#so i don’t have to worry about re touching it lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelscurls · 1 year

Text

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

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

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

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

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

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

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

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

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

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ma’am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you say yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

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

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

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

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

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

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

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

“Sarah-” he starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you press your fingers down harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like a bad trip.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes up empty.

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

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

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

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

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

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

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

“Quentin. Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

This guy can’t be serious.

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

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

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

It’s the last straw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

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

“You barely know me,” you joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

“No Joel – it’s you.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

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

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

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

“Everything alright?”

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

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

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

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

“And you like it?,” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What time is it?

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

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

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

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

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

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

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

And then you feel sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toast it is, then.

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

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

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

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

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it never ends well, once they do.

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

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

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

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

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

Well – you think – no going back now.

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

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

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

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

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

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

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

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

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

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

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

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

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

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

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

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

Punctual, you note.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

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

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

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

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

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

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

But Joel isn’t just any man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

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

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sets them down by your feet.

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

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

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

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He settles in with a content sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

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

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

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

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

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

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

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

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

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

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

2K notes · View notes

what-are-you-willing-to-do · 2 years

Text

Resident Evil Characters x Mutant! Amab! Reader

Summary: Nsfw and SFW headcannons with some RE characters with a mutant AMAB s/o

Characters: Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Albert Wesker, Ethan Winters, Carlos Oliveria and Rebecca Chambers

Chris Redfield:

•At first when Chris met you he didn’t expect you to speak to him

•He was debating on shooting you but you still looked pretty human

•You we’re fucking huge though

•7’5 maybe taller and you looked like you could throw him around like a feather.

•He always had a grand time talking to you

•He’s still afraid you may turn on him though

•Trust issues :(

•He’s the little spoon even if your small or big

•Make him feel submissive 🤬

•I feel like Chris is a sub or service top

•The first time you had sex with him though-

•magical

•you had him in full Nelson with nothing but ease

•you could even see yourself in his stomach

•if you press down on the bulge he definitely comes on spot

•he’s used to being able to manhandle people easily

•definitely has a size kink for you💀

•all in all do be gentle with him, but don’t be shy to use him like a fleshlight 😏

Albert Wesker: STARS or After could be either

•He’s so intimidated by you it’s not even funny

•How dare you speak

•how dare you be so attractive

•you’re a mutant your below his level

•You grow on him though

•to you’re super strength to your lovely personality

•He’s not used to falling for someone so dominant compared to him

•it’s new to him so do be patient

•When you first slide into his ass though good god he’s HOLLERING

•Curses, praises you name it saying it

•For your first time I feel like it would’ve been side straddle

•it’s easy enough to hit his prostate with your huge size it’s even easier though with the position

•He’s never came so hard before or been so loud

•if you can stay interesting and continue to fuck him like an animal than you can stay❤️

•Don’t think about turning your back on him or I’ll personally slap you 🤬

Jill Valentine

•She’s very reluctant at first

•You’re a mutant talking to her

•She definitely ignored you a lot but as you guys began to talk more she enjoyed your company a lot

•She can do a bunch of stuff without fear now because your draping over her glaring at anyone who looks at her wrong

•Scary dog privileges lmao

•“they don’t bite!” 😐

•you make her feel so safe

•she adores being anywhere near you

•in your arms, next to you, her hand around your waist or arm

•she’s just really touch starved

•She’s vanilla in my opinion but is willing to change that for you

•when she first saw your size she got so wet

•like she was leaking

•had her drooling fr

•you didn’t even have to rub her clit because she just came from your dick

•you fucked her on a wall

•A WALL

•how tf you that strong

•anyways make sure to destroy her pussy

•she’ll be begging for your load every second

•she had no idea she’d be this needy for someone’s cum bit here we are

•make sure she’s nice and full okay? 🙌

Rebecca Chambers

•Sweet baby

•she was so excited when she met a mutant who could talk

•you guys would talk for hours on end!

•it felt so nice to be heard especially by someone so nice

•shes so impressed by your height and how strong you are

•make sure to pick her up a lot she likes being close to you

•hugs, cuddling, kisses all of the above

•she like being big spoon though

•even though she’s smaller like way smaller she loves to feel like she’s protecting you

•she just wants to make you feel safe like she feels with you

•okay naughty time

•SIZE KINK.

•She’s so small like so small

•she’s also very fragile

•the first time you guys tried to have sex even with all the prep you could possibly give you couldn’t even slide in 😔

•don’t worry though she bought a bunch of big toys and would keep them in her for hours so she can finally take you

•when you finally manage to push in it feels like your dicks in her chest

•so fucking big in her

•you can see yourself so visibly it’s not even funny

•you mine as well be in her chest with where you are in her stomach

•your a bit below her belly button

*she can always feel you in her cervix bro

•your so big and rough she loves it

•the first time was definitely doggy and there were no regrets on both parties

•she’ll always be happy to have her pussy wrecked over and over again by you

Ada Wong

•now you tested her dominance when you guys first met

•she was a snake and you a honey badger

•no matter how hard she tried to kill you, you didn’t give a shit (lmao remember that meme)

•though when she finally stops trying to kill you she enjoys your company a lot

•your quite pleasant to talk to

•she’s always a bit afraid that you’ll turn on her

•this being the reason why she didn’t immediately have a relationship with you

•she didn’t wanna have to kill you 😕

•you assure her you won’t though and with enough convincing it works

•your in a relationship with a black mamba

•when you guys first fuck she does take control a bit

•telling you what positions to go in

•at first you made her think she was in charge

•but when you slid in all that was thrown out the window

•she was squeezing you for all she was worse

•have you ever seen Ada cry? Well now you have!

•you had her sobbing when you hit her cervix

•you had to stop a bunch to make sure she was okay 😭

•make sure to let her take control a few times okay? 👍🏽

Leon S. Kennedy

•already is obsessed with you when you begin to talk

•big mutant who can dominant him with ease?

•awooga do you need your dick sucked?

•he’s such a fucking perv

•please pick him up and throw him over your shoulder

•dirty boy loves it

•anyways officer puppy’s a brat

•like he’s a BRAT.

•he’s always contradicting what you say

•just take your dick out or flash your pecs and he’ll shit up

•when you first showed him your incredible length and girth he whined

•bro whimpered

•he knew it was gonna be even rougher treatment for him because of his brattiness 💀

•he just sighs sticking his ass up hoping your nice enough to show him some mercy

•and that’s your choice babe ❤️

Ethan Winters

•Mold Man and Mutant Master

•When you first met he was absolutely stunned by your small talk about Rose

•you asking how she was it made Ethan scared yet happy

•as your guys relationship progress he lets you see Rose

•at first you don’t wanna hold her because your afraid your gonna hurt her but eventually you come around to it

•honestly Rose probably loves you more than Ethan lmao

•she ALWAYS wants to go to you instead of her own father

•I guess your kinda her parent now

•he’s just glad you guys love each other

•anyways another brat 🙄

•fucking dirty whore

•he’s easy to get begging though

•he annoyed you so much the first time you guys were gonna fuck you just shoved yourself in raw

•he started bleeding and enjoyed every second of it

•his eyes were rolled back and he was sobbing so loud

•he was so glad Rose was such a heavy sleeper and had no idea what was going on

•his mouth puts a truck driver to shame

•fuck him on a desk

•just trust me

Carlos Oliveria

•is weirded out by you •you shouldn’t be talking

•you shouldn’t be self aware wait wtf

•anyways you grow on him like usual

•when he falls he falls hard

•and my bro fell of a cliff for you

•he adores you

•he finds you so cool

•especially that fat DI-

•a lotus position man

•loves feeling you close

•hold him close when you fuck him

•whisper sweet nothings

•worship him and make him feel safe

•he already does this for you so 🤷🏽‍♂️ •mine as well 🤠

•anyways he lets out the neediest moans and whimpers

•overstimulate him

@allen-444 @whateverthefuckyouwantiguess

#resident evil fandom #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dom reader #carlos oliveria x reader #rebecca chambers x reader #ada wong x reader #ethan winters x reader #chris redfield x reader #jill valentine x reader #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction

503 notes · View notes

messrmoonyy · 2 years

Text

Touch

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

Prompt ( summarised ) - at the start when we first meet her and she's been jumped by Robert and his people, when tess comes home to find the reader pleasuring herself, Tess just like leans against the doorway watching and reader notices that Tess is there but keeps going but Tess tells her to stop. Tess teases/ keeps denying her orgasm. Also Joel ( who lives next door ) ends up bashing on the wall cause they’re being too loud.

Also paired with the prompt: ‘ I need Tess to tie me up and go town and be a little bit mean . I’m begging you write something like that ‘ because it just sort of happened lmao

A/N- anon. Angel. Let’s fuckin go. This is your one way ticket to horny jail, off you go. I just… I really don’t know what to say about this one. I was blushing writing this.. I did for the most part have game Tess in my head writing this. But I’ve told you all before you can imagine Whichever tess you want to ✨ anyway my loves. Enjoy

Warnings: 18+ || Tess, smut. Like. It’s just porn with not an ounce of plot. Smut: oral ( reader receiving ), fingering ( reader receiving) light dom/sub roles, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, light exhibitionism/ voyeurism, Tess and her praise, tasting yourself, use of handcuffs, reader is low-key a brat, mildly degrading, Tess is boobs over ass woman so, I think that’s all lmao holy shit.

