#brewing coffee before headed into work tonight

[loonmartell]

𓄹𓄼 Rainy day brew 𓄼𓄹

(No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader)

Summary : Can a stormy night and well brewed coffee bring two hearts together?

Rating : Explicit/+18 (Smut! MDNI)

Word count : 6,336 (I got carried away sorry..)

Warnings/tags : No outbreak AU, pining, Alternating POV, pet names, one “yes, ma’am” because I couldn’t help it, a sprinkle of plot, SMUT (unprotected PiV sex, fingering, dirty talk, grinding, kissing, teasing, One (1) playful ass slap, creampie), storms (rain, thunder & lightning), A LOT of yapping about pour over coffee, no use of y/n.

A/N : Hello again! Today I come with Joel smut 🙏🏻. I wrote this for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge! I absolutely fell in love with the idea when i saw it, cuz if there’s one thing about me it’s that I LOVE rain! So ofc i had to try and do it <3 A big huge colossal thank you to @joels-darlin for being my lovely beta <33 and @coispunk for not blocking me after i bounced off the walls contemplating if i should upload this or not ✨✨✨

Masterlist

——

“You need a ride home darlin’?”

You turn to the source of the voice and find Joel talking to you through the rolled down window of his pick up truck.

“Oh! no it’s okay I can wait for the rain to—”

“Non ‘a that now, This storm could last ‘til tomorrow night” he leans over the passenger seat to open the door for you.

It’s not that you wouldn’t appreciate the ride —you most certainly would— but you didn’t want to be an inconvenience and you especially didn’t want Joel to think that you were aburden.

You didn’t know each other very well. Your best friend Maria is dating his brother Tommy. And you’ve been dragged to a couple of dinners and drinks over the last couple of months with the three of them. But the conversations were always guided by the other two, so you and Joel never really spoke much. In fact, you had the fleeting idea that maybe Joel didn’t like you. He’s always so tense around you, you know this because you literally saw his jaw tensing after you showed up. And you caught him glaring at you a couple of times. You thought you may have unknowingly offended him somehow, but Maria assured you afterwards that you didn't say or do anything wrong and that he was probably just tired. So you let it go, but the idea is still floating around in your head.

Tonight was one of those nights where you went out for drinks, Maria and Tommy headed home early and left you with Joel half an hour ago. And not long after that Joel excused himself saying he had an early morning and said his goodbyes.

You waited a couple of minutes before you got out as well. Only, much to your delight; a storm was brewing and it was raining by the time you were ready to walk home. What an incredible choice you made to walk instead of drive on this day.

When Joel was one street away from where he left you at the bar. He thought back on when you mentioned leaving your car at home because you thought it was nice weather for a stroll. He tried really hard to get the idea of you walking home in this storm out of his head. You can manage. Get an uber, call a cab, whatever. But then again, Joel's southern manners would never allow him. That, and this big, colossal crush he has on you.

The first time he ever saw you was when he picked up Tommy from Maria’s (and your) apartment one morning. Tommy left him waiting long enough for you to get out and go to work (he assumed). You really had him in a chokehold. You were really, breathtakingly beautiful. You had your hair in a high ponytail with a few strands deliberately out, framing the gorgeous features of your face. You had both your hands full. One had a large handbag hanging from your wrist, hand holding a travel mug and a coat hanging on your forearm. The other hand was holding a bright red watering can. You started watering the flower beds on the windowsills and the big pot of gardenias right by the door. Your next door neighbour, an old lady, got out at that time. And Joel saw your cheery smile for the first time, and what he assumed were good mornings were exchanged. What a sweet, little thing.

He had the sudden urge to roll down the car window so he could hear what voice accompanied that divine face. But he thought better of it. And sooner than he would prefer, you were in your car and driving off.

When Tommy finally showed up, apparently physically unable to take his lips off of Maria’s, judging by how they never separated even after he was out the door. Joel rolled his eyes and turned his face away from that scene and towards the street on his other side.

Finally Tommy got into the car with a disgusting, lovesick smile on his face. But he smelled like shampoo and his hair was relatively wet. He showered and for that Joel is eternally grateful.

“You’re late” Joel deadpanned.

“And good morning to you too, brother” The younger man scoffed before placing two travel mugs in the cup holders.

Joel scrunched his eyebrows “what's that?”

“Coffee, Maria’s roommate brews her own with one ‘a those pour over kits and she insisted that we try hers.”

Joel’s throat went dry, thinking about that pretty girl he was unashamedly staring at, going out of her way to make enough coffee for her friend’s boyfriend’s brother. A sweet, delightful little thing.

“That’s real nice of her” if his voice cracked a little, Tommy didn’t notice.

“Yeah it is. So I’ve been thinkin’,” Tommy changed the subject faster than Joel would like. “You think you can drop me off at my place at say.. Two?”

“Two? We finish at the site at least after Three, what d’ya mean you wanna get out at Two?” Joel shifted his eyes from the road long enough to glare at his brother.

“Yeah I know but I was thinkin’” Joel is really starting to hate it when Tommy thinks “today’s me and Maria’s six months anniversary, and I kinda wanna do somethin’ special for her”

Six months anniversary Joel mentally scoffed, the fuck is a six months anniversary? And why isn’t he talking more about that damn sweet roommate!

“Yeah no can do, Romeo. We’re already behind ‘cause ’a last week, need I remind you that you ditched me laying down parquet on my own? had to do the three bedrooms that day all by myself”

“I told you we should’a done planks instead of parquet but you never listen to me, do you?” Tommy’s counter argument was weaker than he was hoping for. It was the owner’s choice, not Joel’s. And they both knew it. “Plus I had a damn plausible excuse that day”

“Not sure if a discount on an already cheap restaurant counts as plausible”

“It wasn’t just a ’discount’, Joel. It was a surf ‘n turf for half the price!”

“Yeah well I was surfin’ and turfin’ alone on the floors of the Johnsons. You’re not ditchin’ me again.”

Tommy slumped down on his chair like a toddler would.

On a red light Joel finally picked up his mug and took his first sip. A sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making little thing.

——

Before he even knew it, Joel was opening the passenger side door for you, not taking no for an answer. Thankfully, you didn’t put up that much of a fight and climbed your pretty ass in his truck.

The ride was pretty short and silent. The sound of thunder and loud smacks of raindrops against the car not leaving much room for chatting anyway.

When he parked as close as he could to your door, he reached behind your seat to the pocket of it. And brought out a small, folded umbrella. He knew it was a mere seconds walk from the car to your door, but he had the umbrella with him already, so why risk giving you a cold? Your nose, red and sniffling. He had to actively suppress the upturn of the corners of his lips.

“Here” he handed you the umbrella and before you could get a chance to speak, he followed with “not taking no for an answer, darlin’. Gettin’ soaked in this wind could get you sick”

“Um.. actually the storm’s getting stronger, and I was gonna suggest you come inside? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you driving in this weather”

A sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful little thing.

He looked out the windows, trying to figure out his next move.

“Think I’ll take you up on that offer. It does look pretty bad, and the slippery streets are harder to navigate when I can’t see further than my nose.” He brought his eyes to you. Hoping he wouldn’t seem too eager to agree.

You graced him with a smile and said “well alright then, guess now I don’t have to feel bad for hogging you umbrella”

“ ‘s not hogging if I’m voluntarily givin’ it to you” he smirked as he turned off the car. He got out of it with a quick “stay where you are” and opened the umbrella as he rounded to your side of the truck.

You walked under the umbrella he was holding. You’ve never been this close to him before and it gave you goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather. You fiddled with your keys until you got the door open. There was no car outside or shoes in the foyer. They must’ve gone to Tommy's then. As much as you always wanted some quiet, alone time in your apartment. This was not one of those times. You were hoping Maria and Tommy were here to take the edge off of being alone with Joel, but you can’t really back out now and you’re already here. So, time to take a page out of the southern manners book.

”What would you like to drink?” you offered after he settled on the couch. His large frame dwarfing your whole living room, making everything look almost miniature. The thought had you blushing and you don’t really know why, but you don’t even want to find out.

“Coffee would be nice, if it's not a bother” his voice travelled through his place on the couch to the kitchen.

You can’t help the excited grin you have on “not at all! I just got a new Holklotz set that I’ve been dying to try out” when you get a new brewing set, you need time to experiment with different coffee grinds, ratios and timing between blooming and brewing to master the perfect cup. Time is a luxury not available to you on late mornings when you trade it for extra minutes of sleep.

Footsteps approaching the kitchen make you raise your head to see Joel coming into view, his eyebrows scrunched and confused “you got a what?”

You smile and hold the wooden base of the dripstand that you took out of the cabinet “this is my newest set, it arrived a week ago but between work and being too tired after, I haven’t had the time to bring it out and try it yet. Until now” you look at him with a too excited smile that you don’t try to hide.

“Well alrighty then, you happen to have here the perfect white mouse, test away” he settles at the barstool by the kitchen island that you’re standing by. You weigh the coffee beans and put them in the manual grinder, set to the size you need. Not too coarse but not too fine.

“Okay white mouse, care to help?” You hold up the grinder.

“Tell me what you need, boss” he concludes. So, you hand him the grinder to work on it as you heat the water and take the rest of the set out and put it together.

He continues working on grinding the coffee and wonders if you have immensely great upper body strength, since you do this every morning. His coffee is already ground and comes in a container. He doesn’t see the necessity for an upper body workout every time you need a little caffeine. But truth be told, he has been craving that coffee you made him that one time. Damned if it wasn’t the best cup he’s ever had.

The silence is killing him, and he has to avail from the storm that brought him to your home. “So, when you’re not at work or training for an arm wrestlin’ tournament,” he gestures to the grinder “what do you like to do?”

“Obviously, I take part in the tournaments I train for” you say with a serious expression that has his eyes widened in surprise. “I’m kidding, Joel. Although I think I have a good solid shot at winning.” You stick your nose up in the prettiest little smug face and Joel wants to kiss it away so bad. Focus.

He drags himself back to the present “can’t argue with that. But, if you’re basing that over this,” he again gestures to the grinder in his hands “then it’s not enough bargain for winning”.

You scoff and raise your hands up, wiggling your fingers “you have no idea what these hands can do” Joel can see you regretted blurting out the words without thinking, judging by the rising blush on your face and the way you don’t meet his eyes anymore. He can’t say he’s any better, his mind is already conjuring unholy images, reeling his brain and sending a rush of tingling heat down south.

What can they do? He imagines your small hands trying to wrap around his throbbing cock. Or you writhing on your bed stuffing yourself with three of your too small fingers, desperately trying to cum. He bets he can do it faster and better for you. If you give him the chance.

He knows he shouldn’t be picturing you like this. It’s crazy to even think about you like this. You haven’t even told him if you’re interested. Hell he never even said anything to show you he’s interested.

Clearing your throat, this time you’re the one bringing him back to the present, you say “anyway, I think I got off topic there” you let out a nervous chuckle. “To answer your question. My time is pretty much divided between work, coffee and my plants. I’m kinda boring, don’t really got much going on”

Joel doesn’t hear the presence of a partner in your life, and he selfishly likes it.

“Don’t sound boring to me, ‘s pretty comfortable” you smile at his comment and he gives you the coffee grounds, ready to be used.

You start your brewing process, talking him through every step you’re doing. Wetting the filter, dumping the coffee grounds in and meticulously pouring the water on the dripper. The blooming, the timing. He can’t promise he heard everything. Because you bite your bottom lip and your face contorts in the cutest focused face and he can’t help but stare. You really love doing this and he wants to eat you up.

“My chemex is my go-to on late mornings,” You suddenly pipe up as you’re waiting for the water to drip through the coffee grounds. “Even though it takes longer than a V60, It’s just faster to clean up and I can dual-task while it’s brewing. So I don’t mind.”

He lets out a hum from the back of his throat, considering what you said. “What about the taste? Whaddya like more?” He surprises himself that he actually cares and not just trying to be polite.

“I like them both the same, the flavour with the V60 is usually richer ‘cause the filters are thinner, but I still like the soft, smooth taste when using the chemex”.

In the back of his mind, Joel thinks he’s ready to fall in love with you. He loves coffee, sure. But to him it’s just something he needs in the morning and sometimes later in the day. Never really thought much of it, he has a coffee machine that gets work done for him. And yet, here you are, showing him a different, almost artistic aspect of it.

“Although..” Okay so you’re not done yet. “If we’re talking taste-wise in the brewing methods, I’ll have to go with the syphon”

“Syphon?”

“Yes syphon, I tried it once in a lovely family owned coffee shop across town. I’m telling you, if I lived near there? I would be a regular faster than you can say syphon”

“Well syphon is a long word, two full syllables” he faux ponders, making you giggle.

“Okay smartass, coffee’s ready.” You pull out two mugs from the cabinet. And fill them up. And slide his across the kitchen island, a brown owl adorning the ceramic surface.

You both sip at the same time then let out a ridiculously simultaneous soft sighs. You look at Joel with wide, pleading eyes, gauging his reaction. And of course, being the honest man that he is, he would never lie.

“Damn, that is good” he clicks his tongue and goes for another sip.

You smile brightly “I like it too. Although it’s a little more bitter for my liking, think I'll adjust the grind next time.”

You want to kick yourself so bad. You’re only now realising that you got too comfortable and you let yourself go on and on about something he probably doesn’t even care about. You had to shut the caffeine talk down.

“So, Joel, how's Sarah?” You gestured for him to follow you to the living room.

He settled on one side of the loveseat while you occupied the other, folding your legs under yourself. “She’s alright, her mom wanted her to see her grandma so she’s with her this week.” Maria told you all about their co-parenting system and how they’re succeeding in making it work so far. Little 10 years old Sarah spends equal amounts of time with both her parents and she feels loved by both. Not everything is a bed of roses, of course. But they deal with obstacles when they appear in their time.

“That’s nice, and how was her game last week? I remember you said she was nervous about it?” He stared at you for a few seconds too long that it makes you wonder if you crossed a line or said something wrong. But he blinked a couple of times and continued.

“Doin’ great actually, my little goal getter” he pondered softly before announcing “she scored the winning goal in last week’s game!” He sat up a little, you think it’s unconsciously as a result of his excitement.

“Oh my god! That’s so amazing!” You matched his energy “you must be so proud!”.

His smile widened if it was possible “I am, she puts her mind into something and never rests ‘til she gets it,” he reclined against the couch again “dunno where she got it from, but I sure as hell am not gonna complain”

“You’re selling yourself short, Joel.” You offered a warm smile “I’m sure you’ve been a great influence on her, your determination is probably rubbing off on her.”

Joel’s expression softened, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “Thanks, sure means a lot coming from you, sweetheart. If I’m bein’ honest, I just wanna see my girl chasin’ her dreams and be happy. ‘s all I want”

“I have no doubt she’ll do so much, and she’ll achieve great things with your guidance and support” you placed your hand on his knees for reassurance.

He felt warmth all over his chest, his heartbeats exceeding those of a hummingbird. His eyes fell down to where your hand was touching and almost burning him, and they stayed there for a while before looking back at your eyes. He has this immense urge to kiss you. The tension has been building all night and his ability to hold himself off is getting harder and harder by the second.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his racing heart as he met your gaze. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your faith in her means the world to me."

Your hand lingered on his knee for a moment longer before you withdrew it, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. "She's lucky to have you as her dad, y’know" you said softly, the look in your eyes showing the sincerity of your words.

A moment of silence passed between you, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Joel's gaze flickered to your lips, his own heart still pounding accompanied by longing. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to convey the feelings swirling inside him.

He brought his eyes back up to yours only to see that your gaze had been on his lips, mirroring his desires. Your gazes met, the tension snapped. Lightning flashes through the window right before your eyes and your lips crash in a bruising, soaring kiss that to outsiders would look as if you were trying to devour each other. Everything happened at a rather fast pace. The roaring of the thunder dwindled by frantic breathing and the rush of blood in his ears. His tongue demanded entry, which you gave no problem. He brought his large palm over your hips, pulling you over to straddle him, never breaking the kiss.

He felt your heat through the layers of clothes between you as you settled on his lap, pulling a soft gasp out of you. Using his grasp on your hips, he rocked you back and forth to grind your center on his bulge, eliciting a string of whines you let out in between the clashing of tongues. In a moment of sudden clarity, he broke off your lips but never moved too far away, he rested his forehead to yours, sharing the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice husky with emotion.“Um- I’m sorry, is- is this okay?”

You continued to move against him, seeking more friction. Then you chuckled through your laboured breathing, “yeah, yes I want this. If- if you do too.”

“Oh darlin’ you have no idea” he hurried out before picking up where he left off, trailing his lips down the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck where he settled on open mouthed kisses that sent your head falling back, giving him more of you. He got addicted to the taste of your skin on his tongue fast and he craved to taste more.

Dragging his mouth over your shoulders then to your collarbone. He huffed in frustration, your shirt was personally offending him by denying him the access he needed. Seeming to sense his frustration, you pushed him away slightly so you could pull off your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. He wasted no time roaming his hands all over your torso, returning his mouth to your collarbones, kissing his way down to the parts of your breasts spilling out from your bra.

His hands slithered up from your hips to the sides of your waist, then wrapped around your back and moved up to hook his fingers underneath the strap of your bra. He mumbled against your skin, “can I take it off?” You gasped your affirmation. Overwhelming sensations leaving you breathless.

Even though it was a simple bra strap, he struggled to unhook it. Hands too shaky and excited. You breathed a laugh and did it yourself. Once you’re completely bare, nipples perking up as soon as the cold air hits them. He pulled away, looking at you with wide, fascinated eyes. His lips immediately latched around a nipple, flicking his tongue slowly, almost as if he’s savouring the feeling. He pulled away and murmured “beautiful”. Just to latch onto the other one with the same treatment, “absolutely beautiful” he murmured again into the plushness of your tits.

You felt a shiver at the undivided attention from the gorgeous man that seems to never get enough of you. Of course you always thought he was handsome, that was non negotiable. The man was gorgeous from day one. And tonight, you felt a connection that you never felt before. And as soon as the ties were made, the tension rose suddenly, as if it had always been there but you were too much in your head to notice it, contemplating whether he likes you or not. But now, you do notice it. Very much so. And it’s becoming unbearable. You want him so bad. You want him to drown all your senses. You want him inside, outside, under and over you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You held his head with both your hands to pull him away from your chest before saying “need to see you too, Joel” you pleaded as you fumbled with the hem of his shirt trying to lift it. His eyes darkened at your desperation. As quick as the lightning that occasionally lights up the room around you, he flipped you so your back is against the couch and took off his shirt and jeans and hovered above you.

You took a steadying breath and your eyes drank in the sight in front of you, bringing your hands on each of his wrists. You mapped the outlines of his thick arms, moving towards his shoulders. Then brought them back to his broad chest, bare except for the hair that formed a thick layer in the center. You felt the muscles ripple under your fingertips. Built from the physical labour that a contractor would endure. You lowered your touch a little to feel his soft stomach. Squishy tummy, a sign of a man that was actually living and feeding himself well. Not shying away from a meal or obsessing over fitting society’s mould of perfection. You wanted to kiss it and nibble on it so bad, but you weren’t sure if he’d be okay with it, that was probably more of a second time type of thing. Mentally shaking your head away from the idea that you’re already thinking of next time when nothing even happened yet. Lastly, you ran your fingers on the smattering of coarse, dark hair that dipped further down into his tented boxers.

Mostly empty coffee cups long abandoned on the table. He knelt on his knees between your spread legs, and yanked your pants and panties in one quick motion. Towering over your naked form. His eyes danced around every inch of your body. He brought his thumbs to each side of your heat. Tracing the outside of your folds. He murmured so low, almost as if he’s talking to himself “Too goddamn pretty for your own good, baby”. He was basking in the sight of your desperate writhing as your need for any kind of friction became unfathomable.

“Please,” you whined in frustration, A smirk pulled on his lips at your little pouty face.

“Please what, darlin’?”

“Touch me” your keen hands reach for his wrists to coax them where you want him. But he was determined to keep his hands at their place.

Yeah, your hands are too small, too soft for such a sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager little thing.

“I am touching you now, ain’t I?” He keeps stroking the outside of your lower lips.

“More, please.” You whimpered.

“Well, you leave me no choice now, since you asked so nicely”

He wasted no time gathering the slick from your opening and plunging his thick middle finger in and out. Your breath catching at the sudden but welcome stretch. Not long after, his ring finger joined inside and he curled them both up, searching and finding the spot that makes your eyes roll and your hips buck into his hand in shock.

“sit still, angel.” He placed his other hand on your lower stomach to keep your back rested on the couch. He picked up the pace of his fingers thrusting in and out, in and out, massaging the same spot over and over and over. He felt your walls slightly tightening around his fingers, and there’s a change in the rhythm of your breathing. You’re close. “Cum for me, angel. Come on lemme see this pretty pussy droolin’ for me”. He kept his pace up until you were gasping for air. And with a specifically strong stroke, your walls clumped down, choking his fingers and soaking them to the wrist. Working you through your high, he kept his eyes on you, the sight of you coming apart on his fingers. Heavenly.

He took his fingers out and sucked them with lewd, obscene sounds. He made a show to lick his palm clean of your release and humming around his fingers. “Next time, I’m havin’ it straight from its source” he leaned down and kissed your parted lips. “Oughta have a palate cleanser ‘f we’re gonna give your coffee a fair shot” he gave a playful smack to your ass “and you sure know how to make ‘em.”

You blushed and giggled as you couldn’t help the giddy feeling of the prospect of a next time. The image of Joel relishing the taste of you is already seared deep in your brain. You couldn’t wait to have these slurping noises happening between your legs, certain already that he doesn’t eat, he devours.

He sat up on his haunches and lowered his boxers below his balls. He took his cock in his hand. Not even his large hand wrapped around it makes it seem any less girthy. The head is angry and leaking a steady stream. He gives himself slow, languid strokes from base to red-purplish head. You couldn’t help yourself, you sat up and your hand took over his. Stroking him at the same pace he was. He shuddered at your touch and marvelled at the contrast between his rough, calloused hand versus your soft, smooth ones on his cock. You gradually increased the pressure, adding a twist at the end that sent his head falling back with a stifled groan between his clenched teeth.

His hands were tight fists by his sides, desperately trying to hold off but ready to pounce at you any moment. “Hold on, baby” he groaned “I- I gotta grab a condom”

“But I wanna feel you, and I’m safe” you said in a little, unsure voice. Still stroking him and loving the velvety softness enveloping the steely hardness. When your gazes met again, the hungry look in his eyes made a tiny sound climb to the back of your throat. With that, the last thread holding off the beast inside him snapped. With a low growl he grabbed your ankles, yanking you closer to his pelvis, making your back hit the soft pillow on the couch with a dull thud.

“Baby, I’m clean too. But I need ya to be sure, angel. ‘Cause when I start, ‘m not really sure I can stop” He said through dark eyes that were straining to hold off.

You held firm eye contact with him “I’m sure, Joel. Please fuck me now”

“Yes, ma’am” with that, he ran his cock through your slit, gathering you wetness before lining it with your entrance and with one quick motion he sinks into you. Your moans and his name on your tongue, dripping honey onto his ear. He feels your warmth enveloping every inch of him. He wants to get lost in the feeling. To replace every bad memory he has with this sensation, the divine fit of your silky smooth walls, encompassing him. So tight, so soft, so perfect.

As his hips rocked back and forth, you wrapped your legs around him, and dug your heels into his ass, wanting him impossibly deeper. Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy little thing. He removed his hands from beside your head to hold the base of your skull in one of his palms and wrap the other under your waist for leverage. Grunting into your neck while your pretty moans filling his ears got louder as he moved in a pace that promised him a date with painkillers and an ice pack on his back tomorrow night.

When he felt the telltale signs of your near release, he gently let go of your head to bring his hand down and circle your bundle of nerves. Your continuous string of frantic pleads prompted him to lay soothing kisses to the corner of your mouth. With a compulsive string of “it’s okay, baby”, “sound so pretty whinin’ like that”, and “just let go for me, princess.”

The last one pushing you over the edge. With your legs quivering, your breathing turning into shallow panting and your hands clawing at his back. He was working you through it all with a “that’s it, angel. There ya go”, “so good for me” and “look so pretty cummin’ on my cock”.

Once your muscles stopped contracting and your heartbeat settled on. Joel switched to a more gentle pace. You stuttered out between small gasps of air “cum for me, Joel. Fill me up”. Leaving him no choice but to buck into you wildly with renewed vigour. Fucking you like all of his goddamn life is depending on it.

Loving the effect you have on him, you whispered “Wanna feel you inside me after you leave, Joel”. This makes his release hit him like a freight train. With a few forceful plunges and a string of grunted out fucks. He shoots his load with a prolonged groan of your name, painting your walls with strong, long spurts. He came so hard, he thinks he blacked out for a minute.

He collapsed on top of you, nuzzling in your neck and surrounding himself in your scent as he comes down from his high. In the middle of the chaos of regulating heartbeats and relaxing bodies, your laboured breathing turns into a giggle when his beard tickles your neck and under your jaw. He lifted his head to look at you with a “what?” and scrunched eyebrows. You stifled your giggle with a shake of your head. Only failing when he dips his head in your neck again. He smirked when realisation hit him. Lifting his head again “You’re ticklish ain’tcha, angel?” His face is so close your noses were touching.

You pressed your lips in a firm, straight line and shook your head again.

“No? So you don’t mind me doing this?” He rubbed his beard on your neck again and again. You went into a giggle fit that triggered his own breathy chuckles as he switched to the other side.

“Okay, okay I am, I am!” You managed to say between giggles.

He stopped and looked you straight in the eyes “ ‘s what I thought” he descended his lips on yours and they mingled in a soft, deep kiss that made you lightheaded. He wouldn’t mind getting used to this, “Lemme clean ya up, princess”.

One year later.

The anniversary of your first “get together” is today. Joel wanted to skip work all together, but he knew Tommy would give him shit about it. How ironic.

He rented a gorgeous, comfy cabin for the weekend, that’s a thirty minutes drive away from town. Joel coaxed Sarah into a slumber party at her uncle’s, which she would’ve very happily agreed to either way. But she’s a smart kid and she chose to haggle for a later bedtime and ice cream for dessert both nights.

He wanted to take the extra time to prepare everything you might need, from basic essentials like food or first aid kits, to extra entertainment options like books or puzzles. He doubts they’ll need the latter though.

——

But then again, it’s April, and a storm was closing in. Rendering the drive there too dangerous to make during the night. And the storm is predicted to last the whole weekend, even threatening to close schools on Monday.

“I’m just upset you didn’t get your money’s worth from that cabin” you say with worried expressions as you put away the food that you aimlessly packed earlier.

Joel brings the last of the suitcases in, sitting them by the door. “The owners seem pretty nice, bet they’ll understand and agree to push the reservation back”

“Then, that settles it.” You sighed and closed the fridge with finality. “We’re having our anniversary weekend here” you approached him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He instinctively placed his hands on the dip of your waist, and grunted with furrowed eyebrows “I got a long ass list of things I wanted to do to you in that cabin, now ‘s just sitting in my wallet mockin’ me”.

“It’s for the better, gives me time to make my own list” you teased him with a wink and a bite to your lower lip.

He squeezed your waist with a low, gravel groan. Eyes on your lips in a strong, hungry stare.

But before he can act on his thoughts you unwrap yourself from his tight grasp and turn away with a shout that carries upstairs “Sarah, change of plans! We’re staying here for the weekend!”

