#she goes to like the same bar every time she goes Out On The Town because its the one bar that another seal works at | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 8 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

You watch him like a hawk after that.

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat.

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns.

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace.

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day.

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will.

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much.

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on.

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up.

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant.

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it.

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing.

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him.

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance.

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice.

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond.

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead.

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since.

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation.

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding.

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.”

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts.

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners.

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl.

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes.

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle.

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place.

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit.

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her.

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it.

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird.

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl.

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing.

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would.

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth.

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question.

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine.

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter.

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time.

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth.

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles.

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more.

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair.

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh.

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath.

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day.

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers.

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks.

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon.

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering.

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come.

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe.

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded.

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling.

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #john price

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junislqve · 6 months ago

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ᯓ 50 first dates — heeseung

“cursed with the gift of memories”

syn well-known for his charm and charisma, lee heeseung’s name travels through well with tourists. giving them the best dates and nights of their life. heeseung’s strictly only into one nights stands, running away from commitment even before it was there to chase him. however, his life changed completely when his eyes fell upon a woman. a woman who he knows he could never get. but that has never stopped him, hasn’t it?

feat. hyung line yeji (itzy) hyunjin (skz) | wc 5901 words

pairs fuckboy!heeseung + reader | cw s2l one sided pining? fuckboy turned sweet angst fluff smoking drinking mentions of hook ups mentions of an accident memory loss profanity — mlist navi

note entry for @cupidhoons ’s 1k event >< i tweaked a few things here and there, but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless

“he’s incredible” she says, grabbing her mojito from the bartender. looking back to her friend, “he’s got these eyes that just hold a mischievous look, you know?”

“so? what else happened that night?” another guy asked his friend as she was running on the treadmill.

“we had dinner at this small restaurant and we talked about our lives. it was just like a movie” a woman said as she recalled the night, chatting off while writing her thesis.

“was that all?” a girl’s sister asks while both of them were getting ready for a party.

“we had the best night, he’s so sweet and caring and everything i ever want in a man” a woman said to the worker who was massaging her.

“did you get his number?” her friend asked while handing her a cup of coffee.

“thats the thing” she said, eating lunch at a restaurant. “when i asked for his number he told me he had a girlfriend”

“what’s his name?” her manager asks handing her the new papers.

“lee heeseung”

all over, dozens of women have the same story to tell of the same man. lee heeseung. his charm goes around that has tons of tourists falling head over heels for him.

although really, the charm only consists of the same things with each women; talking to them at whatever place he lands in, telling them about his life stories he’s crafted perfectly, and in the end giving them a good night.

he really had no problem with this routine, figuring they’d all leave soon anyway. dismissing any of their attempts to stay in contact with him by making up on the spot excuses.

“seung” jake exasperates, calling him for the nth time. “you in or not?”

puffing out the smoke, he hummed agreeing to whatever they were talking about.

“we’re diving tomorrow, be at the docks at 5 AM” jay says, grabbing the cigarette pack and throwing it on to the table. “sharp.”

“can’t, i have to take care of the dolphins” heeseung sighs.

“can’t you tell your cousin to do it?” sunghoon asks, taking a swig of the whiskey.

“haven’t you seen him?” he says, referring to his coward of a cousin. as the four continue to talk around the slowly dissipating fire.

heeseung woke up the next day tending to his dolphins. feeding them food and watching them as they swim and did tricks. he sat on the docks, letting his feet hang over the edge, patting the dolphins every once in a while if they snuggled his legs.

he got up about half an hour later and headed to one of the local diners in town. a small, dingy house close to where he works. he sat on the bar stool and a girl who looked around his age took the order.

“i’ll just have coffee, thanks”

“seriously? you look like you’d get blown off by the wind” the girl says, “i’ll fix you up a sandwich”

heeseung smiled profusely, confused whether he should be offended or grateful. he skims through the men looking over the unique variety of choices, when the reflection of the sun seems to be hitting him. he looked up to the direction with squinted eyes and he was so glad the sun shined perfectly at him.

to say he was captivated was an understatement. your hair sat down perfectly on your back as you smiled at the menu like it was an interesting book. you set down the spoon you were playing with and the barista walked up to you to take your order.

heeseung’s eyes never left you, entirely too enthralled just by your presence. he decides to make a move, getting up from his spot and sitting across from your seat that’s conveniently vacant. he watched as the barista placed your plate of pancakes in front of you.

“thanks, yeji” you smiled up at her. he can’t tell which was more angelic; your voice or your smile.

you picked up your pancakes and started stacking them, heeseung watched with curiosity. you started off making a mini volcano as the steam from the heat drove up. minutes later, when heeseung’s eyes left you for a while, your volcano had transformed to a house. you continued stacking the bread carefully.

picking up a small piece, you intended for it to be the door to the supposed house. when suddenly, a toothpick drove through them from the top.

“it creates a hinge” someone says. you look up, which appeared to be a wrong move because the man that stood in front of you might’ve just been carved by the gods.

his hair roused messily atop his head and a grin that you swore had your heart clenched. you momentarily freeze up, scanning over your words for a decent reply.

“oh, thanks” you trail off, showing a small smile.

heeseung was about to sit back down at his spot until you braved yourself.

“hey” you pause awkwardly as he turns back to you “i see you’re alone as well, why don’t you sit with me”

heeseung’s grin doubled and he sat down across from you. from then on, heeseung didn’t know what he got himself into all he knows is that your voice was addicting and your smile held the world.

you both had a long conversation about your lives. he told you about his work in wildlife as a marine veterinarian, tending to the dolphins mostly. and you told him about your work as an art teacher in a school nearby.

you listened intently, thoroughly interested in his job, “my dad works as a fisherman”

“oh really? so you know how to fish” heeseung perked up.

“no, i’ve never really been interested in it” you replied, “but i’m used to the smell of the sea, you reek of it”

heeseung scoffed playfully, “i know, i just went back from feeding the dolphins. probably should have cleaned myself up before”

“no!” you exclaimed trying to fix your tone, “i didn’t mean it in a bad way. you smell nice, like the scent of the sea, it’s kind of nostalgic”

“really?” heeseung looks at you, eyes widened in that adorable way. god, he looks so good. you nodded with a smile that stretched perfectly on your lips. “you should come and meet the dolphins some time”

your eyes lit up, “oh i would love to, how many do you tend to?”

before heeseung could answer, yeji stopped him by telling you both off as they’d have to pack up for lunch.

you both walked out of the diner leisurely when heeseung turned to you, “hey, do you want to continue this somewhere else? i have a nice place we can go to”

“oh” you let out, whilst scrunching your face “i'm so sorry but today’s my dad’s birthday and we usually drive out to the field. it’s our tradition”

“well then how about next time?” he asked, tilting his head.

“how about tomorrow? meet me here for breakfast?” you offered.

“tomorrow then”

rain poured teardrops in a continuous rythmn, the wind blowing harshly. a figure disrupted the pattern as heeseung went in the diner and dropped himself on the bar stool, greeting yeji. and waving at the guy in the back, who’s face always looked sour whenever he looked at heeseung.

“the bar’s closed” hyunjin, who he now knows as yeji’s brother said blatantly. heeseung shrugged at the customer that was sitting on one of the sofas and shined a sly grin at him, receiving an eye roll back.

the door opened once more and you walked in, heeseung watched as you sat down and dropped your jacket beside you.

he stood up and walked to your seat, “hey pretty, missed me yet?”

you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, “no?” you said, before going back to read the menu.

heeseung stared at you dumbfounded, “hey, are you okay? you said you wanted to meet up again yesterday”

“yesterday? i’ve never even met you” you scrunched your nose as heeseung stood still in confusion, his mind reeling.

in a spur, heeseung got dragged by his collar and out of the diner. the door behind him slammed shut, he turned to see yeji stared at him menacingly.

“what’s wrong? why’s she..” he trailed off.

yeji clicked her tongue, sighing, “she isn’t what you think she is” heeseung waited, breathing heavily, the humid air made it difficult to breathe.

“about a year ago, y/n got into a terrible car accident. she and her father went up North Shore to grab fruits as tradition” yeji continued, “her father broke some ribs, but she had a serious head injury”

yeji looked away and stared off into the rain “she’s suffering short-term memory loss” yeji concluded. heeseung apparently had a hard time understanding all of this, none of the information thrown at him clicking right yet.

“wait, so she can’t remember anything?”

“no you dumbass, she remembers everything up until the night before the accident”

both of them stayed silent.

“so what? she thinks everyday is the day of her dad’s birthday?”

“exactly” yeji states, “she wakes up everyday thinking it’s the same day, her father’s provided her with a special paper that he’s printed over a hundred times for her to read”

“he’s been keeping her in the dark?”

“it’s not like that. she’s been through a lot already and her father doesn’t want her to suffer anymore” yeji scolds. “so if you don’t mind, i need you to stop bothering her. find another person to bother”

“how long’s it gonna take for her to gain back her memory?” jake asks, laying on his back staring up at the night sky.

“her doctors say it may never come back” heeseung says, throwing in food for the dolphins.

“so, basically” jake starts looking down at his friend, “she’s perfect for you”

“what?”

“you’ve never been into commitment” jake shrugs, “there’s practically no attachment there”

heeseung stays silent. jake raised his eyebrows, “don’t tell me you’re falling for her”

he slapped his friend’s leg, “i’m not” he says, “it’s just evil”

“you meet her, hang out, flirt, no commitment, nobody gets hurt”

“she has brain damage, you douche”

“you sure that’s the only reason?”

once again, heeseung stays silent. he can’t lie. he knows that he felt, if anything, the tiniest bit of care for you. spending too much time awake thinking about you more than he should’ve.

“i mean, either way, i think this’ll be good for you” jake starts, his eyes scanned the stars one by one, “you haven’t really let yourself connect with a girl”

“oh so now you care?” heeseung asks, rather jokingly.

“i want the best for you, seung. you’re leaving soon for university, the choice is really yours in the end” jake says, finally sitting up and looking at his friend with sincerity.

“thanks” hee mumbled as jake stood up to get off the ship, patting him on the back while doing so.

“you should get some sleep, you’d need energy to get her back”

heeseung stared at the back of jake’s retreating figure. they’ve been friends for years now, being the closest out of the four. always being a helping hand for the other whenever any of them were in need.

“you again?” hyunjin rolled his eyes about to grab a stick.

“relax, i just want to say hi to her” heeseung says, holding a hand out in defence.

“what did yeji say?”

“that you’d kill me with an axe” heeseung trailed off. “but, hey, look i really just want to talk to her again”

“she doesn’t want guys hitting on her during breakfast” hyunjin said, plainly.

“want to bet on that? 20 bucks” apparently the world was on his favor when hyunjin decides to shake his hand.

“deal”

heeseung spots you on your usual seat, building a house out of your pancakes. he decides its better to play safe, picking up a toothpick, walking to your seat.

“it acts as a hinge” he says, smiling.

“are you from a country where you think it’s okay to stick your fingers all over someone’s food?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“uhm, no, i’m from this country” he starts and after seeing your expression, all of the lines he’d planned out got caught on his tongue, “well, have a good meal”

hyunjin cackled at his attempts and heeseung doubled the price for the next day, determined to get you to have breakfast with him again. that’s how it went on for days, heeseung kept doubling the price at his failed attempts. yeji not really helping as she scowled at him everyday while hyunjin doubled over in laughter.

one of those days, heeseung realizes he really has nothing else to loose, except for his dignity. so that is exactly what he did. heeseung started sobbing in the middle of the diner, weird looks thrown at him.

when you suddenly sat beside him and spoke in the softest voice, he almost melted right then and there. but he pushed through with the acting, still sobbing nonetheless of you trying to calm him down. finally, he got succeeded in getting you to have breakfast with him once again. under the excuse that he couldn’t read.

you both talked all throughout the day, teaching him how to pronounce certain words, reading off the menu and enunciating each syllable. he found it quite endearing that you were so patient given the ridiculous situation.

“i had a great time” you said as you both walked out of the diner.

“yeah, so did i” heeseung smiles. he was about to say something else, but stopped. figuring it was better to go one step at a time, he turned to go get in his car when you scoffed.

“seriously? thats all? you know i thought that if someone would embarrass themselves just to talk to me they would at least ask for my number” you say, turning on the engine and start to pull out of the park.

heeseung, panicked, quickly got in his car to drive after you and apologise. afraid that he would cause problems. and that is how he led himself to this moment; getting told off by your father and almost getting beaten up by your brother.

your father had told him to lose contact with you. that he was to not go to the diner anymore and leave you alone.

now if there’s anything to know about heeseung, it’s that he takes an advice and let it go out the other ear — with the exception of his own grandma, he’s terrified of her — and second, he will never give up on anything. so, he left no time for sulking as the next day he had a brand new conception.

he knew there was no way he could ever talk to you in the diner under the watchful eyes of both yeji and hyunjin. so, learning your daily schedule, heeseung decides to stop at a part of your drive and pretended as if his truck broke down.

“hey, i’m so sorry. can you give me a lift?” heeseung awkwardly smiled as you slowly stopped right in front of his car. a concerned look on your face.

“yeah, of course” you say, getting out of your car to help attach his to yours.

with that, he’s made up a variety of reasons to stop you on your way. most days interacting with you than not. he was so determined to talk to you, his excuses ranged from being kidnapped to getting beaten by who you assumed was a random man.

the plans were carefully thought of, daily. he spent much time creating up random scenarios that were severe enough for you to spare him some time and talk to him.

he really should’ve seen it coming. because one day, your car wasn’t the one approaching, rather, another car. as it came closer he realized your father and brother were sat on the front seats and he sat up from the position he took on the ground.

“once you stop pretending to look dead, come by the house”

now he’s once again stood in the lawns of your house. he expected your dad to tell him to stop meeting you or restrict him further, but all he did was just talk to him.

your dad hesitantly told him how happy you were going about your day and how it only ever happens whenever you had an interaction with him.

“i can stop you from seeing my daughter” your father pauses, “but i can’t stop her from seeing you if that’s what makes her happy”

the weight of his words flowed through the air as your voice tunes in from the garage. painting away your garage whilst singing a song you know so well.

“let me get this straight” jake says, “you’ve been trying to talk to her everyday, making up dozens of excuses, doing random things just so she would talk to you?”

“well if you word it like that, it sounds sad”

“so you’re basically trying to get her to fall in love with you, every single day”

“not always” heeseung trails off, “it’s complicated”

“sure” jake says, taking out his pack of cigarettes. “want one?”

heeseung shook his head, back in thought.

“you haven’t been smoking lately” jake ponders. “is it because of that girl?”

jake said it as a joke, fully expecting his friend to slap him or dismiss it all. but he was proved wrong when heeseung stared right at him and nodded.

“she’s been through enough, i don’t want her to have lung problems just because i can’t leave her alone”

jake whistled low at the statement.

“besides, it’s bad for your lungs, you should stop too”

“i don’t smoke as much as you did” jake retorts, putting back the blunt in the pack. figuring it was boring to smoke alone.

“i never expected you’d do things like this”

“you think i’m heartless”

“not when you used to shit your pants from a ghost story” jake laughs and so did heeseung, hitting his friend on the back. jake looked to his friend, curious.

“do you like her?”

“what do you think?”

“personally?” jake stops, “i think you’re in love with her”

a part of him wanted to deny that, he used to be afraid of commitment after all. but now the prospect of not having any commitment with you kind of scares him. he can’t have commitment with you, literally and figuratively. how could he when you can’t remember who he is everytime you wake up.

like jake said; no strings attached. except, this time he was the at the receiving end and he couldn’t do anything about it.

attempting for the last time to talk to you at the diner, heeseung knew he would fail. he thought he’d done terribly at flirting with you when you screamed a loud ‘no’.

but when you quickly grabbed your jacket and walked out, he followed suit. yeji and hyunjin alarmed as well, walking out of the diner.

the police was about to place a ticket on your car, it was overdue.

“the tags don’t expire until next year”

“it expires May of this year, maam” the police officer said.

“no! it expires may of next-“ you stop after looking at the date of a newspaper that someone was holding.

in a rush, you look around for your car and got in. driving back home confused and aggravated, you have no idea what’s happening.

in the end, you’ve spiraled into this deep hole of reality after your father, quite hesitantly, revealed everything. he told you the whole story; the car accident, what your dad has done, and — to heeseung’s surprise — what heeseung has been doing for the past few months.

sitting on the front steps of your house, flipping through the book filled with newspapers and clippings from your accident, everyone waited around you. your father ready with answers if you if you had any questions or needed any support.

what no one expected was for you to say you wanted to talk to heeseung, alone. heeseung himself was quite shocked, and scared to be faie. he thought out of anyone, you wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. rather hesitant, your father and brother walked in the house to give you space.

the silence was unbearable, for heeseung anyway. you stared front out to the grassy field. it was a beautiful afternoon if not for the situation you were in right now.

“so, um” heeseung cleared his throat rather awkwardly.

“i’m sorry”

he waits for you to continue, but alas you never did. heeseung looks at you, his brows furrowed.

“what for?”

“you’re the only person i can never remember when i wake up” you say, stretching out your legs and observing them instead.

heeseung looked at you — or rather admired you. he can’t believe even in a situation as this, he still find it in himself to fawn over you. you looked so ethereal under the small rays of the sun.

“it’s alright” hee said, slowly smiling as he looked away from you and off to the wide land. “not like you can help it”

“how are you fine with all this?” this time, you were the one facing him, gosh how could he still keep on that god awful, handsome smile on when he’s practically been rejected multiple times?

“just because” he replies, his smile widening. heeseung feels as if he’s gone mad, absolutely batshit insane. he can’t tell why he’s smiling so brightly right now, maybe it’s because of the fact that he’s having a conversation with you again, or maybe it’s because of how cute you sounded like when you’re concerned for him.

“you’re okay with” you pause, carefully choosing the right words “trying to make me fall in love with you every single day?” you say this slowly, enunciating each syllable hoping you’d say it in a way that didn’t seem weird or self-centered.

“what if i say i am?” you were caught off guard when heeseung’s face turned to you. you hadn’t really noticed your proximity until now. his nose was barely grazing yours and you could see his eyes up close, has it always been that pretty?

you gulp. because how can you not? lee heeseung is inches away from your face and he has the most adorable expression anyone could’ve ever seen. an expression no one’s ever seen except for you. his pupils dilated, hair messy from the wind, cheeks a rosy color and a small grin to top it all off.

“why?”

“want me to show you why?” he says. your heart pounded too loud and out of the sheer fear of him being able to hear it, you looked away. heeseung chuckled and blinked, his eyes wandering back to the field.

“i have to get back” heeseung says standing up, “tell me if you ever need anything” you finally dared yourself to look up at him. it didn’t matter anyway as heeseung walked off and got into his car. flashing that smile of his once more before pulling out of the driveway.

you went in your house after watching his car get further and further, lost in your own thought. when you walk up to your room, a small box covered with wrapping paper is placed on top of your bed.

opening it carefully, you opened the box to see a disc titled “to y/n”. out of curiosity, you ran down to the living room’s television and insert it into the dvd player.

sitting down on the sofa, you waited as the video started to play. the tunes of your favorite song hummed in as heeseung came into view.

“hi, heeseung here” he starts saying, the camera pans to two people in the background that was making heart poses and kissy faces. “yo guys stop”

the guys in the back laughed silently and the camera focused back on heeseung, his smile back on display.

“if you’re watching this, y/n. i want to tell you a bit of a background story first” heeseung stops, and grabs something from below “you got into a car accident about a year ago”

the camera focused on the newspaper clipping of her accident, “and now you can’t remember me, even if i try to talk to you everyday”

the person behind the camera snorted and heeseung threw a dirty look to whoever.

“but it’s okay, because now i’ll show you what’s been happening so you can watch this everyday” hee stands up from the sofa and sits down on his living room chair. the camera zooms out and across him sat one of his friends, you assumed. “this is sunghoon, he’s going to act as you”

the guy named sunghoon waved at the camera, smiling politely. the recording continued on for minutes as heeseung acts out the encounters he’s had with you. sunghoon and his other friend, jay, making faces every once in a while to piss off their friend. your laughs and giggles reverberated through the house walls that has your dad coming in to check on you.

as he watches you from the doorway, listening to your laughs and seeing your big smile, he can’t help but have one of his own. ever since the accident, he really has felt emptiness all over. guilt and so much more emotions plaguing him by day. all he wants is just to watch you be happy all the time and if that’s what heeseung makes you, he couldn’t stop you.

the past few months after that were filled with heeseung getting closer and closer to you as more recordings of you and him were added to the tape.

heeseung told you everything about his life, what and why he works as what he does and how he ended up in hawaii.

in turn, you told him more about the years you’ve had without him and telling him about your late mom. you told him about how she still brings you comfort until today from picking up all the tiny quirks she used to do.

eventually, heeseung grew on you. watching the tape daily and seeing how well he treats you, you really can’t help but fall more and more in love with him.

“no, i love tulips, but i love dandelions as well” you say at the pouting guy in front of you. “these are beautiful, hee”

“you know if you want me to get you another one, i can do it right now” he says, ready to make a run for the shop if you say the word.

“i told you” you took another whiff of the dandelions in exaggeration, “i love dandelions, they’re really pretty”

“okay” he sighs, and the moment you yawn for the nth time of the day, heeseung had you nursed back to bed.

“i’m fine”

“yeah, sure” he says, dismissing your words and grabbing a blanket to cover you. “get some rest, i’ll wake you up this time. i swear”

you squint your eyes at him in warning, “i will!” he says in faux sincerity, letting out a small laugh.

“fine”

heeseung gets up and walks out the door the moment you stopped mumbling. he went down to be greeted by your doctor along with your father and brother in the living room.

they all talked about your health and well-being. and if there was any way your memory would ever be healed — mostly heeseung asked about this. and as much as he hoped, there was close to no chance you would. your head injury was so severe it permanently damaged those parts of your brain.

“are you planning to continue all of this?” your father suddenly asked him, “you have no plans for the future?”

“i’m going to university soon, abroad” heeseung starts. “to continue work as a biologist in alaska”

“ah, well, it’s great you have plans” the doctor replies, patting his back, “i thought you were going to devote your whole life to helping her regain her memories”

heeseung wasn’t the only one silent at this. you were too, although a room away. you couldn’t sleep for long and was about to walk outside when you overheard their conversation about you and didn’t want to make it awkward.

but now, you just realized how dumb you were. you realized how you were basically holding him back from everything. you were being selfish of his time. you blindly liked all of the time he’s spent with you, but you didn’t realize that he too should have a life outside of you.

walking back into your room, you pull out your journal that held all the memories you’ve had with him. you’ve written all of it down. most pages dedicated to him.