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist - requests for the last of us are open!

Comments and re blogs are always appreciated! <3

It had been a shit day. Truly. You had been on one of the most boring work assignments, it had pissed it down with rain and you’d forgotten your jacket, the FEDRA asshole who’d been in charge of your group had been a dick and let you all go late and you’d missed ration pickup, so now you’d have to go tomorrow morning. And to round it all off, Tess was no where to be fucking seen.

Your girlfriend did have quite the habit of vanishing for longer than intended, so it didn’t worry you. It just pissed you off. When she got into those bad moods where she felt she could take over the entire world single handed, taking on drop offs that were far more efficient if she took you or Joel with her, and winding up making things harder for herself. Which clearly was what had happened yesterday. You hadn’t seen her for a good 24 hours now. In fact it was probably more than that.

Which was annoying. Cause you were wound too tight. Stressed. And you needed to blow off some steam, which Tess was always more than willing to assist you with. Yelling at each other for a bit before she grew tired of it and pinned you against whatever flat surface was closest. It worked every. Single. Time. You knew how to piss her off just enough to push her buttons the right way.

You hoped she’d be home waiting for you if you were honest, some excuse about how she got wind of someone trying to steal your shit or whatever. But you returned home to an apartment that was as empty as it was when you’d left.

You stripped yourself of your rain soaked clothes, tossing them in the general direction of the sink to wash later, and flopped down on your bed in your underwear with a sigh. Maybe the clothes on the floor would piss her off when she came in and that would push her buttons wonderfully.

You always knew the right ways to wind her up and push her in a way that you knew she wasn’t really angry with you, but pissed off enough to put you in your place. She’d always been one to keep you in line, even back when you’d first met her and her reputation wasn’t even close to what it was now.

Your mind drifted off to her completely, closing your eyes and remembering that day you had met her. It had been a good one. One that made it almost okay that you were living in a total shit hole.

The absolute annihilation of life as you’d known it did have some benefits you supposed. Yes. It was a shit hole. But if the world hadn’t fallen apart you’d never have even met Tess. And you had long ago decided that it’d be impossible to live life without her.

No one could eat pussy like her for a start.

The thought of that actually made a smirk tug at your lips and you found your stressed mind drifting again. You were quite certain you could get off just looking at her, in fact you knew you could. You’d done it before. Just watching. Imagining. You had every detail of her saved to memory. Every scar and mole, how her strong arms looked when she was hovering above you, how those long fingers felt when they curled inside of you…

Your hand slipped down your body and into your underwear, sighing dreamily as you began circling your clit with the image of her still flashing on the inside of your eyelids. You weren’t in any particular mood to drag it out, needing the sweet muscle easing release a orgasm would give you, so you sped up your movements. Also because Tess wasn’t particularly thrilled at the idea of you touching yourself without her. And who knew when she’d get home. You chewed on your bottom lip in some attempt to be quiet, but you always had been the more vocal one.

A moan slipped past your lips, your hips lifting up from the mattress slightly as you chased the sweet relief you so desperately wanted. Your mind supplied you with motivation, memories trickling down behind your closed eyes like your own personal peep show. The memories of how her lips felt against your skin, how her fingers felt.

You’d seen those hands do terrible things. Yet be incredibly gentle with you. It only served as more motivation for you, maybe it was knowing she could have anyone she wanted really. Yet she wanted you. Hands that had killed for you that could also have your brain floating and your bones turning to jelly.

You were completely consumed by the images in your head, the tightening of the knot in your belly as it built up and up and up. Not even really imagining anything particularly sexual, just the image of her was enough. She’d made you get off in front of her countless times, sometimes not even giving you vocal motivation. It wasn’t hard.

In fact you often wondered how anyone could possibly be in such a situation and not be able to just come on the spot by having her eyes on them. How did people walk around her every day and not have the raving urge to just jump her every second? Had they seen her? You were completely convinced there wasn’t a single person that could compete with her.

One hand came up to grab at your tit, squeezing and pinching at your nipple in the way she was always so obsessed with, squirming and moaning like you’d not been touched for weeks. When in reality it had only been a day. But you were obsessed. Addicted. And who were you to deny the beautiful woman that was so fixated on having her head between your thighs at any given moment?

You were too preoccupied to hear the door open right away, to hear Tess finally arriving home. In fact you weren’t entirely sure how long she’d been stood there when you opened your eyes, some odd feeling that you were being watched. Which you were.

Tess was stood leaning back against the door, arms folded over her chest and watching you intently. The room was a little too dark to see her totally clear, nightfall less than an hour away so the bright sunlight no longer served as the natural light in the room.

She didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t move. And you took that as motivation to keep going, squirming around under your own touch and watching her carefully. The only sound in the room that of your breathy moans and the lewd wet sound your fingers were making.

You weren’t above begging for her and you almost did, needing her to get you over that edge instead of yourself. But she seemed to be enjoying the view.

You let another moan tumble past your lips, fingers picking up speed as they attempted to find more friction on your slick cunt, desperate now to come with her watching you.

But she clearly had other ideas. Speaking and bringing you to a halt right as you were going to slip over the edge.

“ having fun? “ the sound of her voice alone drew another moan from deep in your chest, the way she spoke always so sultry and the slight twang her accent gave her words. It made heat pool in your belly every time. She finally stepped away from the door, tutting and shaking her head “ without me? “ she strode across the room in slow purposeful strides, like an animal hunting it’s prey, eyes not leaving you even once.

“ well you’ve been away haven’t you. What else was I supposed to do? “ you said, voice slightly breathless. She knelt a knee on the bed , slowly leaning down over you. You immediately noticed the state of her face. A busted lip. A black eye. She clearly noted the change in your face and placed a finger to your lips “ don’t “

“ Tess- “

“ I said. Don’t. We can talk about my face later “ you went to protest further, wanting to know who the fuck had laid a hand on her and grab a gun and take them out yourself. But the way she raised her eyebrow at you made you snap your mouth shut again “ thats a good girl “ her eyes trailed down over your body beneath her, slowly taking you in with a smirk on her face, her hand sliding over your waist “ missed me that much? “

“ where were you? “ she simply shrugged and dropped her head, trailing kisses across your jaw “ Tess- “

“ no questions “ she said and nipped a little harshly at your skin as if to prove the point she did not want to talk about it “ what were you thinking about? “ she asked, her hand beginning to wander more as she climbed fully onto the bed. Her touch so soft and gentle, hands that you had seen beat people to a bloody mess, yet so tender when it came to you. It made goosebumps rise in her fingers wake “ I asked you a question “

“ you “ you sighed, floating on the feeling of her fingers dancing over your skin.

“ keep talking “

“ just… just you. All I ever have to think about is you “ her fingers had hooked into the waistband of your underwear and it short circuited your brain “ god I need you so bad “

“ miss me that much? “ you nodded, your breath hitching as her hand moved back up, slipping around your back to unhook your bra “ maybe I should get locked up by FEDRA more often if this is the pretty sight I’ll come home to “ Her eyes dragged down your body in a way that wasn’t even remotely subtle, as she stripped you of your bra. She dropped it off the side of the bed, her tongue darting out lightly to wet her lips as she looked at you “ I missed you too “ she added, eyes focussed intently on the way your chest was still littered in fading purple bruises from the other day “ this won’t do “ she mumbled seemingly more to herself than you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion and she dropped her head, leaving wet, soft kisses to the fading marks. Her teeth nipping and nibbling at the skin to bruise you again, clearly not liking the fact that her evident mark of her ownership was fading away.

“ missed my tits more like “ you said with a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering closed as she nipped at the swell of your breast, leaving another deep purple mark in her wake and looking up at you as she captured a nipple in her mouth.

“ tomato tomahto “ she mumbled, preoccupied with rolling the nipple that wasn’t currently between her teeth, between her fingers. You arched into her, a hand slipping into her hair and twisting into the dark locks “ hands to yourself “ she said lowly, detaching herself from you with a mildly obscene, wet, popping sound. You whined at the loss of contact and she simply smiled at you “ you know the fuckin rules by now pretty girl “ you huffed in annoyance and it just made her smile more.

“ you’re mean “

“ and you’re disobedient “ to your dismay she got up from the bed, shivering slightly at the loss of her body heat “ can’t keep your hands to yourself” she said with a disappointed sigh, folding her arms across her chest “ do you ever do as your told, hmm? No “ You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched her as she rounded the bed, rummaging around in the side table. And your brain clicked onto what she was doing.

“ Tess- “

“ shh “ you watched her pull the pair of handcuffs from the back of the drawer, and place the key onto the side table by the lamp. She’d stolen them last year and you’d been more than willing to let her use them on you. But it had been a few months since the last time. Your brain went foggy just at the memory. How she’d tortured you for hours, edging you over and over again. And something told you that was exactly what she had in store for you again.