Hearing her footsteps descending the stairs, Sarah asked “you’re staying with us too?”. She squeals when you nod with a bright grin. “Now we can watch that movie I told you about last week!” With that, she drags you into the living room, gushing to you about the movie while you listen with interest and occasional oohs and aahs and reactions Joel knows are genuine.

Every other sound dies down as one thought only echoes in his head.

Oh god, please let me keep her.

The black, velvet box burns a hole in his suitcase. And item no.1 on his list sits idle by, just waiting to be checked.

He knows you’ll say yes, this isn’t a subject you avoid. You’re both aware of what you want in a relationship and you communicate your needs to each other. So you’re both sure that you’re on the same page. The element of surprise lies in the timing and method only.

As he looks at you and his daughter, he knows that this feels right. This is how it is supposed to be.

Okay, he owes Tommy an apology. Because now he understands disgusting, lovesick smiles and the urge to get out of work early. He understands six month anniversaries, because when he’s with you; there isn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for the mere chance to make you happy.

A Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy, dreamy little thing.

My Sweet, delightful, damn-good coffee making, thoughtful, eager, greedy, dreamy little thing.

——

A/N : Again, if you’re still here, I love you so much & you made my day <333 pls tell me your thoughts! I write cuz i love doing it but i need to know if i should continue to upload or just let the contents of my delulu brain stay in my phone 🫣

Loon out, luv yaa <33

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller x f!reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic

[em-prentiss]

I'II make a cup of coffee (with the right amount of sugar)

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5 ways Emily takes her coffee, and the way she likes it best

He’s gotten used to the silence with her, deep and thick and in no hurry to be broken, but lately he’s been noticing things. Things like the shape of her lips and the deep brown of her eyes and the dimples that appear in her cheeks when she laughs with Morgan, lightly teases Reid.

Things that are inconvenient, to say the least.

(Or, 5 cups of coffee bringing Aaron and Emily closer)

Word count: 10.4k

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1) Black and bitter 

Emily had always been an avid drinker of coffee. It saved her in her college days, the bitterness of a dark roast digging into her teeth and chasing away her lasting hangovers enough for her to cram for her exams. She doesn’t drink it black anymore since her discovery of Splenda, but there are some times when she needs the bitterness; hangovers, and the dead of night when she knows sleeping is useless after a case. 

Right now the latter calls her to the kitchenette in the BAU.

It’s mechanical, the way she waits for the coffee to brew and how she pours it into her mug with stiff, tired movements. She’s frowning down at it as she takes it back to her desk, not needing to look up to know her way because these days she’s here more than in her own home.

The case still swirls around in the crevices of her brain, creeping up on her like smoke. It slowly fills every corner of her head until all she can think about is the devastation on Mary’s face when they gave her the news, the way her husband had turned ashy white and gripped her to keep her from falling down, tears streaming down his frozen face before he could blink.

Emily shuts her eyes as she sits down, another rush of something climbing up her throat; guilt at her failure to stop another child being put in the ground, anger at the unsub, at herself, at her whole team and the uselessness of their profiling when it comes too late.

It all settles there like a lump. She blinks rapidly as she tries to swallow it down, but it’s enormous, clogging up her airways and choking her. Emily brings her coffee up to her lips. The bitterness somehow untangles the knot, shrinks the lump just a little so she can breathe, so she tips more of it back until she can feel it sloshing around in her empty stomach. She tries to focus on the way her tongue burns, her throat raw from the heat of the coffee, and blinks away the blurriness she tells herself is from the sting.

It’s not the first case to hit her this hard. It probably won’t be the last. But no matter how many times she does this, it never feels like routine. She’s thrown back every time by how hard it hits her, how long it takes to carefully pack it all into boxes and store them away. It’s painstaking, exhausting, and she can’t find energy for the boxes tonight, can’t tell herself it doesn’t hurt like hell, so she’s sticking to the next option—working herself to death.

This is familiar.

She turns on her computer, starts diligently filling out her reports. But the sound of Mary’s sobs still echoes as she holds her pen, the pictures of the children they hung on the whiteboard clear as day in her mind, as if they were laying right in front of her instead of the report she’s trying to fill out.

Coffee was a bad idea, she thinks as her hand starts to tremble, her body buzzing with something restless. The hard wood of her desk is unforgiving beneath her elbows, the edge of it digging into the flesh of her stomach until she feels the pressure on her ribs. The rigid back of her chair doesn’t give when she leans back against it and her throat suddenly closes up. Emily swallows and feels gravel in her throat, her heart jumping when she realizes she can’t breathe.

She abruptly stands up, her heart palpitating, and shoves away from her desk, computer still on, coffee mug growing cold.

She finds her feet carrying her to the shooting range. The building is silent as she makes her way to the range, no one there but her and the fluorescent lights lighting the hallways. Emily  passes the gym and falters, a figure in the corner of her eye making her halt and walk back.

Hotch.

His white shirt is damp with sweat as he attacks a punching bag, hair shaken loose and falling into his forehead. The sound of the violent thuds of his fists against the bag sends her feet moving into the gym, almost without feeling it.

“Think you could give that a break?”

He startles and turns around.

Her voice is flat, almost bored, but when his eyes travel to her face he sees her demeanor is anything but. Shoulders tense, risen up to her ears, mouth tight and drawn. He briefly feels ice in his veins when her eyes meet his—wild, shining with something more than the fluorescent lights overhead.

Hotch feels a sudden need to avert his eyes from her. He knows he’s not supposed to see this; this is always carefully swept away, tucked beneath wry smiles and deliberately blank gazes. It’s been a year and yet she never cracks, never breaks, is always steady when the rest of them are shaky, but this case seems to have dug its claws deep into her. 

Her form is already defensive—feet shoulder width apart, left in front of the right, her shoulders hunched and her hands in fists by her side. She tilts her chin in question; he knows what she’s asking for. He nods. 

She’s gone to the changing rooms by the time he stills the bag and takes off his gloves, his harsh breaths echoing loudly in the deserted gym, his heart racing a mile a minute. He hears it rush in his ears, so loud he almost doesn’t hear her come back, her footsteps thudding quietly against the floor. 

He follows her to the mats on the far side of the gym, feeling a swirl of concern when she turns to face him, her eyes avoiding his. Her skin is almost sickly against the stark black of her gym clothes and the harsh lighting above them. He barely nods before she lunges at him. 

Hotch side steps quickly, just barely avoiding a fist to the ribs. He retaliates and tries to match her pace, but she’s too fast, darting in front of him in a blur of white and black. She ducks to avoid his punch, bounces back on the balls of her feet and tries to ram her elbow into his stomach. Her breaths echo loudly as she starts backing him against the wall, her eyes eerily glassy. She doesn’t even see Hotch anymore; he has the same hard, shadowed line of the unsub’s jaw and she’s back in the interrogation room, mouth tight as he tapped his fingers on the table, his hands cuffed together as he leered at her. 

Hotch’s knee finds its mark in her stomach.

Emily grunts and he falters. “Are you okay?” He pants as she bends over, the sharp edges of her shoulder blades poking through the stretchy material of her shirt. “We can stop—”

“I’m fine,” she straightens and raises her fists up to her cheeks again. He doesn’t get the chance to ask again before she lunges at him again. But her movements are too frantic, thoughtless. She throws punches recklessly, not caring where they land or what they hit. They don’t hit anything but air, and when Hotch catches her fist in his palm, halting her exhausted arm, she wants to choke out a sob.

She lets out a huff of air instead, tries to pull her hand free. Hotch holds it tighter and waits until her aggravated gaze meet his. “Emily.” He says quietly. She stills. Rough exhales escape through her parted lips, loud and echoing, making her shoulders heave. “There was nothing we could’ve done.” 

Emily tugs her hand out of his grip. Why are you here then? She wants to bite out, the too calm look in his eyes making her feel frazzled, out of control. The blood runs hot in her veins, rushes loudly in her ears and makes her skin itch. She almost forgets herself, almost says something scathing and definitely involving his son, but then she sees it.

His own mask slips, just a little. Emily’s eyes suddenly see the rapid beating of his pulse and the tense corner of his mouth, the blankness of his gaze hiding a deep roiling pain just underneath.

“Why aren’t you home?” She asks instead.

Oh, a multitude of reasons; a house that’s no longer his, a stiff hotel bed, his son miles away. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He says shortly. “You should try, though.”

His eyes are too piercing. Her skin prickles and she drops her gaze, fixing it instead on the quick rise and fall of his chest. His skin is damp, his collar a little transparent, and she finds herself dropping her gaze from that, too.

She’s also seeing something she’s not supposed to see.

Emily nods, even as she knows she’ll toss and turn the remainder of the night. “Yeah. Night,” she finally meets his eyes again. Hotch gives her a small nod and she walks back to the changing rooms, holding her shoulders stiffly as her vision begins to blur. 

She goes back to her dark apartment and he goes to his bare hotel room, both of them lying awake after cold showers, blank eyes fixed on somehow identical ceilings. There is no acknowledgment in their gazes the next morning, no nod to their late night or concerned eyes lingering over purplish dark circles.

But after that, almost imperceptibly, things begin to shift.

2) With a dash of cinnamon 

She’s always loved fall. To her it was freedom; going away to college, to boarding school, far away from the watchful eyes of her mother, where she could finally let go without looking over her shoulder. 

It’s her favorite time of year—when the weather starts to turn, when golden leaves drop to the ground and dry up so she can crunch them beneath her heeled boots. She’d crack the window open and stick her head out from early September, impatiently waiting for the crisp breeze to gently run its fingers through her hair, her eyes peeled for any hint of yellowing leaves.

Fall is sweaters, books, and cinnamon coffee. Chai lattes and windswept leaves that she crushes beneath the wheels of her car on the way to work, the windows down and her cheeks flushed from the slap of the wind. The arrival of September always sends a rush through her veins, the thought of golden light and golden leaves pulling her out of bed more effectively than any cup of coffee.

And that is proven when her alarm starts to blare obnoxiously.

Emily groans and reaches blindly with her hand to shut it off, only cracking one eye open to glare at the offending machinery. 

Her gaze is drawn from the clock when she spots yellow and orange leaves hanging from a branch through her window, fluttering precariously in the breeze. She gasps lightly as the familiar excitement rushes through her veins, the blurriness in her eyes blinked away as the leaves wave at her cheerily.

Finally.

She grins and throws the covers back, disturbing a sleeping Sergio, and heads to the kitchen. She cracks the window open and reaches for her jar of cinnamon, scooping half a teaspoon into her coffee mug as she hums, her body moving lazily to the rustle of leaves outside.

Cinnamon coffee has been a favorite of hers for years. It’s something she’d been inspired to try after living a long while in the Middle East, Arab countries’ generous use of spices getting to her slowly but surely. 

There wasn’t much of a winter in the hot deserts of Saudi Arabia, but there was spiced coffee and roadside tea with mint and warm, soothing karak on the beach. They put cloves and cardamom in their lightly roasted coffee, serve them in small cups that she would take in curious palms, staring at the golden color in wonder. She’d tried it with saffron and cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, had potfuls of tea and cups of coffee sitting in front of a fireplace that burned smoke almost as hot as the weather.

One day, feeling homesick for a place she’d never belonged to, she hesitantly sprinkled cinnamon into her Americano as crisp leaves floated down the sidewalk. She’d put it to her lips and taken a cautious sip, surprise lighting up her eyes when it tasted a hint like the coffee she drank back then, not exact but something parallel to it; the warmth. She had reached for the cinnamon again and accidentally dumped too much of it in her excitement. (It had been quite a spicy drink, but after a little more trial and error she finally got the measurement right—half a teaspoon sweetens the coffee, brings out a warmth from within the beans without making it too spicy).

Cinnamon coffee became a staple ever since, one she indulged in especially during fall, for when she’d need a little extra warmth while cradling a book in her hands, the window open and rustling her worn pages. 

(Occasionally, when she’d have the spices for it, she’d make herself some karak tea. It was easier to replicate than the coffee—she didn’t know where to get the beans—and once in a blue moon she’d actually have saffron and cardamom on hand. When she doesn’t, she indulges in a chai tea latte—yes, she knows it’s tea tea. It’s a little different, but it does the trick).

Today, though, she knows without searching that her cabinets are mostly empty, her tea bags and cardamom long gone. It’s been ages since she’s had proper spices at home but the cinnamon still remains, so she starts preparing her coffee and makes a note to stock up on the other spices.

She takes small sips from her coffee on the way to work, trying to make it last as she drives through a slowly goldening Virginia, her windows lowered and the wind ruffling her hair. She’s first in the roundtable room apart from Hotch—proof that snoozing her alarm every day does indeed make a notable difference—and she slips into the seat next to him. 

She brings with her a warm whoosh of air as she settles into the chair, one smelling of coffee beans and sweet, floral perfume. He breathes it in as he looks up from the file spread open in front of him, a coffee mug already steaming at his elbow.

“Morning,” Emily chirps. She gives him a bright smile, all soft dimples and rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes. He feels a strange pinch in his chest. 

Hotch nods back, forces the words through his throat, “Morning.”

She sets her coffee down next to his and reaches over to take a file from the stack in the center of the table. “Just consults for today?” She asks as she flips through one. Her short hair falls against her cheek and she tucks it away absently, pale fingers hooking through brown waves and fitting them behind her ear. It looks…soft, fluffed up and a little messy, as if something other than her fingers was playing with it. 

Belatedly, he realizes he’s staring. 

“Should be.” Hotch murmurs and looks back down at his own case file. He’s not registering any of the words, all of them floating around as Emily breathes quietly next to him. He’s gotten used to the silence with her, deep and thick and in no hurry to be broken, but lately he’s been noticing things. Things like the shape of her lips and the deep brown of her eyes and the dimples that appear in her cheeks when she laughs with Morgan, lightly teases Reid.

Things that are inconvenient, to say the least.

Her perfume is thick in his lungs as he reaches blindly for his coffee and takes a sip to ease the unusual dryness in his throat, not paying any mind to the strange heaviness of the mug but pausing at the unusual sweetness that hits his tongue.

And…cinnamon?

Hotch looks up to find Emily’s mug in his hand, his own still next to his file on the table. He freezes slightly as his grip tightens on it. His eyes slide to her and he sees her head bent over the file in her lap, silently hoping she wouldn't notice his slip up.

He’s not so lucky.

The movement catches her eye and she turns to him. Her eyes widen the slightest bit and her lips immediately twist in wry amusement as she closes her file. 

“That’s mine.” Her tone is lightly teasing, the corner of her lip pinched in a way that tells him she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep a laugh at bay. He feels his body start to heat, his skin growing warm at the lighthearted side of her he’s usually not privy to.

Emily watches curiously as the tips of his ears start to grow red. Her smile widens when he blinks at her, still holding on to her mug, the taste of her coffee rampant on his lips. So he does get flustered, she muses silently, freezing the rare image in her head and raising her brows at him when he continues holding her coffee hostage.

“Right.” Hotch clears his throat and sets it down on the table. She loops her fingers through the handle before he fully lets go, her hand lightly ghosting over his as she grips the mug and carries it over to her side. His skin thrums.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as seriously as he’s ever said anything. Emily can see just the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks, the tips of his ears growing red at his slip up, but his eyes are steady on hers. The same color of a leaf she crushed beneath her heel this morning, she thinks distantly. “I can get you a fresh cup if you’d like.”

Emily waves him away; it’s nothing for her—she frequently splits sandwiches and cookies with Reid, takes sips of JJ and Garcia’s coffees and allows them to drink from hers. She casually picks trail mix from Reid’s cupped hands and bites off the edges of Morgan’s protein bars, her hands reaching for their treats as easy as breathing. This kind of intimacy is foreign for him, something he doesn’t allow himself with the others, something they don’t dare try with him even though he’s never expressed dislike for it, and suddenly he feels how boldly the line is drawn between them and him. 

For a small, delirious moment he’s glad he’s broken the barrier, even accidentally.

“It’s alright, Hotch. I don’t have the special ingredient to remake this here anyway,” she grins at him. Another show of dimples, the right one deeper than the left. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, unusually bright for so early in the morning, and he wonders why that is.

It’s strange that one of their few conversations not involving work is about coffee. But he can’t help but ask. “Special ingredient?” Hotch echoes, as if he can’t still taste the cinnamon digging into his teeth. He runs his tongue over his molars and the flavor blooms in his mouth, as if he’d just taken a bite of Jack’s favorite cinnamon rolls.

“Cinnamon,” Emily confirms cheerfully. 

Why? He finds himself wanting to ask as JJ walks in with Reid. Emily smiles at them and she’s quickly swept away in a sea of good morning’s and how are you’s, Hotch and his coffee thievery long forgotten as they chat. He drops his gaze back to the file in front of him, trying not to pay attention to the low clink of Emily’s mug when she periodically lifts it off the table and sets it down.

The taste of it lingers on his tongue throughout the day. Cinnamon fits its way between his teeth and stupidly, deliriously, he starts to wonder if Emily’s heart shaped lips taste the same as his.

He immediately downs the bitterest coffee after that thought, trying desperately to mask the unusual taste of cinnamon coffee. But the warmth still peeks through.

Two weeks later, when Emily drops off a file on his desk and sees a coffee cup, Aaron scrawled on it with “a dash of cinnamon” and a hastily drawn smiley face next to his name, she pretends not to feel the thrill slowly spreading through her chest.

3) Vanilla syrup and honey (yes, both—she’s got a sweet tooth)

She knows it’s going to be a good day when she opens her eyes to bright sunlight, her alarm still off and the deep silence of her apartment unbroken. 

Emily sighs and stretches, blinking sleep from her eyes as her fingertips sink into soft fur on the side of her bed. She smiles sleepily. “Hi Serg.”

Sergio’s ears perk sideways at the sound of her voice. He stretches lazily and makes his way toward her, a stark ball of black against her white sheets, green eyes slowly blinking at her before he bumps his cheek against hers in a forceful show of affection. Emily laughs lightly and brings him into her chest, feeling his loud purrs reverberate through her body.

She kisses his furry forehead. “I think today’s gonna be a good day,” she whispers to him, her fingers absently combing through his fur. Tonight her dreams had been void of icy blue eyes and lilting Irish accents. She had them occasionally but these few days they’d increased in frequency, as they often do this time of every year, the looming reminder that it’ll soon be 5 years since she got out making them surface more than usual.

But today Ian was nowhere to be found. 

Emily breathes in the scent of Sergio’s fur, reminding herself that he’s long gone, tossed in a prison somewhere with no chance of escape. Her body is relaxed after uninterrupted sleep, warm beneath her safe covers, and she opens her eyes to meet Sergio’s. “Good day today,” she says quietly and boops his nose, smiling at the soft velvet feel of it. “And you know what we do on good days.”

**** 

Emily takes a sip of her latte as she sets her purse down, the vanilla and honey swirling through the coffee making her shoulders lift. It’s become a trained response; her body relaxing at the mix of flavors on her tongue, endorphins running through her blood the moment she tips the coffee back. Briefly she tastes the morning she got a call from Erin Strauss, the afternoon she picked Sergio up from the shelter, her arms laden with a cat carrier and more treats than he could eat in a lifetime.

Vanilla lattes were special. The tradition started when she walked into a cafe just after she’d gotten a letter from Interpol, eager to start a new life and escape the cage that was home. She’d smiled at the pretty barista, dimples flashing as she asked her what her favorite drink was before ordering just that. It was unexpectedly good, the type of ‘fancy’ she’d always strayed from ordering, sticking instead to her Americano’s and frozen coffees. She still thinks of the barista sometimes, gives her a silent thanks when her body flushes delightfully warm from the heat of the coffee.

Emily swirls another sip in her mouth as she sits down at her desk, looking over the divider at Reid and mumbling, “Morning.”

She smiles as he looks up from the book in his hands, “Good morning.” 

She’s just turning on her computer when Hotch’s voice reaches them. “Don’t get comfortable,” he calls out as he walks through the bullpen to the stairs. “We’ve got a local case, metro needs us.”

Emily sighs. 

Her coffee sits in the cup holder as she reads through her case file. Emily tries not to think too much about the fact that it’s growing cold, the honey and vanilla scented steam permeating the air in the car, covering her and Hotch with the scent of blonde roast.

By the time they leave the ME her coffee has long since cooled. Emily bites back a sigh when she picks it up, no more heat traveling through the cup to her hand. Hotch drives off and she turns to him, “The unsub had three different MO’s, but nothing about the murders suggests he’s disorganized,” she begins and tips her lukewarm coffee back.

Hotch nods. “The kills weren’t hesitant, he knows what he’s doing and has probably—”

A figure darting across the street catches her eye. Emily gasps, “Hotch, careful.”

He steps on the breaks just in time to avoid hitting the jaywalker crossing the street, the wheels screeching loudly against the asphalt. The car jerks and Emily grunts as she’s thrown forward, the air forced from her lungs as the seat belt holds her body back.

“Asshole,” Hotch mutters under his breath and glares after the man as he lays on the horn, the obnoxious noise masking the sound of sloshing liquid next to him.

He hears a gasp. Then—

“Motherfucker.” Emily inhales sharply at the shock of liquid on her clothes, the coffee immediately soaking through her shirt and making it stick to her skin. Hotch’s eyes flick to her and widen at the sight of her drenched clothes, her fingertips dripping coffee and the cup in her hand soaked through. Emily closes her eyes.

No no no. This can’t be happening.

But she can feel the coffee dripping down her wrist and onto her soaked shirt, the empty paper cup in her hand collapsing under her tight grip. The car jerks again and she opens her eyes, finding themselves parked on the side of the road.

Through the shock of it all, she finally finds her voice. “What the hell, Hotch?” She grits her teeth. Her voice comes out snappier than she intended, harsh and clipped. 

He’s your boss, he’s your boss, he’s your boss, she mentally chants, willing herself to unlock her tight jaw. Emily tries to swallow her irritation as she looks down at her clothes and avoids his gaze. Her powder blue shirt has gone half transparent, clinging to her skin and doing nothing to hide the dark lace of her bra, which is also soaked through. The tops of her thighs are sticky with coffee, the belt across her chest stained brown. Emily bites back a curse and moves to lift the sticky shirt off her skin.

Belatedly, she realizes she’s still holding the empty cup. She slams it in the cup holder with a grimace, the marker of her order half melted into black streaks, the smiley face the barista drew for her warped and inky.

The sound seems to snap Hotch out of his own shock.

“I’m so sorry. Fuck,” he mutters as the stain on her shirt grows larger. “Here,” he hurriedly takes his jacket off and holds it out for her, his eyes firmly on her face.

Emily shakes her head, “It’s alright.” Her lips twist in displeasure as she awkwardly pinches her shirt between her fingers and lifts it off her chest, the stark black of her bra no longer pressing against the fabric. She can feel her fingertips soaking through with sugary coffee, the liquid gathering on her skin as she grips her shirt. It squelches between her fingers and she barely holds back a gag.

Just take the damn jacket, Emily—

“I insist, Emily.”

She turns her gaze to him and finds his brows knotted together, frowning as if he was the one who personally took her coffee and dumped it all over her. It’s kind of…endearing, his eyes slightly frazzled and the corner of his lips turned down in a grimace. Her anger gets trapped in her throat and she swallows it down, forcing it away as she gathers more of her shirt in her hands, lifting it off her skin.

“Please,” he says, extending his hand and half hanging the jacket over her lap. 

“It’ll get stained too,” Emily protests as she finally takes it from him, holding it above her shirt to keep the coffee from soaking through it.

“That’s fine,” Hotch insists. He stares at her until she caves and puts it on, holding the sides of it closed over her shirt. The way her wet button down clings to her skin, cold and sticky, distracts her from the warm scent of his jacket.

But only a little. 

It’s woodsy and clean—the cologne she’s gotten a whiff of when he stands too close or brushes past her in a hurry, his body accidentally touching hers. There’s also something…powdery underneath, familiar and soft, like laundry detergent. She grips the sleeves, feeling the softness of it beneath the pads of her fingertips. 

Emily is suddenly aware of how large the jacket is, how it almost reaches her knees, the sleeves swarming her coffee stained fingers. She turns her gaze to her hands on her lap, cheeks growing warm, unsure of how to look at her boss while wearing his jacket. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, briefly feeling guilt as coffee soaks through the soft, probably expensive fibers of the jacket.

“Sure,” he mumbles, turning his gaze to look out of the windshield, his brain going hazy at the way it drowns her, the shoulders loose with extra fabric and the seams extending halfway down her arm. He barely hears her over his pounding heart.

“Can you stop by my apartment? I’d like to change.” Her nose scrunches up in disgust before she can stop herself, the sticky sweetness of her latte clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

Hotch nods, “Yeah, yeah, sure. We’ve got time before the others need us.” He says quickly and pulls out onto the road. “I really am so sorry, Emily,” he apologizes again, his eyes firmly on the road. He can’t explain it, but something about her anger being directed at him makes his skin itch uncomfortably. 

She can feel herself start to smile. Emily turns her head to the window and purses her lips, forcing them not to curl upward. “It’s alright, Hotch. It wasn’t your fault.” 

It kind of was, but… 

“You weren’t the one jaywalking,” she says out loud, mostly for his benefit.

He doesn’t answer, but his grip on the steering wheel loosens.

He parks outside her building a sticky eternity later and she jumps out of the car, mumbling a quick, “Won’t take long,” as she goes.

She takes extra care to pick out a dark shirt after she quickly washes the coffee off her skin, ignoring Sergio as he curls around her ankles. “Not a good day, Serg,” Emily mutters as she wipes Hotch’s jacket with a wet towel. She sniffs it hesitantly, grimacing at the scent of coffee that lingers. “Just great.”

There’s not much she can do about it, and she climbs back into the car with it gingerly tucked over her arm. “I can get it dry cleaned for you,” she says awkwardly as she hands it back.

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves her away and throws it in the backseat. The movement draws her attention to the exposed skin of his forearms. His sleeves are rolled up neatly, the outline of bulging veins visible under his skin and a dusting of dark, soft looking hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the windshield. Emily swallows.

She blames him for the fog in her brain that leaves her unfocused for most of the silent ride back. She only snaps out of it when the car stops and she looks out the window, expecting to see Quantico. Not the coffee shop she’d gotten her latte from this morning.

“What are we doing here?” Emily asks as he takes the key from the ignition. 

“We’re getting you another coffee.” Hotch gets out of the car, leaving her in shock as he walks over to her door. 

“Are you coming?” His voice is muffled through the glass of her window. Her eyes are wide, her mouth ever so slightly hanging open in surprise, and he has to fight hard to keep a smile from spreading across his face.

Emily scrambles to open the door, “Hotch this is ridiculous, get in.”

“I will get in,” he says evenly, “after we get you another coffee.”

“I don’t need another coffee,” she protests, feeling her face start to flush for some reason. Stupid vanilla latte. “The team’s waiting for us, can we just go?” 

Hotch eyes her for a second. He completely ignores her last statement, “Well, I want a cup, Jack wouldn’t sleep last night. Are you still going to stay here?” His body is halfway tilted to the doors behind him but his eyes are firmly on hers, something…light in them that makes her stomach swoop.

He’s baiting her, she knows he is. But it’s coming from him. She’s bought treats for JJ before and had her return the favor a few times, poured Reid’s coffee alongside hers more than once. But she’s never done anything like that for Hotch, and she’s never seen him do that for anyone either. 