“hey” you say walking up to him the next day, as he was feeding the dolphins. journal clutched tightly in one hand.

“hi” heeseung said, pure affection on his voice. you sat down beside him on the docks as he went back to throwing in the food. “i just realized i haven’t introduced you to them. this one’s named lorry”

heeseung says patting the head of the closest dolphin. you closed off your heart, preparing yourself for the worse today. set on one goal. but how can he just sit there and look adorable and somehow all the things you planned to say are down the drains.

“don’t worry, lorry’s one of the nicest ones. compared to the others” heeseung assures, you slowly inched your hands forward to pat the dolphin and it felt soft. lorry snuggled its snout to your palm and dived in the water again to play with its friends.

“heeseung” you say, staring out at the sea, avoiding his eyes at all costs. he hummed, closing up the bag of food before looking at you.

“we should stop seeing each other”

heeseung blinked. once. twice. thrice. he thought people were exaggerating when they said ‘their heart dropped’, but now he understands. he could feel his heart starting to beat uncomfortably, every inch of his body conscious, his mouth felt dry.

“what?”

“i’m not going to hold you back. you can’t just make me fall in love with you everyday, thinking there would be a future for us”

“but what if there is?”

“theres no future with me, seung”

not that nickname. please. you can’t just ask him to stop talking to you and use that nickname on him. it’s not fair. you aren’t being fair. why are you being so weird right now?

“there is!” heeseung exclaims, “i’ll make sure there is. you can watch the tape everyday-“

“it won’t work, hee“

“or i’ll tell you our story-“

“you’ll get bored of it“

“i’ll remind you every morning-“

“that’s impractical“

“or i can stop by your house all the time-“

“stop”

“no, you stop.” heeseung stressed, “i have no problem waking up everyday to talk to you— or, or to remind you of our relationship. i don’t want this to end”

“seung” you sigh, “we can’t make it work and you know that” you picked up the journal beside you and showed it to him.

“i started writing in this journal ever since the day i found out about the accident. and i want to start a new chapter” you look down, “without you in it”

he stayed silent. the waves rippled under the dawning sun. hues of orange contrasted with the sea, reflecting off the colors.

“okay” heeseung says barely above a whisper. you look at him, pretending you didn’t hear him say anything. heeseung stared ahead and cleared his throat. “okay. it was nice knowing you, y/n”

he turned to you with a smile. you don’t know what kind of answer you wanted from him. maybe you half expected for him to continue screaming at you or hell even push you in the water. but for some reason, seeing his strained smile hurt you even more. you were the one who had the idea so why were you the one to slowly regret it?

“glad for you, son” heeseung looked back to see your father walking towards him, your brother following behind.

“sir” heeseung greets, he nodded at your brother. “i’m finally off your back now” he jokes.

your father smiles, “ahh well you weren’t all bad” he says patting heeseung on the back.

heeseung smiles politely. he hesitates to say something, but ultimately thought there was nothing else to loose anyway. “how’s y/n?”

your father looks at him with raised eyebrows, “she’s moved in to the clinic now, teaches people art”

“code 110, flight A30 has opened for boarding, please get in line. i repeat, code 110, flight A30 has opened for boarding, please get in line” the speaker announced.

“that’s my cue” heeseung says, taking his suitcase. “it’s been nice knowing you sir. wished we had more time to talk, you too” heeseung nods at your father and brother. he was about to turn to the gate before a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

“before you go, i want you to have this. a parting gift if you will” your father hands him an ipod. your father nods one last time and walks off. leaving heeseung quite confused.

he got in the plane and the moment he sat down, he connected the wires of his earphones in and as the familiar melody whistled in his ears he knows he fucked up.

heeseung hadn’t ever gotten up and left the plane so quick, a few people shouting at him after he bumped into them but he paid no mind. he ran out the airport and called for a cab.

he was jittery the whole ride. he realized how dumb he had been this whole time. he went through all the things you said that day and he didn’t understand why he just let you leave like that. why didn’t he put up more of a fight?

the moment he got down off the cab he ran in to the hospital searching everywhere for you until he found you back in the gardens. watering some flowers and tending to them.

“y/n” heeseung pants, you turn back a bit startled and see him. heeseung slowly walks towards you, taking careful steps one by another. “do you remember me?” he whipers.

he breathes in, your sweet scent filling him up. his face an inch away from yours. he watched as you stared up at him, admiring how the glow of your eyes shifted at every minor movement.

your lips break out into a pretty smile, “how couldn’t i?” and in a spur, your lips were on his. the longing and time that has passed all fused into a moment. heeseung grabs you by your waist to deepen the kiss and giggles from both you and him elicits against each other.

as you break apart for a moment, heeseung mumbles out something that you definitely heard but want to hear him say again.

“i love you” he whispers, “and i’ll continue to for a very long time”

even memories can never erase that feeling. the feeling of being so painfully in love with someone. the feeling of loving lee heeseung.

584 notes · View notes

ceesimz · 5 months ago

Text

Leave Before The Lights Come On

Title is a Arctic Monkeys song! This trope has been done more times than I've blinked my whole life but this is my version, enjoy :) (ps it's not long but it's a lil bit spicy and slightly ridiculous)

Award shows, charity events, dinners with red carpets. It's how things started months ago, and it's still how the story goes now.

Everyone knew what private but not secret meant nowadays, it seemed to be the go-to for basically all couples. Yet, very few understood the thrill of private and secret.

Every night spent at these things was a new performance for you both, dancing around each other with fleeting glances and lingering, teasing touches. A chance to start fresh over and over, something most couples never endeavour in anymore, but it's so addicting. A game of cat and mouse that always ends in the same way, and despite that fact, it's still intoxicating all the same.

"One beer please."

"Just a beer'll do."

You know who is next to you, there's no use guessing. It always starts like this. And when she slithers closer, elbows rested on the bar that she's slumped over compared to you standing with perfect posture and hands clasped around your own arms that crossed over your chest, the cuff links of her suit sleeves glimmer in your eye line. Her hands purposely move to fiddle with them, knowing your attention is on her hands and the rings that are scattered across her fingers. She knows you too well, knows your eyes unintentionally fall to that part of her whenever they're on display, and it causes the first simmer of something to bubble in your abdomen.

At once, the bartender places the beer bottles down in front of you both, each reaching out to grab it and turning to the other. With eyes holding the other's gaze, you and Leah take a swig of your drinks, a silent agreement that the night has begun.

To your dismay though, the scales have already tipped in Leah's favour as she gets the first laugh. She takes another sip of her beer, first moving her eyes from your face to the way your hands make the bottle look bigger than it is as you hold it with both, rather than Leah who holds it with just one. Then, she trails her eyes downwards and up again, smirking smugly at you before walking away, not without a brush against your shoulder.

You shake your head just as the host announces the event will begin in ten minutes and advises everyone to find their seats. Working with one of the most well-known magazines got you great seats surrounded by good people to network with, and though if your manager found out she'd probably retract all future invites, you couldn't care less about networking. Not when you were stuck in the most mind-numbing game of back and forth, push and pull, take and give. You could be seated beside some random Tom, Dick or Harry from a no-name town in England, or you could be sat beside someone like Serena Williams, and it'd make no difference.

Leah Williamson, your new girlfriend and possibly the most frustrating yet attractive person you'd seen, was in the room. That was enough incentive for all thoughts to fly far from your mind.

The last event you went to was probably the most notable for your relationship. It should have been a pretty important one for you to pay attention to, considering it was hosted by GQ, but how could you when a certain blonde in a scantily clad dress was begging to be your girlfriend all night? She had asked in just about every way possible, and you would have said yes from the first instance if it weren't for her attention being pulled away before you could get a word in.

From whispering it in your ear as she slipped past you during a conversation with some of GQ's most important employees, to handing you a serviette with words written on that still send shivers down your spine when you think back to them, and even meeting your eyes from across the room in your respective seats and mouthing the question 'Mine yet?' with an upward quirk of her eyebrows. If you thought that part of the night was memorable, you didn't want to talk about the visceral reaction you got thinking back to the after events that occurred in the comfort of your hotel room.

But now, here in the present, you found your seat at a table with shareholders and employees and celebrities scattered around it, distinctively uninterested in every single one of them. They try to strike up conversation and you let them, your workaholic autopilot kicking in to entertain their interest for some time. These things are always boring, that's what makes them the perfect environment for this kind of thing. Sure, some were more fun than others and both yourself and Leah had found them enjoyable in the past, but there was an added element to them now that you were quite sure you could never give up.

The host drags on far longer than needed and to you it seems they're rather self-indulgent, revelling in the fact they've got the attention of the room. They talk as if everyone is hanging on the edge of their seats, grasping onto every word they said, when in reality it couldn't be further from the truth. Or at least in your case anyway. Apparently your boredom showed a little too much, because the person beside you asked if you're alright at a lull in the first speech of the evening. You reassure them you are fine, just in need of a drink since your beer had already gone down by now, and with a thanks from yourself they turn back away from you.

Your eyes search the room then, giving in to the temptation of her, only to find blue eyes staring right back at you from a few tables over. Her hair is slicked back into a low bun and she has one too many buttons of her white shirt undone - she's hot and she knows it. You still can't figure out if that's annoying or, unfortunately, attractive. The aura that exudes off of her hits you even from across the room, a combination of confidence and a smugness that gets under your skin in the best way.

It's at this moment that a short intermission is announced, allowing for people to go to the bathroom or fetch a drink and some snacks, or whatever they care to do. All you know is that there's a certain person in the room you've got to see and you need a new beverage, so you head to the bar.

Except, you're stopped in your tracks along the way. A body blocks you from going any further as she side-steps in front of you and shoves a champagne flute into your hand. In her hand is a sweet Manhattan cocktail, one with a cherry in it that immediately catches your eye. This is your chance to equal the score.

Maintaining eye contact with her, you delicately take the cherry and, with the most innocent look you could muster from under your eyelashes, you bite it from the stem. Those same piercing blue eyes track every movement of yours, from the moment you snatched it from her drink to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. In the low light, you manage to make out the sight of her pupils tripling in size, and just like that, the cards are in your favour again.

Before Leah can react, you're sauntering away without a word having been exchanged, and you can feel her staring incessantly at you as you drop back into the ocean of people in the room. She curses under her breath, downs her drink, and heads back to the bar.

After that interaction, you actually did fall into an invigorating conversation with the people on your table. You discredited them, in the midst of your tunnel vision you didn't realise who it was you were sat with. Turns out, they're some fascinating people who you could really do with speaking to again soon.

It's as you're talking to one of them, offering to go collect a tray of drinks for the table, that someone leans over you and refills your glass with more champagne. Initially, you guess it's just one of the event workers, but then those damned Arsenal earrings jump into view and your senses are overcome with her perfume. If she asked why there were goosebumps on your arms, you'd shrug and blame it on the chill of the hall. But, your question is, where the fuck did she get a whole bottle of champagne from?

She leaves as quickly as she arrived, leaving only a trace of her signature scent in her wind. You jut your tongue into your cheek momentarily - that was a bold move by the defender. It obviously caught the attention of the people on your table who were feeling as if they may have interrupted perhaps a private moment, but you wave them off and swiftly switch topics.

To their rather inquisitive annoyance, they demand you go get the drinks you'd offered to get since you weren't going to tell them about... whatever had just happened. So you do, you take your champagne flute with you and wander over to the bar with a focused look on your face, waiting for the right time to strike and get your payback.

That happens sooner than you could have guessed, and it forces a smirk upon your face as you approach your prey that's trapped in a seemingly boring conversation, judging by the unimpressed look on her face. She doesn't see you coming, her arms are crossed over her chest and her mouth is down-turned into a frown, another beer bottle in her hand. You see her sigh as you get closer, her head on a swivel but looking in entirely the wrong direction.

The set up is perfect, perfect for you to be able to walk past her straight to the bar with a little taunting. However, you're feeling bolder now, urged on by the alcohol in your system. Instead of a simple brush along her body, your free hand drops down to slide under her blazer and sleaze dangerously low across her toned back. It's a lingering touch, you don't pull your hand away until the very last second. You don't have to look back at her to know she's watching you go.

To both your individual irritation, the next hour or so of the night doesn't allow for anymore sly digs and heated encounters. It's so unbelievably dull, just ramble after ramble of people bragging and kissing each other's ass as they speak. It gets to around forty-five minutes of this bullshit before a spiteful plan forms in your head.

A few of the people on your table had switched seats, ensuring they get the most out of the night. You didn't care for it all, zoning out countless times so far, but when the guy beside you turns to you with a blissfully oblivious smile on his face, you know what you have to do.

The next however long, you converse with this guy more and indulge him in pointless topics that really are so fucking stale and tedious, but you have to play the long game here. And before you'd even done anything half as interesting yet, there's already daggers being forced into the side of your face.

It all comes to a head when you laugh and swat his shoulder in an exaggerated manner, giggling like a school girl at... honestly, you couldn't even remember. But he lavished in your amusement, shuffling his chair ever so slightly closer and throwing an arm around the back of your chair. He brushes his hair back with his other hand, exposing his less than favourable hairline, and really you have to hold back a gag at the fact you're doing this.

At that point, you decide you have to get away from him and his dreary, lifeless, and nonexistent charisma. So you throw one last look at Leah's direction, stifling a grin at her flared nostrils and completely unimpressed demeanour, before excusing yourself from your conversation and sliding out from your seat. Whether Leah had the guts to follow you or not, you weren't sure, but you were just glad you were away from that guy.

Unbeknownst to you, Leah had suddenly gotten up from her chair the second she saw you rise, and she was marching through the room to pace after you. The game was entirely forgotten for her at this point, the image of you with him tattooed on her eyelids. Immaturely, she had to stop herself from spitting at him as she walked past, settling for a warning glare instead.

You have all of two seconds to yourself in the bathroom, checking yourself out in the mirror, before the door slams against the wall with a resounding thud. A gloating smirk is on your face from the moment she walks in, and you stare at her for a moment then turn back to the mirror, pretending to fix your lipstick.

"Really?" Leah shrugged her shoulders more aggressively than you had ever seen anyone before, holding her hands out in an outraged gesture. "You really did that?"

"S'just the game, Leah. You know that." You replied simply, resisting the urge to meet her stare.

It's silent between you both then, possibly the most charged silence you've ever found yourself in. Leah takes a few mindless steps around the room without a particular direction, eyes flicking back to you every second. At once, she stops, just off to your side, and slips her hands into the pockets of her black slacks, kissing her teeth and raising her eyebrows at you. The moment she goes to say something, there's voices coming from the corridor leading to the bathroom. You turn to look at her then, daring her to act first.

She does.

She takes full advantage of the moment, gripping your upper arm tightly and tugging you into one of the cubicles. You gasp quietly in shock, caught off-guard by her actions, and you grumble unintelligibly at the triumphant grin on her face. Her hands are tight on your hips, meanwhile yours are crossed over your chest in disapproval.

"Flirting with a guy? That's a new low." Leah taunted, each stroke of her thumb unintentionally raising the fabric of your black dress.

"Says the one that's so riled up, she dragged me into a toilet cubicle." You hit back, refusing to give in. Leah just shrugs, purses her lips, and takes a quick glance down to your now exposed thigh before looking back at you.

"I'm not riled up. You're the one getting antsy here, you know I'm winning and that's why you had to start feeling up that scraggly arsehole out there. Think again, sweetheart." Fuck, she might have gotten you there.

"Maybe I found him attractive." It's a weak defence, even you know that. Leah knew it too, if the slight raise of one eyebrow was anything to go by.

"Okay. One, you're in a relationship. Two, you're in a lesbian relationship. Three, you hear that?" She looks around in feigned confusion, cupping her hand around her ear briefly before turning back to you in what looks like a stupid, cartoon light bulb moment. "Oh yeah, you're pretty fucking gay!"

You roll your eyes and huff, shaking your head at her idiocy and turning your attention to the wall behind her.

"What was his name? Tell me about him, if he was attractive enough to feel the need to flirt with him." She was picking and choosing every teasing remark from the file in her mind to get under your skin.

"...his name was Dirk." The bark of laughter she lets out at that makes you flinch a little. Maybe his name was a little amusing, but right now to you there wasn't a single funny thing on earth.

"Dirk? Really? Did he come with a Swiss army knife and a granola bar in his pocket? Did he have a flannel shirt under his knit sweater? And a tent in his car, ready for a hike through the Grand Canyon?"

As it turns out, your last thought was a little far off.

The giggle bubbles out of you before you can think to stop it, and you lightly push Leah's face away from you with a hand to her cheek. She turns back to you with a grin, knowing she had won this evening. To be fair, she has won nearly every evening so far. She was on a winning streak you really had no plans of stopping. Not when it got you to this moment here, at the end of it.

"Out of all the guys in the room, I chose a pretty shit one." You surrendered in a murmur, Leah nodding.

"It's alright, look who you get to go home with."

Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she stepped further into your space, her nose nudging against your jaw where her mouth rested just above your pulse point. The shivers you got without even barely being touched were enough of a reaction for her. But, she was greedy when it came to you.

One arm slipped around your waist, holding you to her tightly as her large hand splayed out across your lower back. Her head dipped further down, her lips moving to press open-mouthed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

"Let's get out of here. I'm done now." She murmured into your skin, turning her face more toward your neck and leaving softer, slower pecks there.

"Don't you wanna get your payback? Otherwise you're giving up the win. I was more than ready to get back out there, the night isn't over." You were lying, you were more than ready to get the hell out of here, but you also weren't going to pass up on the chance to tease her just once more.

"I'll get my payback when we get to the hotel."

That's all she needed to say.

These nights had a certain characteristic to them, and that was possibly the most anticipated time of the evening. As the hosts draw out the end of the event, thanking people you've never heard of and have a large lack of care for, you and Leah were already gone.

Normally, it was a fierce wait, hanging on to the other's every move, everything else in the room simply just background noise, as you wait for who blinks first. Who gives in to the tension and ends the night before the lights come up, before the eyes of the room see you chase one another to the exit.

Tonight though, neither of you have the patience.

Regardless of the time you leave, it's the same situation every time for your organised driver; he drops you off and, under strict instruction by his management, waits for you to come back so he can drive you to the hotel or wherever you want to go. Except, you never come, he doesn't see you for the rest of the night once you enter the building. He's used to it by now, a little in love with it since he's getting paid for nothing, he just has to wait for your inevitable apology text telling him you won't be needing a ride home.

Tonight is just like the others - Leah ushers you into the back of an Uber with a hand on your waist, sliding in beside you and slamming the door shut with a smirk on her face after she gives one last glance around. There's never anyone watching, nobody knows where to look and nobody probably even cares, but she does it anyway. She could imagine the articles that might get written about her if the pair of you were ever spotted, and that fuels her even more. Maybe that's the alcohol in her system, but the thoughts run through her veins and she can't help but turn to you, grab your face, and dive into a kiss that's desperate and hot, and the tension of the night reaches its peak.

The cab driver just shakes his head, pulling away from the curb as the pair of you stay stuck in your own world. It's a few minutes later when you both pull away, cheeks flushed red and lips a tad swollen as you put your belts on. Straight away, Leah's hand falls to your lap and you hold it tightly with both of your own, looking up at her with a certain feeling swirling through your eyes that drives her crazy. Her hand moves, then, to the back of your neck as she pushes you towards her for another urgent kiss.

"You're lucky I'm not really the jealous type. I could have done a lot worse in there when you started flirting with Dirk." She comments breathlessly after, a displeased quirk to her mouth that hints she is in fact somewhat jealous.

"I'll make sure to do a better job next time then." You tell her in a feigned nonchalant way.

Leah stared at you then, her hand clutching the back of your neck as she gave you a look that warned you to not even think about such things. To be honest, you couldn't. You were hers just as much as she was yours. There was no other way to live than like that.

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fic #woso imagine #woso #woso community

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topguncortez · 1 year ago

Text

I Still Love You - Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey

opposites attract masterlist || main masterlist

synopsis: Y/N goes out on her first date in. . . in a while. She struggles with her feelings as if it is time to start moving on, or if she wants to fight for things with Jake.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of cheating

Y/N didn’t know what she was doing.

She couldn’t remember the last time she went on date. Things had changed a lot since she was active in the dating pool. Dates were no longer big events where you shaved every crevice of your body, went out and bought a new dress, spent hours doing your hair and make-up, where picked up at your house and greeted with flowers and taken to some fancy restaurant across town. No, dating now was going to a local bar for a drink or two with some guy you had matched with on some dating app.

Y/N felt her hands shake as she looked over her shoulder as the bell above the door rang. She was extremely early to her drink date, a whole half hour early to be exact. But the nerves had gotten the better of her, and she didn’t want to show up late. Now she sat looking completely out of place in this swanky bar on the east side of San Diego. It was far enough away that she knew it would be safe from anyone she knew catching glimpse of her.

It wasn’t that she felt guilty about being on date. . . well, she felt a little bit guilty. Jake hadn’t signed the divorce papers yet, but they were making way with setting up visitation days. Y/N was currently living in the house while Jake was staying in an on-base house. Y/N hadn’t even thought of getting out into the dating field, wanting to wait until the divorce was completely over, but Val had set her up with one of her co-workers and Y/N didn’t have the heart to say no. Who knows, maybe she was going to meet her second husband.

A small huff left her lips at even the thought of marrying another man. Having another man raise her kids. Having another man in her bed. Jake had been the one for her, and he’d always be the one for her, even if he broke her heart. She could entertain the notion of getting drinks with someone, but it wasn’t going to go much farther than this.

“Y/N?” A masculine voice called out to her. She lifted her head, “I’m Miles, it’s nice to meet you.”

Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile, reaching her hand out to greet him, “Nice to meet you, Miles.”

He was clad in a black dress pants and baby blue button up. The top buttons were undone, showing the faintest gold chain around his thick neck. He sat down on the barstool next to you, his scent of oranges and hospital drifting to you, making your nose scrunch. You hated oranges and the thick smell of hospital disinfectant.

“Sorry I’m late, got held up at the hospital,” Miles said.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows looking at her watch. It was 7:01 and they agreed to meet at the bar at 7:00, “A minute late is hardly late.”

“In my book. . . it is,” He smiled, flagging down the waiter to order himself a drink and some appitizers, “I don’t like showing up on time, it feels like I’m late.”

“I’m the same way. I like to be atleast 10 minutes early to everything,” Y/N sighed, “But having kids, I’m lucky if I’m even 5 minutes early.”

“Val told me about your children,” Miles said, taking a sip of the old fashioned he had ordered, “Three of them right?”

