#i just watched this entire series over the course of the week and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fruitmins · 9 months

Text

Agust Dad—Prologue

➭ summary: Your a producer from another company that he happened to be collaborating with on his 2nd album D-2. At the release party— one drunk action leads to another, you do the worst thing you can do in the industry and change your fate forever.

➭genre: short series, pregnancy au, idol au, angst, dad au

➭warnings: smut that includes unprotected s*x (don’t do that), cuss words, mention of alcohol and drinking, kinda rough s*x, a little dirty talk

<<next part>>

➭note: yoongi is leaving for the military so let’s make him a dad to patch up my grief☺️ Have to give credit where credit is due; this was inspired by a writer named sopebubbles. And ik it’s not clear but he is still in BTS. ⚠︎ this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. yoongi is used solely as a face and a name for the story. this is not a representation of real-life scenarios.

“I think, we should make a toast, to Mr Agust D himself of course.” The head producer said over the chatter in the lobby, noticeably drunk but it just so happened that everyone else was also. Even you.

But that was the point of the pre-release party. It was to celebrate how rich everyone were about to be and that everyone could relax after several hard months.

Even though you were only at the album camp for a week, only working on one song and from a entirety different company, somehow you found yourself at the rented hotel partying like the rest of the producers.

The infamous artist groans in embarrassment and this eggs everyone on further, raising their glasses towards him and applauding. “We are never doing this again.” Yoongi slurs, a little tipsy himself as he chuckles, the alcohol starting to loosen him up a bit.

It wasn’t like Yoongi always had his guard up, at least not around his colleagues anyways. He was just incredibly professional and slightly uptight. The two of you had spoken a handful of times while at the camp, mostly focusing on the song and the two of you worked well together.

You were from a more smaller company and when the two of you first met, he said he looked up some of the other collaborations that you did and was fond of your work. It was incredibly easy working with him and his team. No one could deny that the two of you had chemistry when it came to music. If you had a thought or suggestion Yoongi would practically finish your sentence. And if he wanted to change something you would already be on it.

Most of his other producers were amazed at how fast the two of you were working and how smooth it was going, which was half of the reason they wanted you to attend the party in the first place. The first producer to make the Agust D smile while working on a song instead of being tense.

But despite everything, you two hadn’t spoken much since then, so it was a surprise to you when he had stepped up to you when you alone in the kitchen, getting yourself another drink.

The first bottle of whiskey was already run dry, so you were to busy stumbling as you stood on your tippy toes to reach the other bottle in the cabinet to notice he had walked in the kitchen and was watching you from afar.

You hadn’t realized that he stood only a couple steps away from you, watching and analyzing your every move. His eyes wandering your body and curves as you struggled to reach the desired item. He couldn’t help but stare at your ass that was covered by your tight black skirt and watched as your breasts jiggled the more you stumbled and reached for the drink.

With his own new desire in mind, Yoongi finally advanced towards you. Making his movements slow and menacing, not stopping until he was behind you and his back was almost pressed against you.

Feeling the sudden body heat you spun around, your eyes widening even further when they meet his dark brown ones. You back away slightly, trying to create some distance but move hip first into the counter behind you causing you to wince in pain.

“You should be more careful, Y/N-ah.” He spoke in a soothing low tone, suppressing a small smirk when he saw how flustered you got, your cheeks even more red now and not just from the alcohol.

“Sorry, Min Yoongi-ssi.” You mumble with a nervous chuckle trying to stay professional and not get sucked in by his expensive perfume and deep gaze. It had already been heard enough to ignore his beauty during camp.

He lets out a deep chuckle, cracking a small friendly smile that hides his true intentions. “No need to be so formal Y/N.” He says, tilting his head slightly to take in more of your features.

He had spent almost a full week with you, and of course he noticed how pretty you were but he paid no mind to it. After all, he was focused on his work and he had seen better woman before. But now he had gotten a good full look at you with more of an (hazy) open mind.

“Ah, Y/N-ah don't you know? You shouldn't apologize to me when you're in no wrong. You shouldn't lower yourself to me so much." He said his smile turning more into a smirk.

“And plus, I’d say we have gotten quite close,” he spoke, his voice getting more quiet as he leaned more into you, pinning you between the counter and his body. “Don’t you think?” He asked with a smile smirk, having gotten you right where he wanted you.

“Wow,” You breathed out, glancing around the empty kitchen as if you were imagining everything that was happening. Guiltily, you had already had some inappropriate thoughts about him before thanks to his song lyrics but you knew better not to act on them.

“I guess so...” Your voice trailed out and you think you’re being discreet about finding an exit but Yoongi notices.

He leans more against you body so that by now they are touching. He continues to focus his eyes on you before effortlessly reaching an arm above your head as he grabs the drink for you.

Your eyes light up at the drink, even though it’s clear you don’t really need any more. “Thank you Yoongi-ah~” you slur while reaching for it but he pulls his arm back and takes the bottle out of your reach much to your confusion.

He chuckles with a soft smile at the cute expression, this one being more genuine than the last. “I don’t think you need anymore of this.” He says with a smug smile as he looks down at you. Yoongi moved one of his arms down and placed his hand on your hip that bumped into the counter earlier. The other hand still on the drink. He smirked once again as he moved his face closer to yours. "I wouldn't like for you to get hurt again."

Your throat hitches as you feel his warm hand on your hip, drawing small circles into it as he spoke in a soft tone. You finally see the hint of lust in his eyes that you failed to notice before and your heart thumps.

“You’re right. I think I’ll just go back to the party.” You say with a nervous chuckle, trying to somehow squeeze past him to get to the lobby while still being trapped between him and the counter behind you.

"I wouldn't advise you to go to the party. It's noisy and loud, there'll be too many people." Yoongi subtly brought his other arm with the bottle down and placed it on the counter, blocking all of your exits.

Now knowing where this was going you lean back more into the counter. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” You whisper looking down and away from his face so you’re not tempted to do anything that could possibly put your job in jeopardy.

“Why?” He said in a confident deep tone. “You know company’s have loosened up, and we’re grown adults.” Yoongi said with a soft chuckle as he leans closer to where you could feel his breath on your shoulder, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

“We’re from different companies.” You whisper, breathing getting heavy as the tension in the room starts to get hotter. Three drinks ago you wouldn’t even be considering about this, and maybe he wouldn’t even be either. But here you were.

“That's the best part." Yoongi said in a low voice as he took two fingers to move your chin so you were looking directly at him. He brushed your hair out of your eyes before tucking it behind your ear.

"No one from your company is even here and no one of my company knows you." He states calmly, giving you his signature smile for reassurance but the look of passion in his eyes tells a different story.

Your breathing becomes hitched as the hand on your hip begins to move to caress your side. He takes a swig of the alcohol as if to say ‘fuck it’ before quickly planting a hungry kiss on your exposed neck.

You bite your bottom lip to hold in a gasp as his wet soft lips hit your skin. His grip tightens on your hip as he kisses a trail down your neck "You're so beautiful," he breathes against your skin, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Your mind is hazy from the alcohol and his touch and suddenly all logical thinking begins to dissolve. All you can think about is how touch deprived you’ve been for years. How one of the most richest and famous person alive were telling you how beautiful you were. You can’t remember the last time you’ve let yourself let loose and release some steam.

He leans in close and presses his lips against yours, his tongue moving against them in a slow glide before pulling away. "No one has to know. Except for you and me." He says in a husky voice.

Now that he has you in his grasp, he gently takes your hand in his and leads you both out of the kitchen and upstairs to a one of the many empty hotel rooms that would soon be filled with drunk coworkers.

As soon as you step inside the room, he shuts the door behind him and locks it securely. He moves towards you again, placing a sloppy but firm kiss so you can taste the mix of alcohol on his lips while holding onto your waist tightly.

This time you return the kiss, now with your own hunger. “So pretty..” he praises again when he pulls away to catch his breath.

He starts kissing down your neck, his hand quickly moving to reach down to your blouse and unbutton it. You can feel the heat rising between you two, your breaths become shorter and quicker, your hearts racing in sync as he successfully gets your shirt off and on the ground.

You don’t have time to think as his hands move up to your breasts, feeling their weight and massaging them as he kisses you deeper. As he reaches your cleavage, he begins to undo your bra, letting go of your breasts so he could remove it completely. He holds the kiss as he does so causing your breathing to become faster and heavier at his touch. It was like an addiction, that you couldn’t get enough of.

He steps back, taking in your beautiful breasts for a moment before concluding that you needed all of your clothes off. He moves down and starts kissing all around your neck, chin, and jawline, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses and uses this as an opportunity to push you towards a nearby couch.

He kicks off his shoes as you collapse on the couch and he does the honors of taking off your heels for you as you quickly get off his shirt. He leans forward, and presses another passionate kiss against yours. “I’ve waited months for this..” he mumbles into the kiss, lying right out of his teeth.

His hands start to roam again, this time he takes the waistband of your skirt and pulls it down to your legs. “Let’s make sure you’re nice and wet for me..” he says in a deep husky voice as he slips his hand through your underwear feeling your wet fabric first.

You shiver when his fingers brush against your slit and as soon as he feels how soaked you are, he smiles widely leaning in to kiss you again. “So wet..” he hums before pulling his warm fingers away to pull down your underwear completely.

So having seen and felt enough, Yoongi unbuckles his pants and lets them fall to his knees. You can see the outline of his hard cock tugging at his boxers. He finally removes his boxers and his cock springs out, precum already leaking in anticipation. If being completely sober you would be more embarrassed of the situation, but your mind is to clouded by lust and warmth that you can take in his body completely.

He moves closer towards you once more, pressing himself firmly against you so that you're able to see every inch of him pressed against your stomach. "Mmmh...you like what you see?" he asks softly, as he wraps his hand around his cock.

You nod, a little to quickly as you watch him with pleading eyes. He smirks at your needy gaze, his hips moving into his hand involuntarily as he rubs his hand over your thigh.

Feeling your heat, he leans forward and kisses you, deepening the kiss as he slides his hands up your thighs to your hips. He squeezes them tightly, holding you in place as he slowly rubs himself against your entrance. He places one hand behind your neck while the other holds your hip firmly, gently pushing his cock inside you. You gasp loudly from the sudden pressure, but Yoongi only grins widely as he begins thrusting his hips slowly.

He lets out a grunt as he slowly pushes his painfully hard cock inside you, “So tight.. So wet..” he practically growls at the feeling of your warmth.

Your eyes shut tightly as he continues to slam his cock against your walls as he grips your hip tightly with both hands. “Look at me when I fuck you, Y/N..” he says in a demanding tone making you moan loudly in response your eyes fluttering open to look at him and you can admit it’s a beautiful sight. Never had you thought you’d be getting fucked by a famous idol like this, but now that it was happening you might as well take in all the sights.

“Fuck..that’s right..” he mumbles in a rough voice as he grips your hips tightly, his muscles tensing with every thrust he makes. It doesn’t take long after that till you’re clenching around him, moaning loudly as he drives you to a much needed orgasm that fills you with ecstasy.

His breathing becomes heavy too, sweat dripping off his forehead as he continues pounding. "Good girl..." He whispers huskily before kissing you passionately again.

In one swift motion he takes both hands and grips your hips tightly, lifting you up and off of the couch so he can sit down instead and places you on top of his lap still keeping himself buried deep within you.

Once comfortable sat up against the couch, he starts to move inside of you once again, starting off slow before speeding up. His thrusts are rougher than before, his hips slamming into yours as he holds your tightly to keep you in upright on his lap.

His thrusts become more needy and sloppy, causing you to bounce back and forth across his lap as he grunts softly as he feels himself getting close. He leans forward, holding onto your waist for support as he begins moving faster and harder, driving his cock deeper and deeper inside you until he finally releasing all of his hot cum inside of you.

The two of you stay like that a for a little, his warm cock buried deep inside of you as you try to steady your breathing.

Once Yoongi sees your breathing start to slow and you begin to come down from your high, he shifts his position so his laid down on the couch and you’re on top of his chest.

Your eyes flutter close shortly after, and when they finally open back up in the morning, Yoongi is gone.

Leaving you alone with the gruesome realization of how big of a mistake you’ve made.

#bts fanfic #bts x female reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts reactions #bts x you #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n #bts stranger to lovers #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic recs #bts dad au #bts pregnancy

1K notes · View notes

minisugakoobies · 9 days

Text

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career.

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.”

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes.

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!”

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you.

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.”

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff.

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this.

But he can’t sleep here.

“San. San, are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!”

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to.

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.”

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.”

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing.

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…”

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it.

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!”

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed.

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy.

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober.

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you.

If you reach that point.

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks. “I like kissing you.”

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same.

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.”

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him.

“It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again.

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on.

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!”

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?”

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since.

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though.

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom.

“Noona.”

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again.

“She’s in early today, right?”

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.”

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it.

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?”

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance.

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly.

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?”

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding.

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.”

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t.

You’re feeling suddenly inspired.

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

#ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #san x reader #choi san x reader #san fanfic #ateez angst #choi san fanfic #fic: it's you

375 notes · View notes

matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

Note

Idea for your "get off my screen" series! So what if the reader is like visiting someone/housesitting for someone and they have a radio that reader is listening to because she loves it, and they (of course) bring their phone and laptop to stay talking to vox, and when they connect him to the TV in the living room and the first thing he sees is the radio and he's like "get that thing the fuck away from you" and the readers like "um, no? I love it. I was thinking about getting one for my room" and he's like "absolutely not"

Get That Shit Off My Screen!

A/N: Oh this is fucking golden, I absolutely need to write this to displace the absolute angsty unit of an interlude I wrote hahahaha- I'll be finishing the requested interludes before I continue with the story. I ended up posting the continuation so y'all could already get down to brainstorming and scheming on lore ideas XD

A/N: Vox is kind of a pissy little rat here and we just annoy him a bunch more too lololol Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy the story and as always- Happy Reading!

You have seriously got to stop accepting favors from friends.

Because that was how you found yourself walking down the sidewalk on the way to go housesitting.

Just a week ago you'd had to impromptu take care of a little puppy.

And consequently placate a certain jealous TV demon-

And now you were asked to carry another favor as well.

Well, more like that friend practically begged you to accept.

You slightly readjusted the backpack you wore, it wasn't as light as hoped when you left your home.

Which, makes sense all things considered.

After all, it had your devices in there along with the necessities.

If you had to end up bored today you were going to rope in a certain annoying overlord just to avoid it.

Fumbling with the keys a bit, you opened the door to the house and entered before locking it behind you.

A habit you'd grown up with after your parents constantly reminded you to do so.

The home was... pretty big, especially compared to the place you were currently living in.

Tossing your bag onto the living room couch, you explored the rest of the home for a bit before returning.

"Gonna be housesitting today, mind if I connect you to the TV?"

When he simply replied with a thumbs up emoji, you figured he wasn't doing anything and just connected your laptop to the living room television again.

He didn't appear right away though, so you decided to look around the home once more.

It was filled with a lot of old stuff, reminiscent of a time gone by.

Which, kind of makes sense since it was the house of your friend's grandma that you were watching over for the day.

Ooooh- what's this thing?

"Hey doll sorry I'm late, got a bit delayed from a meeting and- GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THAT!"

You jumped at suddenly hearing Vox's words from the TV, when did he even get here?!

You had half a mind to yell at him for scaring you but you were far too curious about this old boxy object you found.

"Whaaa??? Why? What even is this?"

You asked while messing with the knobs, you doubted it even worked when it randomly started to play a song.

Oh.

OH.

So that's why he was so pissed.

And so you decided to troll with your digital companion as he often did to you.

"Woaaah, I've never seen one of these old radios before-"

"I'm surprised that one still works, it's an obsolete piece of fucking junk!"

Vox didn't really have time to scan the new surroundings when he'd connected to your devices and consequently the TV.

It didn't help either that the first thing he noticed was that you hunched over messing with something.

Only for him to find out moments later that it was a fucking radio.

The same old shit he'd been busy trying to wipe off the face of hell ever since his rival's return.

And the fact you were starting to get interested in it made his blood boil.

You held back a snicker seeing Vox just angrily glare at the old relic as it continued to play tunes.

You were aware of his entire vendetta against Alastor-

Or well, with as much as he'd tell you when he ranted.

But the fact something so simple as just a reminder set him off?

"Well I think it's niche, maybe I should get one of these for my room-"

"NO- zzZzzZsT THE FU- zZzST -CK YO- ZzZZsT -U AREN'T!"

You couldn't hold the laughs back this time, doubling over when Vox started buffering and yelling about how stupid and old the radio was.

He didn't even seem to notice that you were just pulling his leg.

Something this old wouldn't fit into your home, besides-

You had a new Bluetooth speaker with loads better audio quality.

This old thing was just a nice reminder of times long ago.

Times you didn't even live in.

"Finnneeeee, fine fine you pissbaby. I won't get one. Still think it's pretty funky though."

You said as you plopped down on the couch, noticing Vox's face was still glitching and fizzing on the TV screen.

He wasn't even looking at you and instead was glaring off to the side.

Was he that upset about the radio?

Really??

"Dude, you know as much as I do how ancient that stuff is. If I did end up getting one it would be because someone dumped it on me. I like looking at the past but not collecting relics."

Vox still didn't react and you raised an eyebrow.

Silent treatment huh?

Okay, you could play his game.

"Anyway, I was looking up stuff from around the decade you told me you died."

He finally looked back to you with a raised eyebrow.

Bingo.

"And I ended up finding this serial murder case that's still unsolved to this day."

Vox only furrowed his eyebrows, he wasn't in hell for murder.

As far as he was concerned, it was probably because he was a lying and cheating businessman.

As you continued to talk more about the details of the case, it started to paint a more familiar picture.

And as entertaining as it was to watch you discuss with him something interesting you found-

Vox was not fond of you talking about Alastor so avidly.

Geez, if only you'd look that cute talking about him like that.

What-

What?

That was probably the envy talking.

"Doll, I know you were probably trying to cheer me up but I'm kind of certain that's one of Alastor's cases."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

"The old fuck's a cannibal. I knew for sure it was him when you mentioned the bodies were found cut up like a butchered pig."

At least Vox was talking to you again, even if he still looked more than peeved it was about his rival.

He actually looked more grumpy and pouty in your opinion-

But that was probably because you weren't seeing right.

"Well, why did you end up in hell then? I would've thought you'd be in for something just as horrible to be as powerful as you say you are."

Vox just sighed, he wasn't actually sure what got him dammed for eternity.

But he did a lot of bad things over the course of his life, so it was probably the accumulation of it all that had sent him into the inferno.

"What makes you ask dollface? Curious much?"

You just shrugged, shifting to lie down on the couch and just look up at the antique chandelier hanging above on the ceiling.

"Dunno, I just want to know more about you. I mean, I know enough- but I want to know more."

Vox could feel his screen heating up slightly in his chair.

Why did you have to be so damn cute-

The fact you wanted to know more about him, it made him feel... odd-

Well, a good odd.

He didn't really know what to do with himself.

"I'm not actually sure. I've been a businessman my whole life, probably the worst of the worst when it comes to principles but I haven't directly ever killed anyone if that's what you're guessing."

"Huh, makes me wonder if I'll end up in hell for the stunts I've pulled on other students too."

"The hacking? Or the blackmailing? Because I doubt either of those would actually send you down here."

"Oh come onnnn, I swear at this point I'll actually kill someone so I can guarantee I'd meet you."

You raised an eyebrow at the screen turning pink again.

Pfft, did he seriously get embarrassed by that?

A smile worked onto your face when Vox softly excused himself and disconnected from the TV.

Ha, cute.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox x you #get off my screen series

415 notes · View notes

mrsaltieri-real · 9 months

Text

Like a Virgin pt3 (Virgin!Ethan Landry x Fem!AFAB!Reader)

Warnings/s: 18+, smut, p in v, langauge, riding, first time, degradation, established degradation kink, premature ejaculation, praise kink, oral, (fem receiving) squirting, face fucking, (Ethan’s a needy, greedy little fucker whose found a love in eating pussy)dom!reader, basically pure filth, brief mention of Richie’s death and his father snapping, etc

Length: 2.5k

Here’s the third and final part of this little series. I had a lot of fun writing this part. A. Lot. Probably the smuttiest thing I’ve ever fucking wrote and I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you again for this request, anon!