An olive branch, and she wants to see what it leads to.

“No,” Emily mutters and steps next to him on the sidewalk. Hotch turns away before she can see the upward tilt of his lips, half in triumph and half in amusement as she grumbles something under her breath. He stifles his smile and opens the door for her, gesturing for her to walk through. 

Stupid gentleman, Emily muses darkly when her stomach drops again, this time from the quick brush of her hand against his exposed forearm. She doesn’t see him take a quick breath, the scent of her freshly applied perfume stealing the air from his lungs.

He somehow gets his legs to move after her as she walks up to the counter and gives the barista a smile. “Hey Emily,” the girl chirps, and Emily gives her a smile back in greeting. “What can I get you?”

“Hi Angela. I’m not getting anything,” she turns and tilts her head towards Hotch, “but he is. What do you want, Hotch?”

He doesn’t skip a beat. “Can I have a vanilla latte with honey, please?” He says, ignoring the way Emily’s mouth drops open.

“Sure,” Angela replies as she taps on her screen. “What size?”

“What size?” Hotch turns to Emily. She gapes at him, her mind aching at the 180 between this person in front of her and her boss. His face is completely neutral, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to buy his subordinate a coffee—granted after he caused her to spill hers, but still.

“Uh,” her brain short circuits for a moment before she snaps back into it. “None.” She glares at him and turns to the barista, “Sorry, we’ll can-”

“Large, please,” Hotch cuts her off and looks over her shoulder at the display in front of them. Cookies, sandwiches, and muffins blink up at him. He spots a double chocolate chip. “And can I have a cookie as well?”

“Sure. And the order is for…” Angela looks at him expectantly.

“Emily.” He deadpans.

She laughs without meaning to. His own lips turn up at the sound of it, but it quickly dissipates when he takes out his wallet. 

“Absolutely not,” Emily shoves her way in front of him, infinitely glad that no one is queueing behind them. “You’re not paying,” she says firmly as she digs into her pockets for change. 

Angela watches the exchange with bewilderment, taking Hotch’s card over Emily’s shoulder with a confused smile. Emily finally takes out the money and turns to her, her shoulders slumping when she finds the receipt already printed, Hotch slipping his card back into his wallet.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she frowns at him as he takes the receipt and cookie, automatically following him into the pickup area. She doesn’t know why she’s resisting so hard; it’s coffee, hardly a three course meal, but even the slightest gesture from him feels huge.

Hotch shrugs and hands her the cookie. “I wanted to.” 

Emily takes it reluctantly, wondering if he ordered the double chocolate chip simply out of coincidence or if he somehow knows it’s her favorite. He sighs at the furrow between her brows. 

“You know, it’s not poisonous,” he says softly. She looks up and her frown fades as she shrugs. He did get her a coffee and a cookie, which now means she can return the favor.

“I guess not.” Emily concedes. Angela slides her coffee on the counter and leaves with a silent smile. Hotch picks it up and holds it out for her. 

Another olive branch.

She takes it less hesitantly than she took the cookie, a small smile spreading on her lips as the warmth of it passes to her hand. Emily cups her hands over it, the cookie balancing precariously between her fingers. “Thank you, Hotch,” her voice is soft, her eyes as bright as they were the day he drank from her cinnamon coffee.

“You’re welcome,” he says sincerely. He’s not smiling, exactly, but there’s something softened about him; lighter. “And sorry for making you spill it in the first place.”

She waves him away as she takes a sip of the delightfully hot coffee. “Not your fault,” she repeats, stepping through the door when he opens it for her again. They get in the car and she tears open the cookie, sliding it out of its plastic packaging and breaking it in half.

Emily hands him a jagged crescent moon, “Sharing food is a sign of my forgiveness,” she says seriously, stopping him as he shakes his head. “Take this while you can.”

She gets the softest curve of dimples this time.

4) Making it into a mocha

This one was borne out of curiosity—and a lack of sweetener coupled with her utter unwillingness to drink it black.

The chocolate bar Penelope handed her is held between her teeth, the sweetness of it melting on her tongue as she rummages through the drawers for sugar.

Her secret stash is gone, and when she goes to search for Reid’s not-so-secret pile in the drawer next to the sink, she finds that depleted too.

“Dammit,” Emily garbles through the chocolate, slamming the drawer shut and frustratedly biting off a piece of the sweet treat in her hand.

She feels eyes on her and turns to find Hotch looking at her, brows raised in bewilderment. 

Emily jumps slightly. When did he get here?

“Something wrong?” He ventures cautiously as he pours his own coffee. He hands her the pot when he’s done and Emily huffs as she takes it, “There’s no sugar. Of any kind. No Splenda, no creamer, no sweetener,” she lists off in a grumble as she pours her coffee, twisting her nose up at the bitter scent of it.

Hotch’s lips tilt upward in amusement. Emily doesn’t see it as she slides the pot back into the machine and looks down at her mug, contemplating the dark liquid with a frown. She turns to him and he wipes the smile off his face. “I don’t suppose you have a secret stash of your own?”

He shakes his head, not without regret. “No, sorry.”

She nods, as if expecting it, and something in him warms. He bites back another smile when she goes back to looking forlornly at her mug. 

“You could always just…not,” he suggests, continuing when she looks back at him and tilts her head in confusion, “drink any coffee.” He clarifies.

Emily snorts. “No can do, unless you want those Lockport reports by the end of the week.”

Hotch sighs, “Emily we came back from that case like four days ago.” He finds his tone is not as sharp as it should be, his words nowhere near as reprimanding as he planned. Ever since he bought her the coffee she’d been subtly throwing treats at him, meeting his raised brows with a shrug of her shoulders, merely saying she’d bought extra on accident. She shares them with him in his office and on car rides, splitting chocolate bars and pastries and sandwiches.

Each time he feels a thrill, each time he waits for it to be the last time, a one and done, but she keeps coming back and he can’t stop her.

Emily grins and shrugs, frustration at her sugar-less coffee dissipating at the sight of his exasperated look. “Sorry, boss. You’ll have them by tonight. Hence,” she points to her mug, “my very necessary dose of caffeine.”

He hums and picks up his mug, about to turn and leave when he hears he mutter, “Wait a minute.”

He’s somewhat disappointed she wasn’t talking to him. Hotch watches as she appraises the chocolate bar in her hand, her eyes flitting between it and her mug before she shrugs, breaks off a piece of the chocolate, and promptly drops it into the coffee.

“Really?” The words slip from his mouth before he could stop them. 

Emily doesn’t spare him a second glance as she grabs a spoon and stirs her now chocolate tainted coffee. “Can’t make it worse than it already is,” she reasons, taking a cautious sip of her concoction before humming, “that’s not too bad, actually. You ever heard of mocha, Hotch?” She turns to him this time, smiling significantly brighter as she meets his slightly appalled gaze.

He can’t help but think her eyes are just the same shade of the coffee in both their mugs. Dark lashes, dark irises, dark pupils; endless pools of brown that swallow him whole, shining bright with the thrill of discovery. His throat goes dry.

She turns away and snaps another piece of the chocolate before dropping it into her mug. Hotch realizes he still hadn’t answered. 

“I have, but I must say I’ve never seen it prepared like that.” He takes a sip of his own cocoa-less coffee, grateful for the bitterness when he sees Emily stir another piece of chocolate into hers. 

He shudders slightly. “Well, you’ve got your solution. You have until 5, Prentiss,” he calls out as he finally turns away, realizing he wasted a lot more than his allotted five minute break.

“Sure thing, boss.” He hears the smile in her voice, and suddenly he wishes he could’ve stayed a bit more.

****

Some weeks later

Hotch fights a yawn and steps through the curtain into the kitchenette. He almost bumps into Emily, their bodies taking up the entirety of the small space. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as she shifts to the side, making room for him. She takes in the tired set of his shoulders and flashes him a small smile, “Want a cup?”

I can do it, he wants to say, but something about her in the warm lights of the jet makes him acquiesce. Hotch nods. “Sure. Thanks.” 

Emily hums in reply. “You don’t take any sugar, do you?” She asks, her elbow knocking into his as she slides open the drawer. In the minuscule space between them, he can smell her perfume, something sweet and clinging to her skin. He breathes in, feels it settle in his lungs, and holds his breath for a beat before breathing out quietly, closing his eyes against the sudden fog in his brain.

The clink of the mug against the counter snaps him back to reality. Hotch moves back, leans against the far wall to give her some space. “No,” he says and she nods before pouring his coffee.

Her back is to him and he shouldn’t stare, he knows he shouldn’t—staring at Emily is dangerous. But he so rarely gets an opportunity where she’s unaware, her guard down and her sharp eyes focused on something that takes away her attention. 

Hotch can’t stop his eyes from skipping over her, hungrily taking in the curve of her waist, the delicate slope of her neck meeting her shoulder, and the darkness of her hair against her shirt. Her shoulder blades pop out beneath the fabric as she moves lightly in the limited space, her elbows tucked in as she pours the coffee.

The rich scent of it blankets them, overpowers the scent of her perfume—something he’s not sure if he’s grateful for or not—and he moves back next to her to take his mug. 

Coffee and Emily. That seems to be a regular combination these days.

“Thank you.” His voice is low as he picks it up, deep as the coffee she poured him. Hotch doesn’t notice the way she shivers as he takes a sip. He’s wide awake now, not a trace of exhaustion left in his body, only he doesn’t think it’s because of the mug in his hands.

“No problem,” Emily replies, her voice quieter too. She doesn’t look at him as she reaches into her pocket and takes out a red sachet, something that catches his eye before he tries to leave. He doesn’t read the name before she rips it open, but the brown powder and the sudden scent of chocolate makes it easy to guess what it is.

She pours her coffee over the hot chocolate powder and stirs, feeling the heat of his gaze on her and gripping her spoon tight to stop her fingers from shaking. He’s so close her elbow knocks against his again, the rough material of his jacket scratching against her soft shirt.

“Back at it with the mocha?” His voice is light, and when she looks up her body heats further at the smile on his face. The low lights above them cast shadows on his cheeks, making the slight indent of his dimples look much deeper.

“Mhm,” Emily smiles back. “But I’ve perfected my technique this time. I’ve tried cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, chocolate bars,” she arches her brow knowingly, her heart tripping when he chuckles lightly, a soft sound that echoes between their bodies. 

Emily tears her eyes away from him with some difficulty. She turns back to her coffee, “Hot chocolate mix is the way to go,” she blows on it lightly before taking a sip, humming in satisfaction at the mix of flavors on her tongue.

“You’re missing out if you keep sticking to black, Hotch.” She says idly, not thinking too much of her words.

He nods, though. “Maybe I should try it someday.”

“Yeah,” she agrees as she takes another sip. Her eyes flit to his and she almost chokes when she sees his dark gaze. Emily swallows down the coffee hastily, burning her throat. “Wanna try?” She holds out the mug for him. The liquid shakes ever so slightly as her hand trembles, a mixture of caffeine and adrenaline making her heart jump in her chest.

“From your mug?” He asks, his voice as low and rich as the scent of coffee all around them. She can hear the blood rush in her ears, feeling distinctly that something between them is hanging by a precarious thread.

Emily shrugs jerkily, her eyes still set on his. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Her lips tilt upward at the memory and his eyes drop to them. She stops breathing as Hotch sets down his mug, her eyes tracking his careful movements.

He turns to her. “I would like to try,” he takes a deep breath. “But not from your mug.”

Her pupils dilate. 

“Is that okay?” He murmurs, breath caught in his throat, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage.

She would’ve laughed if his eyes weren’t so serious. “Yes.” Emily breathes.

She doesn’t get a chance to set her mug down. He’s there suddenly, closing the distance with his rough palms on her cheeks. She shivers as his fingertips slip into her hair. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Emily huffs, “Goddamn it, Aaron—”

That’s what does it.

He’s sure this is what heaven tastes like; coffee, chocolate, and something distinctly Emily. Her perfume, coffee beans, the silkiness of her hair when he slides his hands into it. His senses go into overdrive as he drowns in her, feels her take a hand off her mug and slip it into his jacket. Her lips are plush between his own, soft, and when he feels them curving up into a smile he thinks his heart could give out.

He’s about to finally feel the curve of her waist when she shoves him back suddenly. His back hits the wall as she hastily tucks her hair behind her ear and steps through the curtains just as Morgan walks in, her lips a little swollen, her cheeks flushed a little too pink. She doesn’t spare him a glance as the curtains flutter shut.

Morgan sweeps his eyes over him. “You alright, Hotch?”

Hotch clears his throat, trying to lodge the taste of Emily off his tongue. He clenches his hand into a fist to stop himself from running his finger over his numb lips like a teenager. 

“Fine.” He says, less stern than he wants, and shoves off the wall to reach the counter. “Just need some—” He slides open a drawer and takes out a yellow packet, wetting his lips as he rips it open and dumps it into his bitter coffee. “Splenda.”

He walks past the curtains and sits down on the couch, opposite Emily at the four seater table. She looks up at him from her case file, her lips drawing into a smile.

His heart may or may not skip a few beats.

“How’s your coffee, Hotch?” She rests her elbow on the armrest and takes her chin in her palm, her tongue darting out to wet the corner of her lip. His eyes are drawn to the movement and she stifles a smile.

“Too sweet,” he mutters, tearing his gaze from her lips. His eyes meet hers and they sparkle; she looks positively proud of herself, her pinky idly running over her mouth, a poor attempt at masking a smirk.

“Shame.” She says softly, looking back down at her case file. Emily pretends not to feel his eyes on her, but she can’t pretend it doesn’t send heat racing through her veins.

It’s torture, tearing his gaze from her, but he’ll have more time to do it properly later.

They have unfinished business.

5) frozen (Frappe—not a frappuccino)

The warm air cools the back of her sweaty neck and ruffles the few strands escaping her ponytail as she walks with Aaron’s arm looped through hers, Jack running carelessly in front of them. She lays her head on his shoulder, wraps both hands around his arm, and sighs as the sun shines down on them. 

Aaron stops walking and she does too, looking up to find him nodding encouragingly at Jack. The little boy bounds off to the swings and Emily fits her head under Aaron’s chin again, both of their gazes locked on the blonde head bobbing on the swing.

With the sun warming her skin, the intense blue of the sky above, and all the rushing noise of families in the park, Emily is suddenly reminded of Greece. She can hear the distant crash of waves on rocks, taste the potent bitterness of a frappe on her tongue. 

She drank them constantly on the shores of Athens, popping out from the beach to grab a fresh one whenever her cup emptied. She loved the iciness of it, how she would run her cold tongue over her warm lips when she was done, her insides cold but her skin close to burning.

She looks up at Aaron now, still hugging his arm to her chest. His attention is on Jack, the line of his jaw sharp as he looks at him, so she stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to it.

“Aaron,” she whispers into his warm skin. She feels his responding hum beneath her lips, his fingers squeezing around hers.

He leans back a little to look at her, bending his head down so his eyes meet hers. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

Emily smiles as butterflies flap their wings in her stomach. The nickname still gets her. “I want coffee,” she points to the cafe at the edge of the park.

Aaron’s brows raise into his hairline. “In this weather?” He asks in disbelief, looking at her like she’s crazy.

She rolls her eyes. As if he doesn’t wear fully tailored suits out in the sun in this weather. “Frozen coffee,” she clarifies. “A frappe.” She pops the p.

As they walk into the cafe, cold air skipping over her warm skin, she’s hit once again with the nostalgia, thinking of hot cobblestones beneath her sandals, the street markets bustling with jewelry and produce.

I’ll have to take them someday, she muses as she finally takes the freezing cup and brings the straw to her lips, tasting summer and salty beaches on her tongue. She hums happily as they walk out of the cafe and back into the sun, the slush of bitter coffee and ice freezing her throat. 

Jack shuffles between her and Aaron, looking curiously at the frozen coffee in her hand. “Can I try, Emily?”

Emily smiles. “Sure, honey. You might not like it, though,” she warns as she passes her cup over to him. Jack takes a cautious sip and scrunches his nose immediately, his brows drawing together in a way that makes him look remarkably like Aaron.

Emily chuckles as he passes the cup back with a grimace. “It’s so…not sweet,” he shudders, looking up at them disgustedly.

Aaron smiles. “It’s called bitter, buddy,” he corrects as Jack shudders. “The opposite of sweet.”

Jack shrugs, “Whatever. Ice cream is better,” he says before bouncing off to the swings again, Aaron and Emily laughing after him. 

Emily takes another sip of her drink, enjoying the crunch of wayward, unblended ice between her teeth. Her skin prickles with heat and she looks up to find Aaron staring at her.

Her heart trips. “Would you like to try?” She asks teasingly.

“I would, actually,” he muses as he steps closer to her, ignoring the cup in her hands and taking her face in his palms. Her eyes gleam as she bites her lip to hold back a smile.

This is familiar.

“But not from my cup?” Emily whispers, her cold cup pressing against Aaron’s shirt as he pulls her closer.

He grins, “Oh, definitely not.”

Her laugh is trapped between their lips. He tastes it on his tongue, tastes the bitterness of the beans and the coolness of the ice, her cocoa chapstick blending into the coffee. She slides her hand into his hair, her fingertips freezing against his scalp, and tugs lightly just before she pulls away.

Emily laughs as he chases her lips. She lets him give her a quick peck before turning her head, his lips catching her cheek instead as she wraps her arms around his waist. The condensation on her cup seeps through his shirt as he pulls her impossibly closer, and Emily is suddenly acutely aware of all the other people in the park. Her cheeks heat as her eyes skip over the families and children, a strange shyness rushing through her even when she sees other couples similarly entangled, no one giving her or Aaron the time of day.

“Stop,” she chides as he drops kisses on her jaw, shivering despite the heat. “We look like those gross people who suck each other’s faces off in public,” she wrinkles her nose in distaste.

Aaron smiles and leans back to look at her properly. He laughs at her disgusted expression, at odds with the way she’s holding on to him. “I guess we do,” he shrugs, strangely unbothered by it himself. “Do you really mind, though?”

No. 

“Yes.” Her heart swells when his hand starts slipping off her waist. Emily places her own over his, firmly keeping it in place. “But I’ll make an exception for you,” she whispers and leans forward to kiss him softly, her lips tasting like coffee and sunshine.

He grins into the kiss, feeling love for her rush through his veins as she gently cups his jaw, keeps him close. He’s the one who pulls back this time, pressing his lips to her forehead as she wraps an arm around his waist. The condensation drips off her nails as she brings her frappe to her mouth again, heated for a different reason this time. 

Aaron wraps his arm around her shoulders as they watch Jack, and she starts telling him about Greece.

+1 (The way she likes it best)

She’ll never admit it.

But he knows.

It was slow, but eventually he realized she almost never made her own coffee if he’d already poured himself a mug. She’d pick his coffee off the table, sprinkle sugar or cinnamon in it, and they’d pass the cup back and forth until it’s done. She claims it helps reduce both their caffeine intake, but really there’s something about the simple act of sharing that just gets her. It fills her with inexplicable warmth, knowing that his lips could have touched the same area of the rim as hers, that she’ll always have him to finish off her coffee if she’s too full.

It’s strange that she loves it so much; drinking from Aaron’s cup and placing her lips directly over where he placed his, leaving her lipstick mark on the cup and making him blush. She winked at him the first time it happened, making an offhanded comment about how the coffee suddenly tasted sweeter that made his cheeks flush even more.

He doesn’t really drink his coffee black any more.  She’d scrunch her nose when she’d pick up his cup and find it black, drinking from it reluctantly despite his insistence that he could get her a mug of her own. So he started adding sugar for her—among other things, occasionally. He’s lost his immunity to the bitterness of black coffee, his taste buds now accustomed to sugar, creamer, cinnamon. 

His cup becomes their cup—her cup is usually her cup, but he’d also gotten used to it, stealing a few sips from her more often than not—and he bought a bowl-like mug for them to drink from on their lazy days in. Emily loves it, loves the way they share it as he makes them pancakes or when they sit down for a movie with Jack.

She still packs her own travel mug to work, pours them separate cups when they’re scattered in precincts all over the country, but in their home, in Dave’s living room, it’s always one mug for the both of them, passing from his hand to hers.

Truth be told, Aaron loves it just as much as she does. He once envied her easiness to casually share anything and everything with the others from food to drinks, envied the closeness they had with her and resented the harsh line drawn between them and him. But she’s thoroughly wiped it away, smeared it with gentle fingers until it disappeared, and now she shares everything with him out of everyone. Her coffee, her cinnamon rolls, her love.

“Morning,” he smiles at her as she appears in the kitchen, hair a mess and his shirt rumpled from sleep. She rubs her eyes and walks slowly over to him on the island chair, holding on to his forearms as she steps on the rungs and slides onto his lap. Aaron wraps his arms around her and secures her as she fits her legs between his, turns to place her face in the hollow of his neck.

“Come back to bed,” she mumbles, a demand if her words hadn’t been warped around a yawn.

Aaron smiles. “I’m not sleepy,” he kisses her forehead and takes a hand off her waist to grab his coffee.

Emily huffs and takes it from him when he’s done drinking. “It’s not for you, it’s for me. I need to cuddle with something warm,” she slurs and takes a sip. Immediately she scrunches her nose. “Needs sugar,” she mutters and moves out of his hold to grab a packet of Splenda

Aaron laughs, “No it doesn’t.” He watches amusedly as she stumbles around the kitchen, sleepy feet tripping over nothing. She finally grabs a Splenda packet and turns to him with half closed eyes.

“Yes, it does.” She insists and tears open the packet, pouring it into the coffee and taking another sip without even stirring.

Aaron shakes his head as he slides off the chair. He grabs a spoon and gently bumps her out of the way to stir the coffee. “You know, I could always make you a cup,” he suggests gently, kissing her forehead to tell her he’s not really upset about it.

Emily shrugs. “Tastes better when you drink with me.” She murmurs, grabbing the mug and turning on her heel, only slightly swaying as she takes it back to their room. Aaron grins after her and immediately follows, finding her already in bed and drowsily blinking up at him as she drinks, even though he was only seconds behind.

“Tastes better, you say?” He smiles as he slides in next to her.

Emily groans lightly, “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Here,” she hands the coffee back and flops down on her pillow, blinking at him sleepily as he sets the mug on his nightstand and brings her properly into his arms. Emily hums into his chest as he runs his fingers through her hair, the soothing motion forcing her eyes closed. She fits her legs between his, burrows her face in his neck until she’s drowning in him, every possible inch of his warm skin touching hers.

It only takes minutes before she’s asleep. Aaron kisses her forehead and breathes her in, her unique, familiar scent mixing with the steam rising from the coffee. The two are properly intertwined now; coffee and Emily, Emily and coffee.

He watches her lashes flutter as she dreams, silently marveling at the way something so simple, common, could’ve pushed him toward someone like her; bright and bold and the best thing in his life.

#hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #criminal minds

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - All Over Again

Requested: yes

Prompts: 5) "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again."

48) "I love our cuddles."

49) "Stay here tonight."

Warnings: none tbh

Lando couldn't believe he was back in England, the familiar sights and sounds bringing a rush of nostalgia. He had done what he always did; gone for his morning run, ordered a hot chocolate to take away, and head on home to have his pre-made breakfast. As he strolled through the town, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed since he left for his racing career. Little did he know, he was about to encounter a significant blast from the past. He figured he may as well have a proper look around this time and so, he made his way up a side street, looking around and even spotting a few new shops.

Walking up a small street, off from his usual route, Lando's eyes widened as he spotted Y/n, the girl he had once been deeply in love with and even dated whilst he was in Formula 2. They broke up in 2020 since they both just didn't have the time and promised that if the opportunity every rose again, they would revisit it. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, recognizing him, Y/n's eyes lit up with surprise and joy. "Lando? Is that really you?" She exclaimed, a mix of disbelief and excitement in her voice. He grinned. "Yeah, it's me! How have you been?" Lando asked as the pair embraced one another. "I'm good. Still on the hot chocolate or have you made the move to coffee?" She asked, pointing at the cup in Lando's hand. "I've never liked coffee and I never will. How's uni going?"

"I just finished up last year. I'm kinda just working for now until I have enough to move away." She replied. "Move away? What would make you want to do that?" Lando asked. "Well you tell me. Last I heard of you was you moved to Monaco. Very fancy." She joked. They exchanged stories, catching up on the years that had passed since they last saw each other. Laughter echoed through the air as they reminisced about old memories and shared new experiences. It was as if time hadn't dimmed the connection they once had.

Lando, felt some serious nostalgia. "I'm going to have to head now. I have some things to do. But good luck and it was lovely seeing you again." Y/n smiled. "Yeah, we should get coffee or something sometime." He replied and watched as Y/n walked past him. As she walked away, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the time to revisit their relationship, and so, he turned and jogged back towards her to give a suggestion. "Hey, why don't you come over to my place? We can continue our conversation there." Y/n shook her head. "I have a few things to drop of to my mum's. I really can't."

"I'll come with you. I haven't seen her jn ages anyway." Y/n thought for a moment. Her mum would make such a fuss over Lando being back. She always brought Lando up, even to Y/n's last boyfriend. That conversation about Lando led to their break-up and since then she's always shrugged off any Lando conversations. "Okay fine." She said as Lando began to walk with her. "Do you want me to take something? Your hands seem full." Y/n nodded. "Please take the shopping bag. Its killing me here." Labdo laughed as he effortlessly lifted the back and hoisted it up over his shoulder. "Alright. Don't be such a show off."

Their break-up hadn't left a bitter taste, and they remained friends. The sun was shining, adding a warm glow to their amiable conversation. As they approached Y/n's mum's house, memories flooded back. Lando couldn't help but notice the nostalgia in Y/n's eyes. The door swung open before they even had a chance to knock, revealing Y/n's mum, who beamed at the sight of them. "Lando! Oh, it's been too long!" She exclaimed, enveloping Lando both in a tight hug. "Nice to see you too, Mum." Y/n mumbled as Lando grinned. "Come inside, I've just brewed some tea."

Once inside, the cozy aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Y/n's mum ushered them to the living room, where memories of shared laughter echoed. They settled in, sipping tea and catching up on life. Y/n's mum couldn't help but glance between them, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And that crash in Germany last year. Dreadful." Her mum said. "It was Belgium, Mum." Y/n corrected. Labdo turned and smirked at her. "Thought you didn't keep up with F1." The last time he saw her, she didn't really. She only really watched it when she was with Lando. "I can watch it if I want." She replied, sipping her tea. "Oh, you two always made such a lovely couple. Any chance you're getting back together?" She inquired with a mischievous grin.

Y/n spat her tea into the cup, as Lando gave an amused glance towards Y/n. "No, we're just good friends now." Y/n explained with a smile. "Well, that's good to hear. I always hoped maybe one day you'll find your way back to each other." Her mum said. Lando's lips twitched into a playful grin. "You never know. We could probably..." Y/n interrupted, taking it as a cue to change the subject. "Well, Mum, we've got a few more errands to run. Thanks for the tea!" They bid Y/n's mum farewell, stepping back into the sunlight. "Smooth, Lando." Y/n couldn't help but roll her eyes at Lando's comment. "What?" Lando asked as if he didn't know what he had just done. "You always know how to keep things interesting," Y/n teased. Lando chuckled. "Hey, just keeping the possibilities open, you know?" Y/n shook her head, laughter bubbling up from deep within. "You haven't changed a bit."