She walked back around to the end of the bed and beckoned you forward with her fingers. You complied immediately, crawling over to her and kneeling in front of where she stood. She tapped her fingers under your chin, making you look up at her.

“ I specifically remember telling you not to fuckin touch yourself without my permission. Do you know what happens to little brats that can’t keep their hands to themselves? Hmm? “ her voice was incredibly gentle, as was the hold she had on you, such a stark contrast to the words she was saying “ I thought you were better than this baby “

“ I’m sorry- I just- I was- “ you sighed, her eye contact too intense for you to form a full sentence. Tess pulled a face of mock pity and sighed deeply.

“ being a brat “ she finished your sentence for you and tutted in disappointment “ lay down “ you did as you were told without question, laying back and raising your hands in some attempt to get back in her good books, a picture perfect image of submission.

She smiled as she rounded the bed taking your hands gently in hers, circling your wrists with the cool metal of the cuffs. She looped them though the bars of the headboard, securing the other around your wrist and tugging gently.

“ too tight? “ she asked quietly.

“ no “

“ atta girl “ She was looking at you like she wanted to eat you alive, to completely and utterly devour you. A predator that finally had its prey stuck in a trap. It made you feel vulnerable, like you wanted to curl in on yourself and regret ever even thinking about touching yourself without her there “ are you gonna be good for me? “ her eyes trailed down your body, a smug smile on her face. You watched her as she stood at the foot of the bed again, you squirmed under her intense gaze. You knew she was going to drag this out, not in any kind of rush to touch you. She reached for the buttons of her shirt and you were in a trance, watching her fingers as she slowly undid her shirt“ I asked you a question “

“ I- I- “ your brain shut down at the sight of her there, how were you supposed to even think straight? Never mind form a full sentence when she was stood there stripping out of her clothes.

She stood there in her tank top and jeans, simply the sight of her strong arms alone making your mouth water. The way her nipples were peeking though the tight material from the cold, you were like a feral animal in heat. She raised an eyebrow , hands holding the bottom of her tank “ Tess I- fuck “

“ that’s not an answer “ She pulled the tank over her head and a whimper left your mouth at the sight. You pulled at the restraints, desperate to touch her, and it simply made her laugh. A low chuckle that was almost menacing. It made your cunt ache “ answer the fuckin question pretty girl “

“ yes I- fuck. Yes I’ll be good I’ll be so good please can I just- Tess “ your fingers were itching to grab at her, to kiss and lick every single inch of skin you could see. You’d drop to your knees and worship at her feet if that was what it took, you’d do anything just to be granted the honour.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away as she rid herself of her jeans too, joining you on the bed. Her hands ran over your legs before pushing them apart

“ Jesus fuck look at you “ she murmured, hands kneeding at the flesh of your thighs, your face flushed as she looked down at you. Awe in her eyes at the state you were in, the sticky mess covering your inner thighs “ you looked so pretty when I came in “ she said, dropping down and nipping at your inner thighs “ desperate to be fucked, like a bitch in fuckin heat “

“ I need you “ you whined, eyes still fixated on the woman between your legs. You didn’t know how all the terrible shit you’d done had granted you such a gift as being the one person Tess wanted, but Lord where you thankful for it.

“ of course you do, fuckin slut “ your back arched off the bed as the degrading name fell over you, mild embarrassment flushing your skin red at just how wet it made you when she said it “ don’t worry baby. I’m here now”

You choked on the whimper of her name as the flat of her tongue suddenly licked a long stripe up your cunt, eyes on you the entire time.

“ fuck- Tess “ you felt her smile against you, her hands pushing your legs up and out so she had as much access to you as possible. It was sudden and intense the way she practically devoured you, your already sensitive clit throbbing as her tongue flicked and circled the bundle of nerves with no mercy.

You tugged at your restraints for the millionth time, fingers itching to grab at her hair and keep her head there until you came on her tongue. You tried to clamp her head in place but she had a tight hold on your thighs.

“ stay still “ she murmured against you and you shook your head

“ cant. Feels so fuckin good “ she smirked, her thumb replacing her tongue circling your clit

“ I know baby, I know “ she lapped at your clenching hole like she was addicted, the wet sounds mixed with the noises she was drawing from your throat would’ve made you embarrassed if you weren’t so far gone already “ still waiting for you to tell me what you were thinking about baby “

“ you “ you gasped “ been thinking about you all fucking day. Don’t- don’t leave me that long again “ she huffed a laugh at that, detaching herself from you again which made you whine in annoyance.

“ I was only gone a day. You’re really that fuckin needy? You need this cunt fucked open every day huh? Is that what you need? “ you felt two of her fingers brush against your entrance and you waited with bated breath for her to finally fucking do it. You needed something more than the teasing of her tongue

“ yes. Yes. Please Tess “ her fingers slipped into you embarrassingly easy, wound up and ready for her for too long

“ you’re so wet holy shit. All for me “ you clenched around her fingers as she probed at the spot that made you see stars “ sound so pretty when you moan for me baby, let me hear you “ you brain was at a loss for words, completely and utterly consumed by the sensation of her tongue. Her fingers.

Her deft fingers were reaching all the right places, her tongue hot as it circled your clit in the most expert way. You’d never known someone who could eat pussy like her, like she would happily sit between your legs for days if she could. Never satisfied, never growing bored.

But also being incredibly fucking cruel.

Tess knew your body better than you did you were certain, knew every sound. Every movement. So it was no surprise that even with your restraint on not telling her you were so close to coming all over her tongue, she already knew. Recognised the way your cunt clamped down on her, the way your moans increased in pitch. And knew exactly when you were a mere second away from falling over the edge.

And that was the moment she was suddenly gone, fingers withdrawing and lips detaching from your clit. The sound you let out was pathetic, a desperate cry as she starved you of your orgasm for the second time.

“ oh I’m sorry, did you need to come? “ her voice was dripping in sarcasm, a mock sense of pity on her face as she sat back to look at you “ you really think I’d let you off that easy? “

You wanted to be mad, and maybe a small part of you actually was. But your brain was too foggy, you couldn’t see through the haze of the barrage of pleasure she was providing. Even if she wasn’t fully satisfying your needs. You felt drunk, lost in the feeling of your arousal swirling in your stomach, the sultry sound of her voice, the pressure of her fingers.

You turned your head, hiding in the sheets not looking at her in some hope it might make you forget all about how badly you wanted to come.

“ let’s take these off now shall we “ you kept your face buried in the damp bedsheets, listening as she moved around, gentle hands on your arms as she unlocked the cuffs around your wrists. You heard her drop them on the side table before her hands gently rubbed at your wrists, dropping light kisses to where the metal had undoubtedly left your skin raw “ you’re doing so good baby, taking your punishment so well “ you hummed an answer into the sheets, trying to ignore the way your cunt ached desperatelyto come.

You were like jelly as she manoeuvred you again, laying beside you and trailing a hand lightly up your side.

You were almost scared she was done for the night, happy to just leave you unfulfilled and go to sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.

To your relief she didn’t.

She urged you to look at her and you whimpered at the sight, her lips and chin glistening with the evidence of you.

“ Tess- “ she took advantage of your parted lips and kissed you, tasting yourself on her tongue. It made your skin flush with heat, some primal instinct of possessiveness clawing it’s way to the front of your mind. Tess, your Tess. Tess that so many wanted, Tess that could have anyone she wanted. But Tess that was in bed with you. That tasted of you. That was devoting all of her attention to torturing you. You had to force yourself not to come just at the thought.

“ I don’t think you deserve it yet “ she said lowly, barely an inch from your face , fingers gently gripping your jaw “ do you? “ Yes. Yes yes yes

“ no “ the word reluctantly left your lips, desperate to please her.

“ that’s right “ her lips were on your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. You were going to look like you had a run in with a vampire tomorrow morning. But you knew she did it on purpose. Was obsessed with making sure people knew you were off limits. You were taken. You were hers. You were her toy to play with however she saw fit. You were not to be touched “ I think you can take a little more “

“ Tess “ you whined. She cooed pitifully, looking back at you again and brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“ you can take it. I know you can “ her hand trailed down your body, hand cupping your aching pussy lightly “ you’re being so good for me, I know you can last just a little bit longer for me. Cant you baby? You can keep going for me “ her fingers circled your entrance, gathering your slick on the pads of her fingers before withdrawing her hand again “ see? Look how wet you are. Look how needy “

You didn’t need to see the visual. You knew how wet you were, could feel the sticky mess you had made all over your thighs.

You whimpered as she slipped her fingers into her mouth, cleaning them of you with her eyes closed in bliss. It was filthy, so unbelievably erotic that it drew a moan from you, it tumbling past your lips before you could stop it. And it only made her smile. Her fingers dipped back down, bringing them back up glistening “ open your mouth “ you did as you were told, letting her slip her fingers into the warmth.

You didn’t need to be told you knew what she wanted. Your lips wrapped around her fingers, sucking her fingers clean, tongue sipping between the digits and swirling around them to ensure you got every drop “ good fucking girl “ she breathed out, watching you with an intense look of awe in her eyes “ wish you could see how you look right now “ you wrapped your fingers around her wrist, keeping her hand in place, sloppily sucking on her fingers in the most obscene way.