Y/N nodded her head, reaching for her phone. Her favorite thing about being a mom is getting to show off pictures of her kids. She showed Miles pictures of Alex when he first got his glasses, Ella winning her first soccer game, when Eli rolled over for the first time. Miles smiled along with her the whole time, asking questions about her kids; what they liked to do, what their favorite colors are, what their favorite bed time stories are.

“They look like they are some fun people,” Miles said, sipping his drink.

Y/N wasn’t sure what it was that snapped in her, but she suddenly felt embarrassed. Was she talking too muc about her kids? Did this guy even want kids? It wasn’t just her he would be getting if they ever decided to go past this one date, it was her and three kids. Three kids that had cried when their father moved his things out the door. Three kids that had been fighting and acting out more since the divorce process had started. Three kids that were waiting for her to come home.

“Hey?” Miles asked softly, putting his hand on her knee, “Did I lose ya?”

Y/N blinked a couple of times, plastering a fake smile on her face, “No,” She shook her head, “It’s just I-”

“Thinking about your kids?” Y/N nodded and Miles set his glass down on the bar, “Val told me this is your first time out since your divorce. . . It’s my first time out since my wife died and I. . .” Miles shook his head, “I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong, meeting you here.”

Y/N’s heart broke a bit in her chest, seeing his sad brown eyes look at her. Val had mentioned that he was previously married, but she never disclosed the details on what happened. She shifted on her barstool, placing her hand on top of Miles’ giving it a squeeze.

“This doesn’t have to go very far tonight. . . If anything, I’m not ready to go very far tonight,” Y/N spoke honestly, “I’m still hurt and dealing with everything, but I could really use a friend?”

Miles nodded his head, turning his hand in Y/N’s so their fingers were intertwined, he squeezed her hand back, “I can use a friend too.”

The two of them stayed in the bar for only another hour, before going to find something to eat on the east side. Miles had picked out a local seafood place that he swore had the best fish tacos. The conversation flowed easily as they ate. They talked about everything under the sun; what he did for work at the hospital, Y/N’s plan to go back to work at the flower shop in a couple weeks, Miles’ most recent travel to Switzerland for a pediatric board conference, how Y/N finally got to visit the USS Midway museum. It truly did feel like Miles was the perfect friend for Y/N. He understood what it was like to lose someone you love, only difference was Jake wasn’t dead.

“I should really get back,” Y/N sighed as they walked down the sidewalk to where she parked her car, “I gotta trade off with the kids’ dad, he works early in the morning.”

“Don’t gotta explain anything to me,” Miles shrugged. He had been totally respectful when Y/N talked about everything with Jake. She didn’t go into full detail about it, mainly because the wounds were still so fresh. She still felt a pang in her heart when she walked through the front door and his boots weren’t there.

“I think we should do this again, I really enjoyed getting to be with another adult,” Y/N smiled and Miles returned it.

“I would love to,” Miles responded and opened Y/N’s car door, “Let me know when you get home, please.” Y/N nodded her head, “Good night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Miles,” She whispered as she shut the door.

The whole drive home it felt like Y/N was in a cloud. Her feelings were a bit conflicted on what she felt towards Miles. He was a good guy, with a nice smile. He had a sense of humor and had made her laugh several times throughout the night. Y/N could tell he had manners from the times he pulled out her chair and switched sides on the sidewalk so he was near the street. But all those little things were also things that Jake had done. Jake always sat so he was facing the door, or in the isle. Jake always opened the door and walked next to the street. Jake always knew how to make Y/N laugh.

Y/N had just pulled into her driveway, Jake’s black truck parked in it’s normal spot when her phone dinged.

‘Valeria Bates: how was it!? Did you kiss!? Did you do more than kiss!?’

Y/N’s face paled. Was she supposed to kiss him? They had agreed to just be friends, for now, but what was supposed to happen on the next date? Y/N hadn’t ever kissed another man besides Jake. And she sure as hell hadn’t slept with another man. Even though Miles was attractive, the thought of him touching her the way Jake had made her feel queasy. She didn’t respond to Val, tucking her phone in her purse and heading towards the front door.

Quietly, she pushed the door open, coming face to face with Jake sitting alone on the couch, only the light of the television illuminating his face. When Y/N first asked Jake if he could watch the kids tonight, she hadn’t felt bad about it, but now, seeing him sitting there alone, she felt nothing but guilt.

“How was it?” Jake asked.

Y/N sighed as she took off her coat and hung it up, “It was good.”

Jake nodded his head and stood up from the couch, “Will there be another one?”

“Too soon to say,” Y/N mumbled and turned to face Jake, “How were the kids?”

“They were fine. Eli was a bit fussy but he’s got some teeth coming in,” Jake stuffed his hands in his pockets and Y/N nodded.

“Well, You should probably get-”

“Don’t go on another date,” Jake said, cutting Y/N off, “Look, I know I fucked up. I know what I did is something that is unforgivable, and I beat myself up for it every day, but please. . . Please. . .” He walked towards her, and grabbed her hand in his, “Please.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to do, as he stood before her, his green eyes with a tint of red to them.

“Goodnight, Jake,” Y/N muttered, squeezing his hand before moving towards the stairs to go check on the kids.

“I love you,” Jake whispered as Y/N’s frame disappeared down the hallway.

taglist: @damrlova @phoenix1388 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @justenoughmadness @sagittarius-flowerchild @hardballoonlove @harrysgothicbitch @hookslove1592

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viennakarma · 1 year ago

Text

New Year, New Us

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After you and Max broke up, you've never been on the same place at the same time again. That is, until the New Year's Eve party.

Word count: 4.3k

Tags: Smut, female reader, +18, sex (p in v), unprotected sex, ex!reader, a little possessive reader, spanking, cursing (but in a cool way), a bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Note: not me looking for a GIF that he's not wearing the team kit (there is none). This has been on my docs for a little while. English is not my first language (so please bear any mistake). If you’re my best friend, sophia, look away :)

Find me on Twitter!

“Are you sure he won’t be there?”, you text Alex, your best friend.

While waiting for her answer, you look at yourself in the mirror, checking your makeup, basic due to lack of time, but beautiful nonetheless and the red lipstick gives the whole look a boost. On your body, you wear a set of a mini skirt, and a kind of strapless corset that holds your breasts firmly, giving your look an extra spice. When you went shopping with Alex the day before, she had confirmed that it suited the casual New Year's Eve party the group of friends throws every year.

“Charles confirmed that Max is not in town.” is the response you get from Alex as you wait for the Uber.

It would be really embarrassing if Max was there, because he's the ex you don't want to see under any circumstances. Your separation was difficult, and it almost caused a split in the entire group of friends. Luckily, Max went away for the Formula 1 season, and it wasn't necessary for his friends to choose a side, as he was the one who physically distanced himself from everyone.

Despite everything, he still meets up with friends from the group the few times he's in Monaco in between races, and these outings are the ones you refrain from going to so as not to cross paths with him.

Even though your relationship has collapsed like a house of cards, you and him do your best not to take anything out on your group of friends, you don't talk bad about each other nor impose any “either him or me” choices.

As soon as you arrive at the party, you realize that the “New Year's Eve party with friends” has probably taken on greater proportions. That's what happens when the majority of the group is made up of famous extroverts who make friends so easily. Charles had guaranteed that there would be 30 people at most, but when you enter his apartment, it seems to be at least triple that number.

You look for Alex and your closest group and find them near the small bar, getting drinks. Alex waves as soon as she sees you walking towards them.

She hands you a martini as soon as you catch up to her. Alex hugs you, complimenting your makeup, and you turn to Charles, hugging him, as well as all your other friends. You all toasted together, laughing.

Alex pulls you onto the dance floor, and you both laugh as a Rihanna song comes on. Both of you dance for several minutes until you feel a bit of sweat form on your forehead.

“Shit,” Alex murmurs, immediately stopping dancing. She looks over your shoulder at something behind you.

As soon as you look back, you see Max entering the party carrying a big box of some alcoholic beverage. It's impossible to go unnoticed when he's one of the most famous there. You watch as he smiles when he sees Charles in the crowd, as soon as the two meet, they exchange a friendly hug.

“Sorry, babe. Charles had indeed confirmed that he would not arrive from his trip in time for the party,” Alex justifies herself, but you keep looking in Max's direction. He's talking to Charles when, suddenly, he turns and looks in his direction. His blue eyes bore into yours and you swallow hard. You calculate an escape route for a few seconds, but he looks away and goes back to chatting calmly with Charles.

Alex pulls you away, but you keep looking in Max's direction until she shoves you into another room, which you recognize as the kitchen.

“We can leave if you want, we can find a nightclub or something,” Alex says, capturing your attention again.

“Alex, I'm not going to keep you away from your boyfriend on New Year's Eve just because I can't stand my ex,” You shake your head no. “Besides, if he's so comfortable, I'm not the one who's going to act like I’m not over him.”

“Oh, wow! Girl power, damn it!” Alex yells, opening a cooler on the counter. She pulls out two beers and hands one to you. With a bite of the cap, you quickly open it and after toasting your bottles, you take a giant sip that refreshes you from the heat and makes you more determined.

“That's more like it, now let's get back to the dance floor!” You confirm, with a nod after downing the entire bottle at once. Alex does the same and grabs two more bottles for you and her.

Together, you both return to the dance floor, you and Alex dancing and jumping, screaming the songs at the top of your lungs, as if there was no one else around. When Beyoncé's 6 Inch starts, you two start to dance sensually and sing along. With the song halfway through, you open your eyes feeling other people watching you and notice that they have opened a small circle around the two of you.

The attention only seems to make both Alex and you even more excited. Unintentionally, your eyes meet Max's, and you notice that he, Charles, and practically the rest of the party have their eyes on both of you. You grab Alex's shoulders and pull her close until one of your legs is between hers and one of hers is between yours, her hand goes to your waist, and she smiles as she guides her hips into yours and you both roll your hips.

“I know what you're doing…” Alex whispers in your ear. “He's going to regret ever breaking up with you!” She adds in a conspiratorial tone that makes you laugh

You mumble the lyrics to her and Alex pulls your hand, making you spin so that you stop with your back on her chest, placing you facing Max. You don't find any trace of shame in yourself, maybe whether it's the alcohol and the music, or maybe it's all these people staring at you and Alex with so much lust.

You look into Max's eyes as you dance with Alex's hand running down the side of your hip. His eyes are focused on you as he holds a cup of some drink. At some point, his hand exerts so much force on the cup that the plastic bends, spilling a bunch of drink onto his shirt.

You can't help but laugh when he looks down and mutters a swear word. He turns around and leaves. You continue dancing with Alex for a few more minutes until your feet feel sore and you’re very thirsty. When you sit at your friends' table, Charles serves you fresh cold juice. Max appears soon after, now with his shirt changed.

He sits at the same table as you, of course, because he is part of the group. Max sits on the opposite side of it, facing you. You look away from him when you realize your friends are talking and you decide to join the conversation.

“What happened?” Alex asks when she sees you readjusting the threads on your heels for the third time.

“My heels are killing me” you explain.

“I can lend you a pair of shoes. Do you want it?” Alex offers and you nod, “My stuff is in the guest suite on the first floor, where Charles always keeps our bags. You can take it if you want.”

“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!”

You get up, crossing the crowd of people drinking, dancing and talking, to get to the stairs. As soon as you go up and reach the first floor, you take off your shoes and walk barefoot to the guest room, feeling relief in the bottom of your feet.

You find Alex’s bag on a dresser, and you rummage through it until you find a pair of white Jordans. You go into the bathroom and wash your face carefully so as not to mess up your makeup, and wet your neck to relieve the heat. After drying off, you go back to the dresser and you’re about to put on the shoes when the door opens and someone turns on the light.

You look up to see Max coming towards you with decisive steps, looking like a man on a mission.

“What are you doing here?” you murmur when he stops in front of you and his height forces you to lift your head to look into his eyes.

“You know what you do to me,” He whispers, his hand touches your face firmly, his hand holding your jaw and part of your neck “You know what I want.”

As soon as he says that, your body betrays you and you feel a wave of goosebumps running up your arms. Still, even with the clear expression of desire on Max's face, he doesn't move forward, just waits for your reaction.

You would be lying if you didn't admit to yourself that you miss him. Almost everyday, you miss the domesticity of your relationship, you miss his eyes looking for yours across any room or being the first thing you see as you wake up, you miss his touch both when it’s rough or when it’s exploratory like he wanted his fingertips to memorize you, his nimble hands and his cock stretching you.

You stand on your tiptoes to close the distance, and it's still not enough to reach him, so you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down until your lips meet. He kisses you tentatively for a few seconds, and then his arm wraps around your waist and he lifts you off the ground, pressing you against his body while opening his lips to yours to deepen the kiss. When his tongue meets yours, you let out a moan that he captures with his mouth.

Your fingers move up from his shoulder to the back of his neck and you pull his hair hard, thinking it should always be like this. That you both belong in each other's arms.

Then you remember he was the one who ended it. He was the one who dumped you right after going on the new season of Formula 1. Probably to be free to fuck some groupie or something.

You move until he puts you back on the ground, and as soon as you find your balance, you push him so hard that he stumbles back two steps, surprised by your sudden refusal.

The both of you are panting as you sit on the edge of the bed, running your hands through your hair as you try to find your sanity again.

“You did this to us” you manage to say through heavy breathing, “You broke up with me to go on new adventures, and you still have the audacity to talk about me as if I had broken your heart”

“Love…” He starts, the pet name probably a slip out of habit, but that makes you even more furious.

“Don’t fucking ‘love’ me!” you point an accusatory finger in his direction.

Max stands like a statue, panting and his lips are red and a little stained with your lipstick, and his chest is rising and falling. You stare at him not knowing what to do now. Then you look at his face, his eyes closed as if he was trying hard to think, his hair even more messy because of your hands seconds ago. Max takes a deep breath, then he takes a step towards you, and kneels right in front of you.

“I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I should never have done that, I love you and I miss you every fucking day,” He looks up at you, his blue eyes shining in surrender, in a way that leaves you weak. “I'll do anything to win you back,” He says, placing both hands gently on your knees. Max looks at you intently as he gently runs his hand down your leg, until he closes his hand around your ankle. He slowly lifts your leg, as if expecting a negative reaction, and then leaves a kiss on your calf without taking his eyes off you. “Please- I- let me win you back- I’ll do anything you want- Let me be good to you…”

The sigh that leaves your lips is almost involuntary when he kisses a little higher on your calf, and then another one above your knee, followed by a soft bite. You almost let yourself get carried away by the effect of his mouth on you, but then you remember to regain control of the situation.

“With how many people did you have sex with after me?” you ask, and he immediately stops moving to look at you.

“None.” He answers, and you bend forward to hold the back of his neck and you pull his hair hard until he lifts his head with a groan.

“Don't lie to me, it's been eight months, Max. Are you going to tell me you haven’t had sex with anyone?” you ask through gritted teeth, without letting go of his hair. He stares at you firmly when he answers again.

“No one.”

“You swear?” you ask, finally loosening your grip on his hair.

“I swear,” He kisses and nibbles your legs again, as if he doesn't want to leave any part of you untasted. “I- I just- fucked my hand thinking about you.” He whispers against your thigh and you almost don't hear him, he says it so quietly.

He continues moving up, and you gasp as he kisses the space at your waist between the base of your corset and the waistband of your skirt. Each touch seems to send a jolt of pleasure straight into your core, and you do your best not to give in too quickly. You hold Max's face and make him look at you again.

“You have half an hour. Better fuck me hard” you command, and he swallows hard, nodding his head.

You finally let yourself fall back onto the bed as he kisses your body again. He tries to lift the corset, but the fabric is too tight. Then Max pulls the corset down in one motion, just enough to release your breasts from above. As soon as your tits spill out, Max grabs them like he's starving.

You can no longer contain your moans when his hands hold your hips, trying to reach under your skirt and his mouth alternates between licking from the base of your breasts to the tip of your nipples, and taking in as much as he can put in his mouth to suck at once. And you know with how hard he's doing it, you're going to have hickey marks all over tomorrow.

“How does this come out?” He asks, looking like he’s having difficulties with the corset.

“From behind.”

Max leaves your breasts to kiss your neck for a moment and you feel one of his hands reaching between your back and the mattress to try to open it. With an irritated growl, he palms your back. You squeal when, with a quick movement, he pulls your back, rolling you around and turning you face down on the bed. He makes a sound of approval when he finally undoes the corset, takes it off you, and tosses it away. He pulls the zipper on the back of your skirt, but it catches halfway, so he pulls hard and you hear the ripping sound until you feel the fabric loosen on your skin. With a sound of disapproval, you're about to curse Max’s entire lineage, when he cuts you off:

“I'll buy you another one. I’ll buy you whatever you want.” He gasps and soon you feel his hands touching your back and going down until they palm each side of your ass. He squeezes hard and you groan against the mattress, probably making a mess on the bedsheets with your lipstick. “I missed this,” He says, and then he gives your ass a slap that leaves you weak, then another slap on the other side, which makes your pussy throb. He gently massages where he hit on your asscheeks.

“Are you going to stand there admiring or are you going to ‘win me back’?” you say in a sarcastic voice when you look over your shoulder and Max is kneeling between your legs, staring at your ass like it's the Eighth Wonder of the Modern World.

“You're very bossy, you know that?” He says with a soft smile. He pulls your panties down to your knees.

“And you are complaining too much for someone who is on probation,” you keep looking over your shoulder and see how he takes his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking on them to moisten.

“Probation, eh?” He says, getting closer to you.

“Yeah, or do you think you can get back this easily into my life?” You scoff.

You stop looking when his hand disappears between your legs, and you feel his touch gently on your pussy. You grip the sheet expectantly, as he presses your clit and you moan against the sheets again. When his fingers penetrate you, you start to move your hips, following the friction of his long fingers.

Max knows your body like no one else, the bastard, and you feel embarrassingly close to orgasm in just a few minutes of stimulation. You hear the indecent noise of how wet your pussy makes his fingers every time he moves them in and out, massaging your G-spot with infuriating precision. When your pussy clenches against his fingers, you try to do something, anything, to delay the orgasm.

Without stopping his movements, Max bends over you, kissing the back of your neck, then he approaches your ear and whispers:

“I’ve got you, pretty baby”

You want to curse him for the power of this pet name in your ear but your mind simply explodes into a thousand fireworks when you finally come, still leaning over feeling Max's lips on the back of your neck. He keeps his fingers in you for a few seconds as you try to recover from the orgasm.

When Max moves away and you feel his weight leave the bed, you roll over so your back is to the mattress so you can see him. He gets rid of his clothes very quickly, and your mouth is practically watering seeing him completely naked.

“Are you sure?” Max asks, fisting his member before going back to bed.

“So sure, baby” you say, with one finger raised, you make a “come here” gesture. He starts to climb onto the bed, “And as I’m feeling merciful today, I will ride you just the way you love” As soon as Max is hovering over you, you push him until he falls back onto the bed, rolling over him and getting on top.

Moving your hair out of the way, you crawl down until you’re between his legs, holding the base of his perfect cock. You lick him from bottom to top, from his balls to his cockhead and his hips jerk with the contact.

“Love, please” He interrupts you, grabbing your face and pulling you on top of him. “If you blow me, I'll cross the finish line too soon.”

“Now, this is the first time this is a problem for you,” you tease him, letting a bead of saliva drop onto his cock which makes his little giggle turn into a groan.

“Baby, please, I need to be buried into you”

With a laugh, you do as he asks, and sit on his lap, pressing his length between the two of us and sliding your pussy over him, your wetness indecent.

“You're trying to kill me, woman,” He says in a tense voice. You watch the head of his cock disappear between your lower lips as you grind against him and more groans leave his throat.

You lift your hips enough to hold his cock and position it at your entrance. From top to bottom, you slide his length inside you slowly, and it takes some time for you to be able to fit him inside you completely. His girth is something above average, and the eight months since your breakup that you've been in a drought require you a minute to readapt to his size.

You let out a moan when you finally bring your hips together and feel overwhelmed by his size. You place both hands on Max's chest for balance and dig your nails into his pale skin. You lift your hips just a few inches and sit back down, the friction making you both moan so loudly that for a moment you worry you might be heard. Then you remember that the party is in full swing downstairs, and the music is loud enough that you don't need to worry.

Max's two hands hold your ass and you start to move with more rhythm, going very high before coming back down with everything, pushing his cock inside you. His lips are parted and you bend down to kiss his chin and neck.

“You are mine,” Something possessive inside you makes you say that. Max looks at you completely surrendered. “Do you understand?” He nods. You leave a hickey on his shoulder that makes him contract deliciously inside you and mark him as yours. You increase the speed of the rise and fall of your hips, your moans matching his.

Max gives up his control fully and just lets you ride him the way you want, his moans getting louder and louder by the second. He stretches you so well that your toes curl, and Max presses his hand on your lower belly, the pressure makes you feel something completely different as your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Your knees weaken and Max takes the opportunity to reverse your positions again, placing you on your back on the bed as if he were impatient. Without disconnecting your bodies, he reaches for a pillow and places it under your hips to lift you a bit in the new position. He put your thighs over his where he is kneeling between your legs. Max pushes into you slowly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your head drops back when he goes all the way in, his hips meeting yours until there is no space in between.

“Max! Oh fuck- oh-” you practically scream, pinching your own nipples to find some relief, “Oh my God!

In the new position he presses deep into your G-spot and you know you won't last much longer. His hands hold your hips even tighter and he lifts practically half of your body off the bed to thrust into you hard enough to make your head bounce on the bed.

There's nothing you can do but surrender to the pleasure that's building inside you with the way Max manipulates your body, holding onto his forearms for dear life, probably leaving some nail marks behind.

Max puts you back on the pillow, one hand he flattens on your stomach to keep you in place, and the other he presses his thumb to your clit. From then on, it's a lost cause. It's a matter of minutes before the orgasm that has been building for the second time erupts.

Your brain blackouts for a second as he pushes you off the cliff, and your hip shakes so hard that you thank God you're underneath, otherwise you would have fallen. Your pussy spasms also make Max cum soon after. Panting, he pulls out and falls on top of you, his head against your chest.

You lay like that trying to catch your breath for long minutes without saying anything, one of Max's hands running up and down your side and your fingers playing with his hair.

You still haven't said anything when you get up and go to the bathroom to clean up. When you’re putting on your panties, you remember Max destroyed your miniskirt. You gather the fabric from the floor and fold it.