Lando led the way to his new home. It was huge. Bigger than the one he grew up in and Y/n found that mental. "This is yours? Are you sure?" She asked. "Trust me, it's mine." He replied, opening the door. "There's a few boxes around the place. This is all just moving stuff. Don't mind them."

The aroma of spices and sizzling ingredients filled Lando Norris' kitchen as he worked diligently to prepare dinner for his good friend, Y/n. He hummed along to a tune playing softly in the background, feeling a sense of accomplishment in trying his hand at a new recipe.

Y/n walked around, a glass of wine in hand, looking at the photos that hung on the walls. From family photos to podium photos, she enjoyed looking at them. One in particular caught her eye. It was her at Lando's final Formula 2 race. They were all smiles and she couldn't help but feel the memories washing over her.

Just as Lando reached for a pot handle, a sudden hiss of pain escaped him. Lando winced, realizing he had touched the hot surface without protection. He quickly pulled back, shaking his hand in an attempt to soothe the sting. "Fuck." Lando muttered to himself, glancing around for a nearby kitchen towel. Y/n entered the room, drawn by the sound of his exclamation. "What happened, Lando?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. Lando winced, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, just a little mishap. I guess cooking isn't exactly my forte."

Y/n chuckled softly, gently taking his arm to examine the burn. "Let me take care of that for you." As Y/n tended to his burn, Lando couldn't help but admire her delicate touch and caring nature. His gaze lingered on her, filled with a warmth he couldn't contain. "Don't look at me like that." Y/n said softly, catching Lando's gaze. Lando smirked teasingly. "Like what?" Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "You know exactly what I mean." He shrugged. "Have no idea what you mean." Rolling her eyes again, Y/n suggested, "How about I do the cooking, and you just help grab things when I need them?" Lando nodded.

As Y/n stired some pasta around in the pot, she jumped upon hearing music. "Oh, sorry. Too loud." Labdo mumbled as he turned the volume down on a speaker nearby. "Why are you playing Put Your Records On?" She asked. "I like it. You like it too last time I checked." Lando said, beginning to dance a bit. "Last time you checked was four years ago." Y/n replied. "Oh come on, you haven't changed that much." Lando chuckled. "You wanna bet?" She challenged.

Lando nodded, moving her hair across her shoulder and placing a gentle kiss onto her neck. "You like neck kisses, don't you?" Y/n found herself blushing and biting her lip to hide her smile. Lando's arms made their way around Y/n's torso, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You're playing a dangerous game, Lando." She said. "I know." Y/n set the cooking spoon to the side and gave in, turning and lifting her arms up around Lando's neck, swaying along with him. Soon enough, they were dancing, spinning and jumping around, carefree and happy. "Oh shit! The pasta!"

As they settled on the couch to watch a movie, Lando wrapped an arm around Y/n, feeling the warmth of their shared history. The prompts echoed in his mind, and he couldn't resist expressing his emotions. "I love our cuddles." He admitted, a genuine smile on his face. Y/n snuggled closer. "Me too. It feels like we never missed a beat." Lando looked up to her, the look of a lovestruck puppy in his eyes. "Stay here tonight." He asked. "Lando, I have work tomorrow." She replied. "You're acting like something is going to happen." Lando said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Oh shut up." The pair began laughing. As the laughing quietened down, they found themselves leaning in, centimetres away from eachother.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat as Lando looked between her eyes and then down to her lip. "Alright, but only if you promise to make breakfast tomorrow, and I get to teach you how to cook properly." Lando grinned. "Deal." And with that, he leaned in and closed the gap between them, Y/n kissing back into his lips.

The movie faded into the background as they continued their kiss, both missing the feeling of the others lips on theirs. "If I could, I'd like to fall in love with you all over again." Lando whispered between kisses. He could feel Y/n smile against him. "Maybe we can take it one step at a time, starting with breakfast tomorrow morning." Lando shook his head, lifting her up off the couch and walking towards the door. "Or we could start now and just start where we left off."

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

[trashmouth-richie]

𝟹 𝙰𝙼

↳ eddie x fem!reader

↳ summary: just some sweet little smut between you and eddie before he goes to work

↳ A/n: wrote this awhile ago & I thought maybe I’d turn it into a series but nah, enjoy 😉

↳ warnings: smut 18+ only, smut with a plot. p in v, oral.

the soft whirring noises from his nose wake you before his alarm does. 

  Swing shift at the plant had Eddie’s sleep schedule completely out of whack. Some nights he’d be falling asleep at the table during supper, long curls bobbing as his head jerked forward. 

  There were days where you’d find him snoring, splayed out on his back on the thick rug on the floor of the baby’s room. Toy blocks in his hands, trying to be the dad he promised himself he would be. A dad he didn’t have. 

  And earlier tonight when he came home with grease lined under his fingernails, exhaust from the heavy machinery freckling his face, he let out a deafening yawn. 

  “Gotta be back in at 4,” he said after hugging you tight and tickling your sides. His soft lips pressed to the crown of your head. 

  You crane your neck to meet his lips and nod at him. The bags under his eyes were prominent tonight. Instead of going to bed early like you had suggested, after supper he spent the evening curled up in his recliner, rocking the baby to sleep while he read story after story. 

  This is why you loved him so much. 

  Both of you had come from broken homes, and when you wound up pregnant senior year, the odds were not in your favor. 

  But Eddie stepped up. You both finished high school early. Earning diplomas in December and he immediately started working at the plant with Wayne. Long hours for a decent paycheck. He was determined to not fail.

  When the neighbors next to Wayne’s trailer moved out after a death in the family in Texas left them millionaires, Wayne marched into the landlord’s office and put a down payment on the trailer. 

  $250 later the trailer was home. Eddie danced with you under flickering lights as he held you from behind, pressing kisses into your neck. Promising you a good life. His thick hands on your growing belly, rubbing it softly. 

  Auntie Robin and Uncle Steve helped on the weekends to clean the smoke stained walls and provide the latest gossip from Hawkins High. 

  Chrissy Cunningham? Caught blowing Mr. Higgins in his car during first period. 

  Steve had a date with Nancy Wheeler tonight. 

  Dustin took over as DM for Eddie and was doing really well. 

  You smiled through Robin’s fast paced words and when her and Steve left that night Eddie asked if you missed highschool, hanging his head in sorrow at fucking things up for you. 

  Not a chance when I have you. The promise splayed thick on your smile, sweet against his neck. 

  When the spring flowers bloomed in May, you had the baby right after Eddie’s birthday. 

  The best birthday present ever. 

  He had said with tears in his eyes, you knew he would be the best dad, he spent his lunch breaks reading books on parenting. He saved every dime from his paychecks— determined to make enough so you wouldn’t have to work. 

  He was a good man, the best dad you could ever imagine. And he deserves the world. 

  So tonight when the alarm went off at 3 o’clock, you turned it off before he could wake. Tip-toeing past the baby’s room and into the kitchen to make some coffee. 

  Scooping two heaps of the off brand coffee into the white paper filter you press the on button and watch as the brewed coffee gently tinks into the glass pot. 

  Painted toes skip over the creaks in the floor and back to your bedroom, where the man who made all of your dreams come true laid to rest, bare chested with two names inked over his heart, yours and the baby’s. 

  His arms were curled over his head and his snores were light. Untucking the sheet from its place under the mattress you crawl beneath it careful to not knee anywhere on Eddie.

  Up paled legs sat a pair of blue checkered boxers, the button undone from moving around during the night. And beneath them the delicious treat you were after, soft but still fairly large and thick, nestled with a pinked sack and a dusting of curls. 

  Trailing your nails along the waistband of the patterned blues, you work them down his hips with ease. Tired from already working 55 hours this week, Eddie doesn’t stir. 

  His cock springs out with a thud against his thigh, asleep like it’s owner, but enormous in size. 

  Dribbling a line of spit from your puckered lips you let it flow over his pink mushroom head like you were icing a cake, spreading it around with your thumb, rubbing the slit deep. A few jerks from your spit covered hand and Eddie moans in his sleep. His thick cock at full alert, veins on display for your lips to suckle. 

  You run your tongue from his sack up the shaft and around the peak. Kitten licks at first then long broad stripes. When you take his head into your mouth and swirl your tongue like you’re tasting a popsicle, Eddie finally wakes. A moaning grunt and then immediate panic. You pull the covers off your head and wipe your mouth while smiling wildly. 

  “Babe? Wh—what’s going on?” Eddie says sleepily, his hair askew and eyes still blinking from the sandman’s sleep. 

  “Shhh..” you shush, looking into his eyes and taking him whole into your throat in one swift gulp. 

  He moans and bucks his hips up into your face. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, his breathing erratic and breaking as you swallow him further, hands working double time in a twisting upward motion. Your spit running down to his balls. 

  You release him with a slow slide, gasping for breath as he holds your hair in his fists. 

  His eyes were squeezed tight and open immediately when you lick his slit, hungry for the salty seed. 

  “Bend over,” Eddie grunts, “now.” 

  Throwing the blankets off of you both and standing fast. He grabs your vibrator from the nightstand and clicks it to the on position, giving it to your waiting hand between your bent legs, your face smashed into the mattress. 

  He hikes the sleep shirt up your hips and sucks in a breath when he finds you soaked with no panties on. Glistening from the street lamp shining through the thin curtains, a feast for the taking. 

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, slapping his hands hard against the plush of your doughy ass, “my perfect fucking girl.” 

You whine when the vibration hits your clit, humming along into the mattress to soften your expecting screams. 

  Eddie’s thick head slips through your folds and you moan deep. Mirroring his own as you wiggle your hips for more.

  Burying himself inside your gummy walls you suck him in tight. A cozy wet hug around his dick.  

  “I swear to God this pussy was made for me,” he groans into the open air, pistoning his hips deeper and smacking against the fat of your ass.

  When a drop of spit hits the button and his thumb runs circles around it you squeal in pleasure. Puckering around his thumb, giving him a small kiss and begging him to go deeper. 

  He moans and mutters under his breath. Fucking into you harder. 

  The vibrator is working overtime on your swollen clit as Eddie bucks harder into you, his cock thick and hard jutting deep into your aching hole. You scream out as your legs start to shake and Eddie begins to twitch inside of you. 

  Before you can both come, he flips you over and scoots you both up on the bed. Your legs wrap around his hips and he dives into your lips. Kissing them sweet then harsh, the same way he kissed you for the very first time when you were both thirteen. 

  You were sitting on the handlebars of his bike, your bare legs wrapped around his black jean styled waist, the studs of his belt making indents in your calves. He was standing on the gravel, the bike balanced in his strong hands. Dust circling around you after he skidded to a stop around the curve of the trailer park road. Your lips teasing him for far too long that summer. 

  His hips thrust into yours and his lips moves down your neck, the sweet spot above your beauty mark acting as an ‘x’ for pirates treasure. 

  His hair tickles your skin and you hold his head in your hand and press him further into your neck. When your walls tighten and you whine out he cums hard too, filling you up full. 

  He presses sweet i love you kisses into your collarbones and licks a path up the curve of your chin. Devouring every ounce of your skin he can. 

  “Mrs. Munson,” he teases, lips grinning goofy, “I must have been a good husband to deserve such scandalous behavior at 3 AM.”

  You tickle his under arm and wiggle your way from beneath him, “Mrs. Munson?” you question, an eyebrow quirked into your disheveled hair. “Since when are we married?” 

  Eddie stretches on his back and fumbles into his drawer, wrestling the wrapper off a blue raspberry ring pop. He holds it up to you like a prized possession, “a placeholder for when the layaway is done being paid off at JCPENNEY’s.” 

  You giggle like a child and hold your out hand.Eddie threads the ring on your finger and licks the diamond shaped sucker. 

  “You keep waking me up like that we’re gonna have a whole litter of Munson’s running around, and besides,” he says, kissing up your arm and biting your shoulder, “I kinda like you,” 

  Kissing him deep you giggle. 

  “I kinda like you too.” 

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

[honeyedmiller]

The Gift | Javier Peña

pairing: husband!javi x wife!reader

warnings: marriage, mentions of pregnancy (reader is pregnant!!!), reader described to be shorter than javi, mentions of the holidays (specifically christmas), mentions of starting a family, tooth-rotting sickeningly sweet fluff, brief mentions of a deceased family member, tiny uses of spanish with translations at the very end, no use of y/n. if any content warnings may not be suitable for you to consume, please do not read forward. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: you and javi do your yearly gift exchange with each other. your gift to him just so happens to be life-changing.

this is *technically* a part two to when you wish on a shooting star, but it can be read as a stand alone.

tysm to my bby @ilovepedro for beta reading this for me. you’re amazing ily ♥️

divider by @ dvluc

The bright streams of golden sunlight shining into your bedroom is what woke you up for the second time that morning. You let the warmth of the rays soak into your skin, knowing it was a chilly December day outside of the four walls of your shared home. 

The first thing that woke you up was your loving husband kissing you on your forehead and telling you he loved you before he went to work that morning. You’d been feeling extra sleepy lately, so he didn’t want to disturb you by fully waking you up. 

Your body just felt so exhausted, and you woke up with short waves of nausea in the recent mornings. You just painted it as stress from your own job, not thinking much of it. 

You groaned as you stretched, dreading getting out of your warm bed where the scent of your beloved husband engulfed the entirety of your body. You missed his presence already, wishing the warmth of his chest was pressed against yours as he peppered soft kisses all around your face. You found your mind swirling with longing for him, but you couldn’t get too distracted. 

You decided it was time to get up and straighten up the house since you had the day off. Next week was Christmas, and you and Javi held your annual Christmas party at your house every year, so you wanted to make sure the house was pristine for the guests you were to have over. 

After you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you made the bed and trudged downstairs, yawning as you reached the kitchen. Caffeine sounded heavenly right now, considering Javi kept you up most of the night. 

You made a fresh pot of coffee to brew, leaning against the kitchen island counter as your eyes roamed your kitchen. Your eyes landed on the pastel yellow sticky note stuck to your fridge, immediately recognizing Javi’s handwriting. You took the sticky note off of the fridge, eyes scanning over what he scribbled. 

Good morning, mi amor. Don’t forget we have our annual gift exchange tonight. Can’t wait to give you your gift, bebita. I also left you some chorizo and eggs in the fridge for you. Te amo para siempre.

-J

You grinned down at the endearing note and opened the fridge, and as promised, there was a small container with one of your favorite, simple breakfasts. You took the container out of the fridge and a pan from the cabinet, scooping the contents out of the container and onto the pan with a wooden spoon, turning on the flame to the stove to heat the food up. It looked mouth wateringly delicious at first, but when the smell of the food invaded the kitchen, you suddenly felt so nauseous. 

It was odd, because you usually loved the smell of the meal. You turned off the heat and abandoned the kitchen altogether after putting the food and coffee away, shaking your head as you made your way back upstairs. You sighed as you sat down on the bed, grimacing as the nausea slowly dissipated. 

Maybe breakfast wasn’t the best idea today. You got up again to officially get ready for the day, needing to stop at the store to get some items for your Christmas party before you came back home to tidy up. Luckily you and Javi kept your house neat, so cleaning wasn’t going to be a super tedious task.

You made a list of things you needed at the store and made the short drive over, checking off all of the things on your list. You passed the feminine products section, halting when you realized you needed to pick up some more pads. You spotted the pregnancy tests right next to the pads, and your mind reeled for a second. 

When was the last time you got your period?

You’d been so wrapped up in life recently and busy with work and preparations for the Christmas party that you hadn’t even realized your period never came this month. Again, you could’ve written it off as stress, but a tiny pit in your stomach was telling you to get a pregnancy test. You and Javi had been trying for a baby after you made an agreement at your little getaway trip for your third wedding anniversary in Lake Arrowhead. 

Now that you were both back in Laredo, reality broke the bubble of pure bliss you two were wrapped in. It was back to work, back to responsibilities, back to the mundane daily life—one that you absolutely adored getting to live with Javi. Nonetheless, time slipped away from you and you’d completely missed the fact that your period was late by nearly a whole month. 

You grabbed three pregnancy tests just to be extra sure of whatever outcome you’d receive. Your mind swirled with thoughts of the possibility that you were carrying your first child, but you didn’t allow yourself to delve too deep into those thoughts just yet. As you made your way to the checkout stand, you happened to pass the baby clothing section, spotting a pastel yellow newborn onesie that said “abuelo’s amorcito” in white lettering. 

You smiled and instantly thought of Chucho and how happy he’d be hearing the news that he was to expect his first grandbaby. You grabbed the onesie, possibly getting a little too ahead of yourself, but you’d save it and give it to him when the time came. 

Your heart fluttered as you made your way home after checking out all of your items, realizing that it was already two in the afternoon. Javi got home around four, so you had to hunker down when you got home to clean. You finished cleaning the backhouse you and Javi lived in in record time, moving to the living room of the main house to tidy up a bit. You still had about thirty more minutes to spare, so you took your tests to the bathroom with you. Once you were finished, you laid the tests down on the counter and washed your hands, sitting at the edge of the tub in anticipation. 

The five minutes you had to wait for the results to show up had to be some of the longest minutes of your life, face buried in your hands as your knee bounced up and down. Your breath was shaky as nerves took over you, the five minutes nearing an end. You stood up from the edge of the tub and made your way to the double vanity, squeezing your eyes shut while inhaling a deep breath. 

Now or never.

Your eyes shot open, only to be met with six pink lines meeting your gaze. Every single test was positive. You exhaled a shaky breath, a small sob bubbling within your throat as your hand covered your mouth. 

You couldn’t wait to tell Javi. 

You’d originally gotten him a nice watch that he had his eye on for a couple of months for the gift exchange knowing he’d never splurge on himself like that. He insisted that he splurged on you, though, to which you always argued ‘if you can do it, I can do it for you, too.’

You decided to save the watch for Christmas though, seeing as giving him a gift like this was far more heartwarming. Your eyes teared up at the thought of how great of a father Javi would be. You wrapped one pregnancy test delicately into a small box, wrapping paper covered in snowmen adorning the box. You wrapped the onesie for Chucho next, carefully writing on both boxes who the gifts were for. 

You hid the other two tests, making your way downstairs with the boxes in your hands. You set them both under the Christmas tree, wiping away a stray tear that had rolled down your cheek. 

“Mi amor, I’m home!” You heard Javi call out from the front door of your home, and you couldn’t help the smile that instantly appeared upon hearing his voice. 

You walked to the entryway of your home, seeing your husband set down his work bag onto the floor. 

“Well if it isn’t my handsome husband.” You say as you approach him, stopping in front of him to gaze up into his beautiful brown eyes. He instinctively wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you into him so you were flush against his body. He smiles down at you, cupping your cheek. 

“If it isn’t my beautiful wife.” He counters back. Your hands travel up to his broad chest, running over the lapels of his beige suit he was wearing. 

“I missed you, mi amor.” You coo softly, one hand cupping the nape of his neck. 

“Yeah? I missed you too, baby.” His smile never wavers from his face as your free hand wraps around the dark plaid tie he wore, gently tugging on it to make him bend down. Your lips easily met his in one swift movement, and he groaned softly into the kiss. His hands slid down to your ass, grabbing it playfully before lightly tapping it and pulling apart from you. 

“Let me change out of my work clothes and then we can do the exchange, cariño. Papá made pozole for tonight.” 

“Sounds delicious. Meet you on the couch.” You huff a laugh, giving him a quick kiss before he makes his way upstairs to change. You make your way over to the couch, grabbing the smaller present that you’d tucked under the tree earlier along the way. You plopped down, nerves overtaking your body. You weren’t sure what his initial reaction would be, albeit you were sure it would presumably be a positive one. 

You heard his heavy steps descending the stairs, and his face lit up when he saw you sitting on the couch. He carried a small box in his hands, a boyish grin on his face as he made his way to the couch to plop himself down next to you. 

“You wanna go first, or should I?” He asks, hand resting on your thigh. The gift exchange you two did was a tradition you both started for yourselves the first Christmas you were together. You’d been doing it ever since, small heartfelt gifts to be exchanged between you both. Javi called it “the pregame to Christmas.” 

“You go first, amor.” You grin, heart leaping in your throat as you try to control your breathing and emotions overall. 

“Here you are, corazón. I hope you like it.” He hands you the small box and you grin at him, carefully tearing the wrapping. You uncover the contents in the box, revealing a silver charm bracelet with a charm already on it. It was a small inscription saying ‘siempre.’ Tears welled in your eyes as you took it out of the box, the shininess of the silver glinting from the glow of the Christmas tree lights nearby. 

“Javi, mi amor. It’s beautiful.” You cry, tears cascading down your cheeks. 

“You think so cariño?” His voice is soft, hands reaching out to wipe the tears from your face. You nod with a smile, eyes glossy and brows furrowed. 

“It’s perfect. Thank you so much.” You unclasp the bracelet and hold it out to him so he can put it on your wrist. He easily clasps it, the cold metal pressing against your skin. He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. 

“Your turn, baby.” Javi encouraged, and you cried even more as you shakily handed him your gift. You held your breath as he tore open the wrapping paper, opening the box to reveal the test. His movements completely halted as his eyes scanned over the contents in the box. 

His eyes snapped up to yours, glossy with tears threatening to spill over. You’d only ever seen Javi cry less than a handful of times since you two have been together, so seeing him so emotional made you sob. 

“Is this real?” He whispers, eyes moving back down to the test. 

You nod your head, both of your hands gently grabbing the sides of his beautiful face. 

“One hundred percent real, mi amor. We’re gonna have a baby.” You try your best to contain your sobs, but it’s useless at this point when your own husband is crying with you. He leans over to you, laying you down on the couch as he wraps his arms around your frame and just holds you. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck, salty tears skimming the warmth of your skin. 

Your fingers card through his dark, thick locks, holding him close as you kiss his head repeatedly, mumbling how much you love him and can’t wait to have his baby. 

Javi never thought he’d have this life. He never thought he’d be able to meet a nice woman, date, settle down, fall in love, get married; let alone start a family. 

He was a very different man when he’d left Colombia and came back to the states after taking down Escobar and the Cali cartel, so closed off and unwilling to picture or allow this kind of life for himself. The kind of life he deserves—working a good paying job at the Laredo Sheriff’s Office, married to the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid his eyes on, reunited with his dad, content and fucking happy. 

He never thought he’d see the day, and yet here you were, laying underneath him and allowing him to cry into your neck about you being able to give him the best thing he could’ve ever asked for, which was a family of his own. 

After both of your sobs subsided and tears melted into a salty stiffness on your cheeks, he kissed your neck softly and hovered his face above yours. Your hands cupped his cheeks gently, pulling him down for a long, comforting kiss that said I love you I love you I love you a million times over. 

“We’re having a baby.” He breathed, a genuine smile that made his crow’s feet prominent adorning his face. You nod your head, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. 

“We’re having a baby, Javi,” You laugh as he starts to attack your face with an array of kisses, a deep chuckle rumbling in his throat. “I got something for Chucho too to tell him the big news.” You say against his lips, and he sits back up while gently tugging you up with him. 

“Yeah? I’m sure he’ll love whatever it is.” Javi’s heart warmed at the thought of you getting his father a gift as well to tell him that he was going to be a grandpa. 

You stand up from the couch and hold your hands out to Javi, making a grabbing motion to coax him to grab your hands. He does so without hesitation and you pull him up from the couch, hands landing on his chest afterwards. 

You beam up at him, a glint of pure happiness in your eyes as you let your gaze roam over his features. You still don’t know how you got this lucky, thanking the universe every day that an unlikely pair as yourselves met at an H-E-B of all places. 

“Te amo con todo mi corazón,” Javi wrapped his arms around your frame, pulling you into him as he hugged you. “Gracias por darme la vida que siempre quise.” 

Tears sprang to your eyes once more at his endearing words. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Javier Peña. I promise you that.” You kiss him one more time before breaking away, collecting Chucho’s gift from under the tree before you both make your way to the main house. 

The chilly December air nipped at your skin, so you nuzzled closer into Javi’s side as you both walked down the stone path to the main house. For a second, you were worried that the smell of pozole was going to make you nauseous just as the chorizo and eggs did earlier, but you found it to be the complete opposite this time. You were practically salivating, ready to devour the delicious meal your father in law set out to make you three. 

You and Javier stepped into the kitchen, greeted by Chucho stirring the pot of pozole a few times before he saw you both. 

“Ah, mija! Thank you for cleaning the living room today. Haven’t been able to get around to it myself, so I appreciate it.” Chucho grins. 

“It’s not a problem, Chucho. Thank you for making us dinner. It smells delicious.” You say, setting the present down on the dining room table. 

“Not a problem, querida.” 

Javi prompts you and Chucho to sit down at the table as he takes over, grabbing bowls for the three of you. He serves you both before coming behind you to gently grab your shoulders, giving them a squeeze. You grin up at him and clear your throat, catching Chucho’s attention. 

“This is for you, suegro. I hope you like it.” You hand him the gift, and he looks bewildered as he takes it from you and starts to unwrap it. 

“You didn’t need to get me anything, mija–” His words are cut short as he opens the box, seeing the tiny onesie in it. 

“Surprise, Pop.” Javi says, and Chucho looks between his son and you in disbelief. 

“You’re having a baby?” His voice is full of shock, and you can’t help but reach across the table and squeeze one of his hands. 

“You’re gonna be an abuelo, suegro.” 

Chucho looked down at the onesie in his hands with tears pricking his eyes. You never thought you’d see the day that Chucho Peña got teary-eyed. 

“Tu mamá would’ve loved to see the day her baby boy was having a child of his own. One with a sweet, wonderful woman such as yourself, mija.” Chucho looked between you both with a bittersweet smile on his face. 

“I know, Pop. She’s looking down on us all, and I know she can’t wait to see what a wonderful abuelo you’ll be.” Javier moved to his father, giving him a comforting pat on his back. 

“Thank you both for blessing me with the opportunity of becoming a grandfather. I know you two will be the best parents. I love you both so very much.” Chucho put the onesie back in the box, grabbing your hand once more while shaking it. 

“We love you, abuelo Chucho.” 

Dinner was purely full of baby discussion after that, like name ideas you already had, what you think the gender will be, how you’ll want to decorate the nursery, when you’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment, and all things alike. You couldn’t lie, you absolutely adored every minute of it seeing the love of your life and a man who was such a prominent father figure in your life discussing even the most minute details about your child who you already know was so extremely loved. 

That night, you and Javi went to bed with smiles that you couldn’t seem to wipe off your faces. He kissed you and pushed up his oversized t-shirt you were wearing to bed, resting his head gently onto your stomach as he tenderly cooed into your soft flesh. 

“Hey there. It’s your papá. I can’t wait to meet you, pequeño. Your mommy and I love you so much already.” You grinned down at Javi, raking your fingers through his hair as he continued to babble on to your unborn child. You’d nearly fallen asleep at the soft timbre of Javi’s voice reverberating the four walls of your bedroom. Javi pulled down his t-shirt on you and kissed your forehead tenderly, wrapping you in his arms. 

“I love you, my beautiful wife. Thank you for choosing me and loving me the way you do. I can’t wait to become a father to our child.” Javi’s voice was raspy as it dwindled to a near-whisper, and when he got no response from you, he looked down to see you’d completely fallen asleep. 

You looked so peaceful. Javi smiled down at you as he softly kissed your forehead one more time before laying his head next to you, thanking the universe and all the shooting stars in the sky that you gave him the gift of a lifetime. 