Read part 1 HERE

Read part 2 HERE

Ethan couldn’t believe this was really happening. The last few years of his life were filled with nothing but pain and carnage. The grieving of his brother, his father snapping after the fact…

He knew why he was here, in the apartment you shared with Tara, Sam and unbeknownst to them, his sister. But in this moment, gazing up at your gorgeous face in awe as you gently rolled your hips across his slowly swelling cock, the feeling of your soft hands resting on his shoulders with your fingernails lightly digging into his creamy skin, all of that abandoned his mind completely. He just wanted to focus on you.

He felt anxious as he lifted his trembling hands to hesitantly rest them on your hips, feeling the tight arousal begin to slowly build up inside of him for the second time tonight. A small part of his brain was surprised that he was able to get hard again as his cock began to swell. Maybe you just had this kind of effect on him.

He’d wanted you for as long as he’d known you, craved you even. He’d been completely oblivious to the lingering looks and lustful gazes you had in turn been sending his way these last couple of weeks, although you had of course noticed his. Ethan was a lot of things but subtle was absolutely not one of them.

The feeling of your increasingly wet pussy sliding over him was already becoming almost too much for him to handle. You watched as his expression turned into one of pure concentration as his blunt fingernails dug into the soft skin of your hips and you let out a small laugh.

“You can’t cum just yet, you know? I’m not even fucking you.”

“I know.” He huffed a little, his voice strained. “It just feels really good.”

You smiled down at him, one hand moving from his chest as you lifted your hips, reaching between the two of you to grasp his cock in your hand, slowly guiding it to the entrance of your soaked hole. He let out a small whimper as he felt his tip gently rest just inside of you and your hand moved back to his chest, still hovering just above him.

“You ready?” You asked softly.

He wanted to move so badly, feel you envelop him entirely, squeezing and milking him. He had to stop himself, a sheen of sweat from the unbridled concentration beginning to form on his forehead and chest.

“Yes! Yes, just… please?” He spoke softly, utterly beautiful and almost already a complete mess.

“Please what?”

“Please take me.” He blurted out, unable to disguise his desperate need “Please take me.”

For some reason, him saying this made you let out a small groan, looking down at him with a deep want as you slowly, deliberately rolled your hips, sighing at the satisfying stretch as he slowly began to fill you. You watched his face all the while, his eyes fluttering and starting to roll back as his hands gripped your hips even tighter.

You are a dominating person, especially when it comes to sex. But this was Ethan’s first time and honestly, you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Not just yet, anyway. As you adjusted to him, you rocked your hips, sinking down onto him completely and making him let out a small, surprised gasp in the process as he felt your heat completely cover him

“Fuck,” you moaned gently, leaning back on top of him so he could see his cock buried inside of you.

Ethan’s eyes were now set on the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen; him completely engulfed by you. He stared, mouth slack as you began to grind and roll your hips, watching as his dick slid inside of your cunt with hungry eyes. “How’s it- fuck. How’s it feel?“ you asked, looking down at him with a small smirk.

“Oh- oh my god.” He was so sweetly hypnotised at the sight before him, feeling every part of your hot, wet cunt with his dick. It was almost too much.

“Look at me.” You demanded, leaning forward again to grip his hair between your fingers so he was forced to look at your face. As you did so, he felt your hard nipples graze over his and he shivered a little. “Tell me how it feels.”

“I- I can’t explain.” He gasped quickly, tensing up as he felt you very deliberately squeeze around him.

“Be a good boy and try. You’re my good boy, aren’t you Ethan?” Your face was inches away from his, one hand still gripping his hair and the other slowly moved between you and started circling your clit gently, applying the pressure that would make you squeeze him in just the way you knew he’d love. He let out a loud whimper at your praise and the tight, warm feeling, brown eyes huge and desperate.

“Yes, yes I’m your good boy, I promise.” He whispered shakily.

“Then tell me-“ another sharp grind of your ass made him almost begin to sob there and then. “- how it fucking feels.”

“Feels fucking amazing. You’re so tight. Squeezing me. I can’t- fuck-“ his voice was shaking and trailed off and you watched as his eyes screwed up and his hips thrust up into you, making you gasp and let out a surprised moan as he brushed that little spot deep inside of you with his tip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have moved, I’m sorry, I just- god, I just-“ he began apologising, fast and rambling with his voice rising and falling with every collapse of your hips as he opened his eyes and tears from the stimulation began to spill down his cheeks. You let out a breathless laugh, moving to place your hand over his mouth.

“It’s okay, baby. You want me to stop?“

His voice was loud but muffled as he practically yelled, “No, no, please no!” from behind your hand, his desperation for you only turning you on even more.

“Look at you.” You almost scoffed a little, moving your hands from his mouth to wipe the pathetic tears that stained his cheeks. “You’re fucking crying? So needy, so pathetic.” You laughed down at him, sighing as your head fell back whilst you continued to bounce on top of him, clenching and unclenching your pussy with every fall. Some part of Ethan was surprised he enjoyed you calling him pathetic, the words only making him throb inside of you desperately.

You felt him twitch, laughing to yourself breathlessly and shaking your head at him. “You’re not to fucking cum, not yet. Understand?“ the pathetic whimper that fell from him as he looked up at you pleadingly was endearing as fuck and it made the feeling of your impending orgasm loom even closer.

“Understand?” You said again, more firmly this time and he bobbed his head a little, the series of broken whimpers still falling from his plump lips. “You’re not cumming until I do.” You told him. “Now, I want you to match me, okay?” He blinked a little, streaming eyes falling down to watch how you rolled your hips and he let out a soft huff as he, much more tentatively this time, bucked his hips up as yours came down. He felt proud of the intense moans that came out of you and he continued to thrust into you, feeling himself press into something hard that resulted in you letting out a loud, almost pornograpgic groan, feeling yourself clench around him even harder, your fingers still desperately rubbing at your clit. This ended up being the result of him uncontrollably beginning to twitch inside of you.

“Oh god… oh GOD.” His head fell back into the pillow as he began to unload inside of you, a series of downright delicious whimpers and moans falling out of him as he coated your walls. He trembled as a loud sob escaped his lips at the feeling of your cunt milking him, writhing as his hips stuttered and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry? Did I say you could cum?” You asked him. In all honesty, you weren’t at all mad. Seeing him like this, his curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat and his face twisted and him crying in pleasure was all the satisfaction you needed.

“I’m sorry.” He said in a small, slurred voice, his chest heaving as he gradually stopped twitching and writhing from under you, his cock slowly began to soften inside of you and throbbing dully. He suddenly blinked, realising what he’d done. “Oh.. you didn’t.. oh, fuck.” He felt angry at himself for not obeying you, not making you cum with his cock, but that was somewhat filtered out by the intense pleasure he was also feeling from his first time being that damn good.

“It’s alright, honey. Next time.” You lightly patted his cheek before climbing off of him and standing up, hearing him wince as his raw cock slid out of your dripping hole.

“No, no.” You could hear the frown in his voice and you turned down to face him, seeing him practically scramble across the bed to fall to his knees in front of you.

“What are you-“

“Let me?” He asked, eyes pleading as they flickered up to your face and to your leaking cunt, marvelling as he saw his cum spilling out of you. “Please let me?”

“I don’t know..” you sighed, raising an eyebrow down at him. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you not to cum. Why should I let you do this when you clearly want it so badly?”

“Please?” He begged again, eyes incapable of looking at anything else other than your pussy. “I can apologise better this way. Let me?”

You couldn’t help but smile down at him fondly.

“So fucking desperate, aren’t you? Wanting to eat your cum out of me and get me off.” He licked his lips a little, waiting almost impatiently for you to give him the go ahead.

“Fine then, get me off.”

He didn’t need anything more. His mouth latched eagerly to your swollen clit, almost making you fall backward. You gripped his shoulder for balance as he eagerly licked and sucked at your clit, cradling it between his soft lips. “Fuck, baby.” You sighed, lifting your leg and resting it over his shoulder so you could rest your hands in his hair, pushing his face against your cunt. His hands slid up your legs to grip your ass, holding him as close to you as possible as his tongue moved from your clit to delve into your hole that was stuffed with his cum. He moaned against you, tasting the mixture of both of your arousal on his tongue as he hungrily curled his tongue inside of you, looking up at your face to ensure it was okay.

“Mmm- fuckkkkk.” You moaned out, head falling back. Now he was past the shy, awkward stage and was now intensely eager and more confident in eating you out, the feeling was almost indescribable. His tongue was soft and velvety as you rocked your hips on his face yet again, his nose softly bumping against your clit. “Fucking filthy boy.” You murmured, fingers twisting in his hair as your head fell forward to look down at him. “Eating me so good, aren’t you baby? Making me feel fucking amazing.” He huffed eagerly against your cunt at your praise, moaning loudly against you as you began to grind your hips faster. “Use your fingers and rub my clit.” You instructed, feeling the coil inside of you close to snapping.

He moved his hand from your ass to do just that, his fingers sloppily running over your swollen bundle of nerves. This tipped you over the edge, your fingers yanking at his hair as you panted and moaned, uncontrollably grinding your pussy all over his face. He tried to keep up with the movements, not wanting to miss out on even a drop of your sweet juices as you let out a sound not even you had heard before and began twitching and writhing above him. Your sudden unexpected movements startled him a little and he began to move back from your pussy, eyes almost alarmed.

“Don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare stop.” You almost shouted, grabbing the back of his head and forcing his face back to your quivering cunt. He obliged, attaching his lips to your clit once again and sucking nice and hard, humming softly against you and sending vibrations through your core.

“Oh, fuck baby, fuck yes.” You cried out, legs trembling as you not only came practically sobbing Ethan’s name as you rode and fucked his pretty face, but did something that had never happened before. You weren’t sure if it was because he was genuinely good, or the fact it was the knowledge that the guy hungrily sucking at your clit was Ethan, but something inside you snapped and you began squirting against his mouth as your whole body convulsed, a series of loud and unfiltered cries of pure ecstasy falling through your lips.

Ethan greedily lapped up your spraying juices, eyes still wide in surprise as he felt and swallowed how much came out of you.

You were shaking and still twitching as Ethan finished licking happily until you were clean and finished, smiling proudly in front of you as your leg dropped from his shoulder and you stumbled a little to sit on your bed.

“Jesus.” You sighed out, body still trembling uncontrollably.

“Are you okay?” His proud expression suddenly switched up to concern as he shuffled closer to you on his knees, resting a large hand on your shaking knee. “Oh, god did I hurt you? Was I not supposed to-“

“Shh, baby.” You said softly, smiling weakly and resting a shaky hand on his cheek. He leaned into it happily, his eyes closing at your touch. “I’m fine. I’ve just… never cum like that before.”

“Really?” He looked almost smug and you let out a small breathless laugh.

“Yeah, really. Don’t look like that.” You scolded him playfully before falling back onto your bed, trying to steady your breathing.

You felt the bed dip and then watched him as he laid down next to you, looking at your face all the while. You chuckled a little, lifting your hand to gently wipe your leftover arousal and his dried up tears from his chin and cheeks.

“Are you okay? This being your first time and all?”

“Oh, are you kidding?” The smile that broke across his face was infectious. “That was..wow. I don’t even think I can explain it.” His eyes were still huge and wild, glinting in the dim light. You rolled over so you were on your stomach, leaning over him to kiss him gently on his swollen lips. “You’re a good teacher.” He said as you pulled away a little to look at him.

“You’re a good student. Very obedient.” Your tone was approving and it made him grin happily.

“I liked doing what you told me.” He admitted almost shyly. “And I liked other stuff too.”

“What other stuff?” You pressed him, suddenly curious.

“Like when you uh…” he trailed off, shaking his head a little. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

“Come on,” you cupped his cheek in your hand, pulling his face back to look at you. “I’m not gonna judge you, what did you like?”

Ethan sighed a little. He couldn’t say no to you anymore, it just wasn’t possible.

“When you said I was… needy.” He spoke in a small hesitant voice. “… and pathetic.”

You raised your eyebrows at him a little, feeling oddly charmed by his little confession. “You liked that, hm?”

He nodded shyly, eyes still looking into yours. “More than I thought I would.”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe next time we can see what else you like.”

#i got a little excited #and very carried away #he’s such a pathetic mess I love him #sub!ethan is fucking everything #such a needy boy UGH #hope you all enjoy #I know I did #scream #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #sub! ethan landry #slasher x reader #scream 6

1K notes · View notes

macfrog · 5 months

Text

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me

988 notes · View notes

tip-top-cloud-surfer · 5 months

Text

The Danger Zone (Part 11) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 4.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Background Relationships; Medical Appointments; Suggestive Comments; Discussion of Mental Health (Depression, Anxiety, Post-Partum); Discussions of Goose and Carole; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: You and Jake move in together and attend your twenty-week appointment.

Series Master List

Master List

A week and a half later, you were moving into Jake’s apartment officially. The two of you, with some help from Phoenix and Coyote, had already moved all of the smaller items out of your apartment. Bradley and Mav also stopped by—when Jake wasn’t there—to take some of the more sentimental items to hold onto for you in their bigger homes.

So, all that was left were a few pieces of furniture. You sold some of your furniture but decided to either keep or store or give away the other pieces. And that meant that someone had to drag it down the stairs and shove it into the back of Jake’s truck or the trailer that Maverick brought.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jake stated, watching as you rearranged the chairs around the table.

“What?”

“You’re not carrying anything. It’s all heavy and we’re not risking you hurting yourself,” Jake insisted, walking over to you. “Just relax.”

“I think I can drag a chair a few inches,” you stated, shooting Jake a playful look. “But I won’t carry anything heavy. Promise.”

“Thank you,” Jake replied softly. “How’re they today?”

“I think I’m feeling flutters, but I don’t really know. I only seem to feel them when I’m trying to sleep, so I don’t know if I’m imaging them.”

Your twenty-week appointment was about a week away and both of you were a bit anxious about it. Of course, every first-time parent worried about the worst case-scenario at that appointment. That they were going to get some kind of news that would change the little fairytale that they built up in their mind.

“Only when you’re trying to sleep?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“It’s like they’re teasing you. Or trying to stress you out more.”

“They’re stubborn, that’s all.”

“They get it from both sides,” Jake replied, brushing his fingers down your bump.

“Hopefully, they’re not too stubborn coming out,” you stated, glancing down at your bump as Jake took a step closer to you. Smiling up at him, you let out a chuckle. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about all the gas I’ll save when I don’t have to drive over here anymore," he explained, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“The gas, of course,” you hummed.

You let out a louder giggle as Jake leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek and then down your neck. The two of you, since your kiss in the kitchen, had gotten a lot more comfortable and handsy with each other over the next few days. You hadn’t taken it all the way yet, both of you were still cautious about pushing too hard too fast, but you seemed to be moving in that direction. It was starting to remind you of how the two of you were before you found out that you were pregnant.

Jake pressed a lingering kiss to your lips as his strong arms pulled you closer. And as you tangled your hand in his hair, returning the kiss, you heard the door to your apartment open. You turned your head and reflexively pushed Jake off of you when you saw Maverick standing there.

“Hey, Mav,” you greeted awkwardly, running a hand through your hair. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. Though you looked as if you weren’t expecting company,” Maverick quipped, working on his key ring.

“I can explain,” Jake stated, causing Maverick to shake his head.

“You already got her pregnant, Jake. There’s not much left to explain beyond that.”

“Mav,” you sighed, feeling like a teenager again.

“Trailer’s parked out front. I didn’t know how you wanted to divide things up. Penny said that she would bring lunch over to your new apartment. And Bradley told me that he was leaving a couple minutes ago.”

“Great,” Jake replied dryly.

“There's not too much left at least,” you stated, trying to perk Jake up. “But I have to give the key back to my landlord, Mav.”

Maverick pulled your spare key off of his chain and handed it over to you before turning to Jake. The two of them started to carry stuff downstairs to the trailer or Jake’s truck while you started to sweep up and do your final round of cleaning so that your landlord didn’t charge you extra.

Jake and Maverick were out by the trailer, sliding your dresser into the back when Rooster walked over with his keys in hand. Leaning on the trailer wall, Rooster and Jake shared a glare before Bradley turned to Maverick.

“Emma’s going to meet us there with Penny. I’ll text her when we’re finished up here.”

“We’ve still got a few trips left before that,” Maverick reported, walking over to Bradley. “We’re going to do the couch next.”

Bradley nodded and turned to head inside with Mav, leaving Jake to walk by himself. Jake wasn’t too perturbed. He was expecting the treatment from Bradley and the fact that Maverick hadn’t pushed him down the stairs after seeing the two of you together felt like a small victory.

You were wiping down the counters when they returned to your apartment. You moved to greet your brother before the three of them walked over to your couch. You stood a bit nervously by the door, holding it open for them.

“Please don’t hurt yourselves,” you told them as they started to carry it out.

“We’ll be fine,” Jake assured you as he passed by.

You watched them go before shutting the door. Moving over to the window, you sat down and watched for them. It was only three floors, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to focus until the three of them emerged together. You weren’t so worried that the couch would be too heavy or anything like that. You were more concerned that they would use it to hurt each other.

Jake and Bradley carried the ends of the couch while Maverick stood in the middle. Bradley stood on the lower set of stairs, simply because Jake wasn’t stupid and refused to step down first. Otherwise, he wasn’t confident that he would make it down to the bottom of the stairs. Not without a crack in the back of his head. Again, he wasn’t stupid.

“Lift it up more,” Bradley grunted as they tried to turn one of the last corners.

“I am,” Jake huffed back at him.

“I wouldn’t have asked if you just did it,” Bradley snapped at Jake.

“Just lift, both of you,” Maverick stated firmly, shooting them both a look.

They managed to walk around the corner with the couch and down the last set of stairs before setting the couch down on the floor to catch their breath and relieve their muscles. Bradley leaned on the couch, glaring over at Jake as Jake stretched his arms casually. Maverick was silent, but he was clearly watching them.

“So, why are we moving my sister into your tiny apartment again, Hangman?”

“Her lease is up and we’re having a baby together,” Hangman stated, like Rooster was as dumb as a brick.

“And you couldn’t even get an apartment with enough room for a crib in it?”

“Bradley,” Maverick stated, shooting him a look.

“There’s enough room for a crib,” Jake snapped back at Bradley. “We already mapped it out. We wrote down the exact dimensions that we need. And even if we didn’t, it’s none of your fucking business, Rooster.”

“Jake,” Maverick sighed, turning to the annoyed aviator.

“It is my business when it involves my sister and my niece or nephew.” Bradley straightened up, staring Jake down. “She told me that you were looking at houses, but yet she said that she hasn’t been to any house showings. Why is that?”

“None of your fucking business, Rooster.”

“It’s not? Because it sounds like you’re selling a fantasy to my sister that you’re never actually going to deliver.”

“That’s enough,” Maverick replied to both of them.

“You would want your sister to just move into the first house that we found and could close on?” Jake stated, staring Bradley down. “We’re looking. But there’s other things that are more pressing that we have to deal with. But again, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“And does she know that? Have you told her that?”

“Alright, pick up your ends, let’s get it put into the trailer,” Maverick snapped, effectively ending the argument.

You watched from above as Jake, Bradley, and Maverick walked out to the trailer with the couch. Letting out a breath of relief, you got up and turned to clean once again. There was just the tables, chairs, and another small dresser left, which Jake, Bradley, and Maverick carried down in three more trips.

When it was all cleaned up, you took a moment to walk through the empty rooms, reminiscing about the memories that the place brought you. It was a sanctuary for you for a time. An escape, really. But it was an apartment for a version of you that was quickly disappearing and in a few short months would be gone completely.

You had grown out of it. And it was time to move on.

“You alright?” Jake asked softly, standing at the threshold of the apartment.

“Yeah,” you replied, turning to him with a small smile. “I’m okay.”