“I'm sorry about the skirt,” Max finally breaks the silence, giving you the button-down shirt he was wearing earlier. As soon as you put your arms through the sleeve, Max fastens the buttons for you. you end up wearing the bustier over the shirt, like these it girls do and the final look isn't so bad. Max puts on another outfit and looks for a new shirt in a backpack that you know belongs to one of your friends.

When you’re both dressed, you leave the room still unsure of what to say. Max holds your hand, stopping you from walking any further.

“How are we now? Will you give you another chance?” he asks, sounding anxious. You realize you haven't given him a complete answer yet, which is why he seems uncertain like this. You rise on tiptoe, and bring your lips closer, holding his neck.

“I said you're mine, didn't I?” you whisper against his lips. You leave a quick peck on his lips and pull away.

But this time he doesn't let go of your hand, he just keeps holding on, tightly as you walk down the stairs back to the party, just in time for the countdown to New Year's Eve.

When you arrive at your friends' table, they start shouting and applauding when they see that you are holding hands.

“You guys are back together?” Alex asks, hugging Charles, over the voices of people counting down from 20.

“Max is on probation, if he behaves, we'll get back together,” you say with a playful tone and everyone laughs.

Max wraps his arms around your waist and you two join the countdown.

5, 4, 3, 2… 1!

“Happy New Year, Max!” you shout, over the voices of everyone celebrating the new year. He holds your face with both hands and looks at you as if you were his entire world, his blue eyes shining with deep feeling.

“I love you,” He whispers in your ear, before pulling you to sit on his lap and placing a kiss on your lips. He clings to you like he is afraid if he let you go, you will leave again.

"I love you too, pretty baby," you whispered back, laughing as his face went red.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #formula 1 #formula one

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buckrecs · 2 years ago

Note

ur account is my absolute go to!!! any chance u could rec biker!bucky fics 🥺🥺🥺

Biker!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Wanted by @jadedvibes

You consider ending things with Bucky after seeing a girl come on to him, but it's not that easy, and you get a hard reminder about who he really wants in the clubhouse bathroom.

Best Friends? Nah. by @wicked-mind

Classic best friends don’t realize feelings for each other until someone points it out.

Business as Usual by @world-of-aus

Not My Babe by @avecra

After a nasty break up to a nearly two year relationship, you find yourself dragged to a bar by your best friend, though a familiar blue-eyed biker makes the best of your crappy situation.

rough around the edges by @wndalovebot

Let Me Love You Old School by @mysecretlittlelibrary

Bucky meets you at a diner and plans to sweep you completely off your feet.

The Bogeyman and Other Monstrosities by @pellucid-constellations

As the local biker club president, Bucky Barnes had a reputation for being tougher than nails and feared by many—he’d never be caught dead at a halloween street fair. Too bad his best girl always got what she wanted.

Waiting Game by @buckychrist

You knew being associated with one of the most notorious and dangerous biker gangs in the city was bad, let alone scandalously dating their kingpin in secret, but you never thought you’d have to face those consequences. Until now.

Home by @all1e23

Bucky runs into his ex at a winter carnival the MC is helping host, but she didn’t come alone.

Whatever It Takes by @sgtjbuccky

Bucky Barnes knows the way to drive you up the wall in frustration, fed up with it, you show him that you know how to play just the same.

deny me by @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

Drunk, Dumped and Empty by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

After a nasty breakup, you go out drinking. After an absolute creep hits on you, you’re saved from a concussion by a mysterious, kind man, who reveals himself to be Bucky Barnes. The bar you’re in is a bit suspect, but you never expected him to be head of a biker gang.

yayo by @sergeantxrogers

“I need you safe. I need you here, and I need you safe, and I need, God please, I need you to let me in, baby, just let me in and I promise I’ll make it all better,” his broken voice pleaded through the door.

Drabble by @fandoms-writings

Biker!Bucky x tattooed!reader

hot and cold by @bucksfucks

you & bucky had never gotten along, but when your ex-boyfriend ransom turns up at the same bar you’re at, bucky goes to every length to protect you.

How To Get Away With Murder by @empyreanwritings

Bucky was always good at helping you clean up your messes, which is why he doesn't bat an eye when you show up on his doorstep covered in your abusive boyfriend's blood.

Hush by @buckysknifecollection

Bucky finds a stray kitten but he doesn’t know anything about cats. A friendly librarian helps him out.

little favors by @onceuponastory

Since Bucky saved her from her shitty boss, Y/N hasn’t seen him again. For a while, she gets closer and closer to giving up hope. Until he comes back. And this time, he’s asking for her help.

SERIES

Swallow by @all1e23

Since he was fifteen years old, Bucky Barnes has only been sure of two things; the club should be the most essential thing in his life, and he’d burn it all down for you.

Delicate Edges by @wkemeup

Your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. It’s only in moments when the charming Bucky Barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. The border is crumbling. You're trapped in the middle. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

For The Best by @metalbuckaroo

Bucky is tired of waiting for you to realize what you're doing. He does the only thing he can think of to break the cycle.

White Horses by @whitewolfbumble

Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Howlin’ For You by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

When Y/N gets an unreal deal on her first home, she wonders why her neighbor scared away all the other buyers. Despite being cautious, she wonders why the town has given Bucky Barnes a bad name.

Brotherhood & Bullets by @rookthorne

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you'd become the President's own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

Stars & Stripes, Studs & Spikes by @buckyismybicycle

The crew has always been tight, but you and Bucky are best of friends. When Bucky sees Brock's mark on you, he nearly loses it and wants to end Brock for good. But, there's something more important - keeping you safe.

call me baby by @cherryrogers

Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker, and when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either — that was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

Masterlist by @angrythingstarlight

Masterlist by @metalbuckaroo

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #biker!bucky #bucky barnes modern au #biker!bucky x reader #bff!bucky #best friend!bucky #bucky x florist!reader #neighbor!bucky

2K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 2 years ago

Text

☄. *. ⋆ ┄ We Fight to Make Up

summary: after a run-in with your ex, steve's anger gets the best of him. sometimes you think he picks a fight just for the make up sex. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 7.6k warnings: smut, steve calls himself daddy once, briefly mentioned breeding kink, a touch of angst, insecure!steve, also steve with scruff because that needs a warning too, 18+ mdni a/n: ok i'm not the happiest with this but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long and she needs to see the world now so.. enjoy? <3

You don’t go out anymore. None of the party does, really.

Fighting through the end of the world and somehow surviving for three years straight made bars and clubs and getting drunk seem a little less important. It gets too easy to stay within the inner circle that’s seen the same sort of hell you’ve seen.

Eventually, time goes on and you don’t realize that you’ve only been around the same ten people until the thought of going to the grocery store alone sounds scary.

Fighting monsters, weathering alternate dimensions, beating up Russians soldiers — that’s cake. It’s the getting back to normal that’s so hard.

That's a bitter pill to swallow. None of you got to have too much of a childhood before the knowledge of a sentient darkness swirling beneath your feet turned everything upside down (no pun intended). A life with a regular routine unbound by the impending doom of an armageddon is hard to go back to, when fighting to stay alive is all you’ve ever done.

You try really hard, though. All of you do.

The kids try to find a nostalgic amusement in the arcade they used to frequent while grappling with the fact that they’ll never been those kids again. The older group of you dabbles in the simple pleasure of growing up and discovering what adulthood really means — getting drunk and going dancing just because you can, but facing the inevitable consequences of those actions all on your own.

The six of you find a certain solace at the Limelight. For Steve and Jonathan, they serve good beer — obviously cheap and unusually tangy on the tongue, but nice and cold nonetheless. For Eddie and Robin, there’s a karaoke machine and a stage across the bar, complete with every rock ballad imaginable. You and Nancy take special interest in the dance floor — a platform with light-up rainbow squares for all your drunken twirling needs.

It’s a nice place. More than that, it’s a familiar one. Eventually, going there every friday night is like comfort food in the belly, pleasant and warm. Steve feels safe there when he’s with all of you and tonight he’s especially fuzzy with a quiet sort of happiness that’s got his cheeks all pink.

Maybe the beer is partly to blame.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve got your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, anchoring yourself to him and simultaneously fending off any unwanted attention from the scantily clad women around you who can't seem to take their eyes away from your Steve.

But he only watches you as you smile into your glass while Eddie Munson, all sweaty after his Madison Square Garden worthy rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, tells some stupidly unfunny joke. You’re pressed contently into his side, like you would melt into him if you could, and he’s buzzing with the comfort of your warmth and the chemically induced mellow from the drink in his cup.

It was a good night. An easy one. A fun one.

And then it just… wasn’t.

When your ex waltzes into the bar, he brings the cold air in with him and an unusual sophisticated energy that’s typically foreign to this side of town. He’s got on a gray corduroy blazer and slacks to match. The black turtle neck he wears beneath it clings to his lean torso and broad chest, like he wants people to marvel at how muscular he is.

You don’t even realize it’s him at first. You turn to Nancy to talk shit about the douchebag at your eight o’clock that just walked in while the guy settles at the far end of the bar, around the corner that faces the group of you. He removes the dark Ray-Bans from the straight bridge of his nose and uses them to push back his cinnamon-colored curls.

Steve feels you tense at his side then. You duck inside yourself and force him and Robin to form a makeshift shield around you.

It’s a tad too dramatic for two people who ended on pretty decent terms. It was about as amicable as a breakup can be — you were both seventeen and thankfully already mature enough to know that the relationship wasn’t bound to make it outside of high school. So you split up in search of more fulfilling things.

You found yours, in Steve and in the rest of the party. And by the looks of it — the obviously expensive suit and the silver Rolex glittering under the dim yellow bar light — he found his.

You aren’t exactly sure how, but he sees you.

Probably because Robin couldn’t stop ogling at him from over her shoulder, obviously not getting the hint to act casual and inevitably dragging his attention over to the group of you.

He’s confused by the attention at first and then beaming when he notices you. The man flashes a set of pearly whites beneath a plump pink grin, all but shoving through the crowded bar to come and meet you.

Steve is able to get a better look at him when he’s no more than a couple inches away. The guy wrenches you away from him to wrap you in a friendly embrace, smiling like a ray of a thousands suns while he laughs with a hearty mirth.

A childlike and terribly jealous scowl settles upon Steve's features as his stomach wrenches something fierce. This stranger is touching you, and he hates that he’s touching you, but it’s more than that.

Steve’s almost certain this is what he would look like if he hadn’t been through the end of the world. The ornate suit and sunglasses worth more than most people’s salaries could’ve been his. In another life, he could’ve been this pretty and perfect and pure.

But, instead, here he is — dressed in an aged Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans that are frayed at the hems. There are bits of dried blood on the knee that he can’t get out. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or if it belongs to one of the three varying monsters he’s been face-to-face with over the years.

His hair is pushed back and visibly un-styled, fluffier than usual because it hasn’t been washed in a while. And only now does he notice the prickly layer of scruff itching at his jaw and above his lip because the effort to shave is just too much sometimes.

He wishes he had, though. Now, he wants to completely perfect his appearance and change his life entirely — all at the sight of some stranger he didn't know existed before now.

The man introduces himself to the rest of the group when he parts from you — Todd.

Because of coursehis name is Todd.

No one says that out loud, of course, but you do share pairs of knowing looks. Eddie’s the only one brave enough, or rather drunk enough, to take the piss out of the guy.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed for Limelight?” he asks before laughing into his beer.

The rhetorical question leads to the man, Todd, to start complaining about work — how he’s making more than he knows what to do with, that the lifestyle isn’t as lavish as everyone made it out to be, that work is his best friend most days because he doesn’t have time for real relationships anymore.

And it doesn’t sound braggy. This isn't some rich guy complaining about all the money he has. He’s genuine, and that’s somehow even worse.

Steve can tell he’s working for some big four accounting firm without him having to say it. He can practically smell it all over the guy. Todd’s just got that air about him, that he’s got an office on the fiftieth story with large glass windows that span from the floor to the ceiling. He’s making well into the six-figures if that’s the case. Just like his goddamn dad.

Just like he would be if the endless cycling of fighting hadn’t stripped him flesh from bone.

Steve forces himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind.

“You know I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, just dropping everything. Putting in my two weeks and fucking off to France,” Todd admits. His eyes sparkle like a pair of fucking diamonds when they lock in on you. “Like we always used to talk about.”

That was your dream. The kind of reverie that wasn’t at all practical or the least bit tangible, but the kind you fantasized about nonetheless.

And here this asshole goes, living it for the both of you.

You’re grinning at him anyway, patting him on the shoulder while you congratulate him. You tell him he should do it. That he deserves it.

Steve, meanwhile, is so angry he can feel the prickle of the red-hot rage on his skin, like so many little needles. It’s a simmering heat for now, all slow and lazy. The longer he holds it in, the more likely he is to pop into a full boil. He knows that. But he keeps the fire in his chest and wallows in that high-pitched ache.

Todd leaves not too long after. Makes it a point not to overstay his welcome. He’s polite when he goes, making sure to talk to all your friends even though he didn’t exactly come for them — he compliments Eddie’s leather jacket and Robin’s taste in style, Jonathan and Nancy are both blushing pink when he praises their work with the local paper. He says something to Steve he can’t quite register because he’s too busy fuming.

The brunette girl beside him is practically swooning, and he has to remind her — “Robin, you’re gay.”

The man was kind, terribly so, the sort of politeness you can’t help but notice and marvel at, like a pretty pebble you’ve found on the ground. He didn’t overstep any boundaries with you either, like he respected that you two were practically strangers now — fucking asshole — and whether or not he knew you were with Steve, he kept a chivalrous distance anyway.

He must’ve known, though, he did have eyes after all. There’s no way he missed the way Steve had been looming over you the whole time. Or the possessive arm he had around your shoulder. Or the stern chocolate gaze that had ping-ponged between you and him the entire conversation.

When he leaves, there’s nothing to talk shit about or make fun of him for. Not only is that really fucking annoying, but it’s boring, and it leaves you and Steve as the punching bags for all their stupid jokes.

“You certainly have a type, don’t ya, doll?” Eddie teases you as he reaches behind Nancy to shove at your shoulder. “Steve’s practically a carbon copy of that douchebag.”

“Holy shit, I can see it now,” Robin marvels breathlessly. Her deep ocean gaze is still locked on Todd across the bar. He’s minding his own business now, ordering another drink, while the rest of you can’t seem to stop talking about him. She turns back to Steve, her eyes flitting over his features like it’s the first time she’s seeing them while she puts the pieces of a puzzle together.

“But, Steve’s like the dollar store version of him, though, right?” she wonders rhetorically and then feels the need to explain herself when Steve furrows his brows at her. “—Because, you know… he’s a lot richer than you are…”

The boy rolls his and brings the beer back to his lips. The clarification makes it sting more.

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve isn’t quite sure what’s got him seething. He’s the personification of a forest fire now — scorching, raging, and deadly — without a reason to be. It’s entirely likely you’ll never see Todd ever again. He lives in the city these days and he just told you that he was planning on moving to fucking France.

But these facts don’t mean as much to him when he knows that the guy isn’t totally over you.

Steve knows Todd would be more than happy to take you out for coffee tomorrow morning to tie up any left-behind loose ends. He’s a rich guy going through a quarter-life crisis (Steve knows a little about what that’s like, too), he’d be more than happy to sweep an old ex-girlfriend off her feet and take her all the way to France with him. She’d need only to ask him to.

Maybe that’s what angers him. There’s a man, all rich and pretty and unscathed by war, that might love you like he does.

The wildfire in his chest grows. It’s a wonder it hasn't seared a hole in the fabric of his sweatshirt. And it burns. It leaves aching blisters on his skin like it’s the real damn thing. It’s like punches to the face, worse than every time he’s ever been beaten up combined.

He manages to keep the ashes of himself together. It's the least he can do for the rest of you, who obviously aren’t as bothered by Todd’s lingering presence and have since moved on to things more meaningful.

It wouldn’t be fair to project his ache onto you.

You guys don’t get too many nights like this, with work and school and lingering bouts of PTSD — who’s he to ruin this night for everyone else when he’s the problem?

But if any of you notice his simmering anger, you don’t show it.

He isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Nancy and Jonathan stay no longer than fifteen minutes after the fact. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” the say with a shrug, though everyone knows what that’s code for. Robin makes kissing noises at them as they make their exit.

Now, the brunette girl stands in front of the stage that Eddie parades on. He belts “If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever!” into the microphone for the hundredth time. She cheers for the boy like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the stupid song.

The bartender hands you two drinks, a couple of Sex on the Beach’s for you and Robin to try.

She hadn’t stopped talking about it since she spotted it on the menu even though she hates peach schnapps. You tell Steve you’re going to run it to her and that you bet she won’t make it through one sip without gagging. You also promise that you’ll try and pull Eddie away from the stage when the Bonnie Tyler song fades and then inevitably loops again.

He only nods and mumbles a vague affirmative under his breath. He doesn’t even look at you. Just stares down at his empty glass of beer and draws patterns on the cloudy cup with his finger.

It’s hard not to notice his uncharacteristically long silence.

He hasn’t been King Steve for quite some time, but that version of him always manages to peek out after a couple of drinks. He gets loud and brash and smiley and stupid. It makes the quiet demeanor he possesses now that much more daunting. Like a flag he’s waving to make sure everyone else knows that he’s upset about something or other.

Eventually, it makes you burst.

“Is something wrong?” you blurt.

He finally glances at you then. And has the gall to look confused. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. You shift your weight on your feet and try to ignore the distant stinging of the ice glasses in your hand, how the cold of them shoots pins and needles into your palms. “You’re just… being really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a shrug of his own. A hint of a smile flashes at the very corner of his mouth before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows down the rest of it in one quick gulp. You watch anxiously as he waves to the bartender for another.

“We can go home if you want—”

“Jesus, I’m fine,” he interjects. The laugh that spills from his throat borders on annoyance. “Just go get the freak before he drives me crazy.”

With that, the two of you part ways. You, with the knowledge that something’s wrong with your boyfriend but having no way to make it better because he won’t tell you anything. And Steve, with another irrational reason to be angry at the world because how do you not get it?

If his ex-girlfriend showed up to a bar, looking like an airbrushed model with more money than all of you combined who’s got brains and wit and humility, he’d want you to get a little fucking jealous too.

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But he chooses to wallow in his anger than reflect on it, anyway. He takes pity on himself and makes everyone else out to be the enemy. Like he does best.

Even hours later, when he’s sobering up with room temperature water and a bowl of pretzels — and you’re calling a cab for a significantly drunker Eddie and Robin — he still feels the sting.

He makes sure you know it too.

The drive back home is uncomfortably quiet, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he at least had the radio on. But when he stuck the key into the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers (because he forget to turn it down beforehand), he turns it off completely. You feel to awkward to touch it.

“Do you, uh… Do you wanna talk about it now?” you ask him.

You’re unfamiliarly timid with him as you peer at him through your lashes. It’s like you’re looking at the sun, the way you have to glance at him from the corner of your eye so he won’t blind you. And it isn’t because of his usually sunny disposition because, somewhere along the course of the night, his shine got snuffed out. It’s because he’s practically lit himself on fire with his anger where he sits next to you.

And he still has the nerve to shake his head. “Talk about what? I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” he dismisses with one hand in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the other resting its elbow against the driver’s side door while his fingers pick anxiously at his lower lip. Nothing wrong, my ass.

“Are we seriously gonna play that game tonight?”

“What game?” he scoffs out a laugh.

“The game here you’re upset about something, but refuse to tell me why, so I have to guess what’s wrong with you until I get it right and you let me make it better.”

Steve glances at you and then back to the road. “I… I don’t do that.”

Oh, fuck, he totally does, he thinks to himself. Fuck, he hates that you know him so well.

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

“Well, I can’t be. Because I’m not upset about anything,” he argues with a shrug. “That’s, like, a mathematical impossibility. Or whatever.”

“Considering this is the most you’ve said to me all night, I know that isn’t true— And it’s not even a conversation! You’re just being passive aggressive!”

“Passive aggressive, huh?” he repeats sardonically.

“Yes!” you seethe. “You’re mad at me and I can tell that you’re mad, so just tell me why—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Steve grumbles. He feels even more like shit for making you think he was acting all pissy because of something you had done. You hadn’t done anything. You were perfect. You’re always perfect. And here he goes, making you think otherwise.

He slows to a stop at the last red-light before home. The neon scarlet matches that anger sweltering in his belly. He still refuses to look at you.

“Then what happened between when we got to Limelight and right now that’s got you so fucked up?” you ask him with a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes.

The boy only huffs. His chest deflates with a heavy breath. He almost forgets to answer you because he’s too busy praying for the light to turn green so he can get the fuck home.

He just needs a little food in his system, he concludes, and a nice hot shower and a bed to rest his tired bones. Maybe then he’ll be able to function like he’s meant to.

He feels a sense of relief for the first time in hours when the light bathes the two of you in a neon emerald glow.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose at his silence. You shake your head at him like an annoyed parent and cross your arms over your chest. Your knees turn away from him and towards the door in time with your gaze that flits to the window. Now you’re the one that’s pissed.

Steve mumbles lowly when he finally answers you. It’s nearly inaudible.

“Your douchebag ex.”

“What?” you reply, sparing a glance over at him. It isn’t a question of whether you heard him or not, but of why that’s what he’s being so mean to you about.

“Your douchebag ex,” he repeats louder and picks chapped skin from his bottom lip. He rubs his tongue over the irritated skin to soothe the burn. “That’s what I’m upset about.”

Your brows furrow as you rack your head for the conversation you had with Todd that you’d already forgotten about. He’d said hello, and that you looked nice, and then asked you what you’d been up to before making conversation with your friends. He’d wished you luck and walked back to his seat not too long after. You wonder if there was some code in his words that you’d missed.

“…I don’t get it. What did he do?”

“Really?” Steve wonders with an emotionless laugh. “You don’t have a single clue why that might’ve pissed me off?”

He barely slows at the sign of the four-way stop. The block is practically a ghost town now. No one’s out so late into the night. Any other time you might’ve said something about it, but you’re just as eager to get home as the simmering boy next to you.

“No! He stopped by to talk for, like, five minutes! Are you really upset because another man talked to me?” you shout and it burns him because, yeah, that is kind of what he’s mad about — but it’s more than that and you don’t seem to get it. It’s not your job to either. He’ll just burn for the both of you.

The car jerks to a stop when he parks in the driveway.

“Yeah, you’re right—” Steve mutters to himself as he snatches the keys from the ignition. “You don’t get it.”

You feel the impact of the slammed of the car door as he exits. The headlights illuminate the boy as he uses his key ring to unlock the front entrance of your shared home. The dim orange overhead light slowly dims above you and then shuts off completely, bathing you in darkness.