-

translations:

te amo para siempre — i love you forever

te amo con todo mi corazón — i love you with all my heart

gracias por darme la vida que siempre quise — thank you for giving me the life i always wanted

suegro — father in law

pequeño — little one

tags: @party-hearses ; @tinygarbage ; @nostalxgic ; @bastardmandennis ; @catchallfangirl ; @lizzie-cakes

please lmk if you’d like to be added / removed from the tag list. 🖤

#javier pena imagine #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fluff #husband!javier #wife!reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier pena one shot #javier pena #narcos fanfiction #javi p #narcos #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

[minhosimthings]

Saturday Adventures

Synopsis: Saturday meant your daily lattes with a foam bear drawn on top. What you didn't expect was your cafe boy crush to fuck the mind out of you on that Saturday.

Pairings: Sunghoon × fem!reader, includes Jay from Enhypen (not in the smut part)

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, fingering, brief sex against the wall, overstimulation, swearing, fluff at the beginning, mention of food, Sunghoon calls reader 'princess', 'pretty girl' and 'darling', p inside v, size kink, protected sex

A/N: let me give you the briefing in brief, Mona brain go brr, Mona decided to write

When Sunghoon signed up on his brother's offer to volunteer at the family cafe, he had never expected to meet the person he'd be calling his, for the rest of his life.

"Park Sunghoon are you paying attention?" Jay waved his hands in front of Sunghoon, gripping a coffee cup very tightly is his hands as younger brother stared off into the distance, milk in his hand. "Yes I am for god's sake." Sunghoon sighed, "Your voice is like drilling machines in my head Jongsoeng."

Jay rolled his eyes and stared out to where Sunghoon's eyes were set. "You're waiting for her aren't you?" A mere question escaped from Jay's lips, which seemed to sadden Sunghoon even more.

"She usually comes by this time." Sunghoon checked the watch on his wrist. His father's watch, he reminded himself, an article he was very much proud of. "Y/N isn't it?" Jay questioned again, wiping the coffee cup with a rag, "Maybe if you pay attention to me and learn how to make a foam animal, you can impress her. She does like bears on her coffee a lot."

Sunghoon groaned and averted his eyes from the door to watch Jay carefully pour the milk foam into the light brown latte, the foam spreading around the liquid like clouds swirling around a bright blue sky. It was mesmerizing to him, how his family so easily poured the foam to form beautiful figurines that the girl that usually comes by at six pm enjoys. He loved watching your beautiful face, become giddy with excitement as you took your bear-decorated coffee from him at the front counter.

"Your lover is here."

Jay's words exploded like an atom bomb inside of Sunghoon's mind, his head whipping around to the chiming of the bells. He always liked those bells. Christmas, was it, that he bought them? Or halloween?

"Hey." You smiled up at Jay at the front counter, "The usual please Jongsoeng." "You're late today." Jay smiled back at you, waving a hand to his brother at the back to start brewing up the tiny brown beans, "Sunghoon was sweating his ass off." You let out a tiny laugh at that, taking a tiny peek at the apron clad man working silently behind Jay. Broad shoulders, beautiful curls of hair, perhaps the most amazing arms you've ever had the pleasure to witness, and a solemn face working with his hands frantically checking the machine in front of him, if he was hell's incarnate, it mattered not for you.

"Tell him I'm staying over a bit late tonight. Got some work to finish." You said, as Jay handed you your bill, "Gotta work late." "That's great." Jay winked at you, "He's the one who works the night shifts before shutting the cafe." He shoots you a small grin with all of his teeth on display, "Have fun."

Sunghoon's eyes and mind couldn't process anything as he watched you type away on your laptop, brows furrowed, coffee cup empty. The soft lighting from the cafe's lights illuminated your face well, frustration evidently wrapping your face into its cocoon.

Jay had left earlier that he usually does and now, at ten pm, Sunghoon had nothing to do except stare at you, and attempt to make a bear on a latte. Practice made a man perfect, but for Sunghoon, it just made him tired.

One drop, then two, then another and the bear formed at last! Sunghoon stared at it in disbelief, it was perfect. Now, the task was just to carry it over to you, and give it to you with a solemn expression that did not scream 'i am infatuated with you, even when you are a complete stranger'.

"Miss?" Sunghoon tapped your table with uncertainty, "Your refill." He set his tray down on the table, where the coffee cup stood with perfect stillness, the tiny foam bear springing with delight. Your eyes flickered to Sunghoon's for a moment, before settling on the bear.

"You made a bear." You stated simply, talking the warm cup into your hands, "And please, call me Y/N."

"Y/N." Sunghoon repeated, the name falling off of his lips like an ill forgotten melody, "I'll leave you to your bears." The smile that escaped your lips at his joke, looked like heaven to him.

"Are you single"

Unfortunately the human mind sometimes randomly blurts out whatever it wants, when it is in closed proximity. And your mind did exactly that.

Sunghoon's eyes widened at you, his brows reaching the top of his silver hair. His fingers fumbled with the tray in his hands, as he stared into your soul. "Y-yeah." He spoke, stepping closer to your table, slipping into the seat opposite you.

"Damn im single too." You awkwardly laughed, "We have so much in common." Flirting was never much of your forte, and it evidently showed as Sunghoon's ears (and yours) turned bright red.

"Oh what a coincidence!" Sunghoon said, in an awfully cheery tone. A minute passed as you both of you looked at each other with solemn faces before bursting out laughing.

"I am literally so sorry." You said in between fits of laughter, looking over at Sunghoon's eyes, which were crinkled to form crescent moons, which, in your humblest opinion shone brighter.

"It's alright." Sunghoon said, before glancing out the glass door, "It's getting late, you should get home." You checked your watch. Eleven pm. It indeed was getting late.

"Oh yeah." You quickly shoved your laptop into your bag, before looking down at the undrunk bear latte. "What about this little guy?" You picked up the cup, carefully handling it. Sunghoon smiled at you gently and led you over to the counter, ignoring your protests of paying for it to be packed up. "I'm not letting a pretty girl like you pay for that." He smiled, handing you the cup, "Plus its Saturday we have a nonexistent policy of not letting women pay on Saturday after ten pm."

God his lips.

"I'll take your word for it then." You laughed, "Don't blame me if Jay scold you tomorrow though." Sunghoon scoffed and stepped closer. "He's not at tough as he looks, darling. Trust me, I'm the more rough one."

Darling leapt out of his mouth like a beautiful chord struck on a Grandstien piano. His hair fell perfectly on his face, illuminating all the correct spots, like a painting.

"Can I kiss you?"

You had been taught in your psychology class that the human mind often knows when to shut up, bar a few exceptions. You had never known such exceptions before, until now, when you realised that you were the exception.

Sunghoon's hand travelled to his neck, scratching it awkwardly before looking at you with snake eyes. "Why not?" He chuckled lowly, "Who am I to refuse a pretty girl's kiss?"

His lips were surprisingly soft, an ice cream touch to your lips. It was a sort of cold comfort, one you enjoyed thoroughly, as Sunghoon's hands ghosted over your waist. Although you tried to ignore the sticky feeling between your thighs, you couldn't help but let out an unholy noise into his lips, as his fingers gripped your waist so hard.

"Fuck Sunghoon." You gasped, as the bulge in his pants pressed tightly against your pussy.

“Sunghoon,” you brokenly whisper, your voice would be bordering on whiny with all the neediness that comes with it, “please, I need you.” The pleading look you give him is vulnerable, if not desperate.

Sunghoon had you pressed against the wall the minute your voice left your throat, peppering kisses down your neck, you waist being held hostage by his hands. You didn’t try to stop him.

“Such a good slut for me, aren't you princess?” He moved his hand to run between your soaking folds. You bit your lip at the feeling, feeling his fingers graze your clit before dipping to rest against your entrance. He tapped it twice before pulling away completely, moaning at the loss you turned to face him. Unbeknownst to you, Sunghoon had moved his head so that when you turned, his lips would brush against yours. You whimpered at the feeling and pushed your lips against his. Allowing him to take the control, he deepened the kiss- stroking your mouth with his tongue. You could feel him trying to pull away and whimpered before trying to keep the kiss going, he laughed again at your neediness. “Now, now princess, you don’t want me to fuck you against this door, do you?”

"This is a cafe, Hoon." You let out a breathless sentence, "Where are you gonna find a bed?" Sunghoon chuckled into your face, his hot breath hitting your neck, before easily lifting you up. "There's a room at the back darling, let me fuck you properly like you deserve."

Sunghoon's kisses were devastatingly sweet, as he laid you gently on the bed, quickly slipping on a condom from his bedside table, not before asking you for permission if he could fuck you or not.

This tenderness didn’t last long though, the gentleness quickly transforming feverish and greedy, moans vibrating from both your chests and your bodies suddenly burning. When you both pull away, you feel his fingers slip under the straps of your tanktop and slide them off your shoulders. “Get this off,” he demands breathlessly, and you comply , stripping for him hastily.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, and you whimper at his words, clit throbbing at the thought of being fucked by a man you've only admired from afar.

He presses his hand against the plush of your inner thigh and spreads your legs, using his other hand to pump his cock with languid strokes.

You mewl feeling him drag the tip of his fat cock in between your folds, mushing it and teasing it against your clit sending pleasure coursing througch your body and making you throw your head back with a whimper.

feverishly, he runs his length over your slick folds, grunting as you rocked your hips to meet his touch. After a few intense minutes, with desperate teasing and soft moans slipping from your glossy lips, you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm building rapidly. suddenly, he pulls away, making you to whimper at the sudden loss of friction. But before you can protest, he silences you with a brief kiss.

“‘M gonna put it in, okay?” he murmurs hotly, lining up the tip of his cock against your hole before gently pressing the aching tip inside.

Your mouth hangs into an ‘o’ shape, eyes pinched shut as he slowly sinks his cock into your core. You squirm and whimper as you tread the line between pain and pleasure, walls fluttering as his hips press against the back of your thighs. the feeling of being filled fully by Sunghoon sends you into a daze everytime, and he’s so deep inside you can almost feel him in your throat.

“g-god, you’re so big,” you whimper, face flushed as your body adjusts to his huge size. The initial stretch burned, but he slid into you smoothly, his cock slipping through your folds with ease. He felt you clamp down on him, his head thrown back as far as it could go, thick neck exposed to you. you bit down on his shoulder, where it met the base of his throat, trying to mask the gasp of pleasure that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. he grunted at the sensation, enjoying the sting. Sunghoon sucks in air between his gritted teeth sharply as your tight walls clamp down on him, engulfing him in your warmth and sucking him in. While he gives you a second to adjust, he slides his hands under the backs of your thighs, feeling your cold skin hit his warm one.

“oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“You’re so fucking good.” Sunghoon groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice.

Sunghoon was a delicious weight on top of you, the drag of his hips slow, meeting yours hard. the pressure made you lightheaded, his body moving against yours like the thick drip of honey, smooth and sweet. you couldn’t make sense of it, of how fucking good he felt, grinding deeper and deeper into you like he’d found buried treasure. the overstimulation had your third orgasm building nice and quick, waves of pleasure making you dizzy.

“you like it like this?” Yes you did. “don’t think i can go without this now, you know that? Such a good fucking girl.” You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just let his words wash over you. “so beautiful, taking me so well.”

“Are you gonna come for me? one more time, baby. need to feel that perfect fucking pussy.” well, His wish was your command, because then you were gushing. The one thing you could feel was him, none of your other senses worked, you couldn’t see past the tears that fell, couldn’t get any words past your lips. Maybe you screamed, you weren’t exactly sure.

"Fucking hell." Sunghoon groaned, falling next to you on the bed. The room came to light properly to you now, and you noticed all the Sunghoons staring at you from the shelves.

"Hoonie?"

"Yes princess?"

"Did you just fuck me in your childhood bedroom?"

Sunghoon chuckled and turned to look at you, his hair slightly parted, and his lips wet. "Nah." He pulled himself closer to you, "This is just a room Jay and I like to call our den. You know, for keeping old childhood stuff and I figured, since this was the only place here where there's a bed, it would be a... much better place to fuck you than the floor. But I do admit-" he shuddered, "looking at my brother's old pictures staring at us is very creepy."

You giggled into his chest, as you felt sleep hit your mind. You yawned, and settled yourself comfortably into his arms, warmth enclosing you, like a fur coat or like a boy carefully drawing a bear on your coffee every Saturday.

#sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut imagines #enha smut #enhypen smut reactions #enhypen smut #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon smut imagines #enhypen smut drabbles #enhypen smut fic #enha smut fic #sunghoon smut fic #sunghoon smut drabble #enhypen reactions #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen hard hours #enhypen oneshots #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #sunghoon fanfic #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen sunghoon #smut oneshot #smut

[meownotgood]

married life / hayakawa aki

married life with house-husband aki.

pairing: hayakawa aki x gn!reader

genre: headcanons / fluff, just lots of domestic sweetness

note: this post is sfw, but this account contains nsfw content. please do not follow if you are a minor.

❥ You were the one who proposed first. It started as an off-handed remark: Hey, Aki, have you ever considered getting married? Without fully understanding what you were implying, he replies, I'm not sure, but I wouldn't mind being married to you. Needless to say, you popped the question not long after.

❥ You'll never forget the look on Aki's face when you asked him to marry you: his eyes were wide, and his face was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. When he tried to speak, all that came out were incoherent stutters, but as he knelt down and hugged you, you heard him whisper, Yes. I'd love to.

❥ You consider yourself fortunate that your job has always allowed you to live comfortably, your salary easily enough for two people to live off of. For the first time in, well, ever, Aki doesn't have to be working himself to the bone all the time. He isn't used to this, and it took some adjusting to, but once he settled in his new peaceful lifestyle, he grew to really take a liking to it.

❥ Aki enjoys dwelling in something simpler, in a quiet sense of home. He finds comfort in the little things, in taking care of day-to-day tasks and the household chores. When you come home, a smile on your face once you see what he made for dinner, the stress leaving your shoulders when he tells you how he took care of everything — Don't worry about anything at all, you can relax now. When he's able to help you, to let his beloved feel at ease, it makes it all worth it.

❥ He's always been a chef at heart, so Aki enjoys making you dinner every single night. He asks you what you'd like to eat tonight before you leave for work, and he gives you a few suggestions if you aren't sure. He makes a mental note of all the ingredients he needs to pick up from the store. Then, he prepares dinner in earnest, expertly chopping vegetables, adding spices and having a taste to make sure it's perfect. He always plans it perfectly so that as soon as you come home, you'll have a delicious hot meal ready for you.

❥ Over the months and years you've spent together, Aki has memorized all of your preferences. He knows what flavors you like, and he remembers what you don't like; he always excludes those things from the recipe.

❥ You're no stranger to breakfast in bed, either; Aki will crawl out of bed as softly as possible, cooking quietly in the kitchen, careful to avoid stepping on the floorboards that creak. He'll brew some hot coffee, waking you up with a kiss to the forehead, a steaming mug and a plate of pancakes in his hands. Good morning. Did you have sweet dreams?

❥ When you arrive home from a long day of work, Aki takes your coat off your shoulders at the door, hanging it on the coat rack. He unites your shoes for you, then wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace, his hand tenderly holding the back of your head. The very first thing he says to you each and every time is, Welcome home, I missed you so much. How was work?

❥ And when he can tell that you've come home stressed and upset, he wastes no time, pulling you into a tight hug the second you've walked in the door. Bad day, huh? C'mere. Let me hold you.

❥ Aki makes you boxed lunches in the morning for you to take to eat at work. He makes sure each one is a balanced meal, with enough nutrients to get you through the day. There's always a hand-written note tucked inside, wishing you a good day at work, and reminding you of how much he loves you. Have a good day today. Hey, there's a festival going on downtown tonight, would you like to go? Let me know later. I love you. :)

❥ If you happen to forget your lunch on the counter, Aki will drive all the way to your work just to hand it to you. He pretends not to overhear when you start bragging to your co-workers about how much of an amazing husband he is, but he's smiling to himself on the entire drive home.

❥ Honestly, he'll never get used to you calling him your husband. It always makes his heart flutter and warmth rise to his cheeks. He still can't believe this is real, that he is married to the love of his life, and gets to spend the rest of his days peacefully beside them. After everything he's been through, he thinks he deserves it.

❥ He frequently admires his wedding ring, turning it over and rubbing his thumb along the smooth surface when he's reminded that it's still attached to his finger. Real, tangible proof of your marriage, proof that you belong to each other. Aki's heart skips a beat just looking at it. Sometimes, whilst you sleep, he'll grasp your hand and admire your own ring, too.

❥ You don't think you've done your own laundry since Aki moved in — He's always done it for you. He quickly learned what goes in all of your drawers, and how you like to organize your closet. When he washes your clothes, he seperates the whites from the darks, and he uses a special fabric softener that leaves them smelling divine. He folds all of your clothes neatly, and if you wish, he'll even pick out outfits for you, arranging everything so that you never have to worry about what you're going to wear in the morning.

❥ Aki makes sure every single chore is handled before you even come home. Dishes? Yep, he's already washed them, dried them, and put them away. Trash? He took it out ages ago. You don't have to stress about any of it.

❥ As he cleans the house, dusting every surface, he admires all of your knick-knacks, all of your belongings that have blended with his since you've moved in. He's extremely careful with your things, setting them back exactly where they were. A soft smile settles on his face when he gazes at the photo frames of you and him, and all of the pictures you've taken together.

❥ There's photos from your honeymoon (his arm is around you, you're kissing his cheek), and your wedding (he's crying like a baby at the altar, his hands clasped in yours). When you took visits to both his hometown and your own, you look lots of pictures of the scenery. And there's even shots from your various vacations, including his favorite picture of you that he's ever taken — You're at the beach, the waves washing over your toes, the sunset illuminating you perfectly. You look amazing, but honestly, Aki thinks you're stunning in every single one. He feels delighted to be reminded of those memories.

❥ Aki's favorite part of housework is tending to the garden. He waters the flower beds with a watering can, and then carefully tends to the soil of the plants. The best part is harvesting everything he's grown — tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, strawberries — and letting you have a taste. He'll chop up the cucumbers into slices for you, he'll make a cake out of the strawberries and feed you a slice. Is it good? Tell me what you want me to grow next year. I was thinking lettuce would be nice, I can make us some salads.

❥ He still has much to learn, but Aki managed to pick up sewing in the time while you're away at work; if you ever rip your clothing, or if the washing machine ever snags a button, he'll sew it back up for you, just the way it was.

❥ Although you tend to be busy, you and Aki have a designated date night where you always spend time with each other. Sometimes you go out to a fancy restaurant. Aki helps you pick out a glamorous outfit, does your hair for you, and stands behind you, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head as he clasps your necklace. Oh, you look so perfect, sweetheart. I can't believe I get to call you mine.

❥ He opens the car door for you when you arrive, and he allows you to hold his arm as you step out. When you sit down, he pushes in your seat for you. And of course, he orders for you, too. If there's something on the menu you said you might want to try but weren't sure if you'd like it, that's what he orders, and he's sure to give you a bite. If you enjoy it more than what you ordered, he'll swap your plates. And if you choose to order something out of your comfort zone, he orders your favorite, so that if you dislike your meal, he can just give you his. Aki spends more time helplessly staring at you than he does eating, anyways.

❥ But, if you're not feeling up to anything crazy, Aki is perfectly fine spending date night staying in. You'll cozy up on the couch, a blanket over your bodies as you watch whatever movie you've been dying to see. Aki pops homemade popcorn for the two of you. When you fall asleep on his shoulder, he turns off the television and carries you to bed in his arms.

❥ Aki wouldn't force you to, but if you wanted to take his last name, he'd be absolutely overjoyed. He would be honored to give you such an important part of himself. A smile tugs at the corners of his cheeks whenever he watches you sign paperwork with Hayakawa, and tears well in his eyes when the two of you visit the graves of his family, reminders that he isn't alone anymore, that you're his family now.

❥ Each night, you have a routine of telling Aki how your day went. Aki recounts everything he managed to get done today, and you tell him about anything exciting that happened, or rant to him about all of your stresses. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and Aki rubs slow, soothing circles on your back.

❥ He listens intently to every detail, praising you for your accomplishments: You finished that big project you were telling me about last week, didn't you? You've been working so hard love, why don't we do something special tomorrow to celebrate? Or, comforting you when you've had a shitty day: I'm sorry, baby. I don't understand why your boss has to be such an ass sometimes. If there's anything I can do to help you out tomorrow, just tell me.

❥ And yes, Aki knows that you really need your sleep for the busy day ahead, but sometimes, he just can't help but keep you up. It's not his fault you're so perfect he can't stop staring. You certainly can't blame him for wanting to kiss every inch of your sleepy face over and over again, until there isn't a single place his lips haven't pressed to.

❥ If you can't fall asleep, Aki holds you close and hums you a lullaby. It's some dumb love song he heard on the radio that reminded him if you. He can't remember the lyrics, but he still remembers the melody.

❥ You quickly discovered that when he gets really comfy, drifting into a deep sleep, cuddled up beside you, Aki snores a little. Not very loudly, just a quiet, low hum each time he breathes. You're sure he doesn't know, and you'll never tell him. You find it absolutely adorable, and his gentle snores always help to lull you right to sleep.

❥ Before he met you, Aki would have terrible nightmares every time he slept. It was unavoidable — Nightmares about his family, about devils, reenactments of every memory he's ever tried to forget. But now, as he drifts off in your arms, he has nothing but good, pleasant dreams.

❥ Aki will try his best to make sure you are never late for work, offering his assistance in the morning in any way he can, but if you ever are late, it was probably because he didn't want to let you go. He grumbles in your ear when your alarm goes off, his arms around you pulling you closer to his warm body. You say something about needing to get ready, but he just holds you tighter, sleepily mumbling, Just five more minutes.

❥ Your morning routine has been carefully woven into his. Aki brushes his teeth beside you, so close his shoulder is nearly touching yours. As you brush your hair, he ties up his, and once he's done, he's wrapping his arms around your waist and peppering your shoulder with gentle kisses. When you're showering, he writes cute love messages on the fogged up mirror for you to see when you get out. He never forgets to give you a goodbye kiss before you leave for work.

❥ Aki is always paying careful attention to your health and his own, so it isn't often that either of you fall ill. He always reminds you to take your vitamins in the morning, and he makes sure the meals he prepares are as balanced as possible. But, in the unlikely case that you happen to get sick, Aki takes the best care of you.

❥ He can tell you're not feeling well when you wake up stuffy and exhausted. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, and when he feels the heat radiating from your skin, he shuffles out of bed to grab the thermometer. You have a terrible fever. Stay home today, sweetheart. I'll call your boss for you.

❥ He makes you easy to digest meals, he brings a wet washcloth and lays it over your forehead. Don't even think about getting out of bed, because Aki will make certain you're getting plenty of rest. If you're bored, he has no problem sitting next to you and reading you a book until you fall into a peaceful slumber. He doesn't care if it's gross, you can sniffle and wipe your nose all over his t-shirt and he won't mind. He'll hold your hair for you and softly stroke your back if you have to throw up, and he'll toss your pile of used tissues while asking you if you need some more.

❥ You tell him to sleep on the couch that night so he won't catch your sickness, but he never listens; he sleeps with his arms around you without fail. You'll be alright, just rest up. I'm here if you need anything.

❥ If you come home from a particularly bad day, Aki will immediately run a warm bubble bath for you. I'll have the bath ready for you soon, darling. Do you need anything else? He lights some nice smelling incense and candles. Then, he helps you strip down and slip into the relaxing hot water. Before he leaves to toss your clothes in the washer, he asks if you want him to bring you anything to drink, or if you'd like a shoulder massage.

❥ It wouldn't be hard to convince him to come in the bath with you. He'll let you lean on his chest while he washes your hair, his fingers gently scrubbing your scalp until you feel like you could fall asleep right then and there. And of course, he dries you off afterwards, wrapping your body up in a warm towel he took straight out of the dryer.

❥ Even if it makes it more difficult, he always keeps an arm linked with yours while he does the dishes, or a hand intertwined with your own when he's preparing dinner. If he absolutely can't, he takes regular breaks just to pepper your face with kisses.

❥ Aki also takes breaks from cooking dinner just to slow dance with you in the kitchen when your favorite song comes on the radio. He doesn't have the best rhythm, and he's still trying to get the hang of it — He apologizes for stepping on your toes, you simply laugh and kiss his lips.

❥ When the weekend comes, you and Aki like to spend the night drinking at home, sitting on the balcony and watching the twinkling stars. Aki always seems to end up getting just a little too drunk, his face flushed out, his words slurred when he babbles every little thing that comes into his mind. You're so perfect, you know that? C'mere, I wanna kiss you.

❥ If you go out to drink instead, Aki is always the designated driver. He watches you carefully, making sure you don't drink too much, keeping his arm around you when the bar starts to get busy. He never has a lot to drink himself so that he can drive the both of you home safely.

❥ Aki has no problem driving you anywhere, really. He's probably the best driver you know, and he always asks you if your seatbelt is on before he even shifts the car out of park.

❥ If you ever bring up the idea of starting a family together, Aki immediately turns into a blushing mess. He isn't opposed, not at all, in fact. The idea makes him feel warm inside — Settling down with you, raising a family of his own, growing old together with the one he loves. He'd be there by your side for the whole thing, helping you paint the walls of your spare bedroom, or taking care of the kids while you're away at work. He'll finally quit smoking for good, like he's been meaning to do for a long while. You're both still a little too young to think about it now, he figures, but sometime in the future, he'd love to have that kind of life with you.

❥ Your parents love Aki, that's just a given. He's so polite, kind and sweet, and so willing to help at every turn. He feels truly elated whenever he gets the chance to impress them with his cooking. He'll always participate in your family traditions, no matter how odd or unfamiliar. Honestly, your parents are happy for you, and it makes his heart feel full to know they're glad to call him their son-in-law.

❥ Aki will kill all the bugs in the house if you're too scared of them. You don't have to fear spiders ever again when he's around, just call for him to come take care of it and he'll come running with the bug swatter.

❥ He never, ever forgets an important date. Aki already has the most lovely day planned out for the two of you on your anniversary months in advance, and he's up until 12 in the morning baking you a delicious cake the day before your birthday.

❥ If you prefer, Aki will be the one to schedule all of your doctor's appointments for you, and he has no problem always being the one to call if you're ordering take-out.

❥ He tries his hardest to understand all of your interests, and he diligently remembers even the smallest of details about yourself. Oh, when you were in grade school, you went on a trip to the aquarium that you never forgot? Aki takes you there on your days off, and he always recalls which exhibits are your absolute favorite. He asks you questions about your hobbies, and enjoys watching you partake in them. He'll even try to learn them if he can, so he can enjoy the things you love together alongside you.

❥ Aki tells you he loves you at every opportunity. I love you is the first thing you hear when you wake, and the last thing you hear before you fall asleep. At the altar, he said it as a promise, a declaration to be in love with you for the rest of his life. And he says it now, breathlessly, in between every kiss he places on your lips. I love you, more than anything. You're the one I want to be with for the rest of my life, I'm sure of it. I couldn't imagine living without you, my angel.

❥ Aki is forever grateful to wake up every morning by your side, your face being the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. In many ways, he doesn't understand how he got so lucky, fortunate enough to live such a perfect life. If anything, he promises to never take it for granted, to love you and care for you until it's all over. You changed his life, and he wants to make sure every single day, you know you mean more to him than all of the stars in the glittering night sky. He's glad to call himself your husband, and he's even happier to be able to call you his.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa fluff #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader

[literallylexa]

Dean x Reader: SMUT

“Stopping the Hunt”

Prompt: Dean shows up every time you finally “get over him.” Sam goes to hell and Dean comes to you for refuge. However, you already have a boyfriend. Dean gets jealous and you get angry.