Picking up the keys, you walked over to Jake, pressed a kiss to his lips, and headed out. And into the new phase of your life.

~~~~~

You and Jake arrived at your shared apartment first, since Maverick and Bradley were dropping off some stuff at their respective houses first. Penny was waiting for you in the parking lot and Jake assured you that he would be fine carrying everything himself.

“So, how’d moving out go?” Penny asked you as you walked up the stairs. Your now shared apartment was on the third floor, so it was one less set of stairs than your previous apartment. “Pete gave me a brief overview.”

“He probably knows better than me. He was the one who was dealing with them,” you sighed, pulling out your new set of keys. “I just want them to be able to coexist. They don’t have to like each other. Hell, they don’t even need to speak to each other. I just need them to be able to sit in the same room and not try to kill each other.”

“They’re both stubborn and set in their ways,” Penny replied, shaking her head. “Have you talked to Emma about Bradley?”

“Yeah, but there’s only so much she can do. Ever since Mom died, he’s always felt the need to be so protective over me. And I appreciated it sometimes but now I don’t need it now. I just want him to be happy for me. For us, me and Jake.”

“He will. Maybe he just needs to see Jake supporting you—not that he isn’t already—for that to start to happen.”

“He better get over it by the time I have this baby or I swear,” you muttered, moving to unlock your front door. You turned to Penny with less annoyance in your features. “You know, I really want to make Bradley and Emma the baby’s godparents. And the baby’s guardians if something were to happen to the both of us and—”

“—Don’t talk like that,” Penny interrupted you, grabbing your shoulders.

“Penny,” you sighed as the door shut behind her, “I’m not living in some delusion where I don’t think that bad things can happen. And I want it all written down and signed and everything before I give birth or just in case Jake gets dragged away.” Placing a hand on your bump, you looked down. “I want to be prepared.”

“Hey, today is a happy occasion. You can focus on that stuff at another time. Right now, just enjoy the fact that everyone is healthy and that you’re moving forward in your relationship with Jake, okay?” You nodded slowly and Penny pulled you in for a tight motherly hug. “And that’s why I got you a gift.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Penny.”

“I know, but I saw it and just thought of you,” Penny replied, pulling away and reaching into the bag that she brought.

“And you definitely didn’t need to wrap it,” you mused, taking the box from her hand.

Gently tearing at the wrapping paper, you glanced up when the door opened and Jake walked in, carrying your nightstand and dragging a suitcase behind him. You shot him a smile as he glanced curiously down at the gift in your hands.

“What’s that?”

“Just a small gift,” Penny insisted, smiling kindly.

You tore away the rest of the wrapping paper and pulled out a rectangular plaque. You were a bit confused when you noted the three raised squares, but when you read the painted letters above them, it all clicked.

The message of ‘Daddy’ + ‘Mommy’ = ‘Baby’ was so simple, yet so emotionally overwhelming.

“You’re supposed to put your handprints here,” Penny explained, pointing at the squares. “Jake can put his handprint here and then you can put yours there and then when your baby comes, you can put their handprint there. They recommended red and white for your hands if it’s a girl, so that her handprint is pink. Or white and a darker blue if it’s a boy, so that his handprint would be a baby blue. And you can paint the baby’s name below the square too, right there.”

“I love it,” you croaked out, emotions quickly bursting to the surface. “Thank you, Penny. I love it, I love it so much.”

You pulled Penny back in for a tight hug, tears starting to stream down your cheeks. Jake looked on, concerned, but Penny gave him a reassuring smile and mouthed that it was alright. And when Jake continued to look concerned, Penny whispered ‘hormones’ to him. Jake nodded slowly and gently took the plaque from your hands.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you breathed out, wiping them away hastily. “It just hit me all of a sudden.”

“It’s been a long day. You’re making big steps. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, trying to get a reign on your emotions again. Turning back to Jake, who was still staring at you with a measure of concern. “Where do you think we should put it up, once it’s complete?”

“Somewhere everyone can see it,” Jake suggested, causing you to smile and nod in agreement.

~~~~~

Since most of your stuff was already at Jake’s apartment, it didn’t take too much longer to fully make it your shared space. And you already made space in the living room for baby stuff. It was still early, you knew, but the alternative was researching about what horrible things you could find out at your twenty-week appointment, so you kept on decorating.

But today was the day, so you supposed that you couldn’t push it off anymore.

Waiting a bit anxiously in your car, you let out a breath when you spotted Jake’s truck pull into the lot. You grabbed your purse and slipped out of your car, walking over to where Jake parked. He got out of his truck, dressed in his day uniform, and quickly moved to your side. Pulling you in for a gentle hug, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, causing you to nod against his chest. “Everything’s going to be fine. Whatever we find out, it’s going to be fine, okay?”

Jake locked up his truck before the two of you headed inside the office. You checked in and sat down, filling out some paperwork while Jake rested his arm behind your back. And when your name was called, the two of you silently walked back to the exam room. Laying back on the exam table, you stared at the ceiling as Jake rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

A knock at the door made you sit up and move to the edge of the examination table. Your obstetrician walked inside the room with a kind smile. It started off as any regular doctor’s appointment would. You went over your symptoms, your pains, your bloodwork, and everything else before moving onto the ultrasound.

You immediately reached for Jake as the wand touched your belly and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. She moved it around, typing away at her computer, taking a few images and measurements, before turning to you with a reassuring smile.

“Your baby’s growing normally and as they should. Everything is measuring normal. They’re a little smaller than average, but nothing to be concerned about. They’re still a perfectly healthy and normal size.” She typed something else before turning back to you and Jake. “Do you still want to wait to know the baby’s sex?”

“Yes, please,” you answered quickly.

“Alright, well, I’m just going to turn the screen briefly,” your obstetrician replied, hiding the information from you and Jake.

“You can tell?” you asked quietly.

“Yes, but all the files are marked to keep that information completely private. Unless you change your mind, of course.”

You nodded and shared a look with Jake, who pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. Your obstetrician typed away again before moving the screen back to your view. And as she continued to tell you that everything was normal and healthy, you sunk in and started to relax and enjoy the moment.

“Your baby seems to be a bit stubborn,” your obstetrician noted, trying to move the wand around your belly again to take some more measurements. “They start to cooperate and then seem to decide not to about three seconds later.”

“That’s not shocking,” you mused, watching the movement of your child on the screen. “Stubbornness is probably genetic for them.”

After a few more pictures, your belly was wiped off and you sat up once again. Your obstetrician smiled kindly as she sat down on her stool in front of you. Jake sat beside you, more relaxed than when he walked in, but still alert, as your obstetrician turned to you.

“Alright, there’s just a few more screening questions and then we’re all set.”

“Of course,” you agreed, nodding slowly.

“Mr. Seresin,” your obstetrician stated, causing Jake to turn to her. “Did you want to go and grab the ultrasound photos? A tech can bring you back there. And you can ask them any questions of your own about the process.”

Jake hesitated for a moment but agreed and got up from his seat. You squeezed his hand in goodbye before he exited the room with one of the techs. Your obstetrician waited until he was gone before turning to you.

“At the twenty week appointment, we usually perform a screening of your mental health.” After you nodded, she began. “Have you ever had a history of mental illness? Anxiety? Depression? Eating disorders? Anything like that?”

“Yes,” you answered softly. “Depression and anxiety.”

“When?” she asked, poised to type down the information.

“My mother passed away when I was twelve. And after that, I was diagnosed with depression and put in talk therapy for a time. But I stopped that when I was eighteen. And they put me on anti-anxiety medication when I was sixteen.”

“Are you still on that medication?”

“No, I stopped it about a year afterwards. I was just going through a lot at the time and talk therapy wasn’t working completely. It was just to get me through that time and then I didn’t need it anymore.”

“Have you had any flare ups since then?”

“A few times,” you answered honestly.

“You didn’t go back to talk therapy or medication or anything?”

“No, I just . . . waited for it to get better, I suppose. Probably wasn't the best decision, but I survived.”

“Can I ask why you didn’t return to therapy or medication?”

“Honestly, the only reason I went to therapy or went on medication when I was a teenager was because I had people in my family push me in that direction. But when I was an adult, I just . . . I wanted to just handle it quietly.”

“Well, please document if you feel any depression or anxiety during your pregnancy and your postpartum period. It’s an overwhelming time for anyone and there’s no shame in asking for help of any kind.” Your obstetrician paused before asking softly, “Do you trust your partner to help you if you feel depressed or anxious?”

“Yeah,” you answered honestly, nodding along.

“And are you two living together?”

“Yes, we are.”

“And you feel safe in that living situation? Do you feel safe and confident about bringing your baby into that environment?”

“Yes, completely.”