With a sigh and a fleeting thought of oh, it’s gonna be that kinda night, huh? you follow less unenthusiastically behind him.

“Then just explain it to me,” you plead, your voice coated with exhaustion. The warmth of the living room seeps into your bones and makes you that much more tired. “I really, really don’t wanna do this tonight.”

“That asshole was all over you,” Steve finally chooses to air his grievances while he toes off his sneakers.

“He hugged me once! What was I supposed to do? Push him off?”

“That’d be a start.”

“I would’ve done it!” you promise.

He plops onto the couch with a rather dramatic huff as you struggle to take off your boots, what with the zipper getting caught in the slider and being distracted by the storm cloud across the room.

“I don’t care about him! I literally haven’t seen him since I was eighteen! I basically forgot he existed in the first place.”

Steve doesn’t let himself take any solace in your words.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs with the shake of his head. He rests his elbows on his knees, runs his palms over his face once before dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “Sometimes… I don’t know, I guess, sometimes it feels like maybe you deserve someone better than me.”

His confession feels like a stab in your heart.

You can only imagine how many daggers are piercing him now.

“Steve…”

“No. Don’t give me that bullshit spiel, alright?” he spurns with a shake of his stubborn head. When he laughs, it lacks any and all emotion; it’s gut-wrenchingly bitter and coated with venom. “We both know he could take way better care of you than I ever could. He’s practically a fucking millionaire, babe! And he’s, what, twenty-five? He has the money to drop everything and fly across the world— to France.”

“Steve—” you try again, to stop the spiral before it starts.

He doesn’t let you.

“I mean, fuck, I know how bad you wanna go there. You’ve been talking about it since we were eight,” he laments with wide, glassy eyes and an hand splayed out towards you. He brings it, then, to his chest and clutches at his heart, “But I can’t take you. Because I’m so broke, it fucking hurts. You deserve someone to do that shit for you, alright? And it’s not me. It’s never gonna be me.”

“…You really think he can take better care of me than you do?” you ask him so quietly that it sounds like a whimper. Your face is twisted in anguish, like his sadness pains you too.

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles like the answer’s obvious. He sniffles. “Considering we’re working our asses off just to make it through the week and you’d never have to work a day in your life if you were with that asshole.”

“It’s not about the money, Steve,” you agonize with the shake of your head. “I don’t love him. I would be so unhappy if I were with him because he’s not you. I don’t give a single fuck about France if you’re not gonna be there with me.”

You close the distance between you as you walk from the entrance to where he sits in the living room. He can hardly look at you as you round the couch to stand ahead of him, sparing only meek glances your way.

The small smile on your lips only half puts out the fire raging in his chest. It’s one of those natural wildfires now. The kind that you’ve just got to let burn.

“What do I have to do, Steve? What do you want me to do to prove that I just want you?” you ask him softly, nudging your sock-clad foot with his own. “I’ll fucking— I’ll find his number in the phone book right now and invite him over if you want—”

Yeah, because seeing him again is gonna make any of this shit better, he thinks bitterly to himself, though he’s pleasantly surprised by your following promise.

“I’ll make him come over here, act like I wanna catch up or whatever, and then make him watch while I suck your cock,” you paint the picture for him in a suddenly low, sultry tone.

Steve can almost see it — the look on Todd’s face as he stands in the foyer, his hands balled into fists at his side, wearing an angry amber tint upon his perfect face while he watches the girl that got away take a mouthful of another man’s dick. “I’ll get all nice and pretty on my knees for you and make him watch.”

Steve tenses at your words. His fingers twitch where they rests on his knees, itching to get a hold of you. His eyes go heavy as he gazes up at you, his stern stare looking much darker than before — hungrier.

Your eyes carry a similar sort of desire. They swim with innocence and yearning and knowing.

Because both of you understand how your fights usually end. You’ve been together long enough to know. The anger grows and grows in the belly of a dragon until it’s all you can do to keep your hands off of each other. You make Steve come so hard he forgets all the reasons he was raging in the first place and then he apologizes with his tongue deep inside you, touching you in all the tender ways he knows how.

“Yeah,” he breathes with a nod, the word heavy on his tongue. “That’s what I want.”

“You wanna own me, don’t you, Stevie?” you purr.

Your movements are calculated and cat-like as you mount him. Your hands caress him from his knees to his thighs, then rise up to his chest when you straddle his lap. “You wanna fuck me and make me forget about every guy that’s ever had me before you. Is that it?”

He nods, too dumb to speak for now. Your voice is all silk and heat. It reminds him of your wet, hot pussy sitting just over his lap. Only the thin layers of your clothes separate you from him.

“You wanna ruin everyone else for me, huh?”

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, both in an answer and a moan as your hand reaches between you to grab his cock through his jeans.

“You already have,” you assure with a sincere twinkle in your eyes. “But feel free to remind me.”

When your mouths collide, it’s all tongue and teeth and spit. It’s not passionate, it’s dirty.

His tongue forces its way between your lips and into your mouth, rubbing every part of you he can reach with the muscle, like he wants you to feel all of him there — a lingering touch that you can’t get rid of.

Your mouths caress each other and then break apart again in acute, wet, and filthy clicks that fill the silence in the house.

His stubble softly scratches you as it rubs against your skin. The feeling of it sends chills down your spine. Fuck, you curse to yourself. It’d feel even better between your legs.

Steve separates from you suddenly, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. A whimper leaves your throat as he mouths at it. With hooded eyes, he lets it go and watches it fall back into place. Then he grabs your cheeks with two large palms and drags you back to him, sucking on the bitten skin and then on your tongue.

The sensation’s got you moaning, your eyes rolling back in your head, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Your obedient hands worm between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.

“You gonna be good for me?” Steve asks you while your fingers undo that button on his pants. His lips are pinker and more swollen, coated with a fine sheen of spit that matches what's smeared on his chin.

“I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” you promise before reaching through the band of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his warm, half-hard cock.

A grunt escapes his throat as he slides your panties to the side. He’s suddenly grateful for the easy access granted by your dress — the one that makes your tits look like heaven, the one he was cursing just hours because it had Todd drooling all over himself when he saw you.

The thought of the man no longer angers him. He’s not the one with his finger between the lips of your pussy, already drenched and coated with you.

“Yeah? You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” Steve asks you, almost taunting you. He only uses that nickname when he’s in a certain mood — the mood to ruin you.

The tip of his finger catches the peak of your swollen clit and you keen.

His touch makes you so stupid that you’ve already forgotten to answer his question. He makes sure to remind you, though, when his hand rears back and smacks against the bare flesh of your cunt.

You hear the wet slap before you feel it.

It makes you clench around nothing and moan louder for him, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Words,”he demands softly.

“Please,” you moan helplessly into his shoulder. You love when he gets like this, assertive and showy with the power you let him have over you. He gets mean with you, but never too much that you forget how much he loves you, and that’s when you like him best.

His finger slips so effortlessly into you. You could easily take more than that with the way your pussy is so eager to suck him inside. He knows it, too. He just wants to tease you.

He wants to leave you empty and yearning before he fucks you silly. For now, he’s taunting you with his slow and clinical touch, observing everything he’s doing to you and how it has you twitching and begging for more.

He wants to commit it all to memory.

He’s barely got the tip of his pointer and middle finger prodding at your clenching entrance; it’s your pussy that drags them further in, opening for him and then tightening around the appendages so they’ll never leave. The obscenity of it makes both of you moan.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve mutters to himself. “And so fucking wet— enough for me to slip right in, don’t ya think?”

You’re not so sure but you nod into his shoulder anyway. Even after all this time together, you can’t quite get used to how big he is. He still has to work you up to take his cock, with three or more fingers shoved inside of you until you’re ready. Even then, it still burns for the first couple of seconds. There’s always a grace period that you have to wait for before he can move.

And you feel the ache of him in your belly after, every damn time. Like he’s still there.

But you’re so wet now, impossibly so, you don’t think you could feel a thing other than pure bliss when he nestles his cock deep inside of you.

You whine quietly when he pulls his fingers from you, though it turns into a breathy moan when you see them glisten with your wetness. He slides them over his length, jerking himself to lube himself up for you. Just for good measure, he grabs hold of his cock and rubs the rounded tip between your velvet lips, coating it further with your slick.

“Think there’s enough for me to take your ass tonight, baby?” he asks over your low moan. He has to hold back his own, grit his teeth to keep it from leaving his mouth. God, you feel exactly like silk. “You want me to fuck that tight little hole, huh? You’ve only let me in there, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer tightly.

He doesn’t know which question you’re answering. Probably all three. Or maybe you’re just moaning because he’s got you all stupid with his cock and it’s not even inside of you yet. Both seems most likely.

Steve positions himself against you. When you feel the bulbous tip of his head, you hardly wait to slide down, down, down upon his cock.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel full. It takes less time before he reaches the apparent end of you. The feeling makes you jolt against him, like your body’s trying to move back up and away from the sensation on instinct. He’s quick to grab your hips to keep himself inside you.

“Uh-uh,” he hums. “Don’t run away from me.”

“Fuck,” you moan into his shoulder and then whine. The pleasure and the accompanying ache has your head spinning. “You’re already so deep.”

“I know, baby. You gotta take all of me, though, okay? Said you were gonna me by good girl, remember?”

His coo is enough to comfort you. You nod against his neck and let him guide you further and further down his cock.

You grit your teeth when you think he can’t possibly fill you anymore. The burn peaks all at once and ebbs so quickly, letting the rest of his inches slide in you with ease. And, god, if you don’t feel him in your fucking throat.

He stills, thankfully, and lets you get used to the feeling of him all over again.

“There you go,” Steve praises like he always does and then laughs at how rigid you’ve gone. “Breathe, baby.”

The exhale comes out as a sob and a small “fuck”, but you force yourself to relax against him nonetheless. His warm hands rub soothingly against the buzzing skin of your thighs beneath the skirt of your dress. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

“I can feel you in my fucking guts right now,” you slur, voice fragile like glass.

Your words are almost enough to make him burst and you haven’t even moved yet. A deep, hearty groan climbs from his throat. He tips his heavy head to the back of the couch and clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the feeling.

He makes himself climb down from the peak of pleasure and quickly gain his bearings all over again.

“Ride me, honey,” he whispers you.

Immediately, you start rocking your hips against him. His sigh is blissful, almost dreamy, as he watches you work yourself on top of him.

You’re always so patient with your pleasure, so calculated and attentive. You slide your hips back over his thighs and then up again, moaning every time the material of his sweatshirt rubs against your clit. You’re not chasing the feeling, you’re letting it come slowly and ease its way up to you. You know you’ve got all the time in the world.

Steve has always admired your patience, but it’s never one he could hope to possess. He rides toward an orgasm on a white mare. He claims it, he hunts it, he snatches it. Because, you’re right, you’ve got all the time in the world — he wants you to come as many times as the night (or, rather, your pussy) will allow.

So it isn’t at all surprising when gets impatient with your slow movements. And when one hand falls to your ass and the other slides up your back and clutches the opposite shoulder, you know what you’re in for.

Even though you’re expecting it, a high-pitched moan spills from your mouth when he starts fucking up into you. He’s doing a whole lot more than just hitting the right spot. The rubbing of the fabric is unrelenting against your clit.

You’re always done for when he takes you like this. Both of you know it.

“You already close, aren’t you?” he manages through heavy pants over the lewd slapping of his thighs against your own. “This is all it takes, huh?”

“’S because of you,” you slur into the sticky skin of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He can feel himself getting closer and he groans through gritted teeth. The hand on your shoulder ascends to the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair and pull you from the refuge you’d found in the book of his shoulder. It allows him to see you for the first time since you’d mounted his cock.

Your cheeks are blotchy and glowing cherry. Your eyes are glassy and glazed over with pleasure. Your lips swollen from where you’d been biting at them.

Perfect, he thinks to himself.

He drags that hand to your chest, wrenching at the plunging neck and pushing it down to reveal your tits. They bound out of the fabric with ease, a small red and raw line at the tops of them from where the dress had kept them so tightly contained.

He palms at your left breast, digs his fingers into the fat of it and lets your hard and pebbled nipple rub against his palm.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whines. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open to look at them. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why I wore this— wanted your attention—” you confess through each of his thrusts.

“Yeah, you got my fucking attention, sweetheart,” he manages a breathy laugh.

His heart swells at the thought of you picking this dress because you thought he might like it. That you’d think of him doing something as mundane as picking what you wore out to the bar you went to every Friday night.

It gets too easy to want to slip into that softness. But he knows that you’re already close. So, so fucking close.

“Now come all over my cock for me, yeah?” he demands softly. “Cream on this dick and show me how good you are.”

And, like the good girl you are, don’t need to be told twice.

You shudder against him and then go rigid. He watches with a proud, lazy grin as you tip your head back, squeeze your eyes shut, and let your mouth fall agape. The feeling in your stomach builds and builds and builds, the pleasure disappearing for a moment, before coming back in an explosion that makes you gush.

As though your moans weren’t enough of a confirmation of your orgasm, you go so unmistakably tight around him that it makes his legs twitch beneath you. He angles his hips so he can peek between the two of you to watch the sheen of your cum glisten on his hard cock.

“God, you’re so fucking sensitive like this— holy shit.”

“Steve!” you whine when your high starts to fade and his thrusts only quicken.

He's chasing his own pleasure now, you know that, but the feeling against your abused pussy is growing into a nearly unbearable one.

You bite your lip so hard it’s a wonder you don’t draw any blood. You grip his shoulders and ball his sweatshirt in your fist, tethering yourself to him and to reality.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he asks with his chin jutted out to look up at you. “Who else can fuck you like this?”

You can tell by his glassy eyes and erratic thrusts that he’s close to his own orgasm. He always wants you to talk him through it, to praise him and to tell him how good he makes you feel. For obvious reason, the whole thing comes terribly natural to you.

“Only you,” you promise tiredly. “’S just you, Stevie—”

“Fuck,” he spits and tilts his head to the back of the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and brings his bottom lip between his teeth, never easing his impossibly swift thrusts.

“Want you to come in me,” you whisper to him. You rest your arms on his shoulders and drag your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and pulling every time he lets a moan slip. “Want you to come so deep inside me— I’m dripping for days—”

“Shit, baby.”

“And then, when I’m all round and full with your baby— everyone’s gonna know who I belong to, right?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Gonna come so— fuck— so nice and deep in this pussy. My pussy.”

“Please,” you beg, like you aren’t half-delirious with your own pleasure. “Come in your pussy, Stevie.”

“Holy shit—” His cock pulses and twitches and then spits inside you. He grabs onto your hips more roughly than he intended and keeps you tightly pressed against him while he comes, giving you several long and warm ropes against your velvet walls. He whimpers when your pussy flutters around him.

You collapse against him when his orgasm comes and goes, rocking against his lap to get him through his high until he stops you with a firm squeeze to your thigh. You both sink further into the couch, swimming in the peaceful void that pleasure always pushes you into.

He rubs his hands beneath the skirt of your dress, petting your warm and sticky skin as the after-sex bliss rest heavily upon the both of you.

“Here,” he breaks the satin silence and taps at your hip. “Get off, baby. Let me get you some water or something—”

He feels you shake your head from where you’ve tucked it in his shoulder again. “Don’t wanna move. Want you to stay inside me.”

“Yeah?”

You’ve never done this before — cockwarming. He’s not sure if you have before, but he definitely hasn’t, and certainly not with you.

Before you, he was the kind of asshole that went to sleep right after sex. The thought of staying inside his partner never crossed his mind. But to his defense, none of his partners thought to do it either. Being King Steve and all meant there wasn’t a lot of cuddling going on after sex. It was usually one-and-done affairs, but he never did this with any of his girlfriends before either.

And now that he’s matured into a somewhat respectable adult, he takes great pride in taking care of you after, in cleaning you up and making sure you’re alright. And when you’re either falling asleep or wanting to shower, there’s no room to be kept inside you. Not until now.

“Wanna fall asleep like this,” you confess. The way you’re halfway slurring and settling more heavily against him tells him you’re not too far off.

“That’s not gonna be comfortable for you, baby,” he scolds softly. Because him — he’s perfect like this. He’s slouched in the plush cushion of the couch and you’re wrapped so tightly around him (in every possible way) you've become his own personal blanket.

But your back is hunched from where your neck is snug and pressed into his shoulder. You’ll likely wake up aching tomorrow, in more ways than one.

“Don’t care,” you mumble and sprinkle kisses to his neck, just because you can. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

“Forever?” he laughs tiredly.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You shift on his lap to look at him, exhaling a moan through your nose when you feel him twitch inside of you, even though he’s going steadily soft. Your gaze is innocent and yearning and knowing — hungry again. “Think you can take that, Harrington?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he promises with a sincere twinkle in his cinnamon colored eyes. “I can take it.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things #stevie oneshot #published by bug #st oneshots

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obislittleone · 1 year ago

Text

Take It Off

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: y'all i know this is like... campy or whatever but humor me. I'm on a dbf joel kick and this was the only way I was gonna stop thinking about him 24/7. Still thinking about him rn but at least I can focus on my work tomorrow 😭 (shoutout to @theatrelove3000 for being on the joel kick with me)

Warnings: not many for this part really... the occasional swear word and like kissing but that's not really anything. Ig just the taboo relationship thing.

This is based off of a tiktok that can be found here.

Obviously, the song is Take It Off by Kesha.

MASTERLIST

- no outbreak au, age gap is about fifteen years, roughly. -

He chuckled again and nodded, watching as you almost turned away from him and his place at the bar, before catching you at the last second.

"You look mighty pretty, tonight," he let out sweetly, and your face lit up. You kept going in the direction of your friends but stepped backward in order to face him a bit longer.

The bar was always busy on Friday night, and most Saturdays were the same. Near every person of drinking age in Travis County could be found sitting at the long wood slab surrounding the bartender, or at one of the tables nearby. The busiest nights of the month, however, were the ones that cleared the floor for dancing. Line dancing, Swing dancing, and the sway of drunken people who could barely stand. Anything goes.

Music blazing through the windows brought on many patrons that sometimes never frequented the bar at all. You being one of them.

You'd never been one much for drinking your nights away, and in past experiences, you had turned out to be quite the designated driver. Your friends playfully joked time and again whenever you visited the establishment, how you never touched even so much as a beer bottle. In your own words, that doesn't mean I can't still have fun.

Dancing has always been something that could pull you out of your seat. College has been rocky, and finding fun things to do that didn't completely intoxicate you were limited... but when everyone gets up and starts kickin' round the concrete floors, you can't help but spring to your feet and join them.

Dance nights, you've been to more than you can count, but usually in places by where you go to school. College bars, campus built clubs, that sort of thing.

Tonight, you found yourself in a small bar your dad normally goes to. Of course, he hates dancing, so right now, he's nowhere to be seen. Someone you do notice on your way in, though....

Joel Miller.

Next door neighbor since you were sixteen and your father's closest friend since they started working together around that same time.

Joel was never someone you'd been able to call a personal friend, but he was someone you could depend on if you needed him. If your car wasn't working senior year and your dad couldn't pick you up? Call Joel. If you need help with the light fixture by the front porch and your dad doesn't have the right tools? Call Joel. Even just bringing home new furniture for your room while your dad was out of town... you called Joel. He was dependable, always one call away. In return of these good deeds, you'd babysat his daughter several times when she was younger. She was almost fifteen now, going into her sophomore year of high school. It felt crazy to think how long ago those memories were in hindsight.

You think your train of thought causes you to stare just a bit too long, and your friends begin to notice.

"Who's that?" Amy says with attitude... she isn't sure why the older guy in the corner seems to have caught your eye, but she doesn't hide her opposition to whatever it is.

You snapped back to the group and almost did a double take on where you were. It's Dance night, and you're here to have fun with your friends, not take a trip down memory lane. But if you did....

"That's my neighbor," you explained, smiling sweetly and trying to wipe the strange look from Amy's face.

"Oh," she dropped any hints of disgust that she wore only a moment ago and looked to the man herself. "For a minute there, I thought you might be into him."

"Amy, I know you don't go older... but that man's easy on the eyes," a voice came from your left, Kate. She had her hands mounted firmly on her hips as she took her time in scanning his appearance. Easy on the eyes, indeed. You'd always thought so.

He's a good man from everything you know. Everytime he's been at barbecues and house parties hosted in the neighborhood, he always made a point to ask you how you were doing, how you were liking college. He'd offer to grab you a drink or to help your dad with the grill. Honest to God, he's a real down to earth southern gentleman. Polite as they come, even when he doesn't speak much.

You suppose that with three younger girls staring holes through the side of him, he was bound to notice at some point. He caught your gaze and your friends' as well, offering up a nice smile and a nod in your direction. He stood away from the bar as if excusing him from any previous interaction, and you sighed, knowing that even with the music calling you to dance, you needed to make a small pit stop.

"Look at what y'all did, now I gotta go talk to 'im," you joke, starting over in his direction with a bashful smile.

You hear a bellowing 'you're welcome' from Kate, who likely could sense your faint attraction to the man. Given that you couldn't barely take your eyes away from him the second you entered, it dawned on her that there might possibly be something there. Obviously, she's just guessing, but your diminished swagger as you walk up to him tells her one thing: you're nervous.

Whether he makes you nervous, or you're just nervous to talk to him, it doesn't really matter to her. She's positive she's gained all the information she needs to know that you, at the very least, like him.

"Hey, I didn't think I'd see you here," you slipped beside him at the bar, facing his slumped over stature with a decent distance between you.

"I could say the same for you, I thought you were still in Dallas?" He asked, a confused look shown through a soft smile.

"I'm here to visit a while, might stay for the summer, actually."

He raised a brow, nodding and taking a swig of the beer he had. Maybe it's just the way him and your dad drink them all the time, but suddenly a beer of your own sounds somewhat appealing. You add on to your statement, trying to distract yourself from the new craving.

"Senior year is gonna kick my ass, so I might as well spend some time relaxin' for a bit."

Again, he nods, understanding how much stress it ought to be. He and your dad both never went to college. Thought about it, sure, maybe even looked at a couple schools... but they ended up doing just fine with the talents they had on their own.

"I imagine the last year s'not so fun... Remind me what you're going for, again?" He scratched the back of his neck, as if embarrassed to have forgotten. He reckons he asked you last time, too. Wasn't like you'd find it personally offensive that he'd not remembered. Your own grandmother couldn't even remember, so...

"Archeology, although I'm starting to think that maybe that wasn't the best Major for someone who lives in Texas," you joked, and he chuckled softly. He hadn't stopped wearing that faint smile ever since he'd noticed you were here.