Warning: angst, smut, depression, Dean being jealous

Dean’s arms just do something to me

💜•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••💜

The hunting life never has been your thing. Ever since you were one of the victims of a vampire attack, you’ve kept an eye out for the supernatural. That’s how you met Dean Winchester. He was everything you wanted in a man. Protective, strong, caring, he’d do anything for you or his brother Sam. However, you knew that you could never have a relationship with Dean, just due to how his life is. He’s always on the road and put into dangerous situations. He’s nothing but a phone call and a fuck buddy every now and then. You always wanted more though. He was irresistible. Little did you know, Dean felt the same way.

You’ve moved on from Dean Winchester though, you think to yourself. Sometimes..well all the time you think about him. Sometimes romantically, sometimes not. After you started dating your current boyfriend, Edward, you decided it was time to move on from Dean. You’d never be able to have a relationship with that man. Never more than just an occasional booty call.

Tonight is date night. You shouldn’t be thinking about Dean Winchester anyways. You’re going out to have fun!

-I’ll be there in 10

Edward- Okay, I’m at the bar meet me there. Usual spot

You sigh and look into the mirror while fixing your hair. Today you decided to have it down, natural. You glance over your body, making sure the little black dress doesn’t have any stains on it. You decided to wear makeup tonight, wispy lashes, eyeliner, and some faint red glossy lipstick. You pucker your lips together, checking for any cracks and then reapplying some more. You rub your lips together making sure they’re covered. You take one more look at yourself before you grab your heels and purse.

The nightlife was always fun. You always like to try a new drink everytime you go, you’re very adventurous. On the day to day life your more to yourself, but once the alcohol comes out you’re very extroverted. Making new friends, meeting new people, dancing and singing the night away. Sometimes a drink fixes your worries, washing them away as the night goes on. Washes away Dean, all the supernatural shit you’ve seen, all their deaths. If you could take it all back, you would. You never wanted to be a hunter, you never wanted to know about the supernatural. You’ve never wanted to meet Dean.

As the night goes on the more progressively drunk you get. Heels come off, and no fucks are given. You grind against Edward in the bar, dancing along with some friends who stopped by. Edward grabs your hips, swaying them side to side against his cock. Maybe other things were taken that night other then alcohol, but it sure as hell felt amazing.

The night always ends in your bed, skin slapping and moans fill the air. Sheets on the mattress had lifted up and pillows fallen off the bed.

The morning always ends the same too. Alone.

You look over next to you in bed and Edward has already left. He never stays around anyways. Life sometimes gets lonely. Your parents aren’t around anymore, few friends live in the same state as you. Before Edward you were hanging out with random girls at the club and bringing home one night stands. Going to work, eating, drinking, fucking, then sleeping. Sometimes you’d occasionally look at a case online, send it to some hunters and go on about your business. People like you..who know what’s out there aren’t meant for happy endings.

You finally get out of bed. Sliding into some ugg slippers and long tee shirt with nothing underneath. You head over to the kitchen and begin to brew some coffee when a knock at your door gets your attention. Heart pounding you head over to the door. You look out your peep hole and gasp. Before you open the door you go to your pantry and grab some holy water along with a silver knife. With shaky hands you unlock the door and open it. Immediately you throw the holy water and cut the person.

“(Y/N)!” Dean yells out, “I’m not a damn demon. Or a shapeshifter. It’s me!”

“Dean what the fuck are you doing here?” You demand. Last time your encounter didn’t go well with him. You were stupid enough to tell him how you felt and he left the next morning. Typical.

“It’s a lot but I promise to explain if you let me in.” Dean says, hope glistening in his eyes.

You could never resist him. As much as you wanted to you couldn’t. “Fine. I’m making coffee. Sit your ass down and tell me what the fuck happened.”

Dean smiles and sits down at the dining room table. “Same as I remembered it. A little updated though. Looks good.” Dean looks around your house.

“Where’s Sam?” You ask Dean, setting down a cup of coffee in front of him. Dean immediately takes a sip, groaning as he swallows, “So good (Y/N).” Dean groans, “I’ve been all over the country but they never make coffee like yours.”

You laugh to yourself. It’s nice for someone to appreciate you once in a while. Even if it’s Dean doing the appreciating. “I let you in so now you have to tell me what’s going on. What did you and Sam get yourselfs into now?”

Dean takes another sip and sets the mug down, his demeanor changing. He begins to tell you the story about letting Lucifer about the cage, Lilith, Sam being Lucifer’s vessel. “Sam is in hell, (Y/N)..with the devil himself.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh my god-goodness Dean.” You correct yourself. Maybe God shouldn’t be mentioned in this senerio. “Whats the plan to get him back?”

“There’s no plan.” Dean says looking down.

“Where do you plan on staying?”

“I have Baby.”

“Dean…” You say, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. “Why don’t you just stay with me for a little. I have a comfortable couch, Baby has a parking spot.” You smile down at him. You could have sworn that his emerald eyes were tearing up. Before you could look at him better, Dean turns his head away, wiping his face. “So what’s going on with you?” Dean asks. You weren’t going to admit you already had a boyfriend just yet. “Oh just the same old shit.” You chuckle, looking around nervously.

“Don’t tell me you’ve met someone?” Dean says, “I can tell when you’re lying.” 

“Ok yeah I met somebody. But it’s no big deal.” You say.

Dean seemed almost irritated when you admitting to it. “I shouldn’t stay.”

“Dean, no I insist.” You plead. As much as your and Dean’s relationship is strained, you never want to see him hurt. “How about we get some breakfast?” You ask, trying to change the conversation. Dean thinks for a moment but ultimately said yes.

•••

After breakfast with Dean, everything was back to what it was. Laughing, flirting a little bit, telling stories. Sam wasn’t mentioned during that conversation though. You know Dean will bring it up when he wants to.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” You tell Dean. “And let’s have you take a shower huh?” You squeeze your nose in between your fingers and Dean pushes ur arm jokingly. Dean brings his belongings out of the impala, just two duffle bags and some guns.

“We can buy you a little dresser so you can put all your shit in. Sorry I don’t have another room for you.” You say to Dean as he begins to walk up the stairs.

“No (Y/N), you’ve already done a lot. No need to worry about that…well maybe I could use some soap. I don’t want to smell like flowers and rainbows.” Dean laughs.

“It’s mixed berry, asshole!” You yell at him going up the stairs.

Moments later you hear the water turn on. You smile to yourself. Dean Winchester living in your house. You began to imagine yourself with him, but those thoughts are quickly wiped away when your phone buzzes. Edward. Right. You’re dating Edward, you have been dating Edward for the last couple months. Edward is normal. Edward has a future for himself. A stable job, family, friends, a home. Edward is good for you. You sigh out loud, frustrated with yourself thinking about Dean. Dean will eventually leave anyways. Unless he’s done hunting. But he won’t ever stop hunting. Your mind races back and forth. You decide to answer your phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey baby. The bar is having some event tonight, rock and roll music and shit. Want to come? Just meet me there.” Edward says.

“Oh sure. I’ll be there tonight.” You say and end the phone call. Fuck. Maybe you can just leave Dean here and go out.

You decide to clean up to distract yourself from thinking about the two men. You hear the stairs creek as Dean comes downstairs. You turn around and look at him. The sight of him made you breathless. Combed, wet hair dripping onto his tight grey shirt. He’s not wearing a flannel, so his large muscular arms are showing, veins going down them to his hands. His jeans fitting him perfectly, you could see every inch of him. Your eyes wander to his groin area, slightly seeing a bulge through the jeans. For once you don’t see him wearing shoes but only white socks.

“I definitely used up all your hot water.” Dean laughs, running a towel through his hair to dry it.

“What a gentleman.” You say to him. Guess you’ll have to wait to take a shower too.

“If you would have joined me you could have had some hot water too.” Dean winks at you.

“Uh huh in your dreams.” (Or maybe yours) “Soo..” You begin to say, “Tonight at the bar they have a rock and roll night. Want to join? Get some drinks, meet some girls?” You say.

Dean thinks for a moment before saying yes. “Is your little boyfriend going to be there?”

“Yeah he is, but he won’t be a bother. He usually talks to his friends anyways.” You say.

The rest of the afternoon is going great. You do some errands with Dean and Baby of course. It was nice not to drive all the time. It felt nice having Dean drive you around, taking you wherever you wanted. You get some burgers for a quick lunch and head back home. Dean turns on the TV while you put away the groceries and clean up around the house. Dean walks over to the porch and looks at to your backyard. “You need to cut the grass. Do you have a lawnmower?” Dean asks.

“I usually just pay somebody to do it. Clearly it’s been neglected.” You say, standing out on the porch with him. Your yard was fenced in, perfect for a dog.

“Guess I’ll just have to do it tomorrow.” Dean says.

A warm feeling goes through your body as Dean says that. You could imagine him cutting the grass, getting all sweaty and you throw him a beer. When he comes inside you make him some food and make love in the shower after-

“If you do that I’m going to pay you.” You say to Dean quickly.

“You’re already letting me live here. That’s the least I can do for you (Y/N).” Dean looks down at you. The sun shines on his skin perfectly, making it golden. His green eyes have little bits of yellow and blue in the suns rays. You notice Dean looking at your lips, traveling down to your collarbone, and down to your breasts. You get embarrassed from him looking. He’s already seen you naked before, many times. Dean licks his lips as he looks back up into your eyes.

“I’m going to get dressed.” You leave him there on the porch. You run back up to your room and shut the room quickly. Your heart races. You cannot get involved with Dean again, at least romantically. He will leave. He always does. Tears begin to form in your eyes but you wipe them away quickly. Maybe you did love Dean, but you could never admit that- not even to yourself. If you did you’d just get hurt.

You put on some makeup once again. Wispy lashes, eye liner, lip gloss, highlighter and blush. You put on a small dress again, with some heels. As you begin to walk down the stairs you get nervous about Dean seeing you. “Are you ready to go Dean?” You yell out as you walk down the stairs.

“Yeah I’m-“ Dean stops in his tracks, mouth wide. You could have sworn to see his bulge grow through his pants. “Goddamn (Y/N).” Dean practically drools. He eye fucks you with his green eyes, not missing a single inch of your body. Your hair to your plump glossy lips, breasts pushed up from your dress, your legs and thick thighs exposed, he was even infatuated with your beautiful feet in those sexy, scandalous heels. Dean gulps multiple times, hands beginning to sweat, increasingly getting aroused by your figure. Dean grabs your purse for you along with his leather jacket. You guys get into the impala and head to the bar.

It was already packed by the time you two got there. Music loud, tables filled. You lead Dean over to your usual spot at the bar and order drinks for the two of you. “(Y/N)!” Edward comes over, obviously already drunk. He slings his arm around your shoulder and slyly squeezes your left boob. You jump in your seat, startled by the sudden grope. Out of the corner of your eye you see Dean’s nostrils flare, lips puckered in annoyance.

“Edward uhm, this is Dean Winchester. He’s my friend from a while back.” You say.

Edward makes an effort to be touching you. He sets his drink onto the bar counter, standing behind you while you sit in the chair. One hand on your shoulder, and one on your thigh, almost completely underneath your already short tight dress. “So you’re the one (Y/N) used to talk about huh.” Edward chuckles.

You mentally face palm. Fuck you forgot you told Edward about how Dean left you once. Dean clenches his jaw, passes a side eye to you. He takes a sip of his drink and sets it back down. “And I haven’t heard anything about you.” Dean pulls an angry grin.

“Ahh alright how about we have some shots!” You yell to the two of them. “3 shots please!” You call out to the bar tender.

“We’re about to start another game of pool. Dean, you wanna join?” Edward asks.

“I’d be happy to.” Dean takes the shot like water. Edward also takes it, slightly grimacing at the taste. You shake your head and take your own shot, immediately ordering another one after.

Edward takes you by the waist and walks you over to the pool table, Dean following behind. Some of Edward’s friends join in, along with some strangers to watch. Rock and Roll plays, Eye of the Tiger starts up, getting the bar riled up. Edward starts first, getting a ball into the hole. He grabs you by the hips afterward, standing behind you he presses his clothed cock against your ass. You intently watch Dean durning his turn. His muscles flex when he moves, shirt fitting him tightly, riding up his back as he leans over the pool table. You knew Edward was no match for Dean playing pool. Dean hit three balls in durning his turn. He turns around, smirking at you and glares at Edward. Edward goes next. Dean stands close to you durning your boyfriends turn. You could smell his cologne, god he always smells so good. The side of your hip brushed against him a couple times as you move around a bit, each time you touched slightly you felt shivers down your entire body. Maybe it was the alcohol hitting.

As they play, the more increasingly angry Edward gets. As they play, the more cocky Dean gets. Edward begins to not notice you anymore. Durning one of Edward’s turns, Dean wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “You’re beating his ass.” You whisper over to Dean, standing on your tippy toes to reach his ear. He chuckles, looking down at you and smiling. “We need to play again sometime.” You laugh and bump him with your hip, causing his hand to fall and wrap around your waist instead. You felt dizzy from Dean’s touch. “I guess you just want me to beat your ass again.” You jokingly tell Dean. Everytime you play, you would always beat him and Sam. They would always say that you’re cheating. Dean slightly squeezes your love handle as he begins to pull away, “How about you grab us some more drinks, huh sweetheart?”

Shivers get sent down to your pussy. His husky voice never fails to make you wet and horny. When you get to the bar, you take two shots of your own, and bring a tray to the pool table. Dean and Edward finish the tray themselves, trying to out do each other.

Everything is blurry at this point. Dean, Edward, and you were clearly wasted. The pool game finishes, and of course, Dean wins. Everyone cheers out for Dean, including you. Without thinking, you jump into his arms and hug him. Dean holds you up by your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. “Shots for everyone!!” Dean yells. Everyone heads over to the bar. Besides you. When you get off Dean you begin to walk with him and the crowd, however Edward holds you back into the crowd. He grips your wrists tight, causing it to hurt. “What the fuck was that (Y/N)!?” He yells at you.

“Get the fuck off me! You’re drunk!” You yell at him, trying to swat his hands away. His grip only tightens and he begins to pull you to the bathrooms. “Get off me!” You yell at Edward, trying to pull away. He slams you against the wall, head facing it. “Why the fuck are you hanging out with Dean Winchester?” He spits, grabbing your hair into a ponytail. Panic spreads through your body. Fight or flight. Well, you ain’t no bitch, you’re a fighter. You slam your head backwards, head bumping Edward. He falls to the floor dizzy. For a minute you could have sworn his eyes turn black. Doesn’t matter if it was your eyes playing tricks on you, you were out of the bathroom in a second. Hurriedly, you squeeze through the crowd in the bar, trying to find Dean. “Dean!” You yell out. You can’t find him. You exit the bar and begin to call Dean. No answer. Fuck fuck fuck. You take a breath to calm yourself. Putting your hair up into a ponytail, you begin to head back into the bar. Before you even step foot, the door opens, revealing Dean.

“(Y/N)! Where were you? Are you okay?” Dean asks worriedly. He grabs your shoulders and look down at you, scanning your face. He looks down at your wrists and they are red. “That motherfucker.” Dean grits his teeth. He gives you the keys to Baby. “Sit down. I’ll be back okay?”

“I feel like I saw black eyes.” You say.

“I’ll go in there with that expectation.” Dean says, looking at you. He stops for a second before pulling you into a tight embrace. “I’ll be back okay?” He repeats. You nod your head and begin to walk to Baby.

Not even 5 minutes later Dean comes out the bar, fists clenched. A pissed off expression covers his face. He slams the door when he enters the impala.

“Stupid ass fucking piece of shit Edward Cullen is not going to contact you again.” Dean murmurs. He steps on the gas and drives you back home. The car ride was quiet. Somehow along the way Dean had placed a gentle hand on your thigh. You accepted it, placing your hand ontop of his. You let down Baby’s windows, needing to feel the fresh air.

You and Dean enter your house. He helps you take off your heels and makes you sit on the couch. He takes off his jacket and sits next to you. You lay your head down onto his shoulder, sighing. “What is this, Dean? What are you and me?” You ask. The alcohol is still making you bold. Dean must still be feeling the alcohol too. Your glossy eyes look at each other for a little bit too long. “I want you, (Y/N).” Dean says. “Dean…I can’t do this if you are going to leave again.” You whisper. Dean’s eyes shine, a sorrow expression on his face.

“He wasn’t a demon, (Y/N).” Dean says. “For once, I’m thankful it wasn’t. I’m tired, (Y/N). I’m done hunting. I want to start over. I want to start over with you.”

Your lips crashed against his wet, plump lips. He gently grabs the back of your head, pulling you in closer. You moan into his mouth. Your tongues dance together and you French kiss. Dean lifts you up and places you into his lap. You grind down onto his already hard bulge. Your dress has already lifted up all the way, exposing your black lace thong. Dean moans at the sight of you. He lifts your dress off your body, immediately kissing and licking the top of your breasts. You grind down harder on Dean, needing to feel more friction against your clit. Dean takes your bra off, exposing your breasts to the cold air. He takes one nipple at a time, licking and sucking, swirling it in his mouth getting it hard. He massages your other boob in the process. You beg Dean to take off his shirt. He obliges, exposing his abs and muscles. Dean kisses all over your neck, collarbone, and down to your titties. You needed more of him. “Dean, baby, please I-“ He cuts you off with a kiss, his fingerings beginning to trail down to your soaking wet pussy. “Baby you are so wet for me.” Dean groans. You grind against his fingers, trying not to moan loud. Dean lays you down onto the chaise of the couch, while he is on his knees at the bottom of it. He pulls your thong to the side, exposing your pussy to him. His thumb slowly and gently rubs your hard clit, circling it. He begins to taste you, moaning as he does so, lapping all your juices like he’s thirsty. You swore you could have just come undone by him tongue fucking you. When he adds a finger into your soaking wet hole you scream. “Fuck Dean!” You feel as his thick, long fingers fill your hole. He curls them, hitting your spot. With his other hand he continues to rub your clit. One hand grips onto his dirty blonde locks, while the other is trying to grab onto the couch. Dean chuckles watching you unfold in front of him.

“Dean I’m going to cum.” You cry in urgency, moaning out his name. Dean decides to add another finger inside you, stretching you out with his three fingers. With another flick of your clit, you tense up and shake, and cum with a cry out. He doesn’t stop though, he rides out your orgasm, fucking you with his fingers and playing with your engorged clitrous. You body feels warm, like you’ve been sweating. Dean pulls his fingers out of you and gives you a long lick, your hole to your clit. You shudder.

However Dean is not finished with you. He unbuttons his pants, pulling down them along with his boxers, his cock popping out. Dean gives it a couple strokes, looking at your body. “Come here baby.” Dean instructs. He has you sit up on the couch while he stands. You greedily lick his cock from his balls to his tip, swirling your tongue around the tip of his penis, then planning your lips around it, sucking it to the base of his cock, choking at the length. Dean moans your name and gently holds your hair up for you, out of your face. You massage his balls with your hands, while you fuck him with your mouth. Dean cusses and shivers as you deep throat him. Dean makes you stop, pulling you up to kiss him, tasting his own cock in his mouth. Dean smacks your ass a couple times and swings you unexpectedly over his shoulders. He carry’s you up the stairs and lays you down onto bed, missionary style.

“I’ve missed you.” Dean moans into your ear, stroking his cock. “I’ve missed everything about you.” He kisses you, placing a hand on your neck, holding you in place.

Dean puts your legs over his shoulders and slowly slides his large cock into your vagina. You feel your walls opening up around him, gripping his cock tight. He begins to pump you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, telling you how sexy, and beautiful you are. How much he cares for you, how much he loves you. He’s making love to you. You moan his name out, his dick pumping deep inside of you, making your toes curl. “Dean you feel so good inside me!” You cry out, your nails trailing down his back making red marks. Dean groans into your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and hickeys along it. “If you keep on talking I’m going to cum.” Dean chuckles, making his pace faster.

“Cum for me Dean. Please cum for me!”

With that, Dean pours his cum straight into your pussy, you could feel his dick twitch strongly inside of you. His pulls out, and his cum leaks out of you. He gets off of you, and lays down behind you, pulling you into an embrace. He snuggles his face into your hair, breathing in your scent. “I won’t leave you, (Y/N).”

•••

The birds chirping in the morning wake you up. You roll over to find the bed empty. You sigh, typical. You throw on an oversized tee and head down the stairs, however a smell of fresh coffee, bacon, eggs, and pancakes fill you senses. There Dean is making some breakfast for the two of you. He didn’t leave.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Dean smiles at you, bringing you over a fresh cup of coffee. He places a kiss on your forehead as he does so. “So I’m thinking today I can go and buy that lawnmower…”

The end

Or is it?

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #spn fanfic #dean x reader smut #spn one shot #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #deanwinchtser #dean x female!reader #dean smut #spn imagine #spn smut #smut #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural

[discokicks]

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life. 

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care. 

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting. 

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours. 

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers. 

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something. 

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt? 

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so. 

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth. 

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be. 

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth. 

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it. 

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you. 

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter. 

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis. 

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him. 

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand. 

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number. 

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read. 

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning. 

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names. 

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you. 

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you. 

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.) 

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee. 

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you. 

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight? 

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes. 

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it. 

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat. 

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past. 

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember. 

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips. 

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is. 

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.” 

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him. 

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs. 

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I���ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point. 

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply. 

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back. 

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips. 

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say. 

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close. 

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.” 

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make. 

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing. 

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so. 

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings. 

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention. 

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating. 

me too. 

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #bad ideas #the one who's not a loser but THEE loser #discowrites

[dameronology]

when it rains (obi-wan x reader)

summary: being in love with obi-wan is great - but it might be less difficult if he knew about it. (commission for @ofmusesandsecrets!)

warnings: language

You were generally quite good at keeping your shit together.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been a threat to that.

On the surface, you were everything a Senator could need to be; an intelligent and well-spoken individual, with a high level of education and a passion for change. You always stood up for what you believed in; always spoke up on issues you were passionate about and always fighting the good fight. These were all things that Obi-Wan had loved about you, and in what felt like the galaxy's cruellest Catch 22, it was that love that threatened your ability to upkeep appearances. One glance at him across the Senate, or a brief moment of eye contact at one of the Galas - more often than not where he was your bodyguard - and you were worried it would all come tumbling down.

You had met Kenobi a few years after he'd become a Jedi Master. You were early on in your career as a politician, working as an apprentice to a higher-level representative. Always on the go, with stacks of paperwork in your arms and a million thoughts brewing in your mind, you'd crossed paths with Obi-Wan one morning during a meeting in the Temple. He'd given you a smile, made a quip about how he'd never seen you not on the go (which confirmed to you that he had seen you before and had stared long enough to notice those details about you).

Five years later, you hadn't been able to look at anyone else.

He was your best friend now, undoubtedly and wholly. You saw each other every day at the least - maybe in meetings and occasionally in passing - but he would come to your apartment every night without fail. Mostly just to catch up, and sometimes just to vent. Even on the days where Anakin had driven him to the point of grey hair, you were still happy to listen.

It was raining tonight in Coruscant. A lot. Lashing down from the sky, putting most of the city to a halt. Your afternoon meeting had been cancelled as a result, which meant you'd been holed up in your apartment all afternoon, a mug of tea in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other. Obi-Wan's first ever comment to you had always rung true; you were always on the go, even when you were sat still. There was always something on your mind - something to create, something to do, something to debate. Sometimes, it made Obi-Wan want to grab your shoulders, give you a little shake and tell you to slow the fuck down.

He turned up just after 8PM - drenched, as expected, and with a slightly wet coffee cup in hand. In your line of work, you could afford a slow afternoon. For Obi-Wan, your busiest day of work was comparable to one he'd find relaxing. You had no doubt that he'd not long wrapped up for the night, so you wasted no time in stepping aside and letting him into your apartment.

"Long day?" you asked, eyebrows raised.

Obi-Wan glared at you. "Long day. Wet day."

"Right, sorry," you snorted. Taking the coffee cup out his hands, you tossed it into the garbage and headed towards your kitchen. "C'mon, I'll make you a drink that's not half rainwater."

"Thank you, darling," he gave you a small smile, hot on your tail as he followed you through the apartment. "I heard the Senate meeting was called early this afternoon."

"Yeah," you replied. "At like 2PM. Half the people due to come couldn't make it due to the weather. It took me two hours to get home."

"You should have come and found me at the Temple," Obi-Wan said. "You know my room is always available."

You knew. You'd always known, even on the nights when Obi-Wan was present there too. How many times had you stayed over after a long night? Snuck back there after a Gala? Just to sleep three feet apart, both your minds working at a thousand miles an hour, purely to resist the urge to reach out towards him and curl up into his side. The idea of domesticity with Obi-Wan was almost enough to kill you, just as it was right now. Here he was, leant against your kitchen counter. He was throwing his wet cloak into your tumble drier, hands reaching for a tea towel on the side. He was acting like he lived here, like he paid half the rent and maker, you wished he would. You wished that he would come back here every night and just fucking stay. With you, here, forever. No outside world; no politics; no stupid Jedi laws.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

You blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Your mind - it went somewhere," Obi-Wan continued. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, uh...just work," you forced a smile. "You know how it is."

"I turn off when I'm done," he replied, hand brushing down your arm. "You never really stop, do you?"

I stop thinking about work, you thought to yourself, but I never stop thinking about you.

"No, I will," you murmured. "Sorry."

"Never be sorry," Obi-Wan said.

You snapped back into action, hands quickly chucking ingredients into a mug in order to produce an acceptable cup of coffee. You knew Obi-Wan's routine with his fancy-ass drip filter and organic beans and locally sourced milk. It was a few levels above the instant coffee you were about to press into his hands, but your actions were still met with a smile.

"How are you going to get back to the Temple later?" you asked. "The storm has half the city at a standstill and I beg you not to say that you're walking."

He smiled. "I realised as soon as I got to your building that I may be trapped for the night."

"Right," you replied, fighting back your own smile. "That's sort of the point I was getting to anyways."

Your eyes met, and you couldn't help but sometimes wonder if he felt it too. If his eyes lingered on yours when you turned away, if you were constantly on his mind every moment that you were apart. Of course, it was different for him; after all, the job he'd dedicated his very life to forbade attachment in any form and this? Well, this was the highest form.

"I have some of my brothers clothes in the hallway closet," you broke the silence. "You're welcome to steal some."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Thank you, darling."

It wasn't really a question between you about where he would be sleeping. You only had one bed and you'd already shared before, so what was the point in overcomplicating it? Well...overcomplicating it even more. Nothing about this was simple, and sharing a bed was not the distance you needed for the situation, but what did you care anymore? You yearned to be around the man all the time, even if it meant doing this weird to-and-fro that you'd had going on for half a decade. Him being in your bed just for tonight was fine. You were both tired. You both needed it.

Obi-Wan picked up his mug, giving your arm another squeeze.

"I'm going to go and shower," he said. "Thank you letting me stay."

You smiled and nodded. "Always."