She was bewitched. Fixated on you as you behaved so depraved for her.

“ so pretty like this, nothing on your mind but me “ you nodded, too far gone to be even embarrassed now. She consumed you completely “ I want you like this all the time “ she murmured, head dropping and leaving open mouthed kisses across your neck “ dumb little slut, just thinking about me. Only me “ you nodded again “ say it”

“ Only you “ you whispered, her fingers leaving your mouth with a string of drool still attached to your lips

“ you’re mine. My perfect little toy huh?” You keened at her words, squeezing your thighs together for some kind of relief “ ah ah. Open “ she tapped your thigh and you reluctantly spread your legs for her again “ you’re doing so good don’t fuck it up now baby. In fact I think you deserve a reward dont you? “ you nodded rapidly, in some hopes you’d caught her having a suddenly forgiving streak.

Stupid.

“keep your legs nice and open for me baby... Good girl you got it “ her fingers swirled around your dripping entrance for a moment before plunging two fingers back in, right to the knuckle, the spot she had been abusing all night back under fire.

The sound that left your throat was animalistic. Desperation for some kind of relief and finally being mildly satiated again, clamping down on her fingers as they curled up over and over. She cooed a string of praise into your ear as she set herself at a steady pace, your moans high pitched and breathy as they tumbled from your mouth without a care.

You used to be shy about the amount of noise you made, but Tess adored it. Loved nothing more than hearing what she did to you or getting pleasure from forcing you to be quiet and watching you fail every single time.

“ do you know how fucking perfect you look right now? Fucking Christ“ you couldn’t process her words, your brain was mush. No longer yours. You were simply a puppet and Tess was pulling the strings, had every single ounce of control over you. And you loved it. She was bringing you to the edge again, your moans increasing in pitch and intensity with every curl of her fingers.

“ someone needs to quiet down a little bit “ she said before placing a hand over your mouth, eyes locked onto yours as she carefully added a third finger. You might as well have screamed into her hand, the moan that left you so loud, so indecent , that it could probably be heard on the other side of the zone. The stretch was intense, your muscles aching and clamping tightly around the intrusion of her fingers. She let you adjust for a moment and then was back to abusing that spot inside of you “ that’s my girl. You can take it. Take it for me “

Tears were prickling at your eyes, the entire situation boarding on becoming too intense.

“ eyes on me, look at me “ she tilted your face to look at her, holding your gaze intensely “ atta girl “ you whimpered quite pathetically as she curled her fingers up, hitting the same spot over and over in a torturous pace. The tears finally fell, rolling along your cheeks in a steady stream, so unbelievably desperate for her to just let you fucking come. How long had you both been at this? How long had she been bringing you to edge and then shoving you backwards again? Minutes? Hours?

you whined into her hand, not sure how much longer you could keep it up.

“ you’re doing so well “ you flushed at the praise, arching into her touch so the heel of her hand brushed against your sensitive clit “ you need to come don’t you? “ you nodded, burying your face in her neck, nails digging into her shoulder “ you want to come for me baby? “ she kissed away your tears in a way so tender, so different from the way she was brutally abusing your cunt still.

You nodded your head, starting to lose the energy to keep fighting it off any longer now.

“ tell me. Tell me how much you want it” she removed the hand covering your mouth, her eyes locked intensely on yours

“ need to come so bad. Please Tess. Please I can’t- cant do anymore- please. Please “

“ you sound so fuckin pretty when you beg for me “ she mused, her hand stalling for a moment as she gently pressed her thumb against your clit “ keep begging “ You rambled out a mostly incoherent attempt at begging, so unbelievably pathetic but you were way past caring now. She gently grabbed your hand and moved it down “ do you feel that? Feel how wet you are? Hmm? “

You didn’t need to touch, you knew. Could feel how damp the sheets were underneath you, could feel the way you were dripping all over yourself “ show me how much you want it “ you didn’t need telling twice, your fingers searching for friction against your slick clit as her fingers resumed their previous assault “ slower… slow. That’s it. We don’t want this over too quickly do we?”

You almost laughed. Quickly was not the word you’d have used. Not when she’d been denying you for so long now.

“ when I say, I want you to come. Do you understand me? “ you nodded your head, a fresh stream of tears leaving your eyes “ words baby. Let me hear your words “

“ yes “ you whispered, sobbing out another moan as she sped up her pace and you rubbed gentle circles into your clit like she’d told you to. The sopping sounds were obscene, you didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life.

To your relief she didn’t torture you for much longer and the words you wanted to hear finally left her lips.

“ come for me “ it was intense. Your entire body felt like it had been set alight, your orgasm smashing into you so suddenly and viciously. You were certain you were going to draw blood from how hard you were gripping at her arm, your head thrown back into the pillows and practically screaming as the thick tension that had been surrounding you all night finally shattered.

She talked you though it the entire time, fingers still working at you to make sure it lasted as long as humanly possible. Only stopping when you weakly pushed her hand away from you, over sensitive and spent. You felt like you were floating, melting into your bed with bones made of jelly.

“ Jesus fuckin Christ Tess! “ you startled from the post orgasm bliss too quickly for your liking, as Joel’s voice sounded through the wall, followed by a heavy bang of his fist. You both looked at each other before you burst into a breathless laughter, Tess looking at you with the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever seen and placing a finger to your lips in some attempt to quiet you again. Even though she was laughing too.

“ I don’t know why he’s fucking yelling at me you’re the one being loud “ she peppered kisses across your face and you tried to clear the fog from your brain quite unsuccessfully.

“ holy shit Tess “ you whispered “ I- I- shit “ words failed you, brain still swimming in a puddle of bliss. She quietly dismissed herself with a kiss to your cheek and you whimpered at the loss of her next to you.

“ I’ll be right back you’re okay “ her voice had shifted to that sweet, gentle, caring tone only you got to hear. You stretched out your aching muscles, vaguely focussing on the sound of the tap turning on in the kitchen, before she returned to you.

She cleaned you up with gentle hands, whispering praise to you as she did. When she deemed you clean enough she shifted to lay behind you, some muttered excuse that she’d deal with the sheets in the morning. Her arms wrapping around you, the presence of her pressed against your back comforting. Familiar. Safe.

You could feel her warm breaths against your cheek, your body feeling heavy with exhaustion as she held you, your eyes already drifting closed.

#tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos #the last of us #tlou hbo #smut #x you #x reader #lesbian #lgbt #tlou tess #other characters for exposure:#Joel miller #Ellie Williams #the last of us fanfic

276 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 9 months

Text

After doing that 'top posts of 2023' or w/e post from yesterday I was asking myself what my absolute favorite moment was from Lucky Girl

I can usually tell by looking at the stats what are the most popular chapters (the ones with sex - nobody is surprised that y'all are coming back to re-read those 2/3 times each lmao I see you) and this one is up there.

I was so happy with it when it was completed, because I thought it caught Evie and Jude at their best and most themselves in the whole thing - those moments where she's worried about asking him for what she wants for fear that he'll get too excited and intense, and him trying to hold himself back for fear of overwhelming her. Both knowing each other well enough by now, while doing this silly little dance around each other instead of just admitting what they want. - They're still doing this in the epilogue. They've learned to be indirect with one another in their relationship and they know that they'll always have to do this little dance with one another to make things work.

Anyway, you've guessed it, it's 3.16 - the Arcade chapter <3

“Good game, Evie.” He concedes, after a long, anguished pause. “But I’m not playing against you again.”

“Good. I absolutely hate your play style, and you’re a sore winner.”

“From now on we should only team up”

“I agree, we’d be horrible and unstoppable.”

“Do you still fancy me after witnessing me at my worst and most toxic?”

I grin. “If that’s you at your most toxic then I think I fancy you more, actually.” I push past him towards an old jukebox by the wall. “Which probably says something about me, I don’t know. Maybe I should be psychologically assessed.”

“For liking bad boys?”

I snicker. “You think you’re a bad boy?”

“I think that you think I’m a bad boy.”

“No, I think you’re very sweet and kind and quite soft, actually.” I dig around in my pocket for a spare coin or two. “Sorry.”

He leans against the wall next to me like a quarterback against some cheerleader’s locker in a high school film, and it shouldn’t make me feel girlish and shy, but it does. My whole body tingles even though he’s not even touching against me. “Is that really what you think?”

“Are you flattered or insulted?”

“Well I’m flattered. I think that about you too, coincidentally.”

“Pick a song.” I tell him. “Let’s see if this thing even works.”

“Give me the old classic, Surfin’ in the UK.”

“What?” I chuckle. “I think you’ve got that wrong.”

“No, look.” He points to the song selection at the front and I run my eyes down the most egregious list of knock off hits I’ve ever seen. There’s Hotel Florida, Puppy Dog, Nine Days a Week, Free Tumblin’, and somewhere near the middle is Surfin’ in the UK. “This is ridiculous.” I say as I hit the button and the speakers crackle to life. “Why don’t they just get the real songs?”

“Cheap,” Jude explains, and bobs his head as though he’s enjoying the strange song that almost, almost sounds like the Beach Boys, only for its weird, tuneless melody that never quite progresses to the expected or most obvious chord.