“Alright, well, please just document if you feel anxious or depressed.” She stood up and grabbed a pamphlet and handed it to you. “You can always call our office or there’s a helpline that you can call at any time. And there’s no shame in any of it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, thumbing through the pamphlet.

~~~~~

That night, you and Jake laid in bed, looking at the photos from your ultrasound together. You were curled up on his chest, resting most of your weight on him as Jake wrapped his arm around your waist, cupping your continuously growing bump with his hand.

“Were you a small baby?” you asked Jake softly, staring at the ultrasound picture of your baby.

“What?” he questioned, turning to you with some confusion.

“Were you a small baby when you were born?” you repeated for him. “She said that the baby was smaller than average.”

“I never asked,” Jake replied, a bit elusively.

“I was normal weight, according to my mom,” you stated, still staring at the photo. “Bradley was a large baby with a big fat head, but I was normal weight and size. Mav said that after I was born, my mom told my dad that she wished that I was born first. It would have been an easier delivery, she told him.”

“You think that they’ll stay smaller?”

“I hope so,” you mused with a smile. “I’d prefer a six pound baby to a ten pound baby, thank you very much.” You turned to Jake with a soft look in your eye, resting your head on his shoulder. “Your mom never complained to you about how big your head was or how you were overactive in her belly or anything like that?”

“No,” Jake replied shortly.

Your smile slipped a bit and you turned back to the ultrasound photo. Jake rubbed his hand slowly up and down your bump, soothing you in one way but making another part of you wander from his side.

“Can I take this one?” Jake asked, causing you to turn back to him.

“What?”

“Can I take this one with me?” Jake asked you again, pointing at one photo from the roll. “I was thinking about putting a photo from the ultrasound in my cockpit. If that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, nodding to him and offering him a smile. “I think that’s sweet.”

Jake nodded in return and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The two of you turned in for the night shortly afterwards. Rolling onto your side, you rested your head on your hand, staring out at the window. Jake gave your bump one last loving squeeze before moving away to fall asleep. And although you were exhausted and needed sleep, your mind kept you awake.

Staring at the window again, you paused when you felt that little flutter again. You smiled to yourself and glanced down at your bump.

“Right as I’m trying to go to sleep? Again?” you teased quietly.

Tags (PRETTY PLEASE have your AGE on your blog or message me about it to be tagged--thank you!):

[If I missed you, don’t feel bad about asking to be tagged again! But please make sure that your age is in your bio/comment/etc. Thanks!]

@mrsjobarnes @wishiwasacasualfan @bethabear12 @everythingmarveltopgun @hardballoonlove @mavrellover91 @fangirlvoice @senjoritanana @sophslastbraincell @xoxabbs88xox @emma8895eb @dempy @harperdoodle @itsmytimetoodream @sarahjoestewy-blog @the-annoying-fan @athenabarnes @midnightmagpiemama @praline357 @sucker4seresin @sunsetsimpsblog @sgt-barnesveins @abaker74 @shanimallina87 @kellyIs04 @trickphotography2 @kmc1989 @boiolay @offical-potato @topgun-imagines @caitsymichelle13 @daddymack01 @hangmandruigandmav @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @lilylilyyyyyy @lillunna @bcon24 @sky0401 @ashcosmo @blackwidownat2814 @specialagentjackbauer @imareallygoodlawyersbrick @percysaidnever @silenthappyplace @buckysteveloki-me @havlindzk @hookslove1592 @mamachasesmayhem @aviatorobsessed @marvelogic @ems-alexandra @harrysgothicbitch @shawnsblue @shiara04 @delguersojoy-blog @erindiggory @eloquentdreamer

500 notes · View notes

fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year

Video

Michael Sheen about David Tennant, bonding over working on Good Omens and their kids, Season 2 and suprises in S2, and David's bad habits. (MCM Comic Con, 30.10.2022)

Q: Now, I've watched a youtube video, it was a really strange fan video, it was lovely though, and it was about the bromance between you and David Tennant.

Michael: I'm sorry, I didn't... I don't know who you're referring to.

Q: I mean, what is he like to work with, he seems like a joy to work with and you guys get on really well.

Michael: I mean, it's like having and an albatros around your neck, really, he sort of does drag you down a lot of time... no, I feel very lucky, you know, David and I were in a film called Bright Young Things together many, many years ago - [applause] thank you very much, thank you, thank you - but we didn't get to act together in that and we didn't, you know, we didn't really know each other from that and we've know each other 'say hello to' over the years, but it wasn't until we did Good Omens the first series really that we - [another applause] thank you thank you - that we got to know each other and of course we spent a LOT of time together on that, and people were coming in and out, but it was essentially me and David sitting in the tent all day every day a lot of the time. And so we sort of slowly got to know each other doing that and then, actually it was probably doing the publicity for that and the press for that that we really got to know each other and and then because we both had babies within weeks of each other, you know, me and Anna and David and Georgia, you know, we got very kind of bonded then because of over that. And we say that, so David and Georgia's little girl Birdie and our little girl Lyra, we say, Lyra's only got one friend and that's Birdie. And we sort of got very close but we were very lucky, because you don't know the chemistry's gonna be like between you and another actor until you start working together. And, you know, interestingly David and I probably hadn't work together because a lot of time we were up for the same parts, or you know, there was only one David or Michael shaped hole in the cast and only one of us would fill it, so we didn't get to work together. And I've been a big fan of his work for years and years and really admired, you know, what he did, and so then get into work opposite each other, it just sort of clicked very quickly, and I remember when we did the table read for the first series of Good Omens and we were sitting there next to each other and starting to read the lines together and we'd not really talked about the characters much before then or how we were gonna do it abd you could sort of feel the two of us kind of adapting to each other over the first, you know, few pages and then we just kind of, it just clicked, the characters just clicked and we just sort of without having to talk about it we just instinctively understood how they would be together and I remember Neil Gaiman and Douglas the director saying that watching it was like that as well, you saw these characters sort of circling around each other a little bit and sniffing each other out and then bumph you're just suddenly dancing and it's been like that ever since, really. It was such a joy to come back and do the second series together again, and it was like... once we'd put the costumes on again, and we were on the Soho set - we filmed it up in Scotland and they've buil like entire block of Soho, on the first one where they only built a small amount of it and it was in a freezing cold carpark ouside Oxfordshire and it was miserable and this time we were in the lovely, warm soundstage with a whole of Soho built, and once we got the costumes on and I remember our first scene together - because David was a bit ill at the very beginning of the filming, so he wasn't there for the first few days - and then when we did get to our first scene together and it was just a walk across the street or something and it was almost like the costumes were walking for themselves, like they just knew what to do, the characters just sort of took over, weirdly, and we were in that kind of groove again. So it's an absolutle pleasure working with him and spending time with him and it's so lovely that we found these two characters, or these two characters found us, to be able to sort of put everything into, you know, and to feel so comfortable with each other. It's been brilliant and I hope when it comes out next summer I hope everyone really enjoys it, I think there's gonna be a lot of great surprises for people and I hope you enjoy it.

Q: I mean, Michael, that's all very well, that's very sweet, what a lovely story, but I want you to dish some dirt. Tell me, is there something... does he have a bad habit... does he have an annoying habit, that he wouldn't want us to know about?

Michael: About David?

Q: Yes.

Michael: Oh my goodness. David doesn't have any bad habits. Em, what can I tell you about him... I mean, he's a bit good to be true, really. He's always lovely to everyone... oh! I tell you what his bad habit is. He leaves it to me to... when there's a problem and we are unhappy about something, because I'm supposedly the grumpy one, he leaves it to me, so he can be the [imitating David:] 'Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just Michael has a wee problem with this, I don't know... it's not me, I'm fine with it, you know...', but, you know, the two of us have gone, 'Well, that's a bit out of order, innit?' and then I'm the attack dog who has to go out.

#good omens #michael sheen #mcm 2022 #david tennant #bts #birdie #lyra #gos2 #season 2 #michael about david #I love them #interview #michael interview #fun fact #bright young things #s2 interview #transcripts

5K notes · View notes

disneyprincemuke · 4 months

Text

is it just platonic?

alternatively: please stop flirting

in which she and logan can’t help but flirt with each other in public, but it’s always disregarded as them being mega best friends

(series masterlist)

“how has the weekend gone for you so far? have you visited any local ice cream parlours yet with oscar and logan?”

she smiles, pressing her lips together. “the weekend, as you can see, isn’t going that well for me. the car is feeling like it’s also a little under the weather, but hopefully it all comes together tomorrow in the third practice,” she sighs. “but no, i haven’t found the time to visit ice cream parlours yet. it’s been a pretty busy week.”

logan, who’s doing an interview next to her, pauses his own interview. he scooches closer to her and pokes his head towards her mic. “that’s because she was preoccupied with her sponsorship with dolce and gabbana!”

“oh, she’s the reason you’re deprived of the goodness of some local gelato goodness?”

“exactly.”

“yeah,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “but, i’ve got to be looking good somehow — dolce and gabbana have got some of the best clothes!”

“oh, what are you wearing?” logan smiles, flicking his hands to get her to take a step back. “a good relationship’s been fostered after all your hard work, i see.”

“of course! i’m wearing their garden print — i just love flowers,” she beams, twirling around when logan makes the gesture with her hand. she takes a step forward and leans into the microphone. “thank you, dolce and gabbana for sponsoring me. if rihanna is watching this, i’m also begging for a sponsorship; your makeup lasts me entire races.”

“wow, the sponsor is sponsoring!” logan laughs. “she looks so pretty, doesn’t she?”

he looks away briefly, bending down to pet the black cat that has decided to walk up to him with its chin up, begging for some attention. when he looks back at his phone, comments continue to flood in as he livestreams.

“oh, you guys want to see (y/n)!” he beams, slowly getting up from his seat on the couch. “she’s been getting ready for media day for like… an hour now. she’s in her room.”

he knocks on her door, humming when she yells for him to come in. he flips the camera, showcasing his secret girlfriend in all her half-ready glory for the day they’ve got ahead of them.

“look at this pretty girl trying to be prettier!” logan compliments her, his hand darting out to squeeze her shoulder. “tell her to leave some ‘pretty’ for other girls, please!”

“oh, hey!” she smiles, her makeup brush in hand as she swipes on her cheek. she puts her hands down. “you’re live on instagram?”

“yeah.”

“oh, hi, you guys!” she shrieks, puckering her lips out to give the camera a kiss. “as you can see, logan’s being useless when he can simply just be in here with me helping me curl my hair.”

“don’t tell people i know how to do that!” logan frowns, flipping the camera back to him. he sighs when comments start flooding in about how sweet that gesture is. “don’t be fooled — she forced oscar and i to learn how to do her hair when she had a shoulder injury when she was 14. that’s the only reason i do her hair sometimes.”

“yeah! only when we’re late!” she giggles away from the camera. “he’s so thoughtful like that.”

the camera shakes, slowly being pulled away from logan with his confused stare. “show them your outfit too; give the people what they came for.”

she flips the camera, pointing it at logan who holds his arms out. “wow, look at this absolute fashionista for media day!” she jokes. “all the girls will be so all over him!”

“you’d be one of them, right?”

“of course! i’ve got priority in line, remember?”

kidy/n

🎵 taylor swift - king of my heart

liked by logansargeant, sebastianvettel and 49,967 others

kidy/n people don’t even ask to hang out anymore, they just barge into your room and take pictures of you and sit there in silence for hours

view 2,789 comments…

oscarpiastri people don’t even ask me to hang out anymore (i’m talking about you and logan)

user1 this is my thirteenth reason

oscarpiastri same lol

logansargeant MAAAAAYBE if u answered ur phone every once in a while idk

lilyzneimer they always ask me to hang out though

user2 hello song choice?

user3 i swear she’s dating someone but i just can’t place a finger on it

user4 wdym she’s dating logan (i’m delusional)

user5 nurse help

user6 no cause i need them to start dating for the betterment of my mental health

logansargeant lol but i take the best pics so like ???

kidy/n true u should quit f1 and be my fulltime photographer

logansargeant sending my resignation letter rn brb

williamsracing literally don’t do that

logansargeant i only take pics of things i find pretty

kidy/n k

user7 im guna need u to reciprocate the energy maam

user8 logan shooting nothing but airballs

user9 go girl give us nothing

user10 mOVE, white man, i saw hER FIRST

logansargeant photogenic people should always get their pictures taken

user11 thank u for ur service

user12 moving in with my best friend rn hoping they take pictures of me as good as this

kidy/n dont do it its a trap

logansargeant

🎵 5 seconds of summer - lover of mine

liked by kidy/n, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 38,997 others

logansargeant people don’t even ask to hang out anymore, they just barge into your room and tell you to get up and be ready in 5 minutes

view 1,589 comments…

oscarpiastri yay i was invited this time

kidy/n by default

logansargeant i beat ur ass so bad u wished u hadnt come along

lilyzneimer i was on the winning team hehe

user1 thats a very y/n thing to do actually

logansargeant i know it’s just annoying becauseit’s her

kidy/n i know u didnt just say that

user2 oooooo the girls are fighting!!

oscarpiastri i brought my camera im ready

user3 the matching captions? sus 👁️

user4 ahh the voices are winning

user5 i cant do this again with u rn

kidy/n yeah he’s not original enough to come up with his own

kidy/n omg wow!! so athletic of u!!!

logansargeant if f1 ever doesnt work out 🤨

kidy/n not padel bc i kinda crushed u on the court lol

user6 i need video evidence of this happening

logansargeant I LET YOU WIN STOP TELLING PEOPLE U CRUSHED ME

kidy/n omg how do u still look so cute sweating and all!! a true superpower imo

user7 can u fight?

kidy/n no but u can have him if u want

user8 easier than i thought

kidy/n looking for hot single ladies in ur area?

alex_albon ?

user9 pick mE choose me love me

kidy/n look no further i’m right here baby girl

alex_albon did u just call a grown ass man baby girl

lilymhe romance isn’t dead

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial #disneyprincemuke vr

457 notes · View notes

oh-my-damn · 2 years

Text

Ethereal

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about living next to puppy Steve and not knowing he's cap. So here's a mini-series!

Series Masterlist

Part 2

Pairing: TWS!Steve Rogers x Neighbor!Reader

Summary: When you move into your new apartment the last thing you'd expected was the greek god living next door to you.

Warnings: Steve is a literal golden retriever, riding on a motorcycle, mutual pining (a lot), reader doesn't know Steve is Cap, alcohol consumption, being awkward, first date vibes, Steve is a cutie.

Word Count: 5300

The beautiful divider is by @firefly-graphics

When you found a cheap apartment in an old but well-kept building in Brooklyn Heights, you were relieved.

You'd been searching for a new place to live for a while, after you found out the building you'd been living in was going co-op.

You had no means to pay for that old apartment, and even if you did, you wouldn't have wanted to. It was run down, new problems seemingly appearing every day, and there was no way you would have tied yourself to that place for good.

So when you found your new apartment you were excited; the building was old, but clearly well taken care of, and it was in a safe neighborhood. You lived in Williamsburg before, so you had no problem with staying in Brooklyn. In fact, you preferred it.

It took you about an hour to get to university, but you didn't mind the travel time. You would always spend that time studying, catching up on whatever you were missing, or getting ahead of next weeks readings.

You'd also always loved riding on the train; it could be hot, and cramped, and uncomfortable, but it also provided you with a sort of peace. You enjoyed people watching, or gazing out the window with your headphones on. Riding on the train provided a forced tranquility, because you knew, no matter what, you had to spend an hour or so on there. And so it forced you to disconnect with the outside world and in turn, connect with yourself. Even if it was just for a little while.

The day you moved into your new apartment you remember a feeling of curiosity. You remember lugging your boxes up to the top floor and down the hall, unlocking your front door as your gaze moved to the door further down the hall.

Your neighbor lived at the end of the hallway, while you lived to the right. You didn't know anything about who occupied the space; the only thing you knew was that someone lived there, by the doormat placed on the floor.

The apartment didn't have a specific name attached to its mailbox, only initials, and that was both intriguing and unsettling.

S. G. R.

You've met many people in your life who value their privacy, but not even providing a name on their own mailbox seemed excessive to you. Your first thought was how much of a hassle it must be to have packages delivered - you know for a fact that your online shopping habit would severely suffer if your name wasn't properly visible on your mailbox.

You moved in with no issues, other than a bit of sweat and a few groans of exhaustion.

Within a month, you'd gotten used to living there; it was almost like you'd lived there your entire life. You'd always leave early in the morning to get to class, and you'd often arrive home after dinner time, choosing to stay on campus to study, or go out with your friends.

All in all, it was a normal apartment, and it allowed you to live a completely ordinary life.

Until that fateful day back in March.

You arrive home earlier than usual. The entire day has been a disaster; first you missed your train, resulting in you being late for class, and then you spilled your coffee down the front of your shirt as you were walking across campus. When class was over, you'd talked yourself into staying and catch up on your reading, only to realize you'd forgotten the book for the course you needed to catch up on.

With a heavy sigh, and even heavier footsteps, you trudge up the stairs to your apartment. You're cursing yourself for forgetting your book, because you know that once you're inside, your urges will get the best of you, and you'll probably end up watching TV instead of catching up on your studies.

You release another heavy sigh when you reach your floor, turning the corner in the direction of your front door. Your eyes are locked on your feet as they carry you along, your bones tired and exhausted from this utter disappointment of a day.

But then your ears perk up when you hear the familiar sound of a key sliding into a lock.

Your eyes flit up to look ahead of you, breath almost hitching when they land on a tall blonde man, his broad back hunched over slightly as he unlocks his door.

Your feet still, making you stop just a few steps from your front door. The change in movement makes the stranger ahead of you glance over his shoulder, his brows furrowing for a moment before he turns around to face you.

"Hi," he says, grazing you with a dazzling smile, "You must be my new neighbor."

His voice is deep yet gentle, matching the hypnotizing features on his face. A strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, matched with a pair of bright blue eyes and pink, plump lips.

He's fucking ethereal.

You can practically feel your heart hammering against your ribcage as you take in his full form, eyes gazing over his 6'2 frame. Broad shoulders to match his back, curving into a narrow waist, and legs that go on for days. His short, blonde hair is a little mussed up, his eyebrows raised in a question.

He's wearing a navy blue jacket, which matches his jeans, and a white t-shirt underneath. Entirely ordinary yet painfully breathtaking.

You're not sure you've ever seen a specimen quite like him.

When he tilts his head ever so slightly, you snap out of the daze he brought you in.

"Yeah, uh, hi. I guess I am. I just moved in."

You gesture towards your front door, and the stranger nods in acknowledgement.

"I heard some ruckus," he chuckles, bright white teeth practically blinding you, "I'm sorry I didn't come around to introduce myself earlier, I've been a little preoccupied with work."

You wave a dismissive hand as you smile, "Oh, no worries. I know how it is. But I'm glad we finally met, I was starting to wonder who lived next door."

"Yeah?" He asks with a grin, "Why?"

"Because I've never seen anyone," you chuckle, "I was starting to suspect it was an investment property or something. Figured no one lived there."

The stranger laughs, the sound a bubbling melodic tune that makes your heart beat excitedly. It's a beautiful, genuine sound, that makes you feel special in a way you can't quite explain.

"Oh, I live here, don't you worry," he replies, his smile turning softer, "I've been away for a little while, but I'm back now. I did hear you move in, though, but I had to leave for work early the next day, so I didn't have time to come by and welcome you to the building."

You nod, "Okay, I see. What do you do for work?"

His brows furrow momentarily before he shrugs, "You know, I work jobs here and there. I travel a lot, though."

"You're an easy neighbor to have, then," you joke, tilting your head, "I guess I won't have to worry about you making a noise complaint."

He laughs again, the sound is practically addicting to your ears, "No, you won't have to worry about that, I promise. I usually keep to myself."

You nod and hum, holding eye contact for a moment longer before your eyes dart to your front door, "Good to know.. Well, it was really nice to meet you, uhh..?"

He smiles, hesitating for a moment before he says, "Steve. Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you too."

Two days later, you're out for drinks with your friends, excitedly telling them about the greek god living next door to you.

"I swear to god, he's fucking ethereal. Like, insane. I can't even explain it."

You take another large sip of your drink as your friends giggle.

"You have to show me a picture!" Janine says excitedly, eyes wide as she looks at you, "Come on, show us his social media!"

"That's the thing!" You exclaim, placing your drink perhaps a bit too harshly back on the table, "I tried to look him up but I couldn't find any social media accounts for him. It was so frustrating because apparently he shares a name with one of those Avenger guys, so it was practically impossible."

You take another eager sip as your friend, Melanie, narrows her eyes at you, "What do you mean he shares a name with one of the Avengers? Who?"

You wave your hand dismissively, "I don't fucking know those guys, you know that, but when I googled his name all of these articles for those guys showed up so I couldn't find anything on him. I didn't feel like sifting through all of that."

Your friends share a knowing look before Melanie leans closer to you on the table, "What did you say his name was?"

"Steve," you chirp, sipping your drink through the straw happily, "Steve Rogers."

Your friends share another look, although this one seems more shocked than before, making you look between the two of them.

"What?" You ask, watching their expressions, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Janine immediately interjects, glancing quickly at Melanie before she looks back at you, "It's nothing. But that sucks, you gotta take a sneaky picture next time you're able to."

You snort, "Okay, I'll try, but I haven't seen him since we met the other day. He gets really busy with work, apparently."

"I'm sure he does..." Melanie replies, taking another sip of her drink.

After one too many cocktails, you called an uber to get back home. You're trying to stay focused as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, swaying ever so slightly with every step.

"Almost there," you mumble as you reach the final step, "God I'm tired.."

You round the corner and head towards your door, pulling your keys out of your bag.

Right as you find the right one, and struggle to slide it into the lock, your neighbors' door opens.

"Hey," a deep voice says, making you glance in its direction, "You okay?"

Your eyes find a pair of beautiful cerulean ones, your cheeks growing warm at his presence.

"Yeah," you drunkenly giggle, moving your attention back to your key as you try to slide it into the lock, "I'm fine, just need to figure out how to unlock the door.."

You hear a quiet chuckle and then approaching footsteps before Steve is standing right beside you, a large hand reaching out to cover your own.

"Here, let me help you."

He easily unlocks your door, handing the keys back to you with a smile.

"Thank you," you hiccup, smiling goofily up at him, "You didn't have to, I could have figured it out myself.. Eventually.."

"Yeah," he chuckles, smiling down at you, "But then you'd probably have spent half your night out here."

You giggle again, shaking your head, "Noooo, I would have figured it out."

"Mhmm," Steve hums, placing a strong hand on the small of your back when you stumble where you stand, "Sure. You need help getting inside?"

"No no," you immediately respond, frowning up at him seriously, "I'm a big girl, I can handle myself."

"Okay, big girl," Steve chuckles as you step over the threshold, "Just make sure to drink some water, okay? And maybe some painkillers, too."

"Will do," you grin, gripping the door handle to keep you steady, "Thank you, Steve."

"Anytime."

3 days later you're walking home from school when you notice a motorcycle parked in front of your building. You look it over for a minute, impressed by how well kept it is despite it being an older model. You don't know a lot about motorcycles, but you know enough to realize it's a Harley-Davidson and that the design is a classic.

Your dad taught you what little knowledge you possess on motorcycles since he owned a Harley himself back when you were a kid.

You hesitantly let your fingers graze over the cushioned leather seat, the material soft against your fingertips.

"This is nice," you mumble to yourself absentmindedly, brows furrowing momentarily. It's clean, practically shiny, which makes you wonder where it's usually parked. Whoever owns it must have a covered parking space for it.

Just as your fingers lift from the leather cushion, the building door opens. Your eyes flit up to the figure walking down the steps to your building, heading in your direction, and you feel a flurry of butterflies when you recognize the man approaching you.

He's wearing a brown leather jacket this time, with a grey t-shirt underneath, a pair of blue jeans to finish off the look.

You can practically see the outline of his undoubtedly defined abs through the tight t-shirt and the thought alone makes your cheeks heat up.

"Hi Steve," you say with a smile as he walks in your direction.

His face splits into a wide smile, shoving his hands into his pockets once he descends the steps and walks over to where you're standing by the bike, "Hey neighbor. Nice to see you again. How's your head?"

Haven't had any complaints so far...

You chuckle, resisting the urge to make the dirty joke that popped into your mind, a small shake of your head as you speak, "That was 3 days ago. Hangover is long gone. But thank you for helping me inside, that was nice of you."

"Of course," he beams, a bashful shrug of his shoulders, "It was nothing. What else are neighbors for, right?"

"Right," you nod, smiling shyly when your eyes flit down to the motorcycle in an effort to hide your flushing cheeks.

"You like it?" Steve asks when he notices your gaze trailing over the bike, "Just pulled it out of storage today. Figured it was time to take it for a ride, now that the weather is getting warmer."

Your eyes dart up to meet his, brows raised in surprise, "This is yours?"

"Yeah," Steve replies, patting the leather seat as if it was a horse, "I used to have a different one but I like this newer model, too. Drives like a dream."

"Of course it does," you snort, fingers lightly touching the sleek silver on the side, "It's a Soft Slim, they're spectacular. Harley does good work in general, but they certainly stepped their game up with this model."

Steve quirks a brow at you, his eyes slowly moving over your face as you continue looking at his bike, "You know motorcycles?"

You shrug, "A little bit. My dad is a Harley-Davidson enthusiast, so I know some. Not a lot, though. But I know this model. She's a beaut."

"Yeah, she is," Steve chuckles, his head tilting slightly as he looks at you, "I was just about to go for a ride. Care to join me?"

The brisk spring air breezing through your hair send shivers down your spine as you race down the almost deserted highway. Steve takes an exit, heading towards New Jersey, and you cling to him as your arms are wrapped around his waist.

He's in complete control of the bike in a way that seems almost effortless; it moves with him in every turn, and even at high speeds, you sense no hesitation in him.

It almost feels like flying.

Your arms tighten their hold a little more when the cold air nips at the bare skin on your neck, instinctively burrowing your face into his back.

He tilts his head slightly, and lifts his shoulder, seemingly inviting you to tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

You only hesitate for a moment before you bury your face in his neck, pressing your chest to his back, his warm skin heating you up almost instantly. He tilts his head more to give you proper space, leaning his back into your chest.

Your arms tighten in response, a small smile grazing your lips as you breathe in deeply. His clean and fresh scent envelopes you, making the shivers running down your back happen for a very different reason than before.

Your thighs tighten where they are on the outer side of his, holding onto him more firmly, and by all accounts, it appears he's enjoying it.

He speeds up experimentally, making you let out a small squeak before you hold onto him even tighter, and you swear you hear the melodic sound of his laugh before it's swallowed up by the wind.

Eventually Steve brings you back home, the city of Brooklyn enveloped in darkness, the lampposts on the side of the road the only thing lighting your way.

He drives into a spot in front of the building and you reluctantly unwrap your arms from his waist, sliding off the bike.

He parks the bike and gets off, standing in front of you with a soft smile on his lips. His cheeks are the faintest shade of pink, probably from the cold, and his hair is mussed up in a cute way that makes you yearn to run your fingers through it.

You smile up at him, another small shiver running down your spine, and Steve immediately notices. He shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders, "I'm sorry, I should have figured you'd get cold. I hope it wasn't too bad?"

He has no idea you've been shivering this entire time, or that your shivers are triggered by something other than the cold.

"It's okay," you respond with a warm smile, "I wasn't cold while you were driving, you're surprisingly hot."

Steve's lips lift into a goofy grin, making you immediately backtrack, "Oh my god, uh, I mean warm. You're surprisingly warm."

"I got it, don't worry," he chuckles, placing a protective hand on the small of your back before he starts guiding you in the direction of your building, "Let me walk you up."

You chuckle, walking beside him up the steps, "I don't think it counts as walking me up when you're going the same direction yourself."

He snorts and shakes his head, "Probably not. But I would have done it if I didn't live here, too."

"Such a gentleman," you muse, your fingers gripping the hem of his jacket. It smells like him, that clean, fresh scent, and you'd want to drown in that smell if you could.

"I try," he jokes, grinning at you quickly.

You reach your apartment door, and once you're standing in front of it, you slide his jacket off your shoulders, "Thank you for lending this to me. That was nice."

"Even if it was short lived," Steve responds as he takes his jacket from you, "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you before we left on the drive."

"Steve, don't worry about it," you reply earnestly, "I promise, I wasn't cold. Not until I had to unwrap myself from you, at least."

Steve's eyes lock on yours, a tension filling the small space between the two of you as you look up at him. His smile is soft, gentle, a quiet hum leaving his lips as he nods.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, then."

"It's alright," you grin teasingly, "Maybe I'll get to do it again some time."

"I would love that," Steve immediately responds, a wide smile breaking out on his lips, "For there to be a next time, I mean. Doesn't have to be a drive, either."

"No?" You tease, your head tilting as your eyes stay locked on his, "What did you have in mind?"

"A cup of coffee?" He asks, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit hallway.

"I like coffee," you smile, nodding, "I'd love to."

"It's a date," he firmly replies, his fingers fiddling with the keys in his hand, "Maybe in the next few days?"

"Sure!" You beam up at him, immediately reaching into your bag, "Let me give you my number, that might make it easier to plan."

"Oh, uh, yeah, okay," Steve responds, hands clasping over his pockets almost as if he's unsure where his phone is.

When he brings out a flip phone, you snort. "That's your phone?"

Steve's cheeks tinge pink, this time certainly not from the cold, a small nod of his head, "Yeah, I uh.. I'm not really good with technology. Needed something easy."

You chuckle, "Okay, fair enough."

You take his phone, putting your number in and sending yourself a text. "There. Now we have each others numbers. Just text me when you have time to grab that cup of coffee."

"Will do," Steve responds, lingering for a moment as he stands in front of you.

When he suddenly leans down and places a quick kiss on your cheek, your breath hitches, and you fight the urge to pull him closer.

"I had a great time," he says as he takes a few steps backwards, in the direction of his apartment, "Have a good night."

"Goodnight, Steve."

A few days pass without you running into Steve in the hallway again. It's also been very quiet, you haven't heard a peep from your neighbor, which is surprising because the walls aren't that thick. You can always hear your downstairs neighbor, especially if they're listening to music or have people over, so you're surprised you never hear anything from Steve.

No movement, no accidental run ins, no noises. Nothing. Only silence.

It makes you wonder if he's even home.

A week after your bike ride, you finally hear from him.

You're sitting on your couch, watching one of your favorite shows on TV while binging a tub of ice cream. It's Saturday night, and you weren't in the mood to go out even though your friends tried to convince you. It'd been a long week at university and the only thing you were in the mood for this weekend was to stay at home in your sweats and watch silly sitcoms to get your mind to relax.

You phone chimes just after 8pm, alerting you to a text message.

You pick up your phone while licking your spoonful of ice cream clean, your eyes flicking from the TV to your phone screen. Your brows raise in surprise when you see who it's from, a snort leaving your lips.

Steve Rogers: How's your Saturday night?

You: Oh hello there, stranger. I was starting to think perhaps you'd moved

Steve Rogers: I'm sorry, I had a work emergency I had to take care of. I've been gone for the past few days, just got back. How has your week been?

Your brows furrow at his response. What does this guy do for work?

The last time you asked, his response was pretty vague, but he obviously does something that's important enough for him to leave without notice. Often.

You: It's been alright, nothing exciting to report. Mainly just studying and classes. How's yours been?

Steve Rogers: A little rough. Had to deal with a tough project at work, but it's over now, luckily. At home licking my wounds now

You: Wounds? Literal or metaphorical?

Steve Rogers: Little of both

You blink in surprise, putting down your ice cream to be able to text quicker.

You: What? Are you hurt?

Steve Rogers: I'll be okay, I'm just tired. I'm sorry I didn't follow up on our coffee date, though. I hope you didn't lose faith in me

You: Was just about to, but then you texted, so I'll give you another chance

Steve Rogers: Yeah? When do you have time?

Steve Rogers: Are you busy right now?

Your brows raise in surprise at the double text as well as the question.

You: It's a little late for coffee, don't you think?

Steve Rogers: How about tea, then?

You manage to tidy yourself up a little bit, tossing on a tank-top instead of the oversized shirt you were wearing when there's a knock on your door.

You're still in your sweats from earlier, but you don't really mind that; he messaged you with very short notice, so he couldn't exactly be expecting you to look all dressed up.

You unlock your door before opening it, grinning up at Steve when he comes into view, "Hey there."

"Hi," Steve smiles, his hands shoved into his pockets, "Nice to see you again."

You let your eyes trail over his form; he's in a white t-shirt, one that's tight and allows you to see the firm outline of his torso (you suspect tight t-shirts are his signature, by now), and you apparently guessed right on keeping your sweats on, because he's in a pair of his own. A grey pair, to be exact.

Your eyes move up to take in the features of his face, lingering on his beautiful, baby blue eyes and pink plump lips. But then your brows instantly furrow when you notice the small mark on his cheekbone.

"Oh," you breathe out, instinctively stepping closer, and before you can even stop yourself, you reach up, letting your fingers gently touch the skin right below the mark, "Are you okay?"

You can tell Steve tenses at your touch, making you immediately remove your hand before you step back again, mumbling, "Uh, sorry, I shouldn't-"

"No, it's alright," Steve interrupts, putting up a hand to stop you, "Don't worry, I was just caught off guard. It hurts a little, but it'll go away soon. Promise."

"Okay," you reply with a small nod, smiling softly as your eyes meet his. Then you step aside, gesturing to your apartment, "Well, come on in."

Steve smiles as he walks inside, continuing further as you close the door behind him. He wanders into the open kitchen, eyes moving over the space and to the living room area.

"This is nice," he hums, placing his hands in his pockets, "I like what you did with the place."

You chuckle, "Thanks. I only buy the finest Ikea furniture."

Steve lets out a melodic laugh, following your movement when you walk into the kitchen. You reach up to pull open the cupboard as you ask, "So, what kind of tea do you like?"

You don't hear a response immediately, but you almost jump in surprise when you suddenly hear his voice from right behind you, "What kinds do you have?"

You glance over your shoulder, eyes locking with the blonde man towering over you. You smirk, "Well, you tell me. Seems like you can see better than I can."

Steve snorts, stepping closer before his attention is pulled to the inside of the cupboard. He reaches up, his chest brushing against your back when he grabs for a packet and places it on the counter in front of you, "I like this one."

You release a quiet, unsteady breath when you feel the warmth of him pressing against your back, your fingers reaching for the packet of tea.

"Black tea," you hum, picking two tea bags out of the box, "Good choice."

You slide a little to the side, reaching for two mugs in a different cupboard, still nervously aware of his close presence.

"I'm glad you think so," Steve hums, following your movement. He stands behind you again, taking the mugs for you when you stand up on your tip toes to reach them, "Did you know that was the kind of tea the British soldiers drank during World War II?"

Your brows raise in surprise, looking up at him over your shoulder, "No, I didn't. That's pretty cool."

Steve grins, nodding as he places the two mugs on the counter, "Yeah, uh, actually the British government bought out practically all the tea in Europe in order to be able to give them to the soldiers on the frontlines."

"Wow," you respond, your brows furrowing, "That's actually crazy. How could they even do that?"

You walk over to the kettle, filling it with water so you can boil it, while Steve moves to lean on your kitchen counter. He shrugs, "Guess they just decided it was worth it, to keep morale up."

"Hm," you hum, turning on the kettle before you turn to him, "That was really nice of them. I didn't think the government cared much about their soldiers, to be honest. All you ever hear about are the glory while they're away, and then those horror stories when they come back and have PTSD."

Steve's face falls a little, his hands going back into his pockets as he nods slowly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Perhaps the British government cared more about their soldiers then they do here.."

"Yeah," you mumble, your fingers reaching for the packet to fiddle with it, "My brother was actually in the army.."

"He was?" Steve asks curiously, "For how long?"

"A long time," you sigh, "Too long. He wasn't the same when he came back home.."

"That happens," Steve replies quietly, "A lot, unfortunately."

You glance over at him, watching how his eyes are trained on the floor. You tilt your head, asking hesitantly, "Is that something you know a lot about? The army?"

"Kinda," he shrugs, offering you a small smile when he looks back up at you, "I was also in the army. I still kind of am, I guess.." He cringes a little, making you turn to directly face him.

You take a small step closer, slowly lifting your hand until your fingers are almost brushing his cheek as you hold eye contact, "Is that how you got this?"

Steve's lips part in a nervous breath when you lean closer, his hands bracing the edge of the counter as he leans on it. His baby blues hold yours, dipping his head ever so slightly until your fingertips trail over his skin.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"But you're not shipped out?" You inquire, your fingers trailing down his cheek to his jaw, "You live here, and you don't go away for months at a time."

"I'm a.. different kind of soldier," he whispers, his face slowly leaning closer to yours, "But I used to be in the army."

"So, you got promoted?" You tease, your voice low. Your fingers trail down his jaw, to the column of his neck, Steve's breath hitching when the delicate touch tickles his skin.

"You could say that," he smiles softly, his eyes burning into yours intensely as he continues slowly leaning closer, "The job isn't very different, though. But I get to go home more often."

You hum, nodding slowly as your fingers curl around his neck hesitantly. You break eye contact for a moment, eyes dropping to his lips, your stomach doing a flip when his tongue darts out to lick them.

Your eyes raise up to meet his again, the hand curled around the back of his neck slowly pulling him closer until you can feel your breaths mixing.

You look up at him with wide eyes, your nerves on edge, and it's almost like your mind goes blank when he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"

You nod immediately, there's no way in hell you'd ever say no.

Steve's eyes drop to your lips, inching himself closer until they softly brush over yours, and then you let out a content sigh when he presses them firmly against your own. You pull him closer by the hand curled around his neck, one large hand landing on your waist to pull you into his chest.

Your other hand slides up his chest to his shoulder, gripping it as your lips glide over his in perfect synchronization.

You lose yourself in the softness of his lips, your unsteady breaths mixing, and you're only faintly aware when you hear the water boiling in the background.

4K notes · View notes

neil-gaiman · 1 year

Note

So here's my Sandman story:

When I first moved to the city I live in now and didn't know many people, an acquaintance invited me to a barbecue at her place. While she was doing her bit as hostess and chatting with me, we got on the subject of your books and I mentioned I'd read all of them to date and enjoyed them. She asked if I had read Sandman yet, and I admitted that I hadn't. She said, "Everyone ought to read Sandman!" and just gave me her entire Sandman comic collection. Turns out she was getting ready to move to another state and didn't want to bring a lot of excess stuff with her, so she was trying to offload some things onto people who needed them more.

So I tried to read them, and I just couldn't seem to get into them. I was young and sheltered and I wasn't ready to cope with them, so I just put them away on the bottom of my bookshelf and more or less forgot about them. More than ten years passed, but even though I went through several spring cleanings and donating old books to the library book sale, I never let go of them. They had been a kind gift from someone I remembered fondly, and I had faith in your ability as a writer and knew they must be good if I could just figure out how to approach them.

And then the Sandman TV series was announced, and I knew all my friends would be watching it, so I said to myself, "I should get those old comics out again and read them." So I did, and this time I got hooked. I blazed through them over the course of a week or so, coming home from work every day excited to pick up where I'd left off. In the end, I loved them, just like I loved the TV series and the audiobook productions.

I don't know if there's a point to this story, unless it's to tell people that the right story will find you at the right time, even if it's by a long and winding route, and also that if you don't like something the first time it's sometimes worth giving it a second chance.

Sometimes stories find us when we're ready for them.

1K notes · View notes

jamespotterismydaddy · 4 days

Text

Lord Husband (Chapter 10)

cregan stark x reader

A/N: I keep forgetting I exist. Sorry this is short oopsies

WORD COUNT: 982 words

series masterlist

You hardly see him for weeks. Any new wife would expect her husband to impress his needs upon her frequently after the wedding night in hopes of creating an heir but you almost knew he wouldn’t. There’s something so strange about Cregan Stark; he’s empathetic. It’s not a trait you knew any man could hold. In reality, you should be pleased that your husband doesn’t wish to rape you but you’re more frustrated. He shall want for a son eventually, won’t he? This is only delaying the inevitable and you are a ‘get it over with’ kind of woman.

You arrive at his chambers with little more than a knock on the door. “Do you not wish for an heir, Lord Stark?”

“Good morning.” He murmurs, looking up from the papers on his desk.

“An heir? Is it your wish or not?” You say, disregarding his greeting.

He sighs, already stressed from reading over land disputes and not wishing to be stressed over his petulant wife. “Of course I want for a son.”

“You haven’t visited my chambers in weeks.”

“I did not think you wanted me to.” He looks at you, confused and a bit sorrowful.

“There is only one way to make a child.”

Gods he thinks you look so like a child when you stand there with such false assurance. It makes him feel wretched.

“You weeped the last time I took you to bed. I have been trying to give you time so that you might… recover?” The words don’t feel right to him. “I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“Lying with you caused me no feelings of importance.”

Cregan counts to ten in his head but only makes it to five. He then stands abruptly.

“You will watch your tone when you speak to me!” He says, fed up with your lack of decorum.

You gape at him like a fish. He went from so pitiful to angry so quickly.

“I have done all I can to make you comfortable, all I can to make you feel welcomed and at every turn, you insult me! You have spent your entire life as the spoilt daughter of the Queen and for that, I do not blame you but I can only be so lenient. You will no longer take liberties with how you speak to me. I am your husband and you will learn to treat me as such.” He breathes heavily after letting all his emotions go. “Even princesses don’t speak to their spouses in the way you speak to me.”

“I’m not your wife by choice. I didn’t want this.” You protest in justification of your own cruelty.

He scoffs. “And do you think I did?”

“You asked for my hand.”

“Her Grace offered me your hand.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“Is that truly what you think? Are you really so naive as to believe that? Everyone of our station marries for advantage. I am no different and neither are you.” Even when he shouted at you only moments ago, he never sounded as hateful as he does right now.

“And you’re happy with this standard?” You ask with level headed contemplation.

“Of course I’m not but it’s what is done.”

“It isn’t fair for you to fault me for wanting something more when you’re also unhappy with it… especially when you know it’s more difficult for women than men.” You desperately want him to understand you. You just want somebody to understand.

“We all make sacrifices for the people we love.” He says dutifully.

“I make the sacrifices while my brothers marry for love. How is that fair?”

“So you’re bitter? Prince Jacaerys will be king one day. That’s a much greater sacrifice than marrying for advantage.”

The tears prickle in your eyes. You should’ve known.

“At least he won’t be alone.”

You don’t want to argue anymore, or rather be scolded like a dumb child so you leave, striding back to your room.

You stare into the mirror when you arrive. Would your mother be disappointed by how disagreeable you are, how disobedient? Daemon wouldn’t. But you aren’t Daemon Targaryen. You’re just a girl, a girl that might ruin an alliance if you can’t make nice with your husband. Should you care? Your stepfather wouldn’t. Dragon riders don’t obey societal norms… but you do care… ever so slightly.