"Ain't nothing wrong with it," he shook his head, trying his best to be encouraging. "Just gives you more places to go."

You gave him a look of sincerity. Even your dad had poked fun at you from time to time for your Major. 'Can't discover much out here, lovebug... just old pigskins and bottlecaps.'

"Thanks, I appreciate you sayin' that."

He shrugged as if it were no big deal. Validating your career decisions? That's an easy one on his part.

"No problem. Can I get you a drink while you're here?" He motioned to the bottle in his hands that you'd kept staring at during the entire exchange.

You finally realized how much you'd been glancing at it and had to stumble out a response under a slightly nervous laugh.

"Is it okay if I take a raincheck? I should get back to my friends, they get lost without me."

He chuckled again and nodded, watching as you almost turned away from him and his place at the bar, before catching you at the last second.

"You look mighty pretty, tonight," he let out sweetly, and your face lit up. You kept going in the direction of your friends but stepped backward in order to face him a bit longer.

"Don't look so bad yourself." And that was the reply you'd settled on. You finally made it back to your group, but you swore you saw a hint of a blush creep over the man's face. It was funny, to think that the big and strong next door neighbor was red in the cheeks by a compliment you paid him.

"What the hell was that?" Amy asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She was clearly confused and a bit peeved, but for why, you had no idea.

"What do you mean?" You didn't mean to play dumb, you genuinely didn't know what she was on about.

"You're into him," she said flatly, and you couldn't answer in words, but lucky for you, your face gave away everything you could have said, anyways.

"He's into her, too," Kate chimed in nonchalantly, and that revelation snapped your head around as quickly as it possibly could to meet her eyeline.

"No, he isn't... he's just bein' polite s' all," you denfended him, but in all honesty... if he was into you, it's not like you were appalled at the theory in the slightest. "He's my dad's buddy, I've known 'im a long time."

"Honey, let me offer you some good advice," Amy pulled you in so that only the group of you could hear. "Don't let your daddy know he looks at you like that."

You didn't even stop to think about how he was looking at you. It was the same he'd always looked at you, right? But then again, he'd never taken in your appearance and called you pretty like he'd just done. Mighty pretty...

"You guys are seein' things that aren't there..." you shook off their suggestions, and tried to get on with the night.

"If you say so," Kate replied, not without looking between you and that neighbor of yours again. He was certainly a looker. "But if you're not interested, maybe I'll ask him for a dance?"

You laughed a little, not wanting to discourage her idea, but knowing from experience that, "Joel doesn't dance, but you can ask him all you want."

"Mister neighbor guy has a name, huh? Joel..." Amy repeated it like it was some sort of spell. You laughed at her and Kate before speaking again.

"At this point, I don't care who you ask, but we came here to dance, s' I wanna dance."

The first few dances you participated in were just lines, several fun songs blasting over the speakers to bring out more patrons. Now, the lines broke apart and the song 'Step in the Name of Love' came on. It wasn't uncommon for this song to be played as it was a favorite in the bar, but you weren't interested in dancing to it at the moment, given that some swing partners started going out for it.

They seemed to agree with you and headed over towards the open floor. The lights of different colors rotated around the room to set the mood, and about fifteen other people had been drawn out to the cleared area for dancing by now, but the night was far young.

You watched as Amy and Kate wrangled themselves some lonely boys by the sidelines and pulled them to the clearing for some fun. Normally, you'd do the same, but something about Joel Miller being at the bar and watching the crowds made you feel like maybe you'd rather sit this one out. Didn't stop some poor soul from trying to get you out there, though.

You felt a sly hand pull you by the waist and away from the floor-to-ceiling wooden beam you'd been leaning on. He was cute, but not your type. Blondie, blue-eyed. You gave him a warm smile and shook your head.

"I'm takin' a little break," you nodded for him to go out and find someone else, but he continued to pull you, now by your forearms.

"C'mon, hot stuff," he started swaying a bit to try and get you to do the same, but again you pulled back into the beam, leaning there again and giving a slightly less friendly smile as you shook your head again. "S' just a little fun."

At this point, you knew he probably had a few drinks in him, if his glazed stare was anything to go by. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him more pointedly.

"There's a bunch of girls over there waitin' to dance, you should ask them."

"I didn't ask them, I'm askin' you," he started getting closer again, and you were about to just walk away and go to the bathroom. Your usual escape plan for avoiding weirdos.

"And I'm sayin' no, bud," you gave your last effort to shove him off, but he huffed, and came even closer. By now you'd missed your chance to cut around the beam and head to the bathroom. Boys down here ain't as courteous as the ones in Dallas, you guessed. That, or they didn't see unfamiliar faces around often, and tried to take advantage of it.

"Hey, baby... you ready for that drink?" A voice came from your left, and you turned to see Joel coming over, an innocent enough look on his face, though you knew he'd been watching and came to help you out.

"Yeah, definitely!" You smiled brightly at him and the guy took a step back to stare him up and down. Much bigger build, much older, and you knew him by the looks of it. The kid huffed out and knew he wasn't getting his way this time around. You sidestepped him now that you had room, and dismissed yourself, "Excuse me."

You hooked your arm around Joel's elbow as you walked back towards his spot at the bar. Standing here, now, you realize he had a perfect view of your situation.

"Thank you for saving me," you laughed, sticking close by him until you were sure that kid had gone off. "This doesn't usually happen in Dallas."

He shook his head, it was no problem. Didn't need thanks, just wanted for you to be where you were now.

"I've seen that kid here before, he's harmless... but I wanted to make sure you didn't feel uncomfortable by 'im," his explanation felt like he was trying to justify himself. As if he needed a reason for saving you.

"Even so, I appreciate it. I didn't feel like swingin' tonight," your own explanation followed, but one second later it felt like a lie... you wouldn't mind swinging with him, but he doesn't dance.

"Yeah, I'm not much one for any of it," he chuckled, confirming your last thought to be completely true. Joel does not dance. "You looked good out there, though."

You ducked your head in an attempt to hide the pink spread over your face, but he seemed to catch it. He smiled to himself. He'd never been like this around you before, but maybe the reason for that would be the lack of presence of your dad. He'd never dare to look at you like this in front of him, never did before.

"It's been a while since I came to a dance night here, figured I'd show my face again," you stumbled into your reply, a little nervous again from his words. He'd been watching you from here, you can tell just by turning your head that he had a good view of the floor, too.

"I'm glad to see you back," he tapped his beer on the counter slightly, his smile still evident. "How about that drink?"

The bartender had been close by, and you hailed him over to grab you a beer. Same one Joel was drinking. You didn't have a preferred taste to any drinks in specific, but both Joel and your dad drank Bud, so you were going to try one.

You took a sip when the bottle was in your hand, and even though you didn't expect yourself to like it... it wasn't bad at all. You went for another sip and Joel chuckled at your side.

"S' good, huh?"

"Better than I thought it would be."

By now you'd gotten used to the taste, and as you kept drinking, the words you said to him became easier to say. You weren't quite buzzed yet, but rather relaxed. Whether that had anything to do with the alcohol, or just that he was a familiar presence, you didn't really know.

"So how are things? I know Sarah's goin' into sophomore year, yeah?" you asked, the counter becoming your friend as you leaned more into it.

"Been fine," he thought about it some more, remembering what Sarah had been telling him. "She's glad to have a break from school, but she's real bright, gets all A's n' that sort of thing."

"She's probably gonna have schools lined up to give 'er scholarships in a few years," you told him, and he nodded, taking a moment to let it sink in.

"I can't be thinkin' that far ahead, already blows my mind that she's in high school."

"My dad used to say the same thing," you smiled faintly at the way he used to tell you, 'Stop gettin' so big, girl. Gonna have to start carryin' a shotgun around, keep the boys away.' "Guess I'm all grown up, now."

That, he knew for a fact.

"Yeah, grown up," he repeated, taking another swig of beer before turning back to face you.

You'd seemed to have something on your mind, but until now, weren't able to voice it. Maybe the alcohol was doing it's job after all.

"I know you don't dance," you started, and he chuckled lowly. He knew where it was going but didn't dare interrupt you. Not yet, at least. "Maybe just this once you'll make an exception."

He actually thought about it for a second. Maybe he could make an exception, just this once, for you. He'd been caught in a few conversations by some buddies who were here tonight, but besides that, he'd mostly entertained himself by keeping an eye on you. Watching you dance, talking with your friends, and then getting hit on by that blonde kid.

"How about next time?" He asked, knowing how slim the chances were that he'd be at another dance night over the summer. He'd only come tonight because a few buddies had been here.

You understood that was the nice way of saying no, and you understood he wasn't much for that kinda fun. You didn't blame him, it took a certain type of personality to enjoy the spectacle.

"I know s'not your scene," you sighed out and set the now empty bottle on the ledge of the bar. "But I'll be out there incase you change your mind."

He gave you a small nod and you turned to leave, but with the confidence flowing through your veins in the form of a beer, you stepped back up to him quickly, pressing the smallest kiss you could conjure against his cheek, "Thanks for the drink."

You didn't even wait to see how he reacted, you were already turned around and ready to go back to the dance floor. You found your friends by the edge of the room, and they'd just come off from swinging.

"Where'd you go? We didn't see you the last few dances."

"Some kid was givin' me a hard time... Joel scared 'im off easy," you told them, and though Amy seemed to not notice the implications, Kate seemed rather intrigued.

"He did, huh?" She gave you a pointed look with her eyebrow raised.

"Oh hush, I'm back aren't I?" You gave her a playful smack to the arm and she held her arms up in defense.

"So, you gonna dance now, or what? Thought that's what you came here to do?" She mocked, using your words from earlier.

Truth be told, you wanted to dance, but with the kind rejection of the person you'd wanted to dance with, the mood had been changed slightly.

The current song was ending, and in only seconds the next one to start playing drew droves of people onto the floor. It's been a pretty popular song as of lately in the line dance society.

Take it off, by Kesha.

You knew the steps, the walls, the restarts. Probably better than any other song you'd danced to tonight. It had been a favorite of yours in Dallas, and you wouldn't lie, you were glad to see it made it's way into Travis County.

Your friends squealed and pulled you along to the floor, and you didn't even try to fight them off. You went to the back corner, which coincidentally (not at all) could be seen the easiest from the part of the bar that Joel was hanging out by. At the start of the song he'd been engrossed in conversation by the person next to him, but once he caught wind of you stepping foot into the mix, he'd fixed his attention in your direction. His buddy still rambled on, but he'd only give an occasional nod, or a soft 'uhuh,' to tell the man he was listening.

You had waited for the chorus until you looked right at him. You did the steps, and given that the wall was facing the bar, you wanted to be a little punk and tease him.

He'd watched as you stepped and turned, how the jersey you were wearing loosely hung onto you when you did. You'd worn black fringe boots with a pair of black shorts and fishnets beneath them. The shorts could barely be seen for the length of the Ranger's jersey over everything.

You saw him tense up a little, and you couldn't be sure if it was your doing, but it didn't matter... you were determined to get a reaction out of him regardless.

You took the skip step and followed the instructions of the song:

Turn me on...

Now, turning towards the other side, you grabbed the bottom hem of your jersey:

Take it off....

And you did. The polyester knit fabric was pulled up and over your head to reveal the tight black tank underneath, cropped at the mid section and clinging to midly sweaty skin. You flung the jersey to a corner of the room, and some of the guys on the floor were whistling.

Joel's eyes never left yours, even as you turned and faced the next wall. Every time you turned around, you were looking right back at him, a smirk plastered over your lips as you mouthed the words. His jaw clicked, and he huffed deeply, finally out of conversation with the man beside him. He drank the rest of his beer and left the bottle on the countertop.

You didn't realize he'd left the bar until you had turned from the last wall. You kept dancing, but couldn't find him anywhere in the bar. Maybe he'd been fed up with you and gone home... but that was unlikely.

You waited for the song to end, then stepped off the floor, nodding for your friends to stay through the next song. You told them you were gonna try and find your jersey, and they were more than happy to keep dancing without you.

You scanned the room, now able to see behind the crowds of dancers, but couldn't see Joel even still. You went up to the bar to see if he'd just moved seats, but he wasn't around there either.

You figured he did actually go home, because when you looked and saw the clock on the wall, it read 12:05. Sure, it was a weekend. But Joel's a set schedule kinda guy. You knew he'd probably already been out too late.

You turned back around and went searching instead for your jersey, but it hadn't been where you threw it. You could swear tonight was just a night for you to loose things, until there was a tap on your shoulder.

You spun around and smiled widely.

"You lookin' for this?" Joel stood with your jersey clutched tightly in his hand. He held it out to you and you took it thankfully, sliding it back on.

"Yeah, thank you," you'd waited to say anything further until your head had peaked through the top. "I didn't see you at the bar, figured you'd gone on home."

"I was thinkin' bout heading out soon, wanted to make sure I saw you first."

You weren't exactly sure of his meaning, but damnit, the sparks in your skin when he said those words. Your stomach fluttered and you almost didn't know what to say.

"Well to be honest, I'm glad you caught me... I'm thinkin' about calling an uber and gettin' outta here, too."

He raised a brow and proposed an idea.

"I can take you home, if you want." The offer was kind and genuine, but to be completely honest, he just wanted the extra time with you. He liked being near you, because you were good company, and also... mighty pretty. "Not like it's out of my way."

You laughed lightly at his joke. Truly, why waste the time in calling someone else to drive you home when he could do it? He lived next door, it would be crazy not to.

"That would be great, actually," you agreed, smiling to him in thanks but then turning back to the dance floor. "I ought to go let them know."

He nodded and let you off, watching as you went to find your friends. They seemed like nice girls. Not quite like you, but nice all the same. You seemed to enjoy their company well enough.

You found them by the edge of the floor, heaving and sweaty from the last dance. They saw you and waved you over, sitting into some chairs by the wall.

"Are you gonna swing at all?" Amy asked, her hands on top of her head to control her breathing.

"No, I think I'm done for tonight," you handed Kate the watter bottle she'd gestured for you to grab her on the next table. "But you guys are good, I got a ride home."

Amy dropped the look of neutrality on her face when she realized.

"With the neighbor?" Her eyes went wide when you nodded, but you hadn't illuded to anything else, just that he was giving you a ride home.

"Girl, I knew it. I'm never wrong," Kate jumped in, looking around the bar to see where he was at. "That man's got it for you."

"Y'all just needa calm down, alright? He's just bein' nice... Besides, he lives right next door, it's not like he's going out of his way for me."

Kate rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat, waving you off. She wasn't annoyed, but she knew you weren't telling them everything, and she knew that the man next door, Joel, was clearly attracted to you in some capacity.

"Alright, girl, you go on, now.... and enjoy your ride."

Amy winked at you before you started walking away, laughing at her antics and flipping her off as you left. It was always in good fun, but sometimes they were just too accurate on their assumptions.

You found Joel where you left him, scrolling through some texts from your dad. He probably was letting him know he'd be dropping you off. He looked up when you stopped in front of him, a sweet smile he was met with.

"Ready?"

"Mhm," you hummed in response, watching as he held out his elbow for you to take, just like earlier. "Ever the gentleman."

He chuckled, waiting until you hooked your arm around his to start walking to the door.

Being so close to him all throughout the night, you'd started feeling a sense of familiarity that hadn't been there before. His smell, his energy, the way he walked. It all became so much more apparent than it ever had been. You noticed how naturally big his arms were, and how broad his shoulders looked in the shirt he was wearing. Black and white baseball tee, which hugged tightly his arms and shoulders, but hung looser around his ribs and waist. He wasn't muscular by any means, and in some places, you could tell he was a little soft... but it was a good look on him. Attractive.

Getting to his truck, he opened the passenger door for you before going around to his side and jumping in. He watched you pull out your phone, and for a second, you weren't even sure why you had in the first place... force of habit.

You swiped out of instagram and opened snapchat, tapping him on the shoulder as you held the phone up. He looked over and saw you were trying to take a photo. He leaned over, an awkward smile on his face when you snapped it.

"What's that for?" He furrowed his brow, starting up the truck and pulling out.

"S' just for me," you told him. You saved it to your camera roll, discarding it afterwards and neglecting to post it. No filter, no caption, just you and Joel miller sitting in his truck.

"So, how you liking Dallas?" He attempted to keep the conversation going, and you smiled at him for it. He was normally someone who kept quiet in a setting like this. On the drive home after a rowdy night out. It was unlike him to want to speak so much, but nevertheless, you entertained him.

"It's alright, a lot bigger than here, but I kinda like the small town scene better."

"I never took you for a city girl, but I knew you could do well there," he replied honestly. He kept his eyes on the road, every once and a while into his mirrors. You figured that was for the best, because then he couldn't catch you staring so much.

"Still prefer this, though," you said softly. You'd looked back to the window, and missed when he finally looked over at you, a sweet look in his eyes. He's happy you're home. You know that much... but he can't tell you outright because, why is he so happy that you're home? You're not his buddy, you're only his buddy's daughter.

"Everyone's gonna be glad to have you 'round for the summer," he said it as inconspicuously as he could... but you still read between the lines. He's happy you're home.

"Maybe not Mrs. Stanton," you joked. The woman had been your elderly neighbor to the other side of you and wasn't necessarily a fan of any person younger than thirty. She liked peace and quiet and mundane life. Parties and Barbacues were not her setting, and she loathed your dad and Joel for throwing so many over the years. All for the sake of you and Sarah, of course, birthdays, graduation, etc.

"She's never glad about nothin', I don't count her."

Nearing the edge of your neighborhood, you yawned and turned back to him, seeing as he was carefully making his way onto your street.

You laughed a little, then fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way. Travis County is a small place, not much around, everything is within twenty minutes distance or less, just about.

"Thanks for drivin' me home."

"No problem, darlin'," he parked in front of your house, even though he could have just pulled into his driveway and made you walk across the yards between.

You smiled at him sweetly and he couldn't help himself anymore, he just had to ask...

"And thanks again for that drink," you said, looking at him over the console. He'd leaned ever so slightly closer to you, and you could swear neither of you were gonna look away.

Those brown eyes were so damn captivating. Ain't no way you'd survive being a victim of their longing stare. Just as well, he seemed to be in a similar trance, with you being the one to cast the spell.

"Can I kiss you?" It was almost a whisper, and though soft in your ears, it rang out over and again.

You didn't even answer him. You just closed the space between you, pressing your lips against his in a gentle motion that was almost too much for him to handle. He'd not even thought twice before asking you, and now he was kissing his best buddy's daughter. You were always wordlessly off limits to him, but right now, it didn't feel that way.

He held you by the back of your neck, pulling you deeper, closer. He didn't stop it from getting hotter, heavier, and maybe he should have. It was far too late for that, now.

Your arms dangled over his shoulders, the broadness of them that you'd admired only twenty minutes ago. So broad, so strong.

He raised the center console up for you to slide across, and you didn't bother to say a word before you straddled his waist, still buckled in his seat belt.

The audacity of this scenario. Your dad was in the house the truck was parked in front of, and here you were sat on his best friend's lap and making out with him shamelessly. Joel was playing with fire, and buried in the back of his mind, he was well aware of that fact... but damnit, he wasn't stopping for nothing.

His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, covered in the fishnets he'd kept such a close eye on earlier. Something about the secrecy of this, the fact that no one could ever know, made it that much more exciting.

You both jumped apart at the light over your driveway turning on, being caught by the suddenness of the flash. You saw a neighborhood stray cat walk across the yard soon after, and realized it had set off the censor for the light.

You breathed out a breath you didn't remember holding, and looked back to Joel with sleepy eyes and swollen lips. "I should go."

He nodded, helping you slip off of him and into your own seat, gathering your phone and keys before opening the door. He caught your hand just before you got out, and gave it a tight squeeze.

You smiled at him and continued to get out of the car, giving your last words before you shut the door.

"I'll see you," he promised, his eyes assuring you of his words. To hell with those brown eyes, they were gonna be the death of you, and you knew it.

"I'll see you."

A/n: if anyone wants a part 2 lemme know otherwise this is a oneshot lol

(Tags are always open!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #joel the last of us #the last of us #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader #ellie williams #dbf! joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #dbf

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daylighteclipsed · 20 days ago

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Cloud and Tifa’s dialogue exchanges in Rebirth are banger after banger imo. But one of my absolute favorites is when they’re casually discussing food in the Bodybuilders in a Bind side quest.

I think it’s because it’s an unexpected but delightfully natural conversation? And it goes on for a while? This is a quest about working out, so you’d expect them to talk about workout routines or something. Instead, they end up talking about their food preferences after Tifa muses aloud what she should eat when they’re done. (She’s so real for thinking about food mid-workout btw.) She mentions steak, and Cloud makes a connection to Seventh Heaven’s menu. (This is news to us, as the audience; we never saw the menu in Remake.)

From the get-go, the dialogue communicates a lot without having to outright tell us everything. Tifa is the kind of person who thinks aloud without realizing it. She often plans meals/post-workout meals. She enjoys steak, and she put it on the Seventh Heaven menu, half of which — “the better half” — is (well, was) host to a number of meals she enjoys that Cloud also enjoys, as he laments not eating there more often. Tifa’s proud of her menu and cooking. And Cloud cares about the bar enough to remember the menu. While we’ve seen him express desire to rebuild Seventh Heaven before, this is the first time I really feel like he doesn’t want to rebuild it just to make Tifa happy. He cared about the place too. He misses it too.

The conversation continues with Tifa asking if Cloud’s a picky eater. Cloud replies that in the military, you eat what you’re fed. “SOLDIERs can’t be choosers.” Tifa mentions that she used to be a really picky eater. Cloud finds this surprising, and she emphasizes that she USED to be picky. “Can’t be choosers in the Slums, either.” Cloud, still curious, asks how Tifa feels about crab. She says that she’s not a fan, and he says that he’s not either.

Circumstances have made food more about survival. Cloud and Tifa are not in a position to choose, but they both still have preferences. I think this is interesting because this side quest comes right after Cloud’s side quest rendezvous with Aerith, where he sounds indifferent to what he eats. He expresses a little curiosity about how the clams/oysters/etc. from the shells they’re collecting might taste. Then Aerith says they could ask a local but she doesn’t think Cloud cares that much, and he just agrees. “I don’t. Food’s food.” And the conversation ends.

Cloud and Tifa talk about food almost this entire side quest lol. Clearly, food is not just food. Both characters have preferences, and they want to know each other’s preferences. There’s a sense of mutual interest and engagement, and a mutual ease of conversation flowing between them. (I think it’s fitting and a little humorous that Cloud brings up crab when they’re in a place like Costa del Sol. Crab is probably on every menu in town lmao He’s probably sick of seeing it.) Anyway, the most obvious takeaway from all this is that Cloud and Tifa have the same taste in food. But we’re not done yet.