“My God, this is awful,” I say, and he’s already doing a silly little shuffle dance across the worn out carpet. “What are you talking about? It’s a certified banger,” He reaches out his hand to me and sings in falsetto “And all the blokes are surfin’, surfin’ in the UK.”

“Don’t make me dance to this.”

“What? Nobody is watching.” He takes my hands in his while I laugh, and he laughs too, because it’s just funny. There’s always something funny about being together, even when I know that everyone else would think we’re being stupid, but when I’m around him I always feel just a little less embarrassed of myself. The same kind of childish, light headed giggliness I get when I breathe helium from a balloon.

The arcade machines and the neon on the walls blink and flash bright colours against his skin and his sleek, glossy dark hair, and everything is noise, light and sensation. Beeps and bings and 8 bit graphics and electronic chip music, all blend discordantly with the tinny music from the jukebox, but when he holds my waist and kisses me slowly everything else fades away.

My body surrenders to him immediately, but this is what he does to me. This is why I feel afraid of the ways that I feel, because with him, as with nobody else, I feel like I can understand better why people do insane things for sex. How a person can just forget where they are and do it wildly and indiscriminately in cars or public bathrooms or in other kinds of places that used to make me feel confused and disgusted. I always knew, as I know right now, that it wouldn’t take much convincing on his part to get me out of my jeans.

Lucky Girl, 3.16

#also Evie realising that it really doesn't feel this way with other people #and yet his direct nature kind of scares her but she doesn't want anyone else #and him knowing #yet willing to go against his instincts and wait for her to be comfortable #and be patient #obsessed with them forever

12 notes · View notes

vacantgodling · 10 months

Note

Genji Shimada, for the send a random character headcanon asks?

(I'm only on the second chapter of Cage, so sorry if you mentioned this info later)

--@ceph-the-ghost-writer

(haha no worries i don’t really mention any of my “specific” headcanons in this story cuz i’m more worried about the plot lol—but thank you for reading actually i’m touched 🥺🥺)

Sexuality Headcanon: bisexual or pansexual — perhaps gray or demiromantic cuz before cyborg-ness i can’t see him wanting to be tied down to anything, after cyborg-ness i feel like finding someone he can connect with on a deep level due to this whole situation is more precedent for him wanting to be with someone. he’s down to fuck tho; maybe a little less eagerly than before but in general he’s dtf in my mind lol

Gender Headcanon: cis boyo but i feel like being a cyborg does like. affect how he feels about himself generally so i’d almost lean into calling him slightly nb because of that, if that makes sense

A ship I have with said character: for genji i have varying ships but the two most prominent tend to be genji/baptiste or genji/lucio. neither of them appear in cage properly but in a different fic that’s on hiatus, storm chasers, he and bap are a thing (i also just ship bap with a lot of people LMAO)

A BROTP I have with said character: him and cassidy! from canon they technically have a more ambiguous relationship. it’s said that genji didn’t communicate with other blackwatch members after he went into regular overwatch (so this would include cassidy), however i Highly Doubt that the two of them would’ve had a completely terrible relationship the entire time he was in blackwatch. plus, with the recall i feel like it’d be a chance for them to sort of reminisce about the bullshit. so idk—in my mind they’re better friends than canon maybe wants them to be but just because they’re best friends (to me) doesn’t mean they don’t butt heads.

to expand on this, i feel like cass is the only person genji can be completely candid with. with zenyatta he’s focused on healing and being a better person and being one with himself (with occasional teasing), he and angela have a complicated relationship (**to me), and he’s not very talkative towards other people now that he’s older (and he’s much more serious). i feel like cass would be able to break down a lot of his barriers and they’d appreciate each other’s dry sense of humor and in some ways they hold each other accountable to things.

this was a whole rant and a half but their bro-hood means a lot to me.

A NOTP I have with said character: gen/cy. i don’t ship anyone with mercy (for the most part. i’d really have to think if i wanted to ship someone with her but idc that much) but i specifically hate this ship because like. idk. it’s the doctor/patient power dynamic that i don’t like. like she knows his cybernetics, she built him and saved his life and i just feel like that uneven ground to start a relationship at all. i feel like in general, the canon and most people don’t develop angela enough and i feel like she’s kind of an overbearing type but also extremely certain and stubborn of her own morals and values and kind of thinks she’s right over everyone else. i feel like at a certain point she and genji wouldn’t be able to connect or relate to one another—between him wanting to reconnect with hanzo, to finding enlightenment with zen etc etc. so like idk i feel like people who ship this are kind of in a fantasy land where the characters are just perfect and happy and don’t actually like. take into account potential friction.

plus the savior complex is just 🤢

A random headcanon: it’s small but i don’t think genji likes sweets. i got hella headcanons about his tastebuds and how they don’t work (which does show up in cage—chapter 5 i believe). but i think it’s funny the juxtaposition how genji is viewed as more of the sweet/open/fun brother but his tastes are more umami and bitter, but hanzo is seen as more cold/standoffish/mean but he really likes sweets :3

General Opinion over said character: it’s thanks to @valeffelees that i actually have a more nuanced opinion of genji. ngl i used to HAAATE him back when i first got into overwatch because the fandom was so hostile towards hanzo and hanzo is my fucking blorbo so that it irritated me that genji got preferred treatment. however, these days, i don’t think you can have one without the other and i think he’s a really deep and interesting character that people don’t actually put effort into exploring. like even though cage is about han and cassidy it’s also VERY MUCH about genji and putting some goddamn effort into exploring him and his emotions in a way that i’m satisfied with

#ff: cage #about renjamin

8 notes · View notes

numetaljackass · 2 years

Text

eternally frustrated with myself because I just genuinely don’t know what I want?? specifically re: relationships but also with just everything in life lmao.

like -- I do enjoy being by myself, most of the time. I very much enjoy being able to do my own thing and not having to cater to someone else. me and my fiancé didn’t even live together long in retrospect but it legit felt like I lost myself, and that every decision I made wasn’t even my own. which, feeling like you ‘lose’ a lot of your independence in relationships probably isn’t even a thing that happens in normal, healthy relationships to well adjusted people but I have literally never had one of those lmao. I just. I like being my own person. I don’t dig the way I tend to gravitate towards people who are Very Bad for me either. Idk how I can simultaneously be independent as Fuck but also have a bad habit for codependency but. it sure does happen. And I’m terrified of letting myself end up in a bad situation again.

BUT that being said, I’m lonely and I don’t dig that feeling. I do miss having someone consistently around, and especially like. someone that actually wants to do things with me and be around me. I don’t exactly care for physical touch really so I don’t miss that necessarily but I do miss like, sharing a bed and knowing someone else is there. like yeah it’s great to be ‘living for myself’ and all but. idk.

on the same note though, I worry that some of this stems from feeling like I’m just... behind. I’m 25. I work a lot and very hard but I can’t afford my own place. my Almost Marriage didn’t pan out. sometimes I feel so lame meeting new people at work and having to answer personal questions, like no I’m not married, don’t have any kids and had to move back in with my parents. I’ve had like three major relationships in my life but am still so uncomfortable with sex and intimacy, though ngl a lot of that may be related to 1. hardcore repressing trans-ness (which is an entire other discussion) and 2. just. incompatible partners. but it’s also like. that’s so many Issues to bring into a relationship. not to mention built up things from previous relationships that just feels so unfair to burden a partner with. and like, it’s to the point where I’m genuinely embarrassed.

part of me wishes I’d stuck it out with therapy, but I was so jaded back in 2020. It was right after my engagement had fallen apart and my ex had basically said ‘yeah you need to go to therapy and work on yourself. maybe if you do that I’ll date you again.’ (Which I did need to work on myself, but when you take into account the fact that this person legitimately abused and took advantage of me, it still feels like a slap in the face. like okay **I** need to work on myself, but you’re fine, clearly. /s) I went to two sessions but ultimately stopped going because 1. the therapist was weird about the fact that at that time, I ID’d as a lesbian and 2. I realized that I essentially was like, internally accepting literally all the blame for the relationship dissolving when like... uh no. sure I absolutely was not perfect and made a lot of mistakes, but so did my ex. and I absolutely did not deserve the abuse I went through. I do remember having that epiphany during the second session and being like, ok well I’m cured now.

I’m aware none of this is a good description whatsoever, but basically my thought process ended up being that well, if I accepted that yeah I didn’t deserve what happened to me but was also partially at fault for the relationship ending, then I’d made peace with that fact and didn’t actually need this therapist. but like. I absolutely did. And still do. maybe not that specific one but like, one in general. because it’s two years later and it feels like no matter how much I crave a relationship (or feel like I crave one) I can’t actually get up the courage to try again. because it’s like, why put myself through that again? why put my entire self on the line and let someone in when it has the potential to fail. and to hurt. because good god I legitimately cannot go through something like that again. not to be dramatic but I legit would not survive it lmao.

this post isn’t even negative honestly. like yeah I’m sad over this sure but I’m annoyed more than anything. because I’m aware this is fully a Me Problem. like yeah bad shit happened to me but lots of people are able to pick themselves up and move on. I haven’t been able to. and at this point it’s probably less of a can’t and more of a won’t. once again, I’m letting fear rule my entire life.

realistically, there is nothing wrong with me. I know this in the back of my head. I’m having a hard time getting over things and that’s okay. 25 is very young and also, there isn’t anything wrong with being alone. but it very much feels like there’s something wrong with me. like wow I really am the problem, aren’t I.