Putting aside your own half empty coffee, you threw it into the sink - that would be tomorrow's problem, as would all of this - and went through to the bedroom. You could hear the shower running, and your mind again went off to that all too familiar place: home. Not here, but wherever Obi-Wan was. What you wouldn't have given to had this every night; you getting ready for bed, him in the shower, both of you planning to end up in the same bed. It wasn't possible. You knew it wasn't possible, as long as he were still a Jedi and as long as you were still a Senator. Hell, you would have thrown your position aside in seconds if it meant being with him. Maybe that was the difference between the two of you.

Changing into a baggy shirt and sweatpants, you threw aside the covers and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold, as they always were when you first went to bed, but knowing someone else was minutes away from warming them up sent butterflies to your stomach. Maybe not butterflies, so much as they were wasps. Big, anxious wasps, at the idea of being in such close proximity with your best friend. What if this was the night that three foot meant fuck all? Maybe you could actually have his arms around; keep him closer for longer, not just a brief hug or a quick touch. This could be it now.

You heard the water shut off and there was a brief shuffling. A few moments later, Obi-Wan exited the bathroom. He'd opted for sweatpants too, but no shirt. Your instincts said to look away, but you couldn't. Hell, you didn't even care that you looked like a creep, watching him as he crossed the room. Obi-Wan barely even noticed, simply placing his boots by the door and climbing into bed beside you. You could feel the heat off his body beside you, arms just inches from touching.

"Was the shower okay?" you asked, eager to break the silence that had once again formed. "I've been having problems with...with my hot water."

"Why are you nervous?"

You blinked. "I'm not nervous."

"Yes, you are," Obi-Wan replied. "You always ramble when you're nervous, and I've never heard you talk about something as boring as how well your shower is working."

"Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

"That still doesn't answer my question," he pushed. "Why are you nervous? It's me, sweetheart."

"Maybe that's exactly why I'm nervous," you muttered. "I'm not sure. I just...it's weird that you're shirtless in my bed."

"Oh," he seemed surprise. "That's okay. I can sleep on the sofa-"

"- no, no, it's fine," you quickly cut him off. "I just never really know what to do these situations, to be honest. When we've slept together before, I've always tried my best to stay on the other side of the bed but...I'm not so sure I want to do that tonight."

Obi-Wan stared blankly ahead for a moment. Okay, so that had been risky as fuck, and for a moment you felt yourself reeling, waiting for his reaction. To your surprise, there wasn't really one. Even when it was the most forward you'd been - without really being forward at all - he still stayed stoic as always. There was no visible response, just a quick blink and a small shrug.

"We're both cold from the rain," he reasoned. "It makes sense. I see no reason why we have to stay on opposite sides of the bed."

Much to your surprise, he was the one to move first. He shuffled onto his side, a large arm coming around your waist and the other snaking underneath you. He pulled you into him, hand guiding your head into his neck and tucking it below his chin. You were stiff for a second, but quickly relaxed - this felt right. Like it was meant to be.

You could faintly smell the remains of his aftershave, mixed with the smell of your shower gel. His skin was still warm from the shower.

(And maybe it was).

"Are you warmer now?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Toasty."

He smiled. "Good - now get some sleep."

You knew the morning would come, and that Obi-Wan would have to leave; you knew even more that this might not happen again. Not unless luck was on your side and would happen to lump you together during a storm, or a black out. Or - and the more terrifying option - that you declared your love for him and this would be how every night was.

It was hard to know; hard to tell and predict, just like everything else in the galaxy. Still, you were grateful that Obi-Wan was your best friend, and even more grateful that you had tonight.

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[nameless-ken]

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

(Please reblog!!!)

Happy reading! Comment below to be added to taglist.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: lots of angst (what's new lol) & cursing

Introduction | Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five

Masterlist

(song for this chapter <3)

Expressing feelings for someone is like navigating a minefield of emotions, each step filled with uncertainty and potential pitfalls. Why isn’t it easier to speak what’s inside our hearts instead of dancing around the truth until it’s too late?

Billy’s confession sent your mind into a tailspin, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. Yet, when the moment came, your voice failed you, as if some invisible force clamped your mouth shut. 

Now, after a week and a half of silent contemplation, you've come to understand the tangled mess of emotions that kept you mute. Billy has morphed into an essential part of your life, straddling the line between friend and something more. Despite your unspoken desires, you've settled into a comfortable routine. You’re fine with being friends or whatever this situationship is because you’ve come to know a truth to it all. Never give more than you are willing to lose.

“I’m not understanding this chapter at all,” Billy's voice interrupts your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. “You okay?”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in a whirlwind of worries. “This one does have some challenging plot points in it, but—”

“Can we stop with the bullshit?” Billy's tone is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “I know something’s been eating at you for like a week now.” He leans in, his eyes searching yours with intensity.

You pause, feeling the weight of his gaze, and finally, the floodgates open. “I’ve just been stressed lately,” you admit, meeting his eyes with a mix of relief and trepidation. “Between helping my dad with bills, failing two tests, and college applications looming, it’s been overwhelming.”

“You know you can always tell me what’s going on. If you need help, I’m always here.” He looks around quickly before sliding his hand across the table to grab yours, giving it a squeeze.

“I know and I’m sorry I haven’t been myself lately.” 

“You don’t have to apologize for the hard shit.” Billy reassures you, his smile softening the edges of his words.

But before the moment can linger, Tommy and Carol intrude upon your private bubble. Billy withdraws his hand quickly and you feel a pang of disappointment, a silent plea for him to acknowledge what lies between you.

“Ready?” Tommy speaks up as he stands next to Billy’s chair, Carol’s arms wrapped around him. “This party tonight is going to be so wicked.” 

Billy nods, standing up with a forced smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“See you around freak.” Tommy remarks to you and Carol snickers as they start walking off. 

“I’ll call you later.” Billy whispers once the pair is out of earshot. 

“I’m working late again so I won’t be home.” You cross your arms with a clear annoyed look on your face. Billy understands that look and nods. 

“See you tomorrow.” He mutters and leaves. You sigh heavily and gather your books, slinging the bag over your shoulder to head home and get ready for work. 

The exhaustion weighs heavily on you tonight, exacerbated by the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant. The dimly lit space is filled with the chatter of patrons, the clinking of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter. The air is thick with the scent of sizzling food and brewed coffee, mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke that lingers despite the no-smoking signs.

Amidst the crowd of diners, mostly comprised of older men, you navigate the maze of tables and booths, balancing trays laden with plates and cups. The ambiance is tainted by the persistent advances of these patrons, their leering gazes and suggestive remarks casting a shadow over your evening.

But amidst the chaos, there is Mary, a beacon of familiarity and comfort in the tumult of the restaurant. An older waitress with a kind smile and a knowing gaze, she always has your back. Having known your mother during her time at the restaurant, Mary often remarks on the striking resemblance between you and her.

Tonight, as you confide in Mary about Billy, she offers sage advice while handing you a plate and coffee cup to serve. The worn countertop serves as your refuge, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the dining area.

“Do you really think he loves me?” You ask Mary as she hands you a plate and coffee cup to serve. 

“All I know from working so long around drunk men is that their sober thoughts really aren’t that much different from their wasted ones, especially when it comes to love,” Mary advises, her words carrying the weight of experience.

You place the plate and cup down for the customer at the countertop with a smile before turning back to Mary. “I'm at a loss for how to approach him. Billy's a complex guy, and I'm worried that if I lay my feelings out, it might push him away.”

“Darling, most men aren't angels after a few drinks.”

“Oh, he's not always like that when he's had a few. Just before that, he was in a heated argument. I couldn't even catch what set it off, but he was clearly riled up about something some guy said, and—”

“Sweetie, I have a feeling that guy's words were aimed at you.”

“What? No, nobody knows about us. I can't see how that could be related,” you respond, puzzled by Mary's interpretation of Billy's behavior.

“Are you sure about that?” Mary points behind you and you turn, finding Billy standing near the countertop with flowers in hand. You can’t help the instant smile that appears. 

“I thought there was a raging party going on tonight?” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes as Billy leans against the counter toward you.

“They’re all the same,” Billy responds with a chuckle, mirroring your stance as he leans closer. “Plus, there’s this girl who I’d rather spend my night with.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, heat creeping onto your cheeks despite your best efforts to conceal it. The air between you crackles with anticipation, the din of the restaurant fading into the background as you share this intimate moment.

“These are for you,” He extends the droopy flowers. “I saw them on the way here and thought you’d like them.” 

“Oh, I’ve never received flowers before,” You timidly grab the pink and yellow buds, placing them in one of your apron pockets. “Thank you. I don’t get off for another hour, if that’s okay.”

“I can wait.” Billy responds, pulling out a red stool at the counter and settling onto it. He reaches for the book you two have been reading together and flips it open.

You chuckle at the sight of him reading amidst the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. “Now that’s a sight to see.”

Billy grins, looking up from the book as you pour him a cup of coffee. “If you tell anyone, you’re dead,” he jokes, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laugh at his playful threat, enjoying the easy banter between you. As you continue your work, the presence of Billy nearby fills you with a sense of comfort and contentment. 

“Go ahead sweetheart. I can close up the rest tonight.” Mary insists, practically pushing you out from behind the counter. 

“Thanks Mary.” You look out the window, seeing Billy resting against his car with a cigarette dangling between his lips. You untie your apron, hanging it on your designated hook. “See you tomorrow.” You wave to Mary and rush toward the door, flowers in hand as you make your way toward Billy. 

“Now that’s a sight.” You hear Billy mumble as you get closer. You glance at your feet as you stop in front of him. “Ready?” He quirks a brow, flicking his cigarette to the ground, stomping it with his boot. You nod and he helps you in the passenger side before getting in on his side. 

Late-night drives hold a special place in your heart, especially when Billy is by your side. The tranquility of the night seems to envelop him, stirring a gentle flutter in your chest.

As you both pull up outside your house, breaking the silence, Billy inquires about your college plans. "Where are you considering applying?" he asks.

"Still figuring it out. I'll likely end up accruing debt, so I'm researching to minimize it," you reply as you head inside, Billy trailing behind with more questions.

Perching on your bed, Billy continues his curiosity. "What about your field of study?"

"I'm drawn to photography, but practicality dictates otherwise for now," you explain, absentmindedly untangling your hair.

Billy compliments your talent. "Your photos are amazing. Anywhere would be lucky to have you."

Turning the tables, you ask about his plans. "And you, Billy?"

He leans back, contemplating. "College doesn't feel right for me. I'll probably go into a trade."

"You underestimate yourself," you reassure him before excusing yourself to change.

As you return, Billy's already made himself comfortable, his boots are already off and jacket slung over your desk chair. You catch him admiring your belongings, his hand lingering over a blanket atop a basket. 

"I could crochet one for you if you're interested," you offer, catching Billy off guard as he startles slightly, withdrawing his hand from the blanket, now standing tall.

"You made that?" His eyebrows arch with curiosity.

"Yeah, my mom taught me how to crochet. She made this one for my birthday before she passed away," you explain, reaching for the blanket she crafted, the one you always sleep with, as you settle onto your bed.

"It seems complicated and time-consuming," Billy remarks, joining you on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

"Not really, it's actually quite therapeutic," you reply.

"If you're ever in need of therapy, count me in for one," he quips, meeting your gaze.

You wonder if he senses the same charged atmosphere between you. His eyes draw you in like a magnet, his trademark smirk driving you wild every time he flashes it your way. His unruly curls framing his face perfectly, though never quite neat, drive you insane.

"Would you like to have dinner together tomorrow?" The question slips out unexpectedly, surprising even yourself, before you can second-guess whether it sounds like a date invitation.

"Sure, where should I meet you?" Billy responds, seemingly oblivious to any hidden implications in your question.

"How about here? I can cook something," you suggest, snuggling under your blanket, attempting to shield yourself from the awkwardness you feel.

"Sounds good to me," Billy agrees, his genuine smile lighting up his face. "You don't mind if I stay over tonight, right?"

"You're always welcome to stay."

With that, Billy slides under the blanket with you, and you don't resist the warmth that spreads through your body as he wraps his arm around your waist, your head finding its place against his chest.

"Goodnight, B," you murmur softly.

"Goodnight, little mouse," he replies, his lips curving into a smile against your head. You used to dislike that nickname, but now you've grown to love it. Just like him.

"Want to catch a movie tonight?" Robin suggests as you stroll together towards lunch.

"I can't, uh, I've got dinner plans," you reply, nudging open the cafeteria door, the cacophony of voices engulfing you.

"With who?" Robin probes as you join the line for food. Just then, Billy and his group pass by, your gaze lingering on him.

"Oh my god, you and Bi—" You quickly cover Robin's mouth, trying to hush her before she finishes his name.

"Shh! Not so loud," you whisper urgently.

"Ew! Have you kissed? No, wait, don't answer that!" Robin's eyes widen with excitement.

"Robin, seriously, it's not a big deal," you insist, leaning against the wall, stealing another glance at Billy. You see the way he plays with his food and the toothpick between his teeth, a habit he explained helps with his nicotine cravings during school. You even made sure to find flavored ones for him. He always keeps them in his jacket pocket. The memory brings a smile to your face.

"Um, it's a huge deal! You're going on a date with one of the most obnoxious guys in this school, whom, might I add, you confessed your love to, and he reciprocated, even though he conveniently seems to have forgotten, but that's beside the point. This is totally a date, and you know it," Robin insists.

"It's not a date," you protest, moving along the lunch line.

"It totally is," Robin persists, following you as you grab your lunch and head to your usual table, surrounded by fellow band members.

Your nerves start to jangle, the food suddenly less appetizing as you anticipate tonight. Your gaze drifts back to Billy, finding his eyes already on you. You offer him a small smile, which he returns. Tommy and Carol notice and start laughing like hyenas, causing you to turn away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Billy's irritation reaches its peak, prompting him to take an unexpected action. The cafeteria's ambient noise diminishes, and the occupants around your table fall into an uneasy silence. Confused, you glance around, only to pivot at the sound of heavy footsteps drawing near.

"Hey, Y/N. Are we still on for tonight?" His unexpected question leaves you dumbfounded, and you can only manage a nod. His sudden boldness astonishes you, quickening your heartbeat as he finally acknowledges you in public, breaking free from his usual concealment.

Leaning casually on the table beside you, he lowers his face to be level with yours, enveloping you both in a bubble of quiet amidst the hushed cafeteria.

"Great. I'll see you later, little mouse." With a wink and his trademark smirk, he ignites gasps from the surrounding girls as he saunters away, indifferent to the attention. You find yourself gazing after him, oblivious to the murmurs circulating the cafeteria.

Robin's tug on your arm snaps you out of your reverie. "Holy shit! It's definitely a date," her excitement mirroring your own astonishment.

You make an effort to tidy up as best you can, even though Billy has been over countless times and never seemed to mind the state of your home.

"Haven't seen this place so clean in a while," your dad remarks as he emerges from his room, already dressed for work.

"Just thought I'd spruce it up," you reply, wiping down the dining table, a piece of furniture seemingly frozen in time since your mom passed away.

"I'll be working late again," your dad mentions, tying his shoes as you turn to face him.

"Have you thought about Thanksgiving? Any word from Y/S/N?" you inquire, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the underlying sadness that always accompanies conversations with him.

"I'll have to put in longer hours that week. I'll give you some money for food," he responds, and you fight back tears that threaten to spill over, a familiar ache settling in your chest.

"Okay, no worries. Have a good night at work," you manage, turning away to hide the tear that betrays your composure. You wait for his acknowledgment, but only the sound of the front door closing signals his departure.

With a few hours to spare before Billy arrives, you retreat to your room, journal in hand, seeking solace in the pages. 

Your relationship with your dad is a labyrinth of complexities, once filled with warmth and tenderness before your mom's passing stripped it away, leaving behind a void that seems impossible to bridge, especially during your teenage years.

You can't blame him or your absent sister, though the resentment lingers. The idea of leaving after graduation claws at your conscience, knowing it would only deepen your father’s sadness. No matter how many bad memories Hawkins has for you, this will always be home. 

It’s where you were born and raised. It’s where your old house is with a huge driveway where your father taught you and your sister to ride bikes together. It’s where your mom would take you for ice cream after a bad day. It’s where your mom got sick, she spent most of her last days in the hospital. It’s where she’s buried up in East Hawkins, beside your grandparents. It’s where you saw your sister start to rebel and flee, to never return. It’s where you saw your father’s smile disappear completely. It’s where the quietness and loneliness grew inside you for the longest time. 

Until you met Billy. 

Billy has submerged himself so deep into your life now that every feeling is finally starting to rise to the top. 

But it’s not the feeling of panic, it’s more of a relief. Every day or hour you spend with Billy, it feels like you’ve reached the top. He’s breathed a new life into you and you want to breathe that air for the rest of your life.

Closing your journal, you wipe away the tears, feeling a surge of intense emotions. With a few deep breaths, you compose yourself, stowing away your journal before returning to the kitchen. Amidst the flickering candlelight, you begin to cook, finding solace in the simple act to take your mind off of things. 

You steal a glance at the clock on your wall for the third time, each passing minute feeling like a weight in the pit of your stomach.

With each tick, the realization settles in: Billy forgot.

Despite your anticipation for tonight, after his triumphant performance at school, he forgot.

Anger and heartache surge within you, compelling you to extinguish the candles and discard the food, the remnants of your dashed hopes and shattered expectations. You abandon the mess, retreating to your bed instead.

Curling up with your handmade blanket, tears stream down your cheeks as you gaze at the photograph of your mom on the bedside table.

"He didn't mean to, right? He's still good, isn't he?"

The next morning, you dial Robin for a ride to school, fully aware that you'd probably stay home if not for her.

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. When I lay eyes on him, he's done for!" Robin declares, slamming her hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

You sit beside her in silence, avoiding dwelling further on Billy's absence. She parks in an empty spot, and you instinctively scan the area for his blue Camaro, finding none. A sigh of relief escapes you as you step out of the car and follow Robin into school.

"I always knew he was still the biggest jerk in Hawkins," Robin continues her tirade about Billy.

"Can we just try to forget about it today?" you interject as you navigate through the bustling main hallway.

"Fine, but I can't guarantee what'll happen when I see his face," Robin replies, her tone still seething with anger.

Though you want to agree with her, you remain silent as you reach your locker. "I'll be right back," Robin says, heading to her own locker.

As you gather your books, you overhear snickers behind you. Turning around, you're confronted by a group of unfamiliar girls giggling and casting glances in your direction.

“No wonder he slept with Heather.” 

"Yeah, like she’d actually ever have a chance with him."

“Do you think she knows he was at the party last night?” 

"Probably not, otherwise she wouldn't dare show her face around here today."

“How humiliating, being stood up by Billy Hargrove and not knowing he slept with Heather instead.” 

The words sting, and you feel a wave of humiliation wash over you. How could he do this to you?

You scan the surroundings, noticing the whispers of your name intertwined with Billy's and Heather's. The tightness in your chest and the shallowness of your breaths propel you outside, desperate to escape the humiliation suffocating you.

As you step into the open air, the familiar roar and screech of Billy's sports car pierce through, reigniting your panic. Frantically, you search for a hiding spot, cursing the town for its lack of concealment amidst the cornfields and vast open spaces.

Before you can flee, Billy rushes toward you, not caring who he bumps into on the way. 

"Y/N! Damn it, I'm so sorry—" he begins, but you instinctively retreat, needing distance.

"Please don't," you interrupt, stepping away from him.

"Y/N, please, I feel terrible about last night. It was the worst and—" Billy attempts to explain, desperation coloring his voice.

“Apparently to everyone else, you had a great time last night.” you retort bitterly.

"What?" Billy's confusion is palpable as he tries to approach you, but you evade him once more.

"I guess you and Heather had a blast while I waited until 11," you accuse, moving to leave.

"Y/N, please, just let me explain," Billy implores, blocking your path and holding your shoulders. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, fixating on his shirt.

"I got into a huge fight with my dad, got pissed, and went to a party. I only meant to stay for a bit, but I guess I lost track of time," he confesses.

"And ended up with Heather," you interject sharply.

"Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. I don't even remember anything from last night. I'm so sorry," Billy pleads, his anguish evident.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you demand, your voice laced with hurt.

"Of course not. I just... I don't know. I'm just so sorry for not being there. I should've come to be with you after the fight with my dad," he admits, regret etched in his features.

"Yeah, you should've," you agree, turning away. Robin stands on the sidewalk, waiting for your signal to intervene.

“Y/N, what can I do? How can I make this better?” Billy pleas, watching you depart, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Time," you respond, glancing back at him, feeling a pang of sorrow at his tear-streaked face. "I need time."

Your voice wavers as you walk away, leaving Billy standing alone. Robin opens her arms for you, sensing your pain and tears beginning to fall.

"Asshole!" Robin shouts at Billy as she guides you back to her car.

Inside the car, you steal a glance at Billy, witnessing his anguish as he covers his face with his hands.

In that moment, you realize you've never simultaneously hated and loved someone as intensely as you do right now.

Taglist: @msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @ghostcastaway @missingbillyhargrove @lotionlamp @billys-pretty-babe @isimpfortoomanypeople @rosey96 @girlwifteef @miheartsedthings @empathyroad @notzoey @iletmytittiestitty-russ @the-ch0sen-on3

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things billy #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things billy hargrove #Spotify #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargove x reader #billy stranger things #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #silent confessions loud masks

[neonghostlights]

Blurb idea maybe? Unhinged grocery shopping with our favorite raccoon daddy Eddie.

I love this because I was literally just at the grocery store when I was thinking about writing something tonight! I decided to go with a grocery store meet cute.

You turned the corner to the canned food aisle.

The cart you grabbed had a bad wheel that kept getting stuck and you were continuously having to lift the side of the basket every time you wanted to make a turn.

It was very irritating.

You were at the end of your patience for the day. It had been a long day at work and you had a headache brewing from staring at a computer screen and getting yelled at by clients left and right.

When it was time to go you practically skipped out to your car, only to remember that you had to stop by the grocery store to get a few things if you wanted to eat for the rest of the week.

You decided to stop by the closest grocery store to home instead of you usual, thinking that it would be quicker.

You thought everything would be fine until you pulled into the parking lot an old lady stole the parking spot you were going for and flipped you off in the process.

You were just so ready to go home.

A pop song played through the store, and you mindlessly hummed along under your breath, knowing that it would be stuck in your head for the rest of the night.

You were reading the cans of coffee that were placed slightly above your head, still strolling down the aisle when you felt the cart slam into something hard.

"Ow," you heard a man's voice groan and you panicked, pulling the cart off of him and running around to the front.

He was crouched on his knees, a box of various coffee cans at his side that he was obviously stocking on the lower shelves.

“I am so sorry!” You gasped. You were already imagining the lawsuit that was about to be slapped on you for carelessly running someone over with a cart while they were just trying to do their job. 

He was rubbing his arm when you reached him with a pained expression on his face. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder but thinking better of it. 

He looked up at you, some loose pieces of his brown hair falling out of his bun and landing in his face. He moved some pieces away, revealing large brown eyes that made your heart flutter. Your hand was still hovering between the two of you for a moment before you let it fall limply at your side. 

A moment passed and you were waiting for him to say he was okay, or to hopefully even make a joke about the situation but instead a loud groan escaped his mouth and he grabbed onto his arm dramatically. 

“I think it’s broken,” he wailed, his upper body falling back into the cart that you held still with one hand. 

You glanced around, the same old lady that flipped you the bird when you got there was at the end of the aisle staring at the scene with a frown. 

“Do you need help? I’m not really sure-”

“I’m just kidding,” he laughed, pushing himself up off the floor and brushing off the sleeves of his green uniform shirt. “Definitely not the first time I’ve been run over while doing my job and it won’t be the last.” He was smiling, breathless from his theatrics a moment before and cheeks tinged pink. 

You read his nametag. Eddie was printed proudly onto the shiny silver badge that was on his chest. 

“Well, Eddie,” you started before letting out a breathless laugh, heart still pounding a mile a minute from the fear of his reaction and from how pretty he was, “does this mean you aren’t going to sue me for hitting you with a shopping cart?” 

He put a finger on his chin, looking off to the side like he was thinking about it. 

“Hmm..” he hummed before reading your name out loud off of the name tag you still wore from work, “I don’t think I’ll sue you if you go out to dinner with me?” 

You were just about to answer when a stern faced manager popped around the corner, yelling at Eddie to get back to work. 

And of course, since you didn’t want to get sued you quickly wrote your number down on an old receipt and shoved it in his hand before grabbing the coffee you were looking for and checking out with a date planned.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fluff

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Sweet on You, Chapter 3

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: HERE

Warnings/Tags: Sugar Daddy!Matt Murdock, Idiots to Lovers, No Age Gap, Alternating PoV, No Use of Y/N

Word Count: ~1850

A/N: I had entirely too much fun writing the terms of Matt and Reader's contract, lol.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other stories, please let me know!

Divider by @theradioactivespidergwen

Tag List (struck-through blogs could not be tagged): @danzer8705 @capylore @shouldbestudying41 @atemydadforbreakfast @peachy-flxwr @sleepysleepymom @fishinsuits @milkbummm @lazyxsquirrel @beezusvreeland @caughtthefever @bohemianrhapsody86

Thank God it's almost time to go, you thought to yourself as you began to get ready to leave work on Monday afternoon. Wish they'd hurry up and replace Roxy and Tabitha soon.

You had been one of three admin assistants until two months ago when Roxy, the junior admin who had told you about Sugar and Spice, had moved across the country for a job that would actually utilize her college degree, and Tabitha, a glorified intern with no administrative skills who you suspected had only been hired because one or more of the partners had thought she was hot, had gotten fired for showing up to work still wasted after a night of partying. Now you were on your own and doing the work of three people with no relief in sight.

From the moment you arrived at the office at 8 AM that morning until right then when it was time to leave you had been going non-stop. You had fielded phone calls, made appointments, arranged travel, greeted clients, fetched water and coffee, filed for permits, picked up lunch for all three partners from three different restaurants, ordered flowers for your actual boss's girlfriend's birthday, made copies, and printed and mailed invoices -- all with a smile on your face and without a word of thanks from anyone. 

Needless to say, you were looking forward to a drink and a nice, pleasant dinner that you didn't have to prepare yourself and could actually sit down and eat rather than have to quickly inhale like you had had to do with the sandwich you had procured from the deli down the street for lunch.

At 5 PM on the dot you shut down your computer and unlocked your desk drawer to grab your purse.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up before poking your head into your boss's office. “Hi, Mr. DiStefano, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for the day.”

“Okay,” Mr. DiStefano replied without looking up from the floor plans he was studying.

You waited for a moment to see if he was going to say ‘thank you, have a great evening ’ -- or anything else for that matter -- but he didn't. “Okay then, see you tomorrow.”

You stopped by the other two partners’ offices to let them know that you were leaving, receiving very much the same non-response from both.

You sighed as you left your office and headed towards Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You were feeling extremely unappreciated and underpaid, especially since you were now having to fill the admin assistant role for all 3 partners at once. Maybe it's time to start looking for another job…

You shook your head. You weren't going to even think about trying to find another job until after you got your mother's medical debt paid off. One thing at a time.

“--Yo, Matty, we hitting up Josie's tonight?”

Matt looked up and shook his head as Foggy stopped by his office. “Actually, I can't. I have plans after work.”

Foggy gasped. “Do you have a date ?”

He poked his head out of Matt's office. “ HEY KAREN, MATT HAS A DATE TONIGHT! ” he yelled down the hall.