From here, Tifa asks Cloud what the meals SOLDIERs eat taste like. Cloud replies that they’re healthy but not tasty, making a small disgusted “eugh” sound that earns a laugh from Tifa. Obviously, Cloud was never really in SOLDIER, but it’s safe to assume the average grunt also eats what they’re fed, and it doesn’t taste good. Cloud then begins to reminisce about their childhood. In hindsight, he realizes, they had it pretty good growing up. Tifa agrees. With fresh fruits and veggies, “and great chefs eager to use ‘em,” it’s hard to complain.

This isn’t the first time Cloud brings up their childhood in this side quest — he does very briefly at the start when he playfully asks Tifa what little Tifa would think of her adult self’s eagerness to kick some ass. But what’s so interesting is (if you play the game chronologically) I think this side quest is the first time Cloud brings up fond childhood memories without any prompting? He chooses to reflect on the past and steer his conversation with Tifa that way, to how they ate in Nibelheim, and it’s comfortable. It’s easy. A far cry from Tifa’s memory tests at the start of the game.

The past has been so tricky for Cloud and Tifa to navigate. It’s nice to see them reminisce about something so mundane and relatable like home-cooked meals. There’s some sadness in knowing neither of them can have that from their parents again… But there’s also the hope of rebuilding Seventh Heaven down the road. They — and their friends/found family — can always start a garden and enjoy homemade meals together someday, right? (Later in Gongaga, Barret mentions maybe starting a garden with Marlene. I think a shared/family garden when things settle down would be really sweet, but I digress.)

I think the dialogue in this side quest demonstrates the chemistry between Cloud and Tifa and quietly highlights their growing connection/reconnection. It flows so naturally (credit to the VAs for that as well). It really feels like two people hanging out and enjoying each other’s company, like they’re just going for a jog or grabbing a bite to eat or something instead of battling monsters. It paints a picture of what their casual/candid/low stakes dynamic is like, and it tells us more about them as individuals. It’s delightful. I love it.

#final fantasy #final fantasy 7 rebirth #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #cloti #this side quest was like a hidden gem to me because i almost missed it #if y’all are wondering where I’ve been the past week I’ve been writing about this game incessantly off the clock #i have so many thoughts… most of them disorganized #love these two so much though. love their development in this game

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gardenofnoah · 2 years ago

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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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drgnflyteabox · 2 months ago

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postcards from the coast [2]

previous || part two -> linens || part three -> tbd

series masterlist

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick / single mom!reader summary: kyle looks for you, then finds you tags/warnings: grief, less angst but still there, depression, non-creepy stalking, judgmental people, anxiety, previous injuries, insomnia, don't accept rides from strange men ladies and theydies, unless it's gaz then feel free<3 w.c: 1.2k

"Can I get a red-eye?"

Sleep has been difficult lately. Evasive. He sometimes goes through insomniac phases, where no amount of jogging or calisthenics practice or mental exercise helps. It's pure, restless energy.

Before, he might've taken himself to a bar, found a pretty girl to fuck and ease the buzzing under his skin. Now it's too painful - too much of a reminder of post-mission decompressing with the team. Sat in a circle booth, slapping each other on the back as they left, the smell of cigar-smoke and perfume.

Not that he'd be able to here, anyway. The town is too small, too isolated. There's hardly a main street, just a strip with bare necessities vaguely at the center of rolling hill country pock-marked with bleached white cottages and surrounded by cold ocean on all sides.

Peaceful, sometimes. Unbearable, mostly.

"Sure, any milk or sugar?"

"No, that's alright, thank you." He's been here every day, mixing a caffeine fix with his ongoing search for you. Curiosity and boredom, he tells himself. The product of so many sudden life changes - the end of their last mission, Johnny's passing. He just needs something else to focus on, something soft and wide-eyed.

At least the coffee is good.

The next time he sees you, it's in passing. Driving out of town to the post office to pick up a gift from his sister.

You're holding a toddler by both arms, their feet on yours, walking them up the steps toward the local library. Another long skirt, wimpling softly in the breeze. There's a smile on your face as you watch the child walk with you.

It almost feels like a missed opportunity - like he should turn back. But the post office closes in a couple hours and it takes nearly that long to get there, so Kyle elects to be patient.

You're there every evening. From five o'clock until closing at eight, you sit at the same window and alternate reading a massive tome and babbling back at your baby, who's sitting on a wooden high-chair.

The librarian makes rounds just to say hello to the two of you, pinching cheeks and ooing and aweing.

"And how old is she again?" She whispers mindfully. Her nametag says Nettie and she's a kindly-looking old woman, bent a little from years of work but sturdy as a mast in a storm.

"Turning two soon," you whisper back. Neither of you have any idea he's there yet, browsing the books as a cover to peek through the shelf at you. "She's a taurus."

"Just about to hit the terrible twos!" Nettie laughs.

"Yep," you laugh with her, but there's something there. A sheepishness. Embarrassment? Your expression is almost a grimace, from what he doesn't know. He wants to, though. Looks through the peephole and lets his chest fill with something other than grief for just a moment.

"And the father? Not a fan of reading?" She probably means well, but your face goes from vaguely uncomfortable to something like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh, um," you're floundering, but Nettie is too busy stroking a wrinkled hand over your girls head. "He's not in the picture."

Not in the picture? If Kyle had felt any kind of guilt for eavesdropping, it's overshadowed by that information. Best stake-out of his career to-date.

You shrink a little when Nettie yanks her hand back, frowning. He can tell judgement and prejudice when he sees it - experience and a keen eye. Must be hard being a single mom.

Resigned - that's the look. Pained and embarrassed and resigned.

"Right. Well," Nettie's sensible leather shoes clack against the floor. You don't watch her go, your hand is reaching into your bag for a tiny knit hat.

Fuck, you're leaving.

As you gather your things - book, coat, bags, baby - he tucks himself into the shelf, positioned still as a sniper, to-

"Ouch!" Your voice cuts through the quiet of the library. Kyle flounders, caught off guard for once. He'd only gently bumped into you to make it look like an accident, like something out of a rom-com. Girls liked that, usually.

But instead of looking up at him with surprise, you close your eyes and shy away from him, shoulders coming up defensively - you can't reach your arm, not with a baby on your hip, but it's obvious you're in pain.

"Are you okay?" You look to him, wincing still. You're asking him if he's okay? Heat creeps into his cheeks, warming him with regret.

"I'm good, I'm good," he says quickly. "Sorry about that, love, didn't see you there."

"That's okay," you readjust, arm limp at your side. Your heavy bags hang off of it, but there's nothing you can do with the baby on your hip.

"Let me get those," there's no time for you to reject his offer; he's too quick. The bags are heavy - no doubt there are more books and a baby go-bag. This close, you smell powdery soft like linen sheets and laundry dried outside.

"It's the least I can do," he's trying to be casual about it, lest he scare you off. Holds the door open, notices while you step out that your daughter looks just like you.

"Thank you, you didn't have to," you look down. How'd you hurt your arm? He knows he didn't hurt you - not like that, at least. Not enough to warrant such a reaction.

"Of course I did, didn't mean to get'cha so hard," his head swivels. There are only two cars in the parking lot. "Can I get these in your car?"

"Oh, I walked, that's okay," you reach to take the bags back, but he pulls away.

"I can't let you walk home, please- let me be a gentleman and give you a ride," he knows it's a long shot. Neither of you have exchanged names, neither of you are locals. He's tried to make himself look as approachable as possible; head tilted down, brown eyes imploring, palms out even with your bags in one hand, but it's a gamble.

There's natural suspicion and hesitation, your eyes looking side-to-side, but you nod with a hesitant smile after a moment. It's hard to keep the grin down, but he manages it up until you're tucked in his passenger seat and he's putting your bags in the back of his car.

"My name is Kyle, by the way," he puts his keys in the ignition, turns them. Pretends not to notice how you sink into the seat, eyes drooping, holding your daughter on your lap. It's not safe, but it's a country road and he promised to drive slow on the way.

You tell him your name. It's pretty, fitting. He wonders again about you - who left you like this? Alone, hurt, tired, trusting a stranger to drive you home. If he were your man, he'd never let you be put in a position like that.

The cottage you're renting is tiny, a glorified shack, rented as a cottage for tourists.

"There you are," he murmurs, trying not to startle you. "Need help getting in?"

"Hm?" You've been staring out the window. "Sorry! No, I'm alright, thank you again for the ride. Josie and I appreciate it."

Josie. It fits her, fits you. His eyes crinkle at the corners.

There's not a chance he lets you get the bags out yourself, and once you're appropriately sent off to your door, he sits and waits for a moment. Makes sure you get inside. Feels something loosen in his chest.

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #task force 141 #141 x reader #drgnfly writes #cod gaz #gaz call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz garrick #gaz cod #honestly not super proud of this one but #i've been feeling stuck lately so feels good to get it out #postcards from the coast

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brellafaun · 1 month ago

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assorted small town au ramblings

all the hargreeves kids grew up in different houses with their birth moms but still went to the same schools together. lila was a transplant from the burbs and she was dying of boredom her first year there

a small mountain town just feels right. lots of woods to explore, plenty of places to hike- small enough that everyone is close, but spacious enough that it's not suffocating

i can picture some of the boys going hunting when the season comes around. diego would probably get really into it and five would be the best with a crossbow. everyone is down for fishing and screwing around at the local lake, though

speak of, hargreeves family cookouts monthly. everyone brings something and the kids run around while the adults just chill. either hosted by diego and lila's place or at the lake's shitty park tables

Luther is a math teacher at the local middle school (he is so smart. i will die on this hill) and adores his job. all the kids think he's the coolest person they've ever met. Sloane is the geography/history teacher down the hall. they make lunches for each other and spend their prep periods together. their students FREAKED OUT when they found out they were married. he works with the local scout troops over the summers and likes canoeing the best

Diego works with the local fire department (i can't make him a cop i'm sorry) and loves it. got really into axe throwing and wanted to teach Stanley, Grace, and the twins how to do it before Lila vetoed it. deer hunts in the fall, fishes as often as possible. epitome of girl dad, those kids have him wrapped around their little fingers. best bass player in town and avid enjoyer of the local bars' battle of the bands

Allison works with local government. amazing public speaker. lives in the heart of town with Ray and Claire, happier than ever. always the first to volunteer for Claire's school events- coaches for the high school volleyball team and is the best drama coach they've ever seen. surprisingly, loves camping the most out of anyone in the group. points out every constellation (she and Luther compete to see who can name the most) when they're outdoors and makes the best s'mores

Klaus sells the crochet and knit goods they make at local markets/the town festivals. has immaculate reviews on his etsy store. somehow pulls the best thrifting hauls with Allison and Claire. goes to the lake the most out of the group- loves to swim out and relax in the water. doesn't go on the hunting or fishing trips but does know all of the edible plant species they can forage locally. roomies with Ben and has a cat named Tango. keeps picking up DIYs in order to have excuses to visit Dave down at the hardware store

Five is the group cryptid. has a cabin in the woods somewhere. almost a full-on survivalist, bound to actually go feral someday. works with the town's historical society and archives. gets lunch with Herb and Dot semi-regularly. Mr. Pennycrumb accompanies him everywhere, and nobody argues with it. cans his own food and has bees on his property (he regularly leaves jam and honey jars on the others' porches and denies doing so). either the best dressed one at the function or wearing an awful fishing/hunting pun hoodie, no in-between

Ben is a librarian, and a kickass one at that. the best at story hour (his puppeteering skills with the octopus are immaculate) and incredible with multitasking. handles a bunch of finance stuff behind the scenes (diego and klaus are hopeless with taxes, five has almost been arrested for evasion). works on his motorcycle when he has free time and rides down to the valley to visit his girlfriend. presses wildflowers and helps at the community garden

Viktor works at the local music shop, Icarus Records. Luther is his most frequent customer and has probably bought at least half of their stock at this point. he's got more music knowledge than anyone else in town. loves going out on the hiking trails to play at the peaks- it brings him a sense of peace like nothing else. volunteers with the schools to teach music. still in his teenage band with Diego and Lila. visits his mom every week and sits out on the porch with her drinking sweet tea. budding romance with the newest transplant- a recently divorced woman from texas. (her son adores him already)

Lila also works with the historical society, but as the chaotic social media/marketing manager. she gets paid to meme and that's probably her dream career. attends every PTA meeting purely to psych out the other moms. drums whenever she gets the chance, absolutely demolishing everyone at the battle of the bands. chaotic evil driver- she learned with city traffic and assumes it makes her immune to the super windy roads. steals Diego's flannels and denies it

might make a separate post about their teenage years,,,

#okay yapping done #kitt shut up #the umbrella academy #tua #viktorposting #viktor hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #lila pitts

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louisetaylor · 3 months ago

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TUA SEASON 4 REWRITE

because if you want something done right... *rolls eyes*

In the original single timeline, we got a wonderful season 4 of The Umbrella Academy. I'm here to remind you of your latent memories of the original season 4. Together we can restore it to its former glory. Like a club. We need a name. Call ourselves the Keepers or something similar.

Here's what I know:

Luther is putting work into his (admittedly rundown and condemned) house. It's growing more welcoming with every antique sconce and threadbare thrifted rug. Klaus lives with him, advising him on the finer points of exotic dancing. We see the family visiting. Claire knows where the snacks are. Luther picks up and tosses Lila's kids in the air, trying and failing to learn words in Punjabi. He struggles to move in new furniture, longing for his old strength back, his familiar hairy body.

Viktor owns a bar in Canada. He's proud of it, but despite bantering with the regulars, he isn't close to anyone. He still wants to shout at Reginald (for everything) and at Allison (for everything else). Sometimes the patrons get too loud, and Viktor focuses on the sound of the radio playing in the background, wanting to shout at the loud talkers and knock them off their stools with the sound of his voice. He misses Harlan. He wonders about autism, and why he understood the boy so well.

Diego practices throwing knives in the back yard after the kids have gone to bed. Fed up with being a delivery driver, he briefly considers opening a party planning business, but Lila laughs her head off at the idea, saying he'd explode if she even bought a pinata from the wrong side of town or something. He runs alone at night, slows, stops, bangs his head against a telephone pole in frustration.

Lila spars with Diego in the basement, kendo one night, aikido the next...It vents their anger and relieves their boredom. She has an idea of opening a martial arts studio. When she pins Diego down, they're both visibly into it. She goes away to a book club that might not be a book club, wishing for a bigger world.

The kids aren't just pawns for the plot or for conflict. They're people who ask inconvenient questions. "Where did Mummy learn to fight?" They make up bedtime stories about their parents' pasts. Superhero stories which are eerily close to the truth.

Klaus lives with Luther, sober, germaphobic, plagued by nightmares, afraid of death and love and life because he's seen so very much of all of them. He cooks for Luther, which sometimes turns out well and sometimes not. "Well, it's not the same when you make it without hashish..." When the marigold crashes back into his life, he's angry, and yet he's elated to feel the power back in him, he knows he can't go back to being half dead and unfeeling, he needs to wear something silk and put on some eyeliner and be wild again, as he always really was.

Allison tries out for every commercial in town and spars with her daughter, who's turning out to be a stubborn opposing mirror of her mother. Claire spits uncomfortable truths at her mother like her too-strong influence on others, her lecturing them instead of listening to them, kicking at their weak points. She wonders who she is when she's not acting or rumoring people. Maybe one of these days she'll ask someone for help.

Number Five has been trying to remember his name. He's been working for the CIA because a man's gotta eat, but he clashes with his boss a little too much on account of his smart mouth. He can't help acting like a young man sometimes, because he never really got to be young, feel young, act young. He can't help trying to jump away sometimes. He feels trapped in one place, one time.

Ben just got out of prison. The season starts with him being taken back to Luther's place, being welcomed in by Klaus and offered some cookies that smell suspiciously of weed. He's annoyed by the running laughing visiting kids, but the house reminds him strangely of home. He'll curse Luther out, but Klaus gave him weed cookies, and the kids don't deserve to be scared or upset, do they? He's not a monster, after all.

#tua s4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #hargreeves family #luther hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five hargreeves #allison hargreeves #lila hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #diego hargreeves #more thoughts to come #let's make this the next goncharov

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penvisions · 6 months ago

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zest {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Changes are sudden, lifestyles are altered, and important questions bubble up but through it all, you have Joel by your side.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: canon typical language, c'mon reader and joel have potty mouths, age gap (joel is mid 40’s / reader is late 20’s -early 30’s, protective joel, reader is canonically midsize, pregnant reader, surprise pregnancy, reader goes through nicotine withdrawal, smoking, cigarettes, nicotine use, lots of feelings, lots of emotions, complicated family dynamic, reader has family issues, death of a loved one, mention of life-threatening cancer, reader has religious guilt, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, reader canonically has an eating disorder, mentions of therapy, references to time apart from each other, adult content, smut, piv, unprotected piv be safe y'all!), talk of marriage, adult conversations, joel and reader are down bad for each other.

REMINDER: this is a sequel series, the previous series can be found here {garnish}

A/N: THEY'RE BACK, BABY! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || masterlist || ko-fi

It’s the perfect spring day: sun shining in a warm but not hot brightness, a gentle breeze rustling the trees as you zip past them, an iced coffee, and the singing figure of Ellie in the passenger seat all make the first half of the day melt away. The amber of your sunglasses allows for everything to be swathed in the honeyed hue and you smile to yourself as you recall a rather heated comment from Joel ‘that every goddamn show feels so creative ‘n artsy when they slap the same tones over Mexico’ and then a softer set of words as he had cuddled closer to you on the couch ‘it’s not really like that, I’ve been there, darlin’, trust me’.

“What’re you all gooey lookin’ for, Sabrosa?” Ellie pauses to catch her breath between songs from the newest pop punk album from a band you first enjoyed in your teenage years. Unable to resist the temptation of adding it to your already laden down basket at the bookstore last week when you and the young girl had ditched Joel to run errands. “Ew, gross, don’t think about my dad while I’m sitting right next to you.”

“Oh hush,” You stuck your tongue out at her. Getting a kick out of how casually she sounded. It hadn’t ever been awkward between you two, or her and Sarah despite the six or so years between your birthdays. But then again, Sarah had let you into the secret of the older guy she had started seeing in her graduate program the last time she had been in town visiting… “It’s nothing dirty, just one of his many rants about my choice in television.”

“Lemme guess….oh! The washed-out way they show Mexico, huh? Cause you were watching…oh fuck, what’s that show called…”

“Breaking Bad.” Was the supplied answer from your lips as you turned on the turn signal and began to slow down to turn into the parking lot for the restaurant. It wasn’t operating hours quite yet, too early yet for the dinner crowd Joel preferred to cater to. But Ellie had a shift, and you were dropping her off after classes. She wasn’t in either of the ones you teach, having completed the two semester course you had started off with. But you both had a class that ended around the same time, living so close to the university, she liked being able to walk but then catch a ride with you. Tradition, the word rang in your head. Routine, followed it and you smiled wider at the way your life had fleshed out.

“That’s the one!” She exclaimed as she unbuckled the seatbelt and leaned back in her chair. “Man, I really don’t have the energy for work today, but the old man said we have a full reservation list and then open seating at the bar.”

“Gonna be that way for a while, the article about him came out only two months ago. Everyone’s clamoring for a chance to try the ‘bursting flavors’ and ‘exciting combinations’ of the renowned Chef Joel Miller.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s hot shit right now, at least the restaurant is.” Reaching for her coffee in an imitation of you, she sipped at the whip cream, caramel whatever it is she had gotten. Coffee wasn’t her favorite, so she always got the espresso taken out, a glorified milkshake Joel had teased her once. “Proud of him, though. The restaurant was in shambles when he bought it from the previous owners, some shitty Italian place that never cleaned anything.”

“He’s done good.” You quietly agree, sipping from your own overly complicated drink. That was another tradition of yours and hers, to make your way through the menu at the coffee shops on campus, always pausing to get the special of the month. Joel claimed he didn’t understand the need for so much stuff mixed in with coffee, but you caught him stealing sips of yours if he were to come across it unattended around the house or when you were out and about with him and treated yourself.

“There’s my girls.” Joel chimes as you input your code into the gate for the employee parking and round the side of the building. His voice filtering in through the open windows as you pull into a spot and cut the engine. He’s leaned against the back of the building, cigarette in hand. “Was wondering what took you so long.”

“Accident on the main road, had to detour.” You appease as he approaches to open the door for you and pressed a greeting kiss to your cheek as you roll up the windows. He does the same for Ellie as she sidles up beside him for a side hug before trotting off to the door and disappearing through it. He let’s you pluck the lit cigarette from his fingers as you shoulder your bag and close the door. His hand goes around your waist to walk alongside you toward the building.

“As long as you two are safe, that’s all that matters. Today’s special is spaghetti all nerano, wanna do some grading here and try a plate?” He takes the smoking roll back from your offered hand and takes the last drag before tossing it into the pale beside the door. Opening it and leading you through it with a hand hovering over your lower back.

“That sounds yummy, I’m starving.” You toss him a smile over your shoulder before greeting everyone with a wave.

It’s well into the third hour of service and you never got the chance to leave once the doors opened. The bar had been struggling, Millie having taken over as manager and Mary trying to appease the picky impatient customers who all want a taste of the raved over menu and a glimpse at the alluring Chef Miller.

Picking up a shaker and twisting a bottle of vodka in your grip, you glance at the ticket that just printed and adjust the amount you free pour into it. Mary had been looked so guilty as she approached you’re the table where you do your work on a regular basis, the question of if you were willing to help out getting drinks started for those waiting on tables barely out of her mouth before you were nodding and cleaning up your stuff. It was now safely tucked away in the office and you were moving at a fast pace behind the bar to keep up with everything. Millie stepped down to let you take the reigns, knowing she would only get in your way. Ellie could be seen picking up and dropping off glasses at the well as often as Millie as she acted as barback.

The restaurant was buzzing, excited conversation and pleasant atmosphere making you remember the tingling high of getting off from a busy shift with a wad of cash tucked into your pocket. Just as you place a strainer over the shaker and begin to pour the contents over six shot glasses the door to the kitchen swings open and Joel walks through. You’re too busy, so you shift the chilled shots to the mat over the well and place the corresponding tickets beside them. Moving onto the next drink, you rinse out the shaker with the star sink in place.

His eyes catch yours through the crowd of people when you look up as Ellie comes up to take the shots and then watching as she delivers them, the sound of the shaker loud in your ear as you hold it over your head. His steps don’t falter as he approaches the table, he was delivering the plate to, but you could see something flash over his face. He’s back behind the door as you move to lodge the shaker open.

