xenophobia (or being upset about the fact that that country is TK majority) because there are other Asian countries and countries outside the US that don’t get called out since they do have streams proportionate to their population and have reasonable ranges.

Bringing up US fans streaming in comparison to Thai fans is also odd to do because it’s not the same. The lowest entry on the US chart is 340k Top 50 starts at 600k, Top 20 841k Top 10 1M with top 5 being 2.1M. That’s also a very proportional chart. Jimin’s numbers in America have always sat in the 200k-to 1M range without significant jumps coming out of nowhere.

Him going from a 465k debut with LC to 2.2M with SGMB from Thailand is not just the 20x cap per account method, that’s something else being employed there. And it’s not that they got “stronger” either.

I’ve expressed my discontent with a large chunk of SGMB’s streams coming from Thailand on multiple occasions. I’ve wanted it far away from Jimin for this exact reason. I’m not denying that there isn’t a concentrated effort to get better numbers in general. And I don’t think any pjm is “fooling themselves” into thinking that how they stream is entirely organic. It’s not, but I still won’t put it on the level of what some Thai fans are doing.

[cmaidaartworkblog]

I finally got around to compiling some of the extraneous, in-service-of-the-main-feature maps for the "Runaway to the Stars" Scud-planet commission that I thought were also worth showing, some because they reveal something unique about this planet's qualities, others because they're pretty, and mostly both. There's a good handful of those and a *lot* of explanatory text, so that's all below the cut.

First we have the maps that bridge the gap between wind data and precipitation. This pair of animated maps demonstrates, first, the Orographic effect that would theoretically result from winds blowing in each of the eight cardinal directions across the planet's whole surface, and, second, the Orographic effects which are actually produced by the local prevailing winds for each season. For both of these, darker values mark where the topography prevents moist air from precipitating (a rain shadow, on the leeward side of a raised terrain feature) and lighter values show where the topography catches most of the airborne moisture before the wind blows over it (a rain-highlight, on the windward side of a raised feature).

__________

The first static map, looking like a meticulously customized Jawbreaker, roughly represents the inland distance over which air has to travel from various bodies of water (also accounting for vertical distance in the form of mountains and the sizes of the bodies of water providing the moist air), which is another factor in where rain is able to fall.

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Another static map, included entirely for aesthetic reasons, demonstrates (in white) where at least ten times as much rain falls in the wettest month of summer as in the driest month of winter. The cyan end of the gradient represents where only 3 times as much rain falls, in that comparison. This was a step in figuring out what areas would qualify as Dry Winter (climate type Cw) in the climate zone maps, which ended up being completely nonexistent once all the other requirements of that climate type were measured for. All of the areas marked in white (meeting that 10x ratio requirement for Dry Winter) ended up falling under Arid or Semiarid instead.

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For comparison, *this* map shows (in cyan through magenta) where there is at least three times as much precipitation in the wettest month of winter as in the driest month of summer, one of the requirements for Mediterranean climate (or Dry Summer, climate type Cs). Not all of the marked areas ended up meeting all requirements for the final climate zone map, either, but at least *some* did, falling just outside the Arid/Semiarid areas.

__________

Another precipitation-related map, this one instrumental in figuring out vegetation density, demonstrates the reliability of significant rainfall. Specifically, this represents how many months in a row a given area receives at least 60 millimeters of precipitation per month, with areas in white receiving this amount for every month of the year, areas in black experiencing no months with that much rainfall, and shades of grey showing where this much rainfall persists for anywhere from one to eleven months in a row. The second map attached here shows that data broken down for the exact number of months.

__________

Next, here is a map that helped me find where Upwelling would occur seasonally. Since material from deeper waters is brought to the surface by the general movement of water *away from* the coasts, and since water is moved in that direction by winds blowing *perpendicular to* the coasts (counterclockwise for the northern hemisphere on a retrograde-spin planet like this, and clockwise for its southern hemisphere), it was crucial that I first determine what directions the coasts themselves were facing, with red marking coasts that face north, yellow for coasts that face west, cyan for coasts facing south, and blue for those facing east. This particular map was produced by taking a blurred elevation map of the shallows, using it as the displacement texture for a flat Plane in Blender, and pointing different colored lights at it from the eight cardinal directions.

__________

One of the very last elements that I mapped out for this planet was the discharge of sediments from the rivers into seas and terminal lakes, which required a *lot* of steps. The first of these was to isolate the different major drainage basins that would deliver water to various sections of the coastal shallows, as seen in the first, multicolored map. In the second map, we see the surface areas of each of the drainage basins, in the third map we see the average density of vegetation within each basin, and in the final map I've combined this data to show the overall total amount of vegetation in each basin, which should roughly correlate with how much organic material ends up washing out to sea, since river discharge volume and vegetation density are both (largely) contingent on the same factor: precipitation.

All told this is only a tiny fraction of the maps that were part of the overall pipeline. On Reddit you should be able to see these images in higher resolution, so I'm including a link to the corresponding post here