~~~

A voice at the door. Does he want to be let in only so he can say a hundred words that mean so little?

“Enter.”

Your husband, tall and strong walks into the room, reminding you of someone you used to know. He’s kind and brave like him.

“I should not have shouted at you. I just feel as though I’m not heard when I’m quiet but that is no justification.” He stares at the back of your head. You don’t turn to face him, looking out the window instead of at the mirror. This is your home now. He will become your home - he could become your home.

“If I walked out the door right now and never came back, would you try and stop me?” You aren’t angry about his shouting; you’re used to fire.

“No.”

“It would destroy the alliance. You could side with the Hightowers or simply just watch as they take my mother’s throne.”

“You could walk out that door, get on your dragon and never come back and I would keep my oath to the Queen.”

Gods he really is decent.

“Where would you go?” He asks like you haven’t just said you might run out on your marriage.

“Old Valyria.”

“You would die.”

“I would.”

“I’m not sorry for making things difficult for you but I acknowledge that I have.”

He smiles a bit woefully. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, princess.”

“Any woman in Westeros would consider herself lucky to be your wife.”

“Hmm… almost any it seems.”

Comment to be added to taglist

#lord husband #cregan stark fic #cregan fic #cregan stark x reader #cregan #cregan stark #hotd

160 notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 months

Text

A Wish to Build a Dream On

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

AN: Welcome back to the Espresso-verse! This is set in 14.13: “Lebanon,” of course, but chronologically in the storyverse, it sits between Show Me and In Bad Weather.

Song Inspo: The story title was inspired by “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” by Louis Armstrong, but the real song inspiration for this is “Come Back Down” by Lifehouse.

Word Count: 7k~

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Spiciness/smuttish, angst, hurt/comfort, hint of body insecurity, and feels.

Start from the beginning of the series: ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Sometimes, even the mundane in a two-year relationship can become new. And not in a good way.

You and Dean are getting ready for bed, taking turns brushing your teeth. When you’re done, he comes in behind you at the sink and starts up his routine.

As you go to look for the moisturizer you pretend he doesn’t borrow from your nightstand, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Even dressed down in his loose shirt and pajama pants, he seems tired, and tense.

Maybe because he’s been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for an entire month.

You know Dean hasn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Now, he seems to be anticipating another fitful night. It doesn’t sit well with you to see the tension in his shoulders, the lines around his eyes that aren’t from laughing.

You wait until he slips into his side of the bed. Then you turn over and sidle up against him. You prop your elbow against his pillow, so you can look down on him with a smile. His brows twitch upwards.

“Well, hey,” he says. His arm settles around your waist under the covers. You stroke his cheek.

“Hey,” you reply. Though you don’t ask him if he’s all right. You already know the answer. Instead, you dip down for a kiss.

At first it’s just a sweet meeting of lips. You part from him softly, letting your thumb drag back and forth across his prickly cheek. He breathes in deeply and allows himself to savor the touch.

You dive back in again for a deeper taste, finding minty freshness with your tongue. He hums in response. His hold tightens on your waist, while your fingers drift down his neck, down his chest over his shirt. And then, they slip under the worn-out waistband of his sweatpants.

He groans deep in his throat when you stroke up and down the full length of him with a practiced hand. His knee bends on reflex, and he sucks in a breath as pleasure stirs low inside him.

But he stops you, grabbing your wrist gently, but firm.

You break the kiss in confusion. Dean’s eyes are still closed, brows furrowed while he takes deep breaths, as if he’s trying to pull himself back together. Or maybe, maintain a level of self-control.

His green eyes open and find yours in apology.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling your hand out of his pants. “Just uh…not really in the mood.”

You lift up the covers and glance down at the half-pitched tent in his pants with a raised brow.

“You sure about that?” you ask.

He stays quiet, which starts to make you suspicious. You let the covers drop and rest a hand on his chest, where his heart beats at a ticked-up pace.

“It’s been over a month, baby,” you point out. “I know there’s…a lot going on, but this isn’t like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired,” he claims.

You can understand that, to an extent, but intuition tells you that there’s something deeper here. Beyond the lack of intimacy, you’ve been starting to realize just how distant your boyfriend has been with you, even after getting him back from Michael.

Dean doesn’t…touch you anymore. And not just in this bed. As a matter of fact, him holding you right now is some of the closest affection he’s given you in days.

Despite that thought, he actually surprises you by covering your hand on his chest and squeezing your fingers. Likely he’s seen the disappointment and concern across your face.

“Come on. You think I only want you around for sex?” he jokes. It gets you to smile, however slightly.

“Call it a perk of this little arrangement,” you say in a dry tone.

“Ooh, an arrangement. Sounds kinky,” he quips, with a curve of his lips.

You smirk and take back your hand from under his. Carding your fingers through his hair, you dip down and start to kiss his neck.

“I miss you,” you whisper against his warm skin. “But I also want to help you take your mind off it all… Just let me distract you for a while.”

His eyes briefly close as he lets out a shaky breath, but he stops you for real this time. He holds your cheek and guides you away. His rejection hurts, making your chest sting, but his eyes implore you to let him explain.

“That’s just it,” he says. “I can’t. I can’t risk it.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose control,” Dean says. His tone is laced with grit and strain. “Michael’s in there, rattling around. He’s either pacing all damn day, or pounding on the walls.”

Dean presses a hand between his eyes, as if that’ll stop the headache that’s already forming. It’s bad enough that the archangel was controlling him for so long, rooting deep in his head and opening every door and shady corner. Thoughts, memories, private moments.

Now, Dean doesn’t know how much Michael sees of the outside world. It’s another reason he’d rather not heed every desire he has to roll you underneath his body and fuck you deep into the mattress. It’s why he hasn’t let himself touch you as often as he wants, as he craves.

Because the truth is, he’s scared. Scared of what might happen if he gets too distracted.

“Sometimes I think I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” he admits to you, his throat tightening.

He glances back up at you, and finds you weeping. Your lower lip trembles. Guilt hits Dean harder between the ribs when he realizes what he’s been putting you through. What he’s still putting you through. He cups your cheek and wipes away a stray tear.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that we can’t…it’s that I can’t help you,” you reply, with a tremble in your voice. “I can’t do anything.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to you, but he knows what he can do. He wraps his arms more securely around you and pulls you against him. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck and try to calm yourself by taking long, even breaths.

“I wish I could take this from you,” you confess.

He sighs. “I don’t.”

The next morning, Sam and Dean catch a lead on a fellow hunter who was killed by a supernatural artifacts dealer. They mean to track down the dealer.

Instead of going with them, you stay at the bunker and continue to research a way to extract and capture an archangel from a human host.

Dean doesn’t question your decision; he’s grateful, but still feeling guilty about last night. And part of him doesn’t even know how to move forward with you right now.

It’s just as well, because you’re not too sure of how to act around Dean either. Your heart breaks every time you look at him, and it was hard to even meet his eyes at breakfast this morning.

Mary is on a hunt nearby as well, but you don’t have the heart to join her when she calls you around noon. After you hang up with her, you realize that you’re feeling sorry for yourself, when the one who’s really suffering is Dean.

For a moment, you take a break from the old book in front of you. Your back is twinging from being hunched over in your research for hours on end in the library. You rub your eyes and let out a sigh, before you lift your gaze heavenward. You doubt your grandmother can hear you up there while she relives her greatest hits, but at this point, you’ll try anything.

Please, you think in Spanish, and even pray. Give me strength. Give him strength.

Sam and Dean return to the bunker after “taking care” of the scumbag dealer. They bring back a number of artifacts, which you’ll have to help them sort through. They pile it all onto the War Room table.

But they show you one item in particular: the Baozhu, one of eight ancient Chinese treasures. In other words, it’s a pearl that grants your heart’s desire.

Now, in general, you tend to be wary about hoodoo, but Sam has already convinced Dean that it could work. He could wish Michael gone.

They’re both so earnest that you’re willing to go along with it…and let Dean give it a try.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call Mom?” Sam asks him. “Or wait for Cas?”

“No,” Dean replies. “If this mojo works, great. If it doesn’t, then why get their hopes up?”

You agree with that point. In fact, you almost wish you could be Mary or Castiel right now.

Dean notes the look on your face, and he knows you well enough to read what you might be thinking. He turns his attention back to the pearl with determination.

He takes the pouch from Sam’s hand and doesn’t know what to do with it at first, but after little coaching from Sam, Dean takes the pearl in his hand, closes his eyes, and concentrates on his “heart’s desire.”

Michael outta my friggin’ head, he thinks.

The lights in the bunker start to flicker. You and Sam look up in wariness as the magic from the wish knocks out the electricity for a moment, casting the room into darkness mixed with a red glow from the emergency lights.

Sam turns when he spots a shrouded figure out of the corner of his eye—almost as tall as him, a large threatening frame. Sam swings a punch, but the intruder bats at his stomach, then his face with what looks like a crowbar. He goes down hard.

Just as you turn your head, Dean steps in next and gets an elbow to the chin for his trouble, then a swift kick in the stomach that sends him across the room with Sam. The intruder wracks his crowbar, which as it turns out, is actually a shotgun.

“Don’t you move,” he says.

He must not have seen you in the dark. It gives you the opportunity to come up behind him with one of the emergency handguns Dean had taped under the table for exactly this purpose. You tuck the safety back with a click.

“Drop it,” you demand.

The man pauses. He knows you’re there, but he doesn’t yet lower his weapon.

And the lights come back on.

Sam and Dean’s eyes widen when they realize who they’re faced with.

“Dad?” Dean says incredulously.

John Winchester is just as confused to be in the bunker as his sons are to see him alive, and in the bunker. For John, he thinks it’s 2003. Sam should be at school in Palo Alto, while John’s been hunting with Dean.

John is understandably shocked when Sam tells him that sixteen years have passed.

“I think we summoned you,” Sam says, after he and Dean pick themselves up from the ground.

John takes a beat to try and process, but he has too many questions.