#this is so much sorry #it isn't even negative tbh #I just needed to write some stuff out #anyway I'm mostly fine just probably need to sleep #being human is hard.

6 notes · View notes

wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year

Note

Like I said: worth a shot. And that sounds about right for a message to them lol. I don’t know how helpful they’ll be, but at least you were able to re-upload the missing chapters! Still a dick thing to do on their end, though lolol

I also hope things gets better soon— I hope, beg, wish, pray that things gets better. There’s just so much, so little time, so much mental stuff. I don’t even know how I’d start to put it into words.

I’m glad you’ve settled in the UK🥰 Is it weird being there? I don’t really know where you used to live (obviously), but I can only imagine how big of a change that must’ve been regardless. Glad work is going good as well👍

As for the Egyptians and Iftar thing, bruh that is so fucking funny🤣🤣 except for how it makes you uncomfortable to go, that is not funny and I’m sorry. But if they give you backlash for something like being atheist, then they aren’t worth the worry.

I get the whole lonely thing, especially if you’ve moved somewhere new (lord do I know how that feels🙃🙃) as well as being touched starved (again: 🙃🙃). Good luck on your quest to getting a boyfriend to live out your fan fiction fantasies😔✊ I know you’ll make plenty friends and such, but you also have us in the mean time🤗

i sent them a report. let's see 😪 honestly the issue is losing the comments and reblogs people left behind. so annoying.

i understand. things can get so overwhelming that you just don't know what to do or don't have the energy to sort it out. but most of the time it does get better, it just takes time unfortunately.

nah it's okay i know it's funny. i kind of felt like an imposter sitting there and hearing them discuss what is haram and what is not 😂

lmao i don't even want to live out my fanfiction fantasies as those are too hardcore. i just need a normal relationship to get me through the day. there is this cute dude that started his rotation in the ED with us lately and he'd be the perfect fit because he's only staying with us 4 months so if things go south, it's no big deal lmao if only he'd give me the time of day lol brits are a bit more unapproachable than other ethnicities. or maybe it's because i feel like i can bother the egyptians or even the nigerians (the two other most prevelant ethnicities in our ED) as much as i want without them getting pissed off but i'd be hesitant to impose myself on the brits as much 😂

but anyway thank you babe ❤️

#mort talks

2 notes · View notes

sixie-art · 10 days

Text

Jolie Mortelle

a puppet I made for my bunny for our anniversary! 🩷🧡🐰🐱🧡🩷

WIP pics and updates under the read more! 😸

I didn’t think to take progress pictures until after I got the base finished, and only just decided to make a post documenting the process tonight lol 😓 But I’m literally winging it- I’ve never made anything like this, and aside from the things I was taking inspiration from and a few quick videos I’ve watched for tips on stringing the puppet and help with the hair, I haven’t been following any specific patterns or anything for it, lol, so I don’t think it would have been helpful/interesting to anyone anyway…

Update 1, 08/18: She’s coming along pretty well- I started working on her in the last week of July, and it really didn’t take me very long to make the base puppet, though now that I’m doing more of the detailed work, progress has slowed…I’m gonna have to set aside some extra time to sneak working on her at home to make sure I get her done in time, I think; I’ve strictly been working on her on breaks work until tonight; I snuck her home in my lunchbox on Friday, and sat up for an extra 3 or so hours after bunny went to bed tonight working on rooting in some of her hair.

I’m about 1/3ish done with the hair, I’d say; it’s been time consuming, but rewarding, too, seeing the hair slowly get built up and looking more and more finished. I am nervous about it holding up…once I’ve finished, I’m gonna put glue inside the head to hopefully keep it held in. It is pretty sturdy already- combing through the hair with my fingers doesn’t pull the pieces out, but I’m worried about when I have to comb and style the hair eventually…which brings up another question I have to work out: my original design idea was to have her with straight hair, but the hair I got was curly. I figured I would just find a way to straighten it, but now that I’m putting it in, the curly hair is growing on me…I’m gonna have to decide how would be best to style it and everything, either way.

I’ve also run into an issue with the paint on her face chipping off, so I’m going to be thrust into touching up her face…I always kinda wanted to learn how to do faceups on dolls to make ooaks, but never had the confidence to…guess I’m gonna have to now, lol! Thankfully it’s only her nose and lips that have gotten their paint messed up…I think I’m gonna re-do both in black to match her ~goth aesthetic~ more lol, and I want to figure out a way to seal it and avoid further paint chipping, if possible…

After I’m done with her hair, the next step is going to be attaching her ears and hat, then I’ll probably figure out the stringing/sticks situation…the baubles I’ve gotten to add to her shawl will probably go on last, because that’s probably the part I’m most excited for! 😸 I also got a cute little box for her, and I might make up some cushioning and spruce up the inside a bit if I have time to, but I guess we’ll have to see.

Hopefully my next update won’t be quite so long-winded lol!

Update 2, 08/21: hair’s all rooted! Gonna put some glue inside next to hopefully make it hold stronger…Once the glue dries, I’m gonna wash out the hair and try to style it so she looks less like a mix of Sadako and a mop dog and more of the character I had in mind lol.

Unfortunately, I jinxed myself and a bunch more of her face paint chipped off, so now I’m officially in doll repainting territory; I’m gonna draw up some designs for her new face and see how I wanna do it…hopefully it won’t look awful lmao!! 🤞🏻

I’ll be bringing her home to work on her while bunny’s away, and I have an extended weekend off from work coming up, so I’ll try and sneak in some work on those days, too >__>

Update 3, 08/22: Okay, so that didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would…

I DID cheat a little and used markers and not paints, because I didn’t trust myself, but I think she looks pretty nice!!

I decided to go with a clown theme, to match bunny when she does her clowning 🩷 I didn’t end up keeping her super cool, dramatic pink eyeshadow across her face, on account of the clown makeup, which made me kinda sad- it’s one of the things I liked most about this doll face to begin with! Maybe next time I’m messing around with doll repainting or anything I’ll try to recreate the look…

I’m letting it dry for now, then I’ll be adding some modpodge to keep it all sealed up!

Update 4, 08/23: Technically the 22nd into the 23rd lol. She’s nearly done!!

I had to touch up her white paint because the modpodge made the black outlines I drew bleed a bit 😭 but I guess that makes it look a little more like real makeup lol…? and now I know not to use that kind of marker with modpodge next time!

I’m still not really happy with the way her hair is turning out, so I’m gonna try and keep playing with it- for now, I have it pulled back to try and help it lay a little flatter!

I also added in her hat and her ears; I went the super simple route and just pinned them in, which seems to be holding up well enough for now, but I might go back in and attach them more permanently later, if I have time. I added some extra hair in the spots that didn’t quite end up getting covered by the hat, and might add some more- I have to mull it over for a while, not look at her and then go back and assess lol.

I also added her strings, and now have to figure out how to attach her to the control sticks…handles? What do you call a marionette’s controller…? (i looked it up- apparently they’re called control bars lol) I have some ideas, but I’m not sure how well it’ll work out…I’ll figure it out ✌🏻 Then, aside from that and the hair, all I have left to do is add her little charms and things, if I’m remembering correctly…I might not be because I pulled an all-nighter working on her after getting home from the drive-in lolol- definitely worth it, though. 😺 I’m so excited to see her finally, fully coming together!!

Anyway, it’s almost 6am…gotta feed the cat soon, then I’m going to bed 🥱

Update 5, 08/25: Aahh I forgot to take pix for this one, oops 😖 But she’s already hidden away, I’m not gonna pull her back out right now…Anyway, I got her sticks attached! She doesn’t have really good range of motion like I was hoping, but I guess she’s supposed to be kinda simple anyway…

I’m really excited at how she’s turning out so far, and I’m so excited to give her to bunny!! I don’t have too much work left to do…my next update might be the last before her ~grand reveal!~ 🤩

Update 6, 08/31: She’s done!!!! 😸

I really like the way she turned out, and I’m so excited to give her to bunny next week!! I might make some quick minor fixes before packing her up to be wrapped, but I think that’s about it for her!

#art #traditional #puppet #marionette #WIP

0 notes

carmenized-onions · 3 months

Text

Ad Interim. | No Service

logline; The days and doubts and desires; the air, underneath the shoe.

[!!!] series history, this is the ninth; the amount of links are getting nauseating just go to the landing LMAO.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I listen to this playlist too much in my day to day now, fr.

portion; 3k+

possible allergies; you're almost ten chapters in, you know very well by now that these two are rife with anxiety and insecurity.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd mb)

fun fact: i finished this one 19 hours after the last chapter, whoops, but let it sit in my drafts to give some breathing room and do some rework

It is t-minus three days, until the worst Friday of your life.

But today’s Tuesday, and though you feel a touch uneasy, you figure it’s probably just the breakfast from yesterday at La Mattina settling in your stomach— Or, at least, hope it is.