The night goes by quickly, taking orders for those lucky enough to snag a spot at the bar but hadn’t been able to make a reservation. Shoving each cash tip into a pint glass for the girls and even taking a few business cards from people interested in hosting parties in the space. You’ll be sure to pass those along to Mary, even if some of them requested you as the bartender. You didn’t mind, missing the atmosphere and good moments you had experienced in the setting. Ellie is taking back the remaining dishes from the last few tables, Millie is out back smoking after helping to clean up the bar top when Joel ambles from the kitchen once again.

He's got his chef’s coat unbuttoned and loose around the shirt underneath, the glint of his belt buckle catching the fairy lights around the bar. His steel curls are slicked back, but you could see the frizz and fluffiness where they rested over the back of his neck. He had been saying he needed a haircut, but you had made a sound in the back of your throat that made him put it off.

His eyes are trained on you as you move the trash cans full of empty bottles to line up beside the drink pick up area. You’re about to return behind the bar with a wink thrown over your shoulder when he snakes his hands around your waist and pulls you to him. He smells amazing, the perfect mix of savory spices, smoke, and Joel.

“Playin’ restaurant, huh? Thought you went home and passed out.” He leans down to kiss your jawline.

“Nah, Mary asked for my help when Millie got swamped.” You breath out, hands coming up to rest on his chest and push should he get a little too enthusiastic in you still being here.

“Not your responsibility.” His eyes hold no real heat or command, you know it’s born from a place of worry, of not wanting you to stretch yourself too thin.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.” You cradle his cheek in one hand and play with the collar of his open coat with the other. His eyes glance down, the glitter from your lotion catching the light on your neck and chest.

“Hmm, you looked good. Dress looks good on you, shakin’ those drinks and-“

“Dad, holy crap, it was so busy tonight. Some dude tipped me like fifty percent because he was trying to impress his date!” Ellie plops down on a stool with her server’s book. She doesn’t even look up from where she begins to go over the receipts. “Wait until everyone leaves to start doing that or better yet, wait until you’re home to do that.”

“One day you’re gonna meet someone and it’s gonna be hard to keep your hands to yourself.” You only giggle at the typical parent response from Joel. Ellie wasn’t a touchy-feely person, but you were sure she would be with the right person, you’d seen her flirty interactions with girls while out with you and your friends, tagging along for the free drinks and to have safe company. She was pretty smooth if she didn’t get into her head too much, soft touches to shoulders and waists, though she steadfastly refused to dance. With anyone, no matter the setting.

“Gross,” She begins to fill out the printed shift report before organizing the receipts in order and then asks you for the stapler. Detangling yourself from the man, you do make it back behind the bar. That’s when she notices the pint glass. “Holy shit! You made all that?”

“Huh? Oh, no. The restaurant did. Here.” You hand the wad of bills over to Joel. With your own shift report and stapled receipts. He uses two nimble fingers to extract the shift report but leaves the cash in your hand. Frowning, you track the report as it’s tucked into his back pocket along with Ellie’s. Her own cash tips secure in her booklet.

“Also gonna see about getting some of the petty cash from the safe for the hours you worked.” He begins to take the full bags from the trash cans, tying the ends together tight.

“Joel.”

“You worked, you get paid.” He doesn’t look up as he reaches into the bottom for the rolls sitting inside and begins to place new ones over the lips of the plastic.

“I’m your girlfriend. Who used to work here. I was just helping out.”

“Nope, not gonna fly, darlin’. It’s yours.” He slides the empties cans back around the bar for you to put back in their designated places.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” Ellie reaches for it and you let her swipe it from your hand. Only for Joel to set her with a look. “Oooor not.” She says as she puts it down atop the clean bar top.

“Joel!”

“Can’t hear you, Sabrosa, gotta make sure the kitchen duties were done.”

“Seriously, I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” You quirk an eyebrow at the younger girl, but Millie bounces up and says everyone was going out for a bite at the taco truck parked a few blocks down. They have a spot in a lot that has picnic tables and offer late night service. Ellie takes off, ensuring you she’ll text either you or Joel when she’s back at the townhouse afterwards. She’d been staying the second bedroom there more and more, as you found yourself splitting your time pretty evenly between it and Joel’s. He would join you sometimes, but certain nights either you needed you own space or he did and that was okay.

Sighing, you lock the patron door behind her and turn the sign from open to closed.

As you’re double checking everything is shut down properly, you open the washer to let the last load of glasses air dry, the steam billowing out. Turning when you hear the swing of the kitchen door again, Joel has his chef’s coat tossed over his shoulder and his backpack over the other. His eyes zone in on the cash and then a smirk takes over his face. You turn your attention back to the washer and ensure it’s off before you round the bar top and makes sure it was swept underneath the stools. You’re about to ask him which car you were gonna take home when you spot a crumpled napkin you must’ve missed.

As you bend down to pick it up, you feel thick fingers sneak beneath the skirt of your dress. You don’t think anything of it until you feel Joel tuck a bill from the stack into the band of your panties. Knuckles grazing against your slit as he moves to the other hip and does the same. You shoot up, the napkin forgotten as you try to turn around.

“Nu-uh,” His palms come to rest on your lower back and shoulders, bending you over one of the stools as the heat of his body looms close. He whispers something about having to scrub the video cameras set up around the dining room before you hear the clink of his belt being undone and feel him move your panties to the side. You throb at the feel of the cooler air circulating around the room, a gasp leaving your lips as he gently runs the head of his cock over your folds, arousal from you both making it such a smooth motion.

As he reaches over your back for something, he fills you up, the stretch of his girth feeling like a reward for the hectic shift completed. But you know the night would’ve ended like this either way.

A moan rips from your chest as he grabs a hold of whatever he had been trying to get, hips flush with yours. He chuckles, pleased with himself before his hands sneak around to cup your breasts as they threaten to spill out from your dress at the prone position. His fingers tuck more bills into your underwear, beneath the straps over your shoulders, into the already full cups to peak out over the swell of your chest. He even tucks one into the mess of your hair thrown up into a clip at the back of your head before his hands secure around your waist and he begins to thrust.

That’s the last memory you have of both smoking and drinking, only a few days before you had anxiously waited for a piece of plastic to tell you your fate. It was now a month since finding out, Joel making sure to go with you to get confirming bloodwork and a full physical. The headaches from missing both finally having abated. Joel on the other hand, he was sneaking cigarettes, you could smell the lingering smoke on him when would come home and you were still up. It didn’t really bother you, knowing he indulged for far longer than you had in the bad habit. But you missed the social aspect of the act, of seeking out the designated spots around campus and chatting, of sitting out on the back patio with Tommy as he enjoyed one on the evenings he stopped by with his own little family for dinner.

But it was all worth it, you mused as you poured yourself a cup of steaming water into what was once your coffee mug. Tea was something you indulged in now, the cupboard filled with the different types you were trying to work your way through to see what would help with the onslaught of nausea and also appealed to your tastebuds. You preferred the fruity ones, just like you did with your cocktails, hence the nickname Ellie had graced you with that stuck.

Jingling keys and heavy footsteps signaled you to Joel’s return, the sun still shining on the calm afternoon. He had been gone when you showed up at his house, a cookout planned for the day. Tommy and Maria had been here an hour, the grill just about ready for the first of many things to be cooked and the pool was sparkling as it awaited the arrival of Sarah and Ellie. You had spent the morning cleaning it of debris and adding a few treatment drops. The whole family getting together. It was good, it was a good feeling being surrounded by them all. You and Maria hitting it off even more over the news of what was to come. Her own child now nearing two, she had given birth while you and Joel were split. But you had sent a care package and visited her in the hospital with her favorite takeout.

It was so domestic, so full a life…it made you wonder why you hadn’t been able to experience it as a child yourself.

“Missed ya, darlin’.” Joel steps up behind you and embraces you. Kissing your temple, you feel the frown mar his lips as you don’t respond. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” You mumble, turning in his hold and wrapping your arms around his chest. He smells like cinnamon and the grill brick he used while closing up the restaurant after a brunch shift and you breathe him in as you press your face into his broad chest.

“Gotta shower, wanna join me?’

“The girls will be here soon.” You hold him tighter, missing your own family even if it had never been the same as his own. Dinner once a month with your own father, no visits offered or initiated, grandparents raising you since you were young. A mother who had passed early due to complications from cancer she hadn’t known she had until she was pregnant with you herself. “Wanna make sure everything is ready for them.”

He peppers kisses into your hair before pulling away and disappearing upstairs.

The afternoon continues, the smell of grilling meat and roasting vegetables lilting into the air alongside ruckus laughter and bad jokes. Everyone is comfortable around the patio and the in the pool, food served and consumed. Just a few bites left of everything, Joel ensuring you that he would heed your cravings and what you felt like you could stomach, not worried about leftovers lately.

“So when do we get to meet the rest of the Sabrosa clan?” Tommy askes around the lip of his beer bottle. He’s across from you at the table, Joel off by the grill as he messes with something he hadn’t let you sneak a peak at.

“Oh, um…you don’t?” Caught off guard, the bite of food falls from your plastic fork frozen halfway to your mouth.

“No siblings or nothin?”

“Um, well-“ Clearing your throat you take the bite and chew it contemplatively. Honesty or the thinly veiled truth? Your mind is working hard, something Maria must hear in her seat beside you at the patio table. She shoots Tommy a look you catch out of the corner of your eye, trying to keep calm so the child in dozing in her arms doesn’t stir. “I’ve got two half-siblings, but we don’t keep in contact much.”

“They gonna be at the wedding?”

“What wedding?” “Oh my god, dad! You proposed and didn’t tell us!” Ellie and Sarah holler from where they’re in the pool, one of them resting on a floating device and the other is practicing her laps to get more comfortable in the water. Joel turns from where he was ensuring the grill was off and brings over the s’mores dip he had just let melt to perfection. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the gooey swirl of marshmallow and dark chocolate, of the rye biscuits he must’ve whipped up at work steaming beside it in a single use tin. Set up with a divider in the middle.

“Haven’t proposed to ‘er yet, quit it.” He sits it down atop a trivet, but no one makes a move to reach for it until he gives the go ahead. But he doesn’t until he’s got one of the dark biscuits covered in the dip and set in front of you. Then it was fair game as the girls begin to swim across the length of the pool, or well Sarah tries to glide her floaty across while Ellie does. Tommy readies one for Maria before making his own, quirking an eyebrow at you as he watches the pull of the dip.

“But your dad is gonna walk you down the aisle, right?” Tommy presses on, not catching onto the awkward way you were shifting in your seat or how you had placed your fork down to rest on the edge of your paper plate. The dessert untouched. But you don’t get to think of an answer before one is flying from your emotionless face.

“Can’t, he’s dead.”

Silence falls over the once happy and jovial backyard, the splash of Sarah slipping from her floating longue echoing.

“Tommy.” Joel’s voice is firm as he pins his brother with a mild glare. Maria is equally unpleased with her husband’s penchant for talking without thinking, not reading the room. He yelps as she kicks his shin underneath the table.

“It’s okay, wasn’t much of a father when he was alive anyway.” You reach for the mocktail you had made a pitcher of for you and the girls to enjoy. No one says anything as you pour yourself another and take a sip from it. Not liking the tension that had crept into the atmosphere, you gather up your nearly empty plate and stack it atop Maria’s to take inside, making more room for the messy dessert. Slinking away, you feel Maria reach out a hand to trail down your arm, comforting you before you’re gone back into the house.

“You dumbfuck.” Ellie mutters under her breath, earning a glare from Joel over his shoulder for her language. But he doesn’t disagree. You do, but it wasn’t his fault. How was Tommy supposed to know he had picked the one subject you had nothing good to say about?

“Shit, I- holy shit.” Tommy’s voice follows you before he yelps a second time as Joel brandishes the still warm tongs from serving biscuits.

“Way to shove your foot in your mouth, we were havin’ a good time.”

“I didn’t know! I thought she was just quiet about her family not that she didn’t have any.”

“Tommy, you’re the father of my child and my husband but you are seriously so stupid sometimes.”

“Dad, she-she doesn’t have any family?” Sarah is tearing up, affected by the sudden realization of why you never brought anyone around except for a friend every once in a while. She could understand not having a mother, as her own was so distant, only showing up when she needed something or felt lonely in the life she created for herself. But to not have a dad? That was all she knew and she couldn’t fathom how her life would have been without him in it;.

“She’s got us, baby girl.” Joel goes to run a hand over her shoulder and press a kiss to the fluff of her kinky curls as she stands beside the pool set into the ground outside the patio. He wraps the towel she brought out around her and rubs it across her shoulders before lifting his hands. “We’re her family, pretty good deal, huh?”

“Dad….”

“She’ll be okay, I promise.”

The laid back vibe from the afternoon returns once everyone piles into the living room to watch the season finale of an admittedly awful reality tv show. But everyone was hooked and harmless bets were made on who would cause the most drama and how things would end. You’re a little subdued, but you make comments along with everyone else and laugh at the absurdity of what happens on the screen.

Stepping out of the bath you had decided to soak in, you startle when you see Joel sat on the small bench in the master bathroom across from the vanity as you pull back the shower curtain. He’s already changed into his sleep pants, his freckled and bronzed chest on display through the steam.

“Darlin’, why didn’t you tell me your dad was passed?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” You stand in front of him, taking in the way he watches you through the mirror as you press a bead of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and wet it before popping it into your mouth. A heavy silence fills the room, tangling with the rose scented steam from the bubble bar you had used. The pink water swirling down the sink a near silent hum.

“It-uh, kinda does. Makes me feel…like a whole wedding would be…”

“You don’t have to ask me. We don’t have to get married if it’s going to be a problem.” Shoving down the worries and residual guilt of being raised in a certain religious culture at the thought of having a child out of wedlock, having a child as a single woman you catch the man’s gaze through the mirror. The burn of embarrassment simmers beneath your skin, shame for feeling such embarrassment sparkling behind it, creating a swirl of emotions you hadn’t wanted to feel this close to bed with an early class. You want to marry him, to experience that with him, to live life together as husband and wife, but it feels perfunctory when you didn’t even believe in the reasoning behind why you felt that way. He’s frowning, his brows knit close together, something off in the depths of his brown eyes.

“It’s not a problem…right?” You see the worry flickering through him, in the way his eyes shift and the way he clenches his fists in his lap. “I just…you know you’re a part of the Millers. Have been since the moment you caught my attention, but baby…I don’t want you to feel lonely if it’s my family and your friends.”

“Are you insinuating because I don’t have a family of my own, I’m somehow missing something?” Anger flared hot and sticky in you, washing out the embarrassment. The heat from your bath making it so much worse and you cross the room to pull the door open. Back at the vanity, you ignore his gaze and rinse out your mouth before moving on to clean and moisturize your face. He’s quiet behind you, knowing he phrased his sentiment wrong and this…this communication was new for you both. Still hard sometimes as you both realize how deep some things run and how different you could be.

“You know I’m not.” The gaze he has trained on you reminds you of the way he would watch you through the kitchen, tensions high as you both couldn’t seem to get your heads out of the dirt and just be honest with each other. A time that had passed, allowing for the present to bloom.

“Then a wedding wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s kind of moot, you haven’t proposed.” You don’t anticipate the slight edge to the words as they leave your lips, but they slice through the air. You feel shame overtake the waning anger, making your face hot underneath your massaging hands. The burn of tears threaten to ruin the routine you just completed and you hiccup as your hands flatten atop the vanity, head hanging between your shoulders. You do not like this, but you have no idea where it’s coming from. It really doesn’t bother you that he hasn’t asked. You know he has the intention to, the agreement of a visit to town hall and then a small party to celebrate. Nothing fancy, nothing crazy, simple.

“Hey,” He whispers as he comes up behind you, hands resting over the quick beating of your heart, his naked chest pressed to your back, the damp towel the only thing separating you. But you can feel his own heart between your shoulder blades, strong and sturdy. Grounding you in the way you had explained you preferred when overwhelmed. “I promise I wasn’t trying to upset you, just want you to be comfortable, to have everything you deserve.”

You let him help you to dry off the rest of your body, lotion lovingly applied to your body by his hands before you slip into a nightgown and slip between the sheets beside him. You kiss an apology to his lips, needing him to know that it was just initial panic and not the real way you thought or felt. He accepts it and offers one of his own, lips pressed to your chest, right over your heart before sleep takes ahold of you both.

“I said don’t.” You warned, no humor in your voice. You had tried and failed to put on every one of your pairs of pants, jeans, leggings, and none of them were comfortable. None of them zipped, buttoned, or stretched enough underneath the slight bump that had seemingly blossomed overnight. Joel was sprawled on the bed, working his way to getting up at the late hour. He had been at the restaurant late, later than usual as they had a party stay well after service hours. He had let the staff go on time, ensuring they would get the tip out but not wanting them to have to stay once all the cleaning and side work was done. One of the many things you adored about the man, his willingness to heed situations like that in favor of his staff even if he was gruff and to the point most of the day.

“Didn’t say nothin’, darlin’.” He rumbled from beneath the sheets, tan skin looking deliciously golden paired with the pale pink set you had insisted changing from the white that had previously been curled around the mattress. You had woken up with bad cramps last month, terrified something had happened as you pulled back the covers to find blood spotting the pristine fabric. A quick trip the emergency room as he shared in your panic, albeit in a more controlled way, assured you that spotting was normal during the early months of pregnancy.

“Dress...” You muttered to yourself, hand cradling around the small bump. Joel only hummed, stretching out to alleviate his sore body, thick legs appeared from beneath the fabric. Your eyes traced the long lines of his body through the mirror atop the dresser, drinking in the sight of him and your body began to thrum with arousal. When your eyes roved up the expanse of his broad chest dusted with dark hair to his face, he was smirking at you with an eyebrow arched in a silent question of how long you would ignore his deliberate departure from the bed.

You had all but jumped him when he got home last night, papers you were grading scattered all around you on the couch and coffee table, a Josh Gates show on the television for moral encouragement. He had teased you once about your affinity for the man but you had clapped back with his borderline obsession with Anthony Bourdain, to which he simply said ‘can’t help it darlin’, the man knew his shit’.

The dinner he had brought home had been tossed to the entry way table, as you knelt down to help remove him from his shoes and pants. Mouthing at the line of him through his boxer briefs before he could even get his keys hooked on the mirror over the table. He had been prepared to find you fast asleep, a different kind of tired taking hold of you more and more, almost demanding naps during the day when you got home from campus and right before dinner if you hadn’t worked. But you had sprung up from your spot and welcomed him home, the food forgotten in favor of getting your fill of the man that had been consuming your thoughts. The thought makes his cock fill, twitching underneath the sheets as he recalls your enthusiasm.

He sees the way your eyes dilate at the movement, the hush of his hand skimming down to grip himself.

Suddenly, you’re no longer debating over the clothing flowing from the draws inside the closet or those of the dresser. You peeled the pants you had been fruitlessly trying to zip up and nearly threw yourself at him. He greedily accepts your frantic kisses, starting from his shins and all the way up neck to finally connect with his own. He groans at the taste of coffee you had allowed yourself this morning, his own cup still steaming on the bedside table. His glasses beside it, his cellphone lighting up only to be ignored.

“Does mama need some attention?” He breathes into your open mouth, large palms caressing the exposed skin of your hips. His hands graze your middle, and you shy away from him, self-conscious of the extra jiggle, the stretchmarks from rapid weight fluctuation of your years now accommodating the swell of the beginning signs of the life you two had created together. “Hey, no, c’mere.”

You’re sure he sees the flicker of emotions across your face before you school it into a cool arch of your brow, the playful smirk of your lips. Falling back on bravado that wanes far too quickly these days as your hormones ping pong all over the place. You were just as apt to burst into silent tears as you were to jump him, confusing for you and devasting for him as he tries to read your moods as well as he can. He was hoping to dislodge the habit of you seeking refuge in the townhouse you had gifted Ellie, her own budding relationship prompting her to ask for her own space just as the new stage of your life became known to them. Equal parts of respect for the more tender and tense moments sure to happen and yearning for her own space again.

“Mama needs some new clothes, wanna spoil me?” Your voice is a confident hush, hands reaching forward to urge him to shift closer, both of you on your sides and facing each other.

“Do anythin’ for you, darlin’, you know that.” His teeth sunk into the curve of your neck, tugging you back to him. That seemed to get you to forget your insecurities as he felt you pull him closer, your smaller hands so soft on his chest as they caressed his skin.

“I think I wanna go to that fancy mall, maybe get some pretty underwear that won’t make me feel like a total loser.”

“I’ll take ya anywhere you want, maybe even that big shopping center in Dallas? It’ll be just like the trip we took to Arizona. Could get a hotel, see the sights and just relax. Hear they have a mac and cheese restaurant in the arts district.” He rolls to pin you down, and you move to allow him space between your legs instinctually. Body hovering over yours as he kisses down your neck, your chest, he lets his words sink in. The bralette you had put on doing nothing to hide the perk of your nipples. He laps at them through the thin fabric, delighting in the way it makes you arch up into him. You were so sensitive to his touch lately, your body on high alert as your hormones fluctuate erratically.

“That’s a lot, Joel. Shouldn’t we-“ Your hesitant words are cut off by a searing kiss, the press of his skin against yours making it hard to keep your train of thought.

“We should do what we want, darlin’. Wanna get everything sorted to go this weekend?”

Tears are suddenly pitter pattering over the sheets, darkening the fabric where they land after rolling down the sides of your face. He pushes his weight from where it pressed you to the bed, back on your sides and you let him, unable to stem the tears.

“Oh hey, hey it’s okay,” Joel crowds close, the thin fabric separating your bodies as you bury your face in his neck and curl your legs up, knees pressing into his stomach. Hiccups startle you both as you find it suddenly hard to breath through the onslaught of emotions spiking. “Hey now, darlin’, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” You mumble into his skin, embarrassment flaring up hot in your cheeks and chest. You feel so silly, pulled in too many directions in so quick a succession. “I just…you’re so hot and I’m all bloated and my skin feels all tight and I really want some ice cream.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re happily spooning a sundae into your mouth with a red plastic spoon in the passenger seat of his truck. All the tears and frustration gone from you as you held tight to the treat in your hands with far too many flimsy napkins. He’s got a cigarette dangling from the hand he rests on the inside of the door, trying to keep as much smoke from wafting back into the cab as possible. Errands, today was an errand day and you smiled over at him. Pairs of sunglasses meeting, eyes hidden beneath them. He just leans over to press a kiss to your temple, not wanting to disrupt your enjoyment of the ice cream you literally cried over.

next chapter

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