“You boys better tell me what’s going on right now,” he says. Though he turns and notices you after you slip your gun back into the waistband of your jeans and draw closer to Dean, laying a hand on his arm. A subtle look passes between you two.

You good? yours says.

I think so, Dean’s replies. The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And you are?” John asks. His gaze is focused on you, and the directness of his tone somewhat takes you by surprise. You never thought you would meet John Winchester.

But after you tell him your name, Dean rests a hand at the small of your back.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he says.

Intrigue sparks in John’s eyes, and he nods in response. His mind is probably buzzing with too much information to levy any kind of politeness your way, but it still leaves a tense, awkward atmosphere in its wake.

Sam tries to bridge it by suggesting you all sit at the long table in the War Room to go over what John’s missed. He agrees, though he requests a strong drink first.

Explaining what’s really happening to the older, yet still incredibly spry hunter takes a while. You all do it with a bottle of Jack Daniels split four ways.

“So, you saved the world?” John asks. His whiskey glass is in his hands, and he raises a finger in a “So you mean to tell me” gesture.

“More than once,” Dean admits.

“Then it’s all true. God, the Devil, you boys smack in the middle,” John says. You can see him working through all this, but also with fatherly pride coming through. It would make you smile, if this situation wasn’t so goddamn weird.

“Now you all live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer’s kid,” he continues, and this time, he includes you in his gaze. All you can do is nod with a feeble smile.

Sam and Dean also confirm his summary.

“And you’ve done this whole…time travel thing before?” he asks.

“A few times,” Dean nods. “Actually, our grandfather, your dad…he’s the one that helped us find this place. I think he’d be real happy to know you’re finally here.”

Dean has told you about Henry Winchester, and how John had thought the man abandoned him when he was a child. But now, he seems to understand.

“Right, Man a’ Letters,” he nods.

“Yeah, we’re uh, we’re legacies,” Sam says, giving his father a smile. “Because of you.”

John has to smile back.

The three of them continue to talk for a while, and you mostly keep to yourself. Truth be told, you’re feeling a bit out of place in this moment.

The John you’ve heard stories about is a gruff ex-marine with a “give ‘em hell” attitude. This man has a solid presence, and a gruff voice not unlike Dean’s, but all you see in him is both pride and wonder at everything his sons are telling him about this world he’s been thrust into.

After a little while more, Sam realizes he needs to call someone immediately: his mother.

John’s face falls into shock.

“Mary?” he says. His disbelieving eyes become tinged with hope. “She’s…she’s alive?”

Dean shares a quick look with Sam, who heads out of the room quick to find his phone.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s a long story, but uh…she’s back too,” Dean says, smiling. “Wait ‘til she sees you.”

John’s brows furrow. He looks down at his hands on the table, fighting emotion. You can’t help but feel for him. You notice the empty bottle of whiskey, and without meaning to, you fall into “caretaker mode.”

“Uh, John, you want some water? Or maybe a beer?” you ask, as you start to get up from your seat. Dean looks up at you with a measure of bemusement.

“Beer would be good, thanks,” John says, giving you a small, but sincere smile. Somehow that unbalances you even more, though you smile back.

“Okay, and while I’m at it I think I’d better start dinner,” you say. Mary doesn’t cook, really. Sam is a lost cause too. (The man can barely boil an egg.) So it’s often up to you and Dean to handle the food in this house…bunker…whatever.

Dean disrupts your thoughts by grasping your hand, hoping it’ll steady you.

“You don’t have to, baby,” he says. You perk up with a more genuine smile.

“Oh, I want to! Besides, you guys should keep talking. Catch up,” you say, gesturing between father and son. You squeeze Dean’s hand, then make your quick escape.

Dean smirks and watches you go. John follows his son’s gaze, then looks back at him in amusement.

“She a good cook?” he asks.

Dean raises his brows. “Oh, just you wait. She makes this beef stew thing, ropa vieja? Ridiculous. And a pork roast like you wouldn’t friggin’ believe.”

John chuckles. “Latina, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean grins.

“Nice,” his father nods with another short laugh. But it evens out into a certain smile. “How long’ve you two been together?”

Dean mentally counts it back. You often calculate it from the first time he officially asked you out for a nice dinner here in town. He likes to count it from that very first night he finally got a taste of your sweet café con leche…in more ways than one.

“Two years and some change. Almost three,” he says. John gives a low whistle.

“Look at you,” he remarks. And he seems pleased, with a gleam in his eyes that warms Dean deep inside. “Good for you, son. Glad to see you’ve got someone to hold you down.”

Dean sobers at that. He glances down at his empty glass of whiskey.

“Yeah,” he says. “You don’t know how much.”

It’s a good thing you went grocery shopping yesterday, or else you’d be shit out of luck trying to put something together for dinner. There happened to be a sale going on in the seafood section, so you find that you have everything you need to make a Spanish paella.

You get to chopping the onions, bell peppers, garlic, tomato, and parsley first before anything else. While that starts sautéing in the pan, you break out the chicken, shrimp, and mussels from their individually wrapped packages.

You continue according to the recipe you have in your mind’s eye—the one your grandma instilled in you. She’d learned it from her half-Spanish mother when she was a kid.

Cooking is one of those things that allows you to reset your mind. It’s like how Dean is when he sits down to tune up his car, or Sam when he reads a new book. You can just zero in and focus on the task at hand, and it allows you to put the rest of the chaos out of your head for a while. Plus, you just like feeding people.

Sometimes though, the task of whipping up a hot meal just gives you time to think. And right about now, you’re still reeling.

On one hand, you’re so happy for Sam and Dean. And of course for Mary, who’s about to get her entire world flipped upside down. You have so many questions for John Winchester…but not all of them would be pleasant.

You have to try to push that part down, for Dean’s sake. He’s just gotten his father back. He doesn’t need you adding even more onto his load.

There’s a knock on the open door of the kitchen that pulls you out of your thoughts. You raise your head and look over your shoulder. John is there with an empty beer bottle, which he raises in greeting.

You give him a small smile. “Hope you’re getting hungry.”

“With that smell, who wouldn’t?” he says, drawing near enough to lean against the counter next to you. He answers your unspoken question. “Dean’s lookin’ for some pictures to show me.”

You nod at that. “Yeah, he has a few good ones, and some are new. I’m sure you’ll like to see them.”

John nods and regards you with curiosity. He wants to know more about the woman in his son’s life, but he’s not too sure where to start.

“So you’re a hunter too?” he asks.

“Yep. Not for as long as Dean, but long enough,” you reply. It’s tinged with the knowledge that no hunter should’ve been as young as Dean when they started, but you keep that thought deep inside.

“How’d you two meet?” John asks.

Your lips twitch at a smile. You tell him the story of how you’d met Dean at a dirty bar in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Dean hadn’t realized you were a hunter at first when he watched you hustle some guy at pool.

He set you in his sights, flirted with you, and you probably would’ve let him take it further if you hadn’t stunned him with the knowledge that you, Sam, and Dean happened to be in town working the same case. From that day on, the three of you had become allies and friends.

You and Dean just hadn’t become you and Dean for a long time after that. Too long, if you were honest. But, it’s all worked out so far. This is the longest relationship both of you have been in, pretty much ever.

There’s a lull of silence that falls between you and John after you finish the story. It’s not altogether comfortable, and he realizes that when he watches you putter about the kitchen while you cook. You’re trying to busy yourself.

“This must be one hell of a strange day for you,” he says.

Your head perks up, and you have to smile wryly. “Our lives are built on strange.”

John’s chuckle concedes your point. But you look over at him thoughtfully and set down your wooden spoon.

“Could I, um…could I ask you something?” you ask.

He nods at you. “Sure.”

Maybe you shouldn’t, but you really can’t help yourself.

“We don’t know each other well,” you begin. “But, knowing what you know now, about Sam and Dean and everything they’ve gone through… If you could go back, would you change anything?”

John tilts his head at you, like he’s trying to read through the lines in your words. It reminds you of Sam.

“You mean, would I do things differently?” he asks. “From what point?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. From the point in time you can remember, with Sam in college. Or maybe further back…from when they were kids.”

You try your best not to make it sound like a leading question, but you don’t think you’ve disguised it well enough. John stares back at you, as if the lines are now connecting in his mind.

He sees you're well-meaning. Despite your best efforts though, he knows you're accusing him of something. And he thinks you have some audacity.

He's somehow both taken aback, and amused by that fact. Trust Dean to be with a woman who goes for the jugular.

“Because you’ve been straight shootin’ with me, I guess I’ll shoot straight with you,” John replies. He sighs and wipes a hand over his bearded mouth, like you’ve seen Dean do at times when he’s tired, or anxious.

“A good part of me believes I did the best I could,” he says.

Your gaze falls; you don’t want him to see your real thoughts in your eyes.

“But,” he says, “If you're asking if I have regrets? ...Then you'd be right.”

You consider him then, for a moment. You find that you believe him. You begin to soften.

“Well, that’s something we have in common,” you reply. “But Sam and Dean are the best men I’ve ever known… So thank you.”

And you mean that. You are grateful for both of them. They became your family when you thought you had no one left.

John surprises you by shaking his head, smiling. “That’s what I wanted to say to you.”

You falter at that.

Me? you think. Why would he want to thank me?

Before you can truly digest his words, Dean comes into the kitchen, both to check on you and bring his dad the pictures he keeps in his nightstand. While he looks through them, John surreptitiously watches you and his son.

Dean sidles up behind you and rests a hand along your hip. He peeks over your shoulder at what you’re cooking. You open the lid on the big pan of rice, chicken, and seafood, and he hums in delight at the smell of saffron that hits him.

“What’s that, paella?” he asks.

You give him an impressed look. “Very good. Here, it’s not quite ready yet, but try a bit.”

You put a shrimp and a bit of rice on the wooden spoon and raise it to his lips. Dean smiles and takes the proffered bite. He then moans in appreciation.

“Oh, that’s good,” he praises with his mouth full. “A bit spicy.”

“You like that though,” you tease.

Dean eyes you, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I do actually.”

John smiles to himself, both at the pictures of his boys throughout the years he missed, and at the glimpse he gets to see now.

You turn to him with another spoonful held out. “Want to try some, John?”

He obliges you by coming over and taking the spoon from your hand. He takes the bite, and his brows shoot up.

“Oh man, that’s got some kick to it,” he says.

“Too much?” you ask.

“Nah, it’s real good.”

Dean grins, but it soon dims as he realizes something.

“Ooh, what about dessert?” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Do we have anything?”

“Nope,” you reply. “Either we pick something up, or…I could make a flan.”

Dean’s grin kicks back in, full force. If there's one thing he's come to love in this world besides pie, it's your flan.

“But! For that I’ll need more ingredients,” you say, holding down a laugh at the look on your man’s face.

“Say no more,” he replies. “I’ll go on a grocery run. Just tell me what you need.”

You’re about to respond when a door creaks open down the hall. Mary hastens into the kitchen with Sam on her heels. When she sees her husband, her face falls into shock.

“John,” she breathes.

John's amusement gradually melts away, into watery-eyed emotion.

“My girl,” he says.

The two meet each other in the middle of the room. He holds her face, and she grips the front of his shirt with desperation. Their kiss is beautiful and tender…and then it’s more.

You and Dean share a wide-eyed look with Sam. The three of you quickly tip out of the room to the sounds of soft moans in your wake.

“Wow. I mean, this is crazy right?” Dean says. He gesticulates wildly with his hands as the three of you make your way down the hall. “The way they just…connected, like magnets.”

You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“Your parents are about to have a lot of reunion sex,” you tease.

Both Sam and Dean grimace. Dean has a full body shiver and gives you a look.

“Thank you for that,” he says wryly.

You laugh and try to soothe him with a hand down his arm, but he playfully shakes his head at you. You have mercy on the brothers and manage to stifle your laughter.

“Okay, so, dessert,” you say.

“Well, since you’re so graciously being our chef for tonight, you just relax,” Dean says. “Sam and I’ll go make a run. You just tell me what you need.”

You pause in the hallway and give a hum of suspicion. You’re not sure you trust him to get the right stuff. The last time you asked him to get very specific ingredients from the store, he did not, in fact, bring you what you needed. (Somehow, he thought regular garlic powder was the same as Adobo seasoning.)

He clocks that look of yours and rolls his eyes. “Come on, really? What am I, five years old? Just give me a list.”

You relent with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll text it to you. But if you need me to send you pictures of anything, just let me know.”

Dean’s lips kick up into a smirk. He leans in for a parting kiss on your cheek, but it’s just an excuse to whisper in your ear.

“Well, I’ll never say no to some pics,” he says. “Nudes, preferably.”

He then laughs at your rosy blush and raised brows. Now you know he’s in a better mood.

“Just hurry up,” you reply, shaking your head. He keeps chuckling as he passes by you. A smile curves your lips, and you give into the urge to smack his ass on his way up the stairs.

Sam just sighs in amused resignation. He raises a hand to you in goodbye and follows his brother up to the garage.

Once they’re in the car, Sam finally unloads what he’s been holding onto all afternoon.

“Dean, how did this happen?”

“I mean, I don’t know. You said that the pearl gives you what your heart desires, right?” Dean says. “So, my heart desired… Look, I’ve wanted this, man. I’ve wanted this since I was four years old. Maybe having Mom back just brought it all back up.”

He’s not exactly sure how deep that “desire” was buried, but the pearl knew. Dean couldn’t believe how happy he was when he saw his dad again, got to tell him everything that he’d missed, getting to have him meet you. And seeing his dad with his mom again? Well, that was a child’s dream come true.

But Debbie Downer (AKA: his brother) looks concerned in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I know, and I love this too,” Sam says. “But messing with time—”

“No, no, no. Sam,” Dean says, raising a hand in protest as he drives.

“You know how this ends, Dean. Things change,” Sam tries to reason. Dean just shakes his head.

“Yeah, we got our family back together! I’ll take that change.”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Stop. Just stop,” Dean says, in a tone that bodes no argument. “Look, can we just have one family dinner? Just one? Us—all of us together? That’s all I want. Can you just give me that?”

Sam’s lips purse. He knows it’s useless to argue with Dean when he gets like this, but Sam just can’t help the uneasy churning in his gut. It warns him that the other shoe has yet to drop on this spell.

You’re checking on the food when Sam and Dean return from their trip. Except the way they come storming into the kitchen has you turning to them in alarm.

Dean grasps your arms and searches your face. His face is marred by fresh cuts and a bruise or two.

“You feeling all right?” he asks. “Do you think Sam is a turtleneck-wearing douchebag?”

“Dean, what?” you utter. You touch his bruised cheek lightly, wincing in sympathy when he does out of pain. “What happened?”

True to Sam’s gut, the wish changed more than bringing John Winchester back from 2003. They explain what they went through after getting the groceries you requested—namely getting attacked by Castiel and Zachariah at the local liquor store.

The latter of the two angels was supposed to be dead, while the other had no recollection of being friends with the Winchesters. Sam was supposed to be a hot-shot Steve Jobs wannabe lawyer, while Dean had his mugshot plastered all over town.

“I think it’s…a temporal paradox,” Sam says.

Now, you’re very alarmed.

“Are you kidding me?! What the hell are we gonna do?” you exclaim.

“About what?” John asks from the doorway. He’s no longer wearing his jacket, you notice, and his shirt is looking a bit rumpled and hastily buttoned at the top, but his gaze is serious, matching his sons.

After sharing another telling look, Dean takes the responsibility of explaining the situation to his father, while Sam goes to find his mother.

Dean and John go into the library to talk. He explains that pulling John out of his time is now making the current timeline self-correct. Meaning, everything and everyone is gradually adjusting to the change.

“Basically, uh, if you don’t go back,” Dean says. He hesitates on the words, but he forces himself to continue. “Sam never gets back into the life. And Mom, she…”

“What?” John asks.

“Well, without everything that we did, with God, the Darkness, Mom never comes back,” Dean explains, even though it’s killing him inside. “Sam thinks that she’ll just fade away.”

It hurts him still to see the understanding don on his dad’s face, along with a smile of resignation.

“Okay,” John agrees. “I mean, me versus your mom? That’s not even a choice.”

Dean nods at that, however belatedly.

“Dean…I never meant for this,” John says.

“Dad, we pulled you here—”

“No, son. My fight,” he says. He still thinks about his conversation with you earlier today. He thinks about how protective you seemed just by that question you asked—not just protective of Dean, but of Sam too.

“It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes,” John explains. “But now, you’re a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you.”

Dean takes that in; he feels a rush of warmth deep in his heart, even though he doesn’t know what to say.

“You and your girl…you two planning on settling down someday? Having a family?” John asks.

Dean quirks a smile. You two haven’t talk about…that. Any of that. In between all the shit you all keep landing in, he’s somehow never had those conversations with you. Maybe he should.

But not now. Not until Michael’s gone and dealt with.

“I don’t know if we’re the settling type, but either way…I have a family,” Dean replies. He can say that honestly, with a soft smile that reaches his eyes.

John smiles back.

“All right,” he says. “Just think about it then.”

Dean once again finds you in the kitchen. You’ve gotten the plates, glasses, and silverware ready for dinner on the dining table.

“Hey, there’s only four plates on the table. We’re five,” Dean says.

You nod and close the oven back up. You’ve spent the past hour preparing the flan and just took it out of the oven. Hopefully it will have enough time to chill in the fridge.

You go to Dean and grasp the front of his gray flannel. In return, he holds you close by your arms.

“Listen, I thought it might be better if the four of you have dinner together. I’ll just eat here in the kitchen,” you say. Dean’s brows furrow, but you try to explain before he can start protesting. “You don’t have a lot of time left with your dad. This is the first time you’re getting to be together with your family like this. I just want to make sure you get the most out of it.”

Dean squeezes your arms and frowns down at you.

“You being there doesn’t take anything away from me being with them,” he says sternly. “And you’re part of my family. Part of our family. I’m not gonna have you eating in here by yourself like you’re a leper or something. Come on.”

He grabs your plate and the glass that you set aside on the counter, and he brings it to the table without letting you get a word in to stop him. You sigh, watching him go, but you also have to smile as the sting of tears burns in your eyes.

Dinner is awkward and dour at first. You all can’t help but think of what’s to come at the end of the night—ending the spell, and sending John back along with it.

But after John sets the tone, encouraging them to be grateful for this moment, and not dreading the inevitable end, everyone’s able to relax. The rest goes off without a hitch.

While Sam and Dean are telling a childhood story, arguing about who’s version of the events were more accurate, you get up to grab the dessert from the fridge.

You take out the pan of flan with both hands and go to bring it back to the table, but right in the doorway, you stumble to a stop as a wave of something washes over you. It prickles across your skin and feels a lot like magic.

The pan drops from between your hands and crashes to the floor. It startles everyone in the room.

Dean calls your name in alarm. He’s the closest to you, and he gets up to steady you with a hand on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks, trying to get you to meet his gaze.

But when you do, he sees blankness behind your widened eyes.

“Who are you?” you ask. You look around in both fear and confusion. “Where the hell am I?”

Dean’s throat constricts. "What do you mean? You live here. I'm..."

He searches your face for any hint of a joke, but he finds none. Trepidation grows inside him, and he realizes then what this is.

Another temporal shift, getting closer to the new timeline. One in which you and Dean are clearly strangers.

Somehow, he didn’t anticipate this.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he says.

Your brows furrow as you take in the man in front of you. He’s certainly a sight to see, you think, but those broad shoulders, the cut of his jaw, those green eyes…they’re unfamiliar to you.

“Sorry, but…I feel like I’d remember you,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “Have we worked together or something?”

Dean’s lips press together. He gives you a meaningful look. “Sweetheart, we’ve done a lot more than that.”

Your brows raise, and you blush hotly at the thinly veiled innuendo in his deep voice. You take another quick scan of him, which he notes with a smile.

“Yeah, I uh, I doubt that,” you say, which drops his smile again. You curl a strand of hair behind your ear, like you’re embarrassed just by him scrutinizing your curvy form. Like you can’t believe he’s basically flirting with you.

That’s not the woman he knows.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I have to figure out where the hell I am and how to get home,” you say. And you ease out of his hold and back away.

Dean grabs your hand fast. “Uh, wait. Sorry, just…”

He raises a placating hand and glances back at Sam with a hidden thread of desperation in his eyes. His brother is shocked and disheartened, as are Mary and John.