You’re at home, sitting on your couch, pensive, haggard, leaned over. Elbows to knees, prayer hands to face, staring at your phone on the coffee table in front of you.

Just send it. Just send the text. Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’ve re-written it in your notes app like five fucking times— He does not care this much, he doesn’t even have basic reading comprehension— Okay, that’s mean— But it’s just not that deep. Just fucking! Send it!

Actually no, no, upon sixth review, the paragraph you had written out was way too intense, way too presumptive. Backspace, backspace, backspace—Just say hi. Let’s just start with Hi.

‘Yooooooooo’

Are you fucking possessed? Good Lord. How is he already typing he never used to reply this fast, what the fuck—

‘Are u fucking haunted?’

‘Fuck is yooooooo’

‘Yooo to you too, cousin’

Faster texter now, but Richie is still the same guy, at the end of the day.

‘this is a loaded fucking question’

‘but do you think you’ll be free any time this week?’

‘not unless ur dead or dying’

‘are you dead or dying?’

‘not that I’ve heard’

‘but I was thinking maybe we could like, get food or smth’

‘chat one on one. Been a minute, yknow’

That was too much. You didn’t need to do all that. Now he’s gonna go well who’s fault is that? And it’s yours. You know it’s yours. And then you’re gonna have that fucking conversation— Which is what this whole meet up thing was supposed to be about in the first place—

‘heard’

‘can’t get time off but fak needs to have his training wheels ripped’

‘could have dinner at the bear this week? Like 2 hours. Then I can watch him and keep him from shitting the bed’

‘and still get to do a fucking one on one, you corporate speak ass’

‘I didn’t know how else to fucking say it alright!!!!!!’

‘Dinner @ bear sounds good to me’

‘but probably ask carm/syd first if it’s cool’

‘yea yea I’ll fuckin check in with daddy don’t worry’

‘that sucked for me. That sucked to read. Go to jail.’

‘already have.’

‘I’ll let u know a time when I know. See u chip’

You heart it. The classic signal that it’s the end of a conversation. Holy shit. You did it. You actually texted someone that you miss that you miss them— Not directly, but you know Rich knows. And specifically, to book a dinner, to talk about what happened, to apologize for it. That’s pretty fucking huge. Which means—

It’s time to eat a whole freezer cake and lay in your pyjamas all day and interact with not a single soul on this entire planet. You’re absolutely at your social limit, for the day. Maybe you’ll talk it through with Mikey, actually. To the air, more accurately, but, y’know, same thing.

You’re gonna get dinner with Richie. You’re gonna get dinner, with Richie, this Friday. And it’s not gonna be awkward or weird, at all.

It is t-minus two days, until the worst Friday of Carmen’s life, so far, at least. There’s always next year.

But today’s Wednesday, and though he feels a little nerve-wracked, he’s pretty sure it’s just because the kitchen was so fucking dysfunctional this morning, and now that their prep’s off, the tempo of the whole fucking day is off, and they're behind on two tables. And fucking seriously this time, can someone get him a fucking marker that fucking works.

Okay, maybe it’s a little more, than nerve wracked.

Sydney is ever the intuitive, and always correct, at the station next to him— Because yes, they’re still down a hire since the meth guy, so now Carmen is on line.

She can tell, that somethings wrong with him, something’s always wrong with him. “Take your ten, Chef.”

Carmen shakes his head, obviously, there’s still prep to catch up on. And if he doesn't do it, it's not gonna get done, and even if it does get done, it's not gonna get done right. He’s pressing the dead sharpie down on the tape, like if he just brute forces it, it’ll start to work. “M’good, Chef.”

“Carmen.” She turns to him fully, stopping her work. And so, he does too. “Take your fucking ten.” She deadpans, she’s not taking no for an answer. She rubs her fist over her heart.

Carmen takes a beat, before nodding, doing the same. “Heard, Chef.”

He needs to look over expense reports that he can’t quite comprehend, anyways.

He really needs his sister. He steps into his office. Despite the fact that they re-constructed just about everything in the restaurant, this musty office remains the same. Untouched. After caving down walls, they had to cut the budget somewhere. He’s glad though, that it's untouched. It might be crowded, poorly organized, have an off smell (probably because of the birth in here, just a few weeks back), but it’s exactly as his brother left it, and that helps him feel… Connected, somehow.

What the hell is Var vs Budget? He’s googling every other word, here. He’s more than grateful, that before going home on mat leave, Sug set up a good enough automated Excel sheet that he could just plug in numbers and it did all the calculating for him. Doesn’t mean he knows what any of the numbers mean, but, they’re there.

He knows that red equals bad. Natalie told him that very specifically. Which did seem like she was calling him fucking stupid, but he let it go. There’s a lot of red. That’s a lot of bad. Well, not a lot, but like, a third of this is red. That’s probably more than it should be. How many months do they have again? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He is never gonna get to pay himself, he’s never gonna be able to pay Syd, he's never gonna get her a star, she’s gonna live with her dad for the rest of her life, you are never gonna get to work here, you’re gonna work as a bottle girl for the rest of your life, he’s never gonna get his shit together so he’s never gonna get to call you his, he’s gonna have to hand the deed to Cicero and then fucking everyone is gonna to lose their jobs and he’s still gonna be him. He’s still gonna be him. Carmy Berzatto, the chef that lost everything, little brother to everyone's hero who blew his brains out. Starless in Chicago, unable to feel anything more than sorry for himself. Carmen’s gonna die as Carmen, and nothing more. At the end of the day.

Take a deep breath, Bear. Relax.

He’s catastrophizing. You told him that. He forgot to look into it. He googles that, instead of another business term he doesn’t understand.

‘Fixates on the worst possible outcome and treats it as likely, even when it is not.’

Well, it does seem pretty fucking likely that he’s doomed to fail and fall into a Sisyphean nightmare of opening restaurants and falling on his fucking face, dragging everyone he loves down with him with his stupid failed pipe dreams. He's no better than his brother.

He tries his best to think of whatever level-headed bullshit you'd give to him, right now, tries to taste the hot chocolate, the lavender and cardamom coffee. He smells your shampoo, in his hair, that helps.

Maybe, maybe it’s just been a bad week. Maybe there will be a lot of bad weeks, maybe there won’t be. Maybe things will be fine, maybe they won’t. You and Syd will still succeed, even if he fails. Everyone will, even if he fails. He has a very capable crew. And while he cannot escape the thought that failure is around the corner, at the very least, he is comforted by the idea that at least he will be the only one sinking with the ship he commands.

The thought of drowning alone is still impossible to rid of. Though.

But you’ve sent a text. And isn’t that a wonderful distraction?

Your connection results in response to his, from this morning, of course. You actually got it today. He swells with what feels like pride, and despite the fact that no one's looking at him, he has to hide his smile with his hand, embarrassed by how happy he is, when he sees the photo you’ve sent, just now. A selfie, sitting next to an oven, Other Tony’s oven. You’re holding a fried wire in your hand.

The text below it is a wonderful salve, ‘If you ever fuck up your ovens, I’ve got like, 10 thermocouples in my personal stock now :))’

So good to him, too good to him. Too good to anyone. ‘Heard.’

Carmen so, so fucking desperately wants to ask you to come to The Bear, right now. You’re only two blocks away, at La Mattina. You’d come, if he asked. He knows that. But he also knows that even if you calm him down, in the long run, it’ll set his day even further off tempo, he’ll be distracted the rest of his shift, and that’s the last thing he needs. He can handle this himself.

‘:)’ For levity. Or something. He’s trying. You give it a heart, so that means he’s done something good, he’s pretty sure.

There’s a knock at his door. Richie does not wait for an answer before coming in. His knocks are more like warnings, really. Carmen’s quick to tuck his phone away, he knows it’d be perfect cannon fodder to be teased into oblivion.

“Aye, cous—”

Carmen does not let the man get a word in inch wise, “Who’s on expo?”

Richie grimaces, this fucking song and dance, again. “Syd.”

“Who’s on her station, then?”

“T.”

“And hers?”

“She’s doin’ fuckin’ both Carmy— And—” Richie pulls a sharpie out of his breast pocket, throwing it at him. Carmen catches it. “Fuckin’ works. Alright?”

Marker works, and the system works. He catches the double meaning, too. Carmen nods, “Heard.”

“Christ.” Richie looks to high heaven, looks to his best friend, really, to give him strength. “Can I take my fuckin’ turn now?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ‘head.” Carmen turns to his desk, looking over the excel sheet, again. He can’t imagine Richie needing all of his undivided attention, right now, he’s not you.

Speaking of you, he can’t find your repair expenses anywhere on here. He needs to text Sug, about that. No, she’s got a fucking baby, he’ll at least look for a physical copy, first.

“I need to take two hours, on Friday.”

“Huh?” Carm’s head snaps up. Okay, maybe he does need to give his full attention to Richie, right now. “Eva got a fuckin’ recital, or somethin’?”

“No, no, uh— Chip wants to get dinner.” Rich scratches his nose with his thumb. “Thought since Fak's been training to host f'like, the whole fuckin’ month, could do dinner 'ere, let him do a run on us. Two birds, one bullet, y’know.”