Matt sighed. Here we go. He was glad that you and he had already come up with a cover story on how you had met so he wouldn't have to think of one on the spot.

“So, what's her name and how'd you meet her?” Foggy asked.

Matt said your name. “We met at The Brew Towers on Saturday.”

“Ooh, coffee shop meet-cute,” Karen gently teased as she joined him and Foggy in his office. “How romantic.”

“Yeah, tell us more,” Foggy added. “Did you spill your coffee on her? Accidentally grab each other's order? Brush hands across the condiment station?”

Matt chuckled. “Actually, we struck up a conversation while we both were waiting in line to order and since it was busy and tables were scarce we decided to sit together. We hit it off, so I asked her to have dinner with me tonight.”

“So where are you taking her?” 

“Okinawa.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Ooh, fancy.” 

Matt shrugged. “It was close to the office.”

“What time are you meeting her there?” Karen asked.

Matt shook his head. “Actually, she's meeting me here in about 10 minutes and we're going to walk over together.” 

“Well, I'm really happy for you and I hope everything works out with her.”

“Yeah, same,” Foggy added. “It's good to see you putting yourself out there again, buddy.”

Matt inwardly cringed. After everything he, Foggy, and Karen had been through he hated lying to them, especially when they seemed so genuinely happy for him. “Thanks.”

“Guess it's just us at Josie's then, Kare. Let's go before she gets here -- I’m sure Matt doesn't want to scare her away by introducing her to us too soon.” Foggy rapped his knuckles on Matt's desk. “I expect a full report on your date tomorrow morning, Matthew.”

Matt chuckled with a nod. “Will do. ‘Night, guys.”

He waited until Foggy and Karen had left before pulling up his and your contract and printing copies in both standard and Braille print.

A few minutes later he heard your footsteps approaching the office, so he walked out into the lobby to greet you. 

“Hi, Matt,” you said as you entered.

“Hi,” Matt replied. “How are you?”

“I'm good, and you?”

“I'm good too, thanks.” Matt gestured towards his office. “Let's go to my office.”

He led you down the hall to his private office. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, tea, juice…”

“No, I'm okay,” you said as you sat. “Thank you though.”

Matt sat across from you. “Alright…”

He picked up the print copy of your contract and handed it to you. “Here’s the contract. I'll read through it, just let me know if you have any questions.”

“Okay.”

Matt cleared his throat and began to read. “Memorandum of Agreement. This memorandum of Agreement is made by and between Matthew M. Murdock and…”

He could hear your quiet, steady breathing as you followed along. He had tried to make the contract as simple and straightforward as possible in order to protect both himself and you.

“...Shall provide the following obligations,”  he continued. “Accompany Matthew to lunch and/or dinner at minimum twice weekly. Accompany Matthew to business-related events as requested with minimum 72 hours prior notice. Accompany Matthew to non-business events as requested, dependent on availability.”

“Wait, what does that last part mean?” you asked.

“Just that every once in a while I might ask you to do something with me that doesn't involve a sit-down meal,” Matt replied. “But also that I'm not going to make you drop everything just to have a cup of coffee or take a walk with me.”

“Oh, okay, that's fair.” You paused. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Matt nodded. “In exchange, Matthew shall provide the following obligations: Monthly stipend of $1,500 --”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted again. “We only agreed on a thousand a month.”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, but I thought about it and decided that fifteen hundred was a more fair amount for your time.” Especially since you're using it to help your mother.

You sucked in a soft breath. “Oh.”

Matt could tell you were torn between arguing with him and just accepting the higher amount and waited until you decided which path to take. 

Finally, you sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay. ‘Payment for all outings and events, including but not limited to meals, beverages, gratuities, tickets, souvenirs, and gifts. In the event of a professional obligation, arrangement and payment for appropriate garments for said obligation. Accompaniment to requested events with minimum 72 hours prior notice, dependent on availability.” Matt paused. “I figure it's only fair in case you have a work event or something else you'd need a plus-one for.”

You huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Even though I have to plan and set them up I never get invited to actually attend any of DiStefano, Williams, and Abbott’s events, but that's good in case I ever do.”

Matt's brow furrowed at your slightly bitter tone. He'd have to find out more about your job. “Anyway, ‘Confidentiality: Each party shall treat as strictly confidential the nature of said Agreement as a result of entering into or performing duties outlined in this Agreement’. ”

“Snitches get stitches,” you quipped. “Or in this case, sued.”

Matt chuckled. “Relation of the Parties: The relationship between both parties is that of a platonic nature and of partners in a business transaction. No other nature of relationship is obligatory herewith.”

He continued on with the rest of the contract -- termination of the agreement (that either he or you could terminate the contract for any reason at any time with 30 days prior notice), remedies on default (that if one or both of you failed to perform your duties or otherwise broke a clause in the contract, the contract as a whole would be rendered null and void) and finally, amendments (that the contract could be amended at any time with the express written agreement of both you and Matt.)

“Governance: This contract shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the State of New York,” Matt concluded. “Signed by both parties stated here within and effective as of date first written above.”

He tilted his head back up towards you. “Everything sound fair to you?”

You were silent for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it's fair.”

“Okay then.” Matt handed you a pen and the second printed copy of the contract. “Just so we both have signed print copies.”

“Okay, yeah, no problem.” You signed your name on both copies of the contract. “Am I signing the Braille one too then?”

Matt nodded and handed you the Braille copy, quickly feeling the text below where your signature would go. “Sign right above here.”

“Okay.” You quickly signed your name. “All done.”

Matt signed his name on all three copies of the contract and set both his Braille and print copies into his desk drawer before locking it, then he folded your copy and put it into an envelope. “Here you go. Now that business is settled, how about we celebrate our new arrangement with some dinner?”

He heard you tuck your copy of the contract into your purse. “That sounds wonderful,” you replied.

Matt stood. “Shall we, then?”

He retrieved his coat from the coat rack and took his cane out of the inside pocket, then you both headed back towards the lobby.

Matt turned the lights off and opened the door for you. “After you.”

You stepped outside. “Thank you.”

Matt followed you outside then locked the door behind the two of you. “This way.”

You headed down the sidewalk to what Matt hoped was the first of many get-togethers, a comfortable silence between you.

#lotmf writes #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you #Sweet on You Masterlist

[jungle-angel]

Baby's first Thanksgiving with rip wheeler! please and thank you <333

Rachel.....dahling.....why must you make me an offer I can't refuse??!!!! (lol).

Neither you nor Rip were awoken by the alarm on his phone that usually awoke the two of you during the work week, but rather, the cries of your four month old daughter, Evelyn.

"Relax sugar bear, I've got her," Rip groaned, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

You awoke again, maybe a few minutes or even a half hour, to the snow falling heavily outside and Rip re-entering your room with Baby Evie who had finally calmed down.

"You know young lady," he said, pretending to be stern with her. "Your momma needs her sleep too. We've got a big day ahead of us with all your aunts and uncles, your cousins and everybody coming over for dinner tonight."

You laughed and held out your arms to take Evelyn from your husband. "Did Rhett and the others call?" you asked him.

"Said they'd all be up from Wabang in the next hour if the snow doesn't get worse," Rip explained. "Gettin the house done's gonna be a pain in the royal ass."

You laughed as you sat back and let Evie feed for a little bit, knowing she was probably hungry. A savory smell coming from the kitchen caught you off guard. "Rip is somebody in the kitchen?"

Rip shook his head and shrugged. As soon as you could get out of bed and Evelyn had her fill, you took her right down to the kitchen to find Mo, Thomas Rainwater's right hand man, in your kitchen, peeling a rather large bag of potatoes Rip had gathered from the garden in the backyard.

"Well good morning sleepyheads," Mo greeted.

"Morning Mo," you chuckled. "How long have you been at those potatoes?"

"Been at'em for a good half hour," Mo answered. "Birds's all gutted and brining in the fridge. Don't know what the hell you want done with the corn though."

"Woah wait a sec, ya'll brought corn?" Rip asked him.

"And you mean to tell me you don't remember?" Mo questioned. "I got that shit from my neighbor."

"Wait, the old lady on the rez that owns the corn stand?"

"Of course it's the old lady you brain dead deer turd," Mo laughed. "She's the only owner of a roadside corn stand in the whole of Bozeman!"

Rip went down to the cellar pantry and came back up a few minutes later with the basket of corn, setting it beside the island counter in the kitchen. "Here's hopin we have enough."

"That shit'll feed a whole village for weeks," Mo told Rip as he peeled the potatoes. "Here, you take over the potatoes."

"Yes chef, anything you say chef," Rip chuckled.

"(Y/n) you want anything while I'm in here?" Mo asked you.

"Um just a coffee if you don't mind," you answered. It wasn't long before the coffee was brewed and Evelyn began making grabby hands for her uncle.

"Alright, alright sweetpea you come with me," Mo said, lifting Evelyn from your arms.

You slipped into the kitchen to help your husband peel the potatoes, shuck the corn and get everything ready for when the family arrived. "Well," Rip said as he began chopping the onions. "Not as chaotic as I thought her first Thanksgiving would be."

"Just you wait," you warned him. "John, Thomas, Kayce and Monica will all come traipsing through that door with something freshly dead and throw it on the counter."

Rip laughed before he kissed you. "Happy Thanksgiving sweet thing."

"Happy Thanksgiving you big weirdo," you answered.

#yellowstone #rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Chapter 2: Window to the World

Having Loki in your apartment leaves you both confused and star-struck. But fangirl crushes will have to wait as you take it upon yourself to give Loki a history lesson about your reality and his role in it.

CHAPTER WARNING: none

Previous Chapter · Next Chapter MASTERLIST

You were an early riser, and always had been. Even on mornings after you’d not slept well, you were usually able to greet the day with at least some energy. It was your superpower: you were the only morning person you knew. It was usually good for adding an extra hour or so of recreation to your day. 

You needed that superpower more so today than ever. For once, when you woke up and remembered why you were splayed out like a deflating sex doll on the sofa, not a shred of dignity to be found in your position, you felt your head begin to pound. 

Coffee…bring me to life…

You glimpsed at the Loki figurine on the kitchen island where you’d stashed it without thinking. Scrunching your nose, you went to the cupboard to start brewing a strong pot of Elixir of Life (French Vanilla light roast). 

You weren’t sure what to think. If your new houseguest was truthful, that meant you presently had the God of Mischief in your bed. Hell, it meant that the God of Mischief, as well as Thor, Odin, and Asgard, existed. And what did that mean for everyone else in those movies? How did he even find himself here, and where was his intended path? 

And, perhaps the biggest question of all: how was he supposed to get back to where he came from? Should he even be allowed to go? After all, it wasn’t like Loki from The Avengers was a good person. What if you had an intergalactic criminal in there? Lying not about his identity but about his benign existence? 

Heh, I guess I had stranger days in college. 

You heard shuffling at the front door. After a few moments of keys jangling, Joey came in, looking worse than when he’d left you hours ago. 

“More fun at work, asshole?” you said with a sneer. 

“Always,” he said, taking a seat on the other side of the island on a barstool. “Actually, I did a lot of cleaning shit out tonight.”

“Good. Serves you right for making me spend my last hundred bucks on Prince Loki in there,” you replied. “That was our grocery money, by the way. Hope you like the Crackers and Oxygen Diet.”

Joey laughed. “I was thinking about it…about him,” he said after a brief pause. “And I was wondering if you thought the same thing I did.”

“What about?”

“About The Doctor.” 

The timer on the coffee pot beeped. You swiped two cheap mugs stolen from a hotel room and placed them in front of your brother. 

You nodded. “I definitely thought about him.”

“Maybe it’s not such a weird coincidence that he looks like him, Sis,” Joey reasoned as you poured. “I mean, that kook in London sure looks like David Tennant.”

“It’s a publicity stunt, genius,” you said, bringing one of the full mugs to your nose so that you could inhale the gentle, earthy aroma. You were already beginning to feel more awake. 

“Disney owns the Loki side of things, but not the Who side,” said Joey. “I doubt the BBC and MCU would do something like this at the same time.” 

You smiled and took a slightly longer look at him. Despite his disheveled appearance, Joey really did look like your father to a T. “You and Dad watched all the old Doctor Who stuff. I just watched the Thor movies for the…”

You looked briefly at the toy on the counter. 

“...plot.” 

Joey took a long sip of coffee, rolling his eyes before setting the cup down to express his thoughts. “Sure you did, Sis. Hey…uh…didn’t you lose your virginity to the audiobook for High Rise?”

“SHUT UP!” you barked defensively, absentmindedly taking a sugar cube from a glass nearby and chucking it at his face. Your aim was wide (and half-assed), and instead of hitting your target, the cube flew across the room and landed at Loki’s bare foot. 

You hadn’t noticed him open the door or leave the bedroom. “Oh,” you gasped.

“Hey, Loki! Good morning, soldier!” Joey raised his mug in toast. 

Loki looked a little bewildered, but otherwise mentally intact. “Did I miss something?” He bent over and scooped the sugar cube, holding it between two of his fingers, observing it. 

You shook your head. “No. Uh, coffee?”

“Um,” was all Loki said before Joey gestured to his own seat, getting up and offering it. Loki felt compelled to take it. 

“Hey,” Joey said in an aside to you as Loki helped himself to a coffee mug, “We should tell him.” 

“About how he’s a fictional character? I was going to.”

“About The Doctor,” Joey repeated. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s NOT so weird that two time-jumpers landed here after all.”

Shaking your head, you disagreed. “I want to show him the movies first,” you said, looking briefly over your shoulder. “If he is who he says he is, then he doesn’t know the truth. We can’t send him out into the world as a helpless little dingus. Someone could take advantage of him.”

Your brother sighed. “I guess. I’m gonna shower and get some sleep. Maybe when I wake up we can talk about what to do.”

You gritted your teeth and groaned. “He sounds like he wants to get back to where he came from as soon as possible.”

Laughing, Joey headed for the bathroom, barely large enough for him to turn around in. “I don’t think he has much choice.” 

“No, that’s not what I’m worried about,” you added. “What if he gets desperate and, like, hurts one of us?”

He shrugged and said quickly as he closed the door, “Well, try not to bleed onto the rug. The landlord’ll add that to our rent.” 

You rolled your eyes. Thanks, Joey. 

You turned to go back to the kitchen island to help Loki with something to eat, but stopped in your tracks when you saw that he had found the figurine, and was holding it up in front of him as if it were covered in syrup. 

“Y/N, what is this?”

Your jaw fell open as your heart began to race. You couldn’t explain the look on Loki’s face; it was as if he was wrestling in his mind between confusion and amusement. 

“I…”

Loki was smiling as he held the trinket closer to his eyes, observing the details. “My my…” he mumbled. “Why does Midgard have toys of my likeness in this timeline? Am I a hero?”

His smile peeled further back on his cheeks as he had a realization. 

“Do…do you admire me, Miss Y/N?”

Your skin went ice cold when he winked with a chuckle. Your mind was short-circuiting. This was a super fan’s anxiety nightmare come to life, and it was your show. You did the one thing you knew would work to get you out of it: change the subject. 

“Loki,” you said solemnly, “There’s something I need to show you.” 

You called in to work (the shop owner was a retired teacher with a sweet disposition, so she understood that you “had family in town”) and brought out Joey’s DVD cases. Between the two of you, you owned the DVDs of the entire Infinity Saga. Joey even burned a few bootleg copies of one of the streaming shows, but alas, it was Wandavision, not Loki’s show. You couldn’t afford any streaming services, and since password sharing/stealing was no longer possible, you only had these discs and basic cable as your entertainment in the evenings.

I wonder what’s in his serial, you thought. Has he lived it yet? Should I warn him about spoilers?

You laid out a spread of snacks, in case Loki got lightheaded or distressed over what he saw.  Luckily, sleep had remedied some of his anxiety, at least to your eye. He appeared fine with the idea of sitting back for most of the day with movies. 

“So, what do you know about this place? This world?” you asked as you hit the pause button as the opening logos of Thor began to appear. 

Loki was sitting formally, with immaculate posture. “My seidr doesn’t work here. And your version of a Loki variant is possibly fictional and enshrined within these documentaries you are about to show me.”

“What’s a variant?” you asked. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said after a moment’s pause. “Show me the films,” he added with a hint of sadness. 

Thus began your day watching Loki watch himself in movies. It wasn’t exactly what you’d pictured you would be doing with him if he ever became real, but at least you weren’t bickering or fighting Christopher Eccleston. He seemed entranced, a little disturbed, but also fascinated in earnest. Once in a while, he even made a critic’s comment on the filmmakers’ and actors’ choices. It made you smile when he did, because his shoulders relaxed, he sat back against the sofa cushion. He was becoming comfortable with you. 

He remarked that Thor’s film counterpart was a bit off in particular: the real God of Thunder was apparently a bit less bumbling. He was as much a hunter as he was a soldier, which gave him sharper instincts than what was portrayed on screen. Still, the physical resemblance was outright uncanny. 

“So, to be clear: in your world, Loki is ONLY a character?” he asked. 

Nodding, you hoped he wouldn’t have some kind of existential crisis triggered by your honesty. “Yes. All of these people are the result of actors acting and writers writing.”

“And Midgard is the only Realm that exists?”

“As far as we know, and we’ve mapped the stars pretty well.”

“...and there’s no magic? Or Avengers?”

“Not outside of Comic Con.” 

“This fellow playing my role is a bit theatrical.”

You nearly snorted your water. Loki even made you laugh once in a while. “You really think so? Isn’t that the point, though?” you giggled. Loki looked at you warmly. 

“Your laugh is nice,” he said. “I am fond of the sound of laughter. You know, I notice these stories neglect my more playful side. I wasn’t always a parasuicidal, power-maddened Prince.”

You raised a teasing eyebrow, and he shrugged. “To be fair, I did say not always.”

He knew more about the plot than you expected. You noticed in some scenes he mouthed the dialogue verbatim, which sent shivers down your back to see. Other times, he seemed as clueless as a first-time viewer as to what was happening, especially when you popped in Ragnarok after a brief lunch break. 

“That wasn’t at all how Sakaar happened,” he hissed bitterly. “I never attempted to betray Thor, and would’ve never allowed him to electrocute me without my permission!” 

You chose to skip over the next film (ignoring Loki’s odd addendum about ‘permission’) and you got the feeling Loki knew why. “Thank you,” he said, “yes, I know what happens to me on the ship after Ragnarok.” 

“How?” you asked. “You’re not as surprised by some of this as I thought.”

“I’m surprised by some of the accuracy, yes,” he admitted, looking at you with a twinge of sorrow in his eyes. “But you aren’t the first one to bring my life’s review before my eyes like this.”

“Who was the first? And how?” you wondered. 

“Are there other films of this Loki?” Loki asked. “I can show you what happens next. Surely you know my life didn’t exactly end there.” 

“Sort of.” 

You got up from the sofa to clear the boxes of old Chinese leftovers as you explained. “You do get away in the next one, the last one. They figure out time travel. Thor finds a universe where you escape from arrest after taking over New York.”

“Yes,” recalled Loki, “but did they show you what happened after that? Where I fell?”

You bit your lip as you crammed everything into the overflowing garbage can as far down as possible. “Not unless you can afford fifteen extra bucks a month,” you admitted. “There is more, but I don’t have access to it.” 

“We need to find it,” Loki decided. You were about to agree when he changed his tone: “Oh…perhaps I can regale you with the antics of the TVA myself?���

The way he looked at you, hopeful that you’d agree to hear his version of the next chapter of his life instead of the MCU’s, warmed your heart. You had to fight back your urge to leap across the room and embrace him. Scaring him was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. What you did do was sit next to him again and fold your legs underneath you. 

You said simply, “Please.”

And he did. For hours after. 

There was something in the way he wove a tale that felt not quite of this planet. His delivery was almost exaggerated as he told you about the TVA, Mobius, Sylvie, and OB, as well as Kang and Ravonna, and how he ended up unconscious and naked in an alley on South Salina street. 

His voice was hot and soothing, like a drink of tomato soup against a dry, raw throat. You could have melted into his lap as he described everyone and everything, all of the marvelous lands that didn’t exist for you, the magnificent species and cultures, and the horrendous monsters he’d beaten. 

You didn’t particularly care for Sylvie, who sounded like she thrived off of Persecution Complex and attention like a lamprey fed off of a shark’s hind. The way he described both her and Mobius, with equal fondness and perhaps even love, made you sink back in your seat. You were suddenly not as giddy inside.

“You love her,” you said softly and suggestively. 

Loki shook his head in denial. “I thought I did until I repeatedly attempted to pull her away from the Citadel.” 

“What happened there?”

He explained that he’d realized there, after repeatedly trying to pull her away from her desire to murder Kang and set the timelines into brutal chaos on a scale not even Loki could contain, that sometimes people don't change. It was all Loki could do to accept that perhaps the trite little world in Oklahoma that Sylvie longed for was, perhaps, the one she belonged in after all. 

“I don't agree,” you said stubbornly, sticking out your chest in a bit of cartoonish defiance. “She needs to be held accountable for nearly taking down all of reality.” 

He sighed. “No, I don’t see how. Her fate is not mine, nor is mine hers. She couldn’t take my place.”

“Your place?” you asked inquisitively. “You mention so many weird things, Loki, and expect me to know them.”

He didn’t answer you. Instead, the wheels in his head were sparked into action, and he looked for a moment as if he were reading something in the air in front of him as his idea materialized. 

“Maybe…” he suddenly said. “...the stone!”

“What?” you asked, snapping out of your dreamy trance. 

“We have to go back for the stone!” Loki snapped up off of the sofa as if his ass were on springs. It startled you. “Where I landed!”

“Loki! You don’t know your way around here at all! It was dark and rainy last night, so how do you expect to find it?” you slowly got to your feet and put your hands on your hips. 

“There was a street sign nearby. S. Salina street! I’ll know what it looks like,” Loki promised, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward the door. “Quickly!” 

“Oh my god,” you said, your breath quickening, your anxiety beginning to rush upon you. “Please slow down before I pass out. This is all so much!” 

You sat back down again, this time on the barstool closest to you. Laying your head on the island, you let out the smallest, lowest moan of frustration. “This couldn’t have been a normal day…”

You didn’t expect to feel Loki’s large, cool hand on your shoulder. You could feel his skin through your flimsy cami top, and it only took a moment before you began to calm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed that people here move with the frequent urgency they do where I come from.”  

The tempest waters slowly receded. You turned around, craning your neck to look up at him. You were suddenly conscious of how much of a train wreck you must’ve appeared. You’d never gotten out of the leggings you wore to bed…the leggings with the two gaping holes in the inner thigh seams. 

You quickly slammed your thighs together, but if Loki noticed, he was a true Prince about it and didn’t say a word. Instead, he wiped a small piece of hair from your eye. “Have I made you ill?”

“No! Err…” 

A moment of frightening silence passed as the pair of you stood and sat where you were, simply observing one another as two creatures from different planes learning all they could about each other.

Meanwhile it wasn’t helping your blood pressure as you were still having difficulty absorbing the fact that you were staring into the literal face of your teenage sexual awakening. Surely he wasn’t looking at you the same way, but his studious eyes with pounding urgency behind them were taking you in regardless. You felt vulnerable…vulnerable and turned on like a seat warmer in January. 

Finally, you couldn’t stand it anymore, and you broke the silence. “If you really think you know where on that street it is, I’m calling a cab.” 

On your way out the door, you dug into Joey’s jean jacket pocket, just knowing you’d find treasure. Indeed, it only took a moment before you found his tip wallet, and pulled out several tens and twenties before replacing it. Thank god you finished your shift last night, jerk. 

You didn’t bother waiting for Loki to ask before saying, “Don’t worry, he owes me way more than that.” 

The rainstorm had receded, but the after effects were worse. 

The heat of the waning spring was thick in the air this afternoon, the sun hanging high and dry over the city with not even a wisp of cirrus obscuring it. Humidity radiated off the concrete streets and sidewalks, turning the pavement into a massive stovetop. Luckily, Joey and Loki shared a shoe size (in spite of his diminutive height, he had a larger bone structure that led to large hands and feet). A few buildings over, near one of the corners, a small group of kids had managed to crack open an old fire hydrant and were running under the makeshift water fountain, ignoring the hollers of the angry adults scolding them. It had to be ninety degrees with the heat index, which was hot for this time of year, with summer inbound but still another ten days away. 

Sadly, shoe size was the ONLY size Loki and Joey had in common, and the God was forced to wear the smelly castoffs from the police station the night before. You counted the bounty you’d stolen from your brother as you waited for the cab. “I think we have enough to get you something from the Salvation Army while we’re out. It won’t be pretty, but at least it’ll be clean…and not so full of holes and stains!”

“The Army! That’s what I need!” Loki shot back, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Sweet Jesus, Loki, I still have so much to teach you.” 

You asked the cabbie to drive low and slow as you drove about the city, down to the south end on the other side of the highway divide. Once there, you were surprised by how quickly it took for Loki to shout “Stop! Stop the car!” 

The cabbie did as he was told, and you threw two twenties at him. No need to force him to linger, especially when you had other places to go within walking distance. 

Loki pulled you along by the wrist as he maneuvered down the familiar street. 

 “There! That’s where I awoke!” 

He ducked into an alleyway, lined high along each side with filled trash bags, loaded dumpsters, and wet, crumbling cardboard boxes. Immediately, he turned to the west wall and began looking down at the ground, as if he was just going to find this stone lying on the ground. 

“Hey, I got bad news for you, Loki,” you whispered, “if this stone was shiny and bright like the one in the movies…it probably wouldn’t last very long just out in the open in a neighborhood like this.” 

He didn’t listen, but as the minutes passed, he realized that you were right. The stone was absolutely and undeniably not in the alley. Someone had made off with it. 

“The old man with the…territorial streak,” he mumbled to himself, recalling the first face he’d seen when he arrived in Syracuse. 

Before you could ask what he meant, you were cut off by the sound of laughter from across the road. 

“Oooh look, Naked Loki’s back! In clothes!” shouted Di, whooping gleefully from the same deck as she’d been last night. “Thank the Lord! Hi, Naked Loki!” she cheered as she waved vigorously in your direction. 

“I think he was better off when he wasn’t wearing anything!” giggled her roommate.

“Hello, ladies,” Loki said briefly, waving sheepishly and tipping a non-existent hat to them without moving closer. “May I inquire something of you?”

Di and her roommate laughed again, and Di primped her hair. “Well, I’ll see what I can be inquired of.” She laced her reply with a British accent that would’ve made Dick Van Dyke shake his head in shame. The sass more than made up for it. You nearly lost your mind in sudden laughter. 

“The crazy man who shouted at me from this alley last night--”

“--Abe?”

“Yes! Abe! Exactly! Abe!” Loki snapped to full attention, a positive bounce in his step as he finally moved in on his new friends. You followed behind him slowly, stepping back to let a car pass first. “Do you know what Abe does with things he finds? Shiny things? Does he stash them somewhere or sell them?”

“Shiny things, like what?” asked Di. 

Loki tried to get her to understand. “Like an emerald, perhaps?”

Di shrugged. “I know he’s got some kind of relationship with Kit at the pawn shop near Gannon’s. I guess he’d go there to sell. Dunno if he does, though.” 

“Thank you, my Lady,” said Loki graciously, thinking nothing of taking the woman’s hand in his and laying a brief kiss on it. 

“Woo! Come on back anytime, Naked Loki!” she squealed. 

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