“Okay. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, our parents, Mary and John,” Dean says, turning back to you. “I know this has gotta be weird as hell for you right now, but can you just…stay put for a bit, until I get this worked out?”

You give him an uneasy look. He’s holding your hand like he’s afraid to let you go. You don’t know this man at all, and yet he really seems to believe that he knows you. It doesn’t make any damn sense.

You shake your head. “Look, I have to go home.”

You try tugging your hand out of his, and Dean finally lets you go.

“Why, you got a boyfriend waiting or something?” he asks. He’s half teasing, and half serious.

“No, um, family,” you admit. “My grandma’s probably waiting for me.��

Dean’s expression slackens. In the right version of the timeline, you’re his girl. But your grandmother passed away a few years ago.

“Okay,” he wipes at his mouth with a hand. “Tell you what, it’s pretty late. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Deal?”

The truth is, he has no intention of letting you go any-damn-where, but he needs to buy them some time to break this spell. Then you’ll be back to normal.

Right now, you’re reluctant to trust him. Eventually though, you nod in agreement. Dean wastes no time in bringing you to the War Room, where he encourages you to take a seat.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he promises.

You nod a bit hesitantly, as you still treat him with dubious suspicion. It breaks his heart. He forces himself to turn away from you and return to the dining room.

Part of you can’t help but watch him leave. Those long legs and broad shoulders are a sight, you can admit, but this is all too much for you. You further take in your surroundings and also think this place is strange. No windows…what, are we in some WWII bunker?

And yet, Señor Green Eyes claimed that you live here. Your car, your keys, it all must still be here, you reason.

So you wait until he’s all the way down the hall, and disappearing into another room. You get up out of your seat and start looking for your stuff—and a way out of here.

Meanwhile, Dean goes back into the dining room where Mary is already crying in John’s arms: for her eldest son, for her youngest, for her husband, and for herself. Dean’s eyes are red and stinging too.

By now, Sam has gotten up from the table and has been waiting for his brother. He lays a supportive hand on Dean’s shoulder. When Dean meets his brother’s gaze, he sees the shine of heartbreak there too.

“Let’s get this done,” John says.

Saying goodbye is the hardest thing.

Somehow, though, they get through it. Dean reflects on how he never got to say it to his father the first time. He feels the worst for his mom, who gets her husband ripped away from her.

It’s not fair. In fact, it’s a cruel turn of the knife that he should’ve expected. Dean feels guilty just for making this goddamn wish.

John says goodbye to his wife first, then his sons. He pulls them both into a hug that Dean clings to. Again, he hears his father say that he’s proud of him and his brother. Dean hears him say that he loves them.

“I love you too,” are the only words Dean can manage out, in a coarse whisper.

But Sam is the one who has to make things right. He crushes the pearl. John slowly disappears in a haze of golden light. Tracks of tears are wet on all of their faces, but Dean is the first one who has to lock it all away.

He remembers that you’re still waiting in the other room.

Wiping at his eyes, he leaves Sam to comfort their mother and hurries out there, to the room where Dean left you…only to find your chair empty.

A tendril of panic churns in his gut, but he has to remind himself that they’ve set things right. Even if you’ve run off, you can’t have gone far.

He calls your name as he heads for the door to the garage. He picks up his keys and his phone to call you, but he stops at the foot of the stairs.

He sees you at the top of them, having dropped your duffel bag at your feet. Your name falls from his lips again.

You turn around and hold a hand to your head, with your brows furrowed in discomfort. Your gaze travels down to his.

“Dean?” you call out.

You head down the stairs, and Dean meets you there at the bottom. He pulls you into a tight, desperate hug. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. Even though you’re still a bit confused, you hold him back to reassure him, and to steady yourself.

“What happened?” you ask.

“We reversed the spell,” he confesses, after he finds his voice. “Had to send him back.”

Your hold becomes more comforting as your hand slides up the back of his neck.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry,” you whisper. You card your fingers through his hair. His hold on you tightens even more. You feel his deep, shuddering breaths. He’s trying to contain it all, to push it down. You wish he would allow himself to let it out.

He presses his lips into your neck instead.

“You okay?” he asks. Your cheek brushes his when you nod.

“I’m fine, but…” You pull back enough to see his face. “Did I…forget you? Everyone?”

Dean’s lips press together.

“For a minute there,” he says, “but we got it all worked out.”

You let out a shaky sigh, and you tug him back into a warm hug that you both need.

Mary prefers to be alone that night. You understand it, but you still apologize and give her a heartfelt embrace in the hallway outside her room.

It takes her a moment, but she returns it. You start to realize that Winchesters are not a touchy-feely bunch by design. You can’t help yours though; you’re affectionate by nature. You just hope you haven’t overstepped.

Mary gives you a small, teary smile when you eventually pull away. She squeezes your hand before she says goodnight to you and her sons.

You give Sam a parting hug as well. He rubs your back in a brotherly gesture.

“Sorry about the whole temporary amnesia thing,” you quip.

Sam shakes his head with a smile. “Just glad to have you back.”

After he lets you go, Dean thumps his brother on the back. He then heads down the hall without a word.

You and Sam share a look, in which you give him an unspoken promise: I’ll take care of him.

You follow after Dean, who trekked a well-worn path to your shared bedroom. He’s already at the sink, splashing water on his face. After drying himself with a small towel, he sighs and rests his hands on the corners of the sink.

After closing the bedroom door, you go over and slip your arms around him from behind.

You rest your head against his back, and you both take in some deep breaths. Dean clasps a hand over yours on his chest.

“I’m okay,” he says.

“No, you’re not,” you tell him. “And that’s okay.”

Dean stays quiet. For a beat, he closes his eyes. He’s grateful for you. He’s still not sure why you put up with all the hellish shit that surrounds his life.

He turns in your arms so he can cup your cheek, smoothing his thumb across your skin.

“You know how much I love you right now?” he says, even though his deep voice cracks. Tears well up in your eyes, but you smile and you nod.

“Yeah, I do,” you reply, resting a hand on his chest. “I love you back.”

He frames your face with his hands and bows his head to kiss you. It’s fraught and devouring, and a bit greedy. You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now, especially when his hands slip under your shirt and raise it over your head with practiced ease. In turn, you help him shrug out of the flannel and everything else.

You seat him down on the edge of the bed and stroke his face, his neck, his bare shoulders. His fingers press into your thick thighs as he encourages you to climb aboard, straddling his hips.

Michael still paces back and forth in his mind, but for now, Dean’s able to tune it out and focus on this moment, with you.

AN: This ended up being another long one. Lots of angst and feels, but I sincerely hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun with this chapter of the Espresso-verse. 💜

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Little Danger." This one is lighter. Just a "quick and dirty" one-shot my brain couldn't let go of:

Summary: While relaxing together in the bunker, Dean takes your playful teasing to a new level. (And he’s too horny to care about the consequences.)

▶️ Next Story: A Little Danger

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords

#A Wish to Build a Dream On #dean winchester #dean winchester smuttish #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x latina!reader #dean winchester x plus sized!reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #Midnight Espresso verse #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x poc!reader #poc!reader #latina!reader #plus sized reader #zepskies writes

226 notes · View notes

eddiemunsonspantschain · 9 months

Text

Things Change - E.M

Author's Note: Did I wanna start another Eddie series? Yes. This might be a shorter series tho than the one I'm (trying) to put out. Special thanks to my babes @wroteclassicaly and @corrodedcorpses for reading over my smut for approval lol. And thank you to @boomhauer who helped with some relevent info for later chapters 👀

Warnings: Alcohol, sex, p in v sex, cream pie, oral (f receiving), smutty smut smut smut (minors gtfo), 18+, afab reader

You do not have permission to copy, translate or repost my work onto any other platforms.

You had no idea how you ended up here. Moving to Hawkins hadn’t been your decision, of course. That was made by your parents. It was just lucky for you that you made fast friends with Robin Buckley. Which led you to being friends with Steve Harrington… which led to the entire party. You had been shocked to say the least. You didn’t think you would gain a friend group so quickly. The kids were fun to be around and had insisted on showing you how to play D&D since you were into fantasy. That only led to them trying to introduce you to Eddie Munson. Tried being the operative word. Despite everyone else liking you, it seemed Eddie was the exception. You had no idea what you did to him to warrant this distaste.

It made things worse. Worse only because you found yourself smitten with the Dungeon Master upon meeting him. He had awkwardly waved at you and barely met your eye when you were introduced, but you were entranced. He was pretty. Stupidly so. Not to mention his nerdy side made you smile, especially when you had seen him talking about campaigns with the other youngsters for their Hellfire meetings. Some of his music taste was out there for what you listened to, but there were a couple of bands you both listened to. At first, you assumed Eddie was just not overly friendly. You knew what people at Hawkins High said about him. Robin reassuring you it was all bullshit. That none of it was true at all.

As time went on, you tried to get closer to Eddie. You tried to talk with him, but anytime you got close to talking to him, he would roll his eyes and show his impatience before finding an excuse to leave. When it came to group conversations, he always made comments about what you had to say. He teased you at times, made you feel stupid for things sometimes when you fumbled something or said something incorrectly. The last straw for you had been when the kids tried to get you to play D&D with Hellfire and Eddie shot it down. The kids had been teaching you how to play for weeks and you enjoyed learning the game. When you showed up at Hellfire though Eddie denied you membership and told you to leave. With tears in your eyes, you stomped out of the drama room and out to your car.

You hated Eddie Munson.

Any affection you had for him had disappeared. Instead, you couldn’t stand when he would talk because it was usually to make fun of you. You didn’t find his rambles endearing anymore. Any attraction you felt, you buried away so no one would know. Eventually, it became clear the lines were drawn. The others knew Eddie didn’t like you. That the two of you couldn’t get along for more than five minutes if you were left alone.

“It’ll be fun! C’mon.” Nancy spoke as she pushed aside hanger after hanger in your closet, assessing your clothes.

“You know I hate parties.” You told her, watching her rifle through everything. It wasn’t that you hated parties, it was that you hated crowds. Plus, you knew Eddie was going. The last time you went to a party with Eddie, he had made fun of your outfit and teased you about being desperate to get a guy’s attention all for simply wearing a tank top that showed off a little more cleavage than your other ones.

“You hate crowds. C’mon. It’ll be fun and the school year is getting closer to being done. We’ll be graduates! We deserve to go out!” Nancy argued as she pulled out a short sleeve top with a v-neck. “This is cute! Why not this and some jeans? Maybe a skirt?”

“No skirt.” You vetoed, knowing the comment you’d get for it.

“Ignore him.” Nancy rolled her eyes before moving to your dresser for a pair of jeans and laying them on the bed with the top. “There. Add some boots and you’re ready! C’mon. You can hang out with Robin and I. Not even have to see Eddie.”

“Being with Robin means being with Steve, and being with Steve means being with Eddie.” You clarified with a small smile. “I’ll go, Nanc. You’re right about it being our last party before graduation.” You answered and slid off of your bed to go and change into the clothes she set out.

“Then you can hang out with Jonathan and I!” Nancy reasoned.

—---------------------

Except that didn’t happen. You should have known that the couple would be off with one another not long after entering the party. You all shared a couple drinks but Nancy had dragged Jonathan onto the dance floor, leaving you in the corner by yourself. Steve had found a girl to dance with. Robin was drinking with Vickie who had made a surprise appearance. So you found yourself leaning on a wall nursing another drink. You had a good buzz going. You were unsure what was in the punch besides copious amounts of alcohol, and you were feeling it. You hummed as you sipped at your almost empty cup.

That was when you spotted him. It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would be left alone too when you saw Steve and Robin were occupied. You had no idea where Argyle was though you could take a pretty good guess. Eddie himself was situated across the way from you. You watched his long fingers pinch the cigarette between his lips, pulling it away as a plume of smoke followed. He was staring at you, though you couldn’t imagine why. You looked away realizing you were staring back at him. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea after all, right?

You drained the last of the dark red liquid in your cup and made your way back to the kitchen. You moved to the punch bowl, filling up your cup half way once more. Someone slid up beside you and you knew exactly who it was based on the smell of tobacco and Old Spice invading your nose. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you took a sip from your cup. Long, ringed fingers wrapped around your cup and your hand as you pulled the cup away from your mouth, leading it now to his. You turned your head, watching Eddie as he took a long sip from your cup. You were about to comment that it was your cup and to get his own when he moved the cup away from his mouth. His pink tongue poked out, licking up the ruby liquid on his lips with his eyes never straying from your face.

“Munson.” You murmured, bringing your cup back to your mouth and finishing what was left inside.

“Y/L/N.” Eddie murmured back, hand falling away from the cup and moving to your hip instead.

You stared at Eddie. Unsure of what he was planning to do. His other hand moved to your free hip, and he pulled you from the punch bowl. He turned you both, pressing you against the fridge, making the magnets fall off. Before you could register what was happening, his lips found yours. He tasted like the punch you both drank and your cherry lip gloss that had transferred from the cup to his lips. You melted into his kiss as you kissed him back, hands moving up to cup his cheeks as he pressed closer to you. The kiss was slow at first, but soon grew hungry. His tongue teased against your lips and you parted them, moaning as his tongue touched yours.

Eddie’s hands squeezed your hips and a small whine left your lips as he pulled away from you. His large hand grasped yours, tugging you towards the exit for the kitchen. You followed, letting Eddie pull you towards the stairs. You both ascended the stairs and after the third door you checked, you found an empty room. You both shuffled inside, shutting the door loudly behind you. Not that it mattered, considering the volume of the party happening downstairs. As soon as the party was shut out, your lips were back on Eddie’s.

There was a dull thud of his leather jacket hitting the ground before his hands were on you. He pushed your top up to your bust, brushing his fingers over your skin and groaning against your lips. He broke away to tug your top over your head, mouth descending on the swell of your tits. He kissed your warm flesh, dipping his tongue between your breasts as his hands tugged your bra straps down. You reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra and pulling it off of your arms. As soon as they were free, his mouth found your nipple, sucking harshly on it and pulling a loud moan from you. A growl left his chest as he moved to mark the side of your breast. You tugged at the back of Eddie’s shirt with a soft whimper. With a soft pop Eddie let go of your boob to pull his shirt over his head.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He breathed with a dopey grin like he wasn’t the one who cornered you in the kitchen and dragged you up there.

“Shut up and take off your clothes.” You answered, popping the button on your jeans and pulling them down your legs.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” He murmured as he worked his own jeans off. He eyed your legs as you kicked aside your jeans, now going for your panties. He reached out to grab your wrists. “No. That’s for me.” He growled quietly before lifting you. A squeak left your lips as he did so, not expecting him to lift you up like that. You instinctually wrapped your legs around him as he carried you, distracting yourself by tangling your hands in his hair and dragging his lips back to yours. You felt Eddie dipping you down and the softness of a mattress meeting your back. His lips left yours, returning to nuzzle your breasts before moving down your belly. He pressed kisses against your abdomen, working his way down to your hips. You whined, lifting your lips to get more contact from him. Eddie snaked one hand up to grip your waist as he teased his tongue along the waistband of your panties. Chocolate orbs rolled up to watch you as his tongue dipped under the soft cotton.

“Eddie, don’t tease me.” You whimpered, feeling your cheeks flush at the low chuckle he let out.

“You tease me all the time, sweet thing.” He murmured, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth.

“Look who’s talking.” You huff as you reach down to gently tug on his curls. It didn’t even occur to you what he meant. You had simply answered as you did considering he teased you all the time, just not like this.

Eddie groaned at the tugging and nipped at your hip. Finally, he took your panties between his teeth and tugged them down. He kept using his teeth, letting his hand help the other side until he completely removed your panties. He sat up with the cotton between his teeth with a large grin. He dropped the pair into his hands and hummed, pressing his nose to them before setting them aside. “Why smell those when I have the real thing in front of me?” He mused, hooking his hands under your knees as he moved to lie on his belly. His hot breath fanned over your core as he spread your legs. “Nice and wide for me, princess.” He cooed, nudging his nose against your inner thigh. He made sure to take time to mark those too until he had you squirming and your slick running between your cheeks, no doubt wetting the sheets under you. It wasn’t until you begged did he finally flatten his tongue against you, licking a broad stripe from your leaking entrance to the bundle of sensitive nerves above.

A whine left your lips as you arched your hips, wanting his attention on that bundle of nerves again. Eddie ignored you and dipped his tongue into your aching hole. His hands kept a firm grip on your thighs as he fucked you with his tongue, making you writhe under him. He pressed his face against you, nose bumping your neglected clit as he moved his head from side to side. He groaned against you, soon taking his tongue out of you to lick and suck on your folds, letting his tongue flick against your clit with every pass. A sigh of relief left you when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked just as he pushed a finger into you. You whined his name, rocking your hips as he pumped his finger slowly into you.

“Eddie, please.” You breathed, tugging on his head as you moaned and bit down on your lip.

“Please, what?” Eddie asked against you, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit and making you yelp at the contact.

“I need you.” You whined, tugging on his hair again.

“Need me how, princess?” He chuckled and you swore even though you weren’t looking at him, you could hear his stupid smile.

“You know how!” You huffed at him.

“Say it.” Hell no. You tugged on his hair again. Eddie’s response was a swift smack to your thigh, and you gasped at the sting on your skin. You looked down at Eddie, who had his glistening chin resting on your pubic bone. He looked up at you, chocolate orbs now swimming in black. He licked his lips and raised a brow at you expectantly. You frowned at him. Eddie shrugged and once again smacked your thigh. A whimper left your lips.

“Say. It.” Eddie growled at you, turning his head to nip and suck at your hip.

You groaned, huffing in defeat as you laid your head back against the pillows. “I need you to fuck me.” You mumbled.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.” Eddie hummed, fingers tapping against your thigh impatiently.

“I need you to fuck me.” You repeated a little louder.

Eddie smirked, running his tongue over the mark he left on your hip now. “Ask me nicer.”

“Eddie, I swear to God-”

“God isn’t here now, sweetheart. Just me. Ask nicely and I’ll fuck you.”

You huffed, feeling the annoyance creeping up on you that the arousal had quelled for the time being. You knew if you didn’t comply, he would most likely leave you there aching and needy. So you smoothed your fingers in his hair. You gently started to massage at the roots where you had tugged and you felt Eddie turn into a puddle between your thighs. Where his form had been sturdy and rigid before, he now relaxed between your thighs as your ministrations. “Eddie,” You spoke sweetly. There was silence. “Eddie?” You tried again, looking down to see his pretty eyes had fluttered closed. You smirked to yourself as you realized you had found a weakness, apparently. His eyes opened when your fingers stopped.

“Hm?” A blush settled on his cheeks.

“Eddie,” You cooed, starting to massage again.

“Yes, princess?” Eddie breathed against your skin as he pressed a kiss to it.

“I need you to fuck me, please?” You pouted at him. “I need you to make me cum on your cock.”

“Holy fucking hell,” Eddie groaned, pressing his face against your belly.

You giggled as you slowed your massaging of his scalp, instead tugging once again. This spurred Eddie back into action. He moved up your body, pressing his lips to yours. You groaned as you tasted yourself on his lips. His hands moved down to push his boxers off, managing to wiggle them off of his body and toss them aside somewhere in the room. A shiver ran through you as you felt his length touch you. You nibbled his lower lip as you snaked a hand down, gasping as you wrapped your hand around him and felt just how thick he was. You gave him a few tugs, whining softly and wondering how the hell he was going to fit inside you. Your past partners had been nothing to brag about in terms of size. Some average, some… less than. But Eddie was bigger than you’d taken before. A small hiss left his lips, and he grabbed at your wrist.

“If you keep jerking me, sweetheart, I’m gonna cum all over your thighs.” He murmured against your lips, biting down harshly on your plump lower lip.

You whimpered at the sting of pain, rubbing your thumb over Eddie’s shaft since he was holding your wrist. “Want it for me.” You mumbled back.

Eddie breathed a chuckle and let go of your wrist. “Want it for you?” He hummed, amused as you nodded back. “What do you mean, baby? Tell me.”

You pecked his lips, now moving your freed hand up to tease your thumb around his tip and smearing his precum around. Eddie let out a shaky breath. “Want your cum inside me, Munson.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie moaned, “Take it, sweetheart. It’s yours.” You grinned at his words, feeling him shift closer to you. His hand soon joined yours, guiding his cock to your aching hole. You bit your lip and let out a soft whimper as he teased his tip against you. “Such a sweet thing. Letting me fuck you raw.” He cooed as he pushed his dick into you.