“It’s stone.”

“I’m not fuckin’ high, cousin—” “No, it’s— Alright.” Carmen closes his eyes, hand over his face, deciding this is not the fight he wants to choose. “Tony’s getting dinner with you?”

“If I’m allowed, your fuckin’ Majesty.”

If it were up to Carmen? He wouldn’t be. But you specifically asked. Why, he has no idea. Carmen crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just start at like, a not peak time. Like 4:30? Then when rush starts after 5 Fak’ll have a lil' momentum.”

“Heard. I’ll tell ‘em.” Richie nods, turning to make his way out.

Carm’s leg bounces, a tick that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get rid of. “… Ey Rich?”

He stops, turning back to Carmy, “Yeah, cousin?”

Carmen taps the end of the sharpie on the table, not looking at Richie, “What’s uh— Why d’you call Tony ‘Chip’?”

Ever so slightly, Richie’s brows furrow. “Did'j'ya ask her?”

Carm shakes his head, “S’why I’m asking you.”

Richie takes a beat, head rocking to the side, “Y'should ask her, she’ll tell you.”

Carmy squints, at that, “Is it fuckin’ dark or somethin’, cousin?”

What’s so secretive about Chip? He figured it would be some stupid inside joke with chocolate chips, like Sug with the salt mix up. Richie swallows, frowning just a bit. He clearly does not know how to answer this question, which just makes Carmen even more curious.

“S’ not dark, kinda, it’s just, y’know. Personal.” Since when the fuck did Richie have respect for personal? Probably since he sent him to stage. Goddammit.

“Did you not coin it?”

“Mikey did.”

Oh.

Huh.

Mikey got to do that first, too, eh?

“But, y’know, ask her, she likes you well enough to tell you, I think.” Richie shrugs, palms out. “Kinda tells stories like that better than me, anyways.” That's high praise— Not in the sense that Richie's a great storyteller, but that he's willing to admit it, for you.

“Oh, she doesn’t bury the fuckin’ lead?”

“Oh, fuck you.” But it’s true, so Richie’s amused. There’s something nice, about being known. Even if it’s to tease.

There’s a lull of silence. Quite frankly, Carmen’s hoping that Richie’s general disdain of silence will force him to confess your nickname backstory, just to fill the void. It doesn’t. Instead, it just gears him up, in the worst way, able to read the look on Carmen’s face.

“You really wanna fuckin know, huh?” Richie tilts down his head, teasing. Carmen groans. Oh dear god, why him. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ like her, don’t’chu, cousin? You fuckin’ dog.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”

“Aye, Chip’s a real catch, I gettit— Works hard, plays nice, cleans up good— Y’have my blessing.”

“Didn’t ask for it.”

“Aye,” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen like he could smite him. “Don’t gimme no talk back, she was my boy first, a’right? One bad word from me, n’ your lil’ fantasy—” He gestures an explosion with his hand, making a ‘pop’ sound with his lips.

“Gone, cousin.”

Carmen leans back in his seat, playing with the sharpie in his hand. He’s essentially Kubrick staring down Richie, but the guy is unaffected. “Friday, 4:30, two hours. If Fak fucks up, you’re on deck.”

“Heard.”

“Jeff, can I please get an all day, baby?” Baby is Tina’s new HR approved version of ‘for the love of fucking god’ She’s definitely at her limit, meaning Syd’s definitely at her limit on expo. Richie starts to step out, walking backwards.

“You comin’ cousin?”

Carm scratches his nose, straightening up back to his desk. He wishes he could go back to the kitchen, where he knows he’s good, instead of in here, with some goddamn spreadsheets that he cannot comprehend beyond bad. “Uh, one sec, I just need to finish this fuckin’—” He shakes his hand in the air, “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Richie nods, tapping the doorway on his way out. “Heard… g’luck.”

Carmen does not look at the spreadsheets. No. He thinks. He doesn't think about business.

That wasn’t true, was it? A phone call from Richie wouldn’t be the end of him, end of you, would it? Carmen is on the losing playing field here, practically everyone here has more history with you than he does. If he had a… lapse in behaviour, and it got back to you, would that ruin him? God, even his work family ruins things for him. Or could. Which means they will. Catastrophizing.

Whatever. What the fuck ever. He needs to find your invoice. After some flipping through last month’s file, he finds a sticky note from Sug between loose pages.

‘reminder: ask carmy 4 tony invoice’

He squints. You said Nat took care of it. Maybe it’s an old sticky note, he’ll text her about it, it’ll be a solid forty hours before he’ll get a response, anyways. Mom stuff. He really needs to go visit his niece again, soon. Maybe this weekend. Take Richie’s car. But then he'll probably will be forced to take Richie, too. Maybe he should just ask you, instead. Let Nat thank you for the heating pad she’s been loving, properly. Have dinner, all together, in an actual family home, instead of just each other's apartments. That'd be nice.

Yeah. Yeah. He’ll ask you on Friday, when you come for dinner. He grabs a pad of paper, biting the cap off his sharpie. He’ll make you something off menu, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, anyways, he’ll have time to play, on Friday.

He’s gonna do right by you, this Friday.

Tomorrow, you’ll be getting dinner with Richie, and it’ll be the worst Friday of your life.

But right now, it’s Thursday night, and you’ve finally finished Carmen’s piece for The Bear. You know you told him if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it up, but admittedly, if he doesn’t like it, you will be crushed.

One big white canvas.

Nine perfect squares, perfectly equidistant from each other at all angles.

Each square a snippet, a photo transfer. The squares themselves are messy, sun damaged, bleach stained, light flared. All twinged blue and yellowish. But so perfectly cut and curated.

Each image, something new. Starting at the top left, it’s The Original Beef. Then, the inside. Then the booths.

Then the second row, the sandwiches, held in hands.

The center photo. You've taken almost all of these photos on a disposable from yesteryear, but this is the one you like the most.

Mikey. The only transfer completely unbleached, unaltered, unruined. He’s holding two cut outs. One, Food & Wine and the other, a small section in the off off off pages of the New York Times.

Both specifically the one’s that mentioned Carmen, winning Best Chef and the James Beard.

Mikey was so proud. So so proud, silently, just with you— Couldn't look soft. Carmen does not know this photo exists. No one does. You hope this piece will act as the catalyst for you to be able to talk about the elephant in the room you’ve yet to open for him.

Right next to Mikey, is a balloon on a pipe— A photo you grabbed from Sydney and printed. You can only imagine the stress you could’ve eased, during their fire safety test. C’est la vie. Fak got to prove himself.

And on the last row, the new, ritzy, booths. The Seven Fishes dish— Also a photo you stole from Sydney. And finally, The Bear’s sign. Taken at night, lit up in all its neon glory.

Though the images are disconnected, starting from Mikey in the center— Clean, the flaring and staining grows more intense at the pictures in the corner. Just bordering on illegible. It all feels interconnected, woven.

It’s Carmen. Or, at least, you think it is. That’s what you were trying to achieve. You took inspiration from the way his brain works, the way he cooks messy but produces orderly, the way he’s grown something out of what was barely more than nothing. The way love and grief is at the center of everything. He’s awfully inspiring.

You’re excited, to show this to him tomorrow, on Friday. Hopefully all goes well, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, you’ll probably have a little time to talk, on Friday. You won’t be able to get into everything, no, you’ve promised most of your bandwidth to Richie, but you’ll make a good start, on Friday.

You’re gonna do right, by Carmen, on Friday.

Tomorrow.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

i've still got 2k of beats to cover for the next chapter, and have 7.9k already written out, for it. This is going to be fun. lmao. I'm genuinely very very excited for you to see it, when it comes out. Cannot believe I thought like 4 chapters ago that'd this next chapter would be the one to be released next. I almost briefed over all of these past few chapters to be nothing more than snippets in a chapter, I would never forgive myself if i went through with that plan, fr.

Anyways, no time for the future, this is NOW!! I hope I described Tony's paintin' good. I think it'd be nice. MBMBAM reference in the intro, are you fucking HAUNTED? ARE YOU FUCKING POSESSED? Love griffy, had to. Carmen CANNOT stop having anxiety attacks, someone get him on prozac frfr.

Tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my hat, I'm gonna need some words to chew on while I write, anyways. Hitting a wall choreographing this back half of chapter ten my GOD. Also oh yeah, silly aesthetic thing. I dunno if anyone noticed or cared, but i do a different ombre banner when it's carmen's perspec-- Did it last chapter too, aint that cute?

Also, I must finally give in, I was lazy to do taglists, but have folded, so here u are mfs. If you'd like to be added, you gotta leave me an essay somewhere. It's the RULES! Well, leave an essay and also ask to be added to the taglist that is but IT'S THE RULES!!

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101

fully added people that never asked to be on here, you're just like, top fans, so i thought it would be nice, but if you WANT TO BE TAKEN OFF LET ME KNOW I'LL DO IT IMMEDIATELY ALSO IF I'M FORGETTING ANYONE WHO ASKED PLEASE DO REMIND ME

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear #fanfic series

320 notes · View notes