You moaned, biting on your lower lip as he split you open. You wiggled your hips, arms wrapping back around his neck and settling a hand in his curls as he sunk inch by inch into you. Your walls fluttered around his length, begging for more. When his hips met yours, you let out a shaky breath. “Oh, my god.” You breathed, feeling a pleasant sting as he stretched you for him. Eddie pulled back before snapping his hips into yours again. A deep groan left his lips as he started a rough pace. Your mouth fell open in a pretty ‘O’ shape, moans and Eddie’s name falling from your lips easily.

“Taking me so good, pretty girl,” Eddie moaned as he drove himself into you. “Look so perfect under me while I fill you with my cock.” You almost wanted to die at how he spoke to you. His dirty talk was too good and something you hadn’t expected to like so much. With previous partners it had made you cringe hearing them attempt to talk dirty to you. But Eddie? His words were dirty and felt like sin, making a warmth pool low in your belly. You had no idea it would be like this. Hell, you hadn’t thought you’d be in this state with him. However, now that he was drilling his thick length into you, you didn’t want him to stop. Already addicted from the first taste. Eddie’s hard thrusts slowed and you let out a high-pitched whine. You were starting to feel the coil tighten low in your belly, but him slowing pulled it away from you.

“Eddie,” You whined with a pout.

Eddie chuckled and kissed your pouting lip. He took one of your hands from around him. “Do as I say.” He instructed, still driving his cock into you slowly. He moved your hand between you both, spreading your four fingers apart. He guided your hand to your pussy, two of your fingers on either side of his cock as he pushed into you with your palm digging into your clit. “Look at that.” He groaned, watching his dick disappear into you framed by your fingers. “Such a pretty sight.” He sighed, pressing on your palm to grind it against the bundle of nerves. Your walls clenched around him and he let out a near pornagraphic moan. So you clenched around him again. “Brat,” Eddie breathed shakily, grinning down at you as he started up his rough pace again. “Keep your hand there. Open your mouth.” He growled.

You moaned his name, moaning again when he moved his free hand to grab your cheeks. His thumb and pointer finger pressed in an attempt to open your mouth. You obliged, opening your mouth up for him. Eddie leaned over you and spat into your mouth. “Swallow.” He instructed and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit. “Good girl.” You whimpered at his praise.

Curses left your lips as you felt that pleasure mounting again. His thrusts grew sloppier as he got closer to filling you, full balls smacking against your skin. You pulled him down for a kiss, wrapping your legs tightly around him as he grinded his length into you. “Please, I’m so close!” You whined against his lips, grinding your palm against your clit.

Eddie cursed, picking up his thrusts. “C’mon, cum for me.” He grunted, moving his mouth to mark the junction between your neck and shoulder. You rocked your hips up, feeling the familiar feeling of your orgasm creeping up on you. Eddie’s name fell from your lips like a chant as you got closer, legs tightening around him and his name leaving your mouth in a long moan as your came around his length. “Fuck!” Eddie moaned, “Cumming around my cock, princess. Look who did this to you,” He babbled, enjoying the fucked out look on your face as he thrusted roughly into you.

You massaged your fingers against his scalp once the stars left your vision. “You did, Eddie. Cum for me now too, pretty boy.” You cooed, tugging on his curls. Eddie’s forehead dropped own onto your shoulder and you tugged hard, picking his head back up so you could see him as he came. His mouth fell open in a low moan as he painted your walls white, a whimper leaving you at the warmth of his seed inside of you and the look on his face as he finished. He stilled on top of you and you resumed your massaging. His body weight fell onto you fully, giving in to the exhaustion for a moment. You didn’t mind, keeping your legs around him as you massaged his scalp.

“Pretty boy, huh?” Eddie finally murmured after a few minutes.

“Shut it.” You answered, fingers now massaging the back of his neck.

Eddie hummed, licking over the reddening spot on your shoulder. “Are you, uh, on the pill?” He asked, realizing what had just occurred.

“I am, yeah.” You reassured him.

“Good,” He cleared his throat and lifted himself to look down at you. You stared back at him as it sunk in. You slept with Eddie Munson. The guy who hated you. Maybe that was the last little bit to get him out of your system for good. To get rid of any last bit of attraction to him. Eddie bit his lip as he pulled himself out of you, admiring the way his cum leaked between your fingers. He climbed off of you and an immediate sadness settled in your chest. You hadn’t expected him to cuddle you per say, but you hadn’t expected him to just up and leave so soon. You pulled the covers over your body as you sat up. Eddie had disappeared into the en suite bathroom and you could hear the water running. You winced feeling his mess leaking out of you, your fingers now covered in a mix of the both of you. Eddie appeared again, a washcloth in hand, and offered it to you. A blush settled over your cheeks.

“Thanks,” You murmured and started cleaning yourself up. Eddie pulled on his boxers, finding his jeans quickly and pulling them on. He gathered your clothes too, setting them on the bed as he sourced out his clothes too. You finished cleaning up, disappearing into the bathroom to pee and clean up a bit more before leaving the bathroom. You grabbed your bra, pulling it on before tugging your shirt on. You looked around for your panties. You huffed. “Eddie.”

“Hm?”

You held out your hand and wiggled your fingers. “Panties.”

“I don’t have em.” Eddie answered.

You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look and wiggled your fingers again. Eddie sighed dramatically, pulling your cotton panties out of his pocket and placing them in your hand. “Thank you,” You sang, pulling them on before tugging on your jeans. You sat on the bed as you pulled your boots on, mildly wondering why Eddie was still there. You were happy he hadn’t run out immediately, but he was lingering longer than you had expected him to. He produced his Camels from his pocket, placing a cigarette between his lips before pulling out a blue plastic Bic lighter. He flicked at the sparker, lighting the end of his cigarette and taking a long drag. He pulled it from his lips and offered the stick to you. You waved him off. “No thanks.” You murmured and stood from the bed.

Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself. Let’s go.” He moved towards the door, snatching up his leather jacket from the floor. You raised a brow and followed Eddie out the door. The two of you went back downstairs, the party still ongoing. If Eddie noticed the stares, he didn’t say anything about it as he headed for the front door, still smoking his cigarette. You planned on breaking off from him and did just that, going your separate way from him.

It was only then you realized that your friends were gone. Steve most likely had left with the girl he had been dancing with. Robin and Vickie were nowhere in sight, either. You cursed, heading for the front door. Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie were outside talking. You tried to quell the heat that rose to your cheeks as Eddie talking with your mutual friends like he hadn’t just fucked you upstairs. You walked over, leaning closer to Nancy.

“Hey! You have fun?” Nancy asked, looping her arm through yours.

“Yeah, tons.” You answered while purposely avoiding looking at Eddie.

“Ready to head home?” Jonathan asked and you nodded your head. “You good to get home, Eddie?” Jonathan asked him.

“I’m fine, man. Get the ladies home safe.” Eddie answers, eyes flicking to you before back to Jonathan. The two shared a manly hug before Eddie nodded his head to Nancy. “Wheeler, Y/L/N.” He flicked his cigarette into the street as he headed for his van.

You could feel Nancy’s eyes boring into your skull as you watched Eddie drive off.

—----------------------------------------------

As soon as you got to your house, Nancy announced she’d be sleeping over, much to Jonathan’s surprise. You knew exactly what she was doing. You played along and the two of you snuck up to your room. The second the door was closed, Nancy rounded on you.

“What happened?”

You groaned, moving to your dresser. “Nothing, Nance. I’m gonna shower, okay?” You quickly grabbed pajamas. “Help yourself to my clothes too.”

“Oh, of course.” Nancy nodded, hands on her hips. “You probably should wash the smell of sex and Eddie off of you.” When you turned to look at her, she had a large grin on her face. She pointed to your neck. You swallowed, peeking at your mirror and realizing your top exposed one of Eddie’s marks. “You smell like him, you know. The second you got close to me I could smell the cigarettes and weed.” She giggled.

“Nancy-”

“I’m not judging! I just… see why you had ‘tons’ of fun.”

You quickly ran into your bathroom and shut the door hard at her giggling.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #pregnant!reader

541 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 13 days

Text

Only an Almost (I)

Chapter 1 : For the Best

Hello!! Here is a new series! I’ve already finished writing and proofreading it, and I’ll be posting two chapters per week! I hope you’ll like it!

Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2739

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

It was a logical decision.

That’s what Andrew kept telling himself. As he watched you pick up your clothes, scattered across his bedroom floor, he forced his mind to form the same thought over and over again.

This is for the best. There’s no choice.

It was part of the deal. You never stayed for the entire night, and he didn’t linger long enough to fall asleep in your arms. Made it easier. Avoiding getting attached, avoiding stepping into any type of complication. You had sex, and then you were gone. On the side, you were good friends.

Best friends.

Something like that. Something in between good and best, he would say. Good didn’t sound strong enough to describe your friendship. It explained why it all happened in the first place, why you started casually hooking up about three months ago. After your first kiss, you decided to establish a simple rule.

If we do this, it can’t be anything but sex. We can’t get attached like this.

Romantically, that’s what you meant by this. And Andrew got it, of course. He spent most of his time abroad, it was the only logical decision. Besides, he had tried before to have serious relationships, but every time the same scheme repeated itself: he would leave for tour, and everything would fall apart. The distance always extinguished the flame. That and the fact that he was so busy he barely had time to sleep, let alone dedicate quality time to anyone. And he understood, of course, he couldn’t complain about being dumped when he spent a grand total of 20 minutes on the phone with his partner in the span of a day, when he got lucky. He got it, the ghostly presence, the lingering pain of being apart, the estrangement that came with the oblivion of the other’s life. He knew what it felt like, and he understood that others were not ready to go through that for him. He wasn’t worthy of it. It was alright…

And he understood that you didn’t want to get dragged into his mess of a life. To be fair, he didn’t want to drag you into this either, and he agreed when you offered this arrangement. He didn’t feel like he had a choice that day, when you made him this offer so casually, in front of a cup of tea. He could have said no, but his feelings for you were way too strong for that. Better have a little bit of you than nothing at all…

Friends by day, sex by night, no romantic feelings. Sounded simple enough.

“Damn… where’s my other sock?”

You looked around frantically, searching for the tiny piece of garment. Andrew spotted it by the door. He didn’t say anything about it.

“You’re coming to Alex’s party tomorrow?” he asked instead, voice a little hoarse after the sounds you had torn from him tonight.

“Hmm… yeah, probably. He’ll have my head if I don’t, anyway.”

“Perhaps not your head, but definitely your sanity.”

“He does hold grudges like no one else…”

Andrew stared as you buttoned your jeans, still searching the room for your lost sock, the one he didn’t help you to find. He readjusted the blanket higher on his torso, feeling self-conscious now that he was the only one left naked.

“Want me to pick you up?” he offered, and you nodded with a grin.

“Yeah, that would be nice! That way I can get properly sloshed.”

He chuckled at that, bathing into the warmth of your laughter, smiling without a thought.

“Oh, and I need to go to your mother’s tomorrow!” you informed him, readjusting your shirt.

His shirt, as a matter of fact. His heart stumbled at the sight…

“Really?”

“Hmm… she wants to take pictures of several objects for her artwork. I’ve volunteered to go around Dublin with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

“We both know I like Raine better than you. I’m only keeping you around to have her,” you teased, throwing Andrew a mischievous wink.

He tightened his hold on the sheets.

“Oh, I see. You’re only using me to get to her… and I thought you only used me for sex.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” but he noticed the way you bit your lip, refraining a smile, and how you averted your eyes in shyness, and he loved the sight…

Your eyes fell on the lost item, and you let out a victorious cry picking up your sock, while Andrew swallowed back the lump in his throat.

You sat down on the edge of the bed to put your socks on, and he didn’t think as he sat up, leaning into your form. He didn’t wrap his arms around you, merely rested his shoulder against yours, revelling in the warmth escaping your body.

He pressed his lips to your hair, felt you tensing, saw you stopping your movements.

“Ring me when you’re home, okay? It’s late. Are you too tired to drive?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that tired,” you answered, voice weaker than before, but he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because the night was quiet but for the branches of trees singing in the wind outside, and it felt like the world had slowed down, like it was more peaceful than usual. Perhaps because you were uncomfortable. Hard to tell.

He moved away, just in case. Distance cutting your edges and his with cold. And yet Andrew remained but centimetres away.

“Alright. Still, tell me when you’re home, okay? Just to be safe.”

You seemed to relax, he didn’t know if he liked that reaction or not.

“I like it when you do that.”

It sounded like a confession, the words on your lips quiet and velvety, soft to the touch.

“Do what?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side a little.

“Get all worried about me.”

You gave him a smile, one that he offered back with ease.

“Hmm… don’t have a choice. You’re a menace behind the wheel.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! You almost killed us last month!”

“It wasn’t even my fault, there was a fucking sheep running across the road, coming out of nowhere!”

“Can’t believe you’re blaming the fauna for this…”

You both laughed at that, and when you grew quiet again, smile still lingering on your lips, you let your head fall to rest onto his shoulder, and it was Andrew’s time to relax. You lifted your hand to rest upon his chest, right over his heart. For a second, he felt embarrassed at the thought that you would feel how fast his heart was beating, but your palm was too warm against his skin, and he soon couldn’t care enough to worry.

He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close, but not too much, not as much as he would have wanted, too afraid you would push him away.

“I know that… that’s what friends are made for, but still… it’s nice. Thank you, Andy.”

He closed his eyes as he rested his lips against your hair; closed them too tightly, until it hurt.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he whispered into your skin, mouth drifting to press against your forehead. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You hummed, leaning into him even more, and he felt all your muscles relaxing as he rubbed your back, palm flat against your spine, the curve so familiar under his hand by now.

You heaved a sigh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Andrew answered without a second thought, not thinking about what he had planned. He would move his schedule around for you anyway.

You looked up at him again, blinked a few times, as if to fall back onto earth. There was something dreamy in your smile.

“Good night, Andy.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

That was another one of your rules: no affectionate pet names.

He leaned down to kiss you, but you turned your cheek to his lips instead, and acted like it was nothing, like he had never been aiming for your mouth in the first place.

Third rule: no kissing without sex.

The next second, you were standing, walking towards the door. He stared as you walked out, listened to the padding of your feet on the tiles, the creaking of his staircase. He waited until the front door closed, and he let himself fall back into his pillows.

It was a logical decision, he didn’t have a choice.

Andrew, you absolute fool…

His mother was worried, which meant that Andrew was worried.

She was smiling at you as if nothing was wrong, as if the sunny afternoon truly was as bright as the beams coming across the green leaves of his parents’ garden trees.

Andrew was not fooled though. He knew his mother too well not to see the signs, to be blind to her slight frown, to the drifting downwards of her gaze, to the worried lip she kept biting on.

Raine didn’t say a word while you were here though, and it only worried Andrew more. You were a friend of the family; almost part of the family at this point. You were close enough to Andrew’s parents and brother to spend time with them on your own, just to see them. And they invited you often as well. If Raine wasn’t saying anything in front of you, it ought to mean that this was serious, that something terrible was happening. His thoughts drifted to his father…

“Andy? You’re okay?”

He blinked up at you, soothing the frown he had not noticed across his brow. He gave you a reassuring smile.

“Sure, why?”

“I don’t know… you look… worried. Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I was just lost in thought.”

You narrowed your eyes a little at him, clearly unconvinced, but Andrew shot you a smile, asked a question to draw the conversation back to you, and you yielded.

It was such a sweet afternoon, after all. You had spent some time taking pictures for Raine, and somehow had found your way to her garden, with tea and biscuits, a little high on sunlight and laughter. It was lovely. It almost felt like you and Andrew were not friends, almost like you were in your own family home. He pushed that thought away quickly though, taking a sip of tea and regretting that there was no burning effect of alcohol when he swallowed.

When you left to go home, Andrew was aware that he held you too tightly, for too long, that he let his lips linger against your cheek for more than a mere peck. But you didn’t push him away, and so he leaned further, allowed himself to be close, just for a moment.

You hugged Raine, promising to come back the following week for an artsy afternoon, and left as the sun abandoned the sky.

Andrew was washing the teacups when he finally asked his mother what was bothering her.

“Nothing, honey,” she reassured him, but he shook his head and gave her a hard look.

“Come on. Don’t lie to me. I know there’s something on your mind. Are dad and you okay?”

“Oh, darling… of course, we are. Don’t worry about us, we’re both fine. No, it’s… it’s you I’m worried about.”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a laugh, a mixture of relief and surprise.

“Me? Why would you be worried about me? I’m good.”

“Are you, though?”

She gave him that look, the one that pierced him to his soul, the one he couldn’t run away from. The one he knew would claim the truth, in the end. He felt like a child when she looked at him like that, like he had just stolen a cookie from the jar and was caught red-handed as he tried to hide the proof of his crime.

“I’m fine, mom. Don’t worry about me, I��m okay. I really am.”

But her gaze only hardened. Not in a cold way, on the contrary. It was a gaze of steel in its firmness, but that held all the love she had for him. His heart sank at the sight.

“Don’t lie. I know there’s something off between you and Y/N.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, looked away, fleeing. He stared at his hands still holding a teacup, and he noticed it was yours. There were traces of your lipstick on the edge of the pale porcelain. He traced it with his fingers absent-mindedly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, but his lie was obvious, his voice too low, too weak. In the sink, his fingers pushed the cup into the water, disappearing under soapy bubbles, and he left them there, in the warmth of the water, staring at the flesh that had disappeared, at your trace that was gone but that he hadn’t erased yet.

“Andy… you know that you can tell me anything. I’m your mother. You can always tell me anything that bothers you. That’s my job to help you. And I’m great at it.”

Her joke made them both chuckle, but he didn’t look at her. He rubbed at the stained spot on the cup instead, but blindly so, unable to see the destruction of your lips over the edge of the porcelain.

“I don’t know… it’s a little weird,” he whispered, struggling to find the right words and hating that about himself. How it was so much easier to write things down than to speak out words. They felt heavy on his tongue, had a wrong taste in his mouth.

“Why? What happened? Did you two fight?”

“No… no, we didn’t fight.”

“What is it, then?”

“We… We’re sleeping together.”

Raine stared at her son with wide eyes, her mouth dropping open. He chuckled at her reaction; clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that…

“What? When? How? What?”

“You’ve asked that one twice.”

“Wait, I don’t understand… if you two are finally being intelligent and are together, why do you look so sad?”

“I’m not sad.”

She gave him a look that was silently saying ‘I’ve birthed you, do not lie to me’.

He looked away again, tried to ignore the finally part of her question.

“We’re sleeping together. We aren’t together.”

“Oh…”

She seemed disappointed, leaned her back against the counter.

“How long?” she asked, after a heavy and lingering silence.

“A few months.”

“And you’re not dating her?”

“No, we’re not dating.”

“But you’re hanging out with her during the day, and sleeping with her at night.”

“Yeah.”

He struggled to swallow, cheeks turned crimson.

“Why on earth would you want that?”

She was blunt, as usual, but there was so much love in her question. So much worry for her son. Andrew wasn’t fooled, she was direct because she cared too much to circle around the issue.

“I’ve never said that I wanted that,” Andrew admitted in a whisper, feeling tears rise to his eyes, but he blinked them away, clenching his jaw to hold them in check.

“Oh, honey…”

She rubbed his back, her movement soothing. He rolled his eyes.

“Mom, don’t… I’m okay.”

“Casually sleeping with your friend… that’s not a good idea, Andy. Of course, you’re free to do whatever you want. This is your life. And I’ll always be here to support you, no matter what. Still…”

She heaved a sigh, but her son remained silent, and so she went on.

“You are too generous when you love, Andy. Be careful. Take care of yourself. For once, take care of yourself, before you take care of her. Can you do that for me?”

He finally pulled your cup out of the water. Your lipstick was gone, there was only the perfect white of the porcelain left under his thumb.

“Don’t worry about me, mom. I’m okay.”

“I know how you feel for her. This kind of… arrangement… it won’t end well for you.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I agreed to this. I’m okay with us just being casual, with nothing serious happening between us.”

But one did not fool a mother so easily. She gave him a look that let him know she understood him better than he did himself. And he had no doubt she was right about that.

Still, he put down the cup by the side of the sink to dry, picked up another, and washed the tea away again.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x fem!reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier series #series #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

169 notes · View notes