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joelscurls · 7 months

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

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

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

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

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

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

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

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

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

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Professor!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ma’am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you say yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

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

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

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

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

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

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

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

“Sarah-” he starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you press your fingers down harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like a bad trip.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes up empty.

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

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

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

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

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

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

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

“Quentin. Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

This guy can’t be serious.

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

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

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

It’s the last straw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

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

“You barely know me,” you joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

“No Joel – it’s you.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

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

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

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

“Everything alright?”

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

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

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

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

“And you like it?,” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What time is it?

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

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

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

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

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

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

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

And then you feel sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toast it is, then.

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

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

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

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

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it never ends well, once they do.

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

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

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

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

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

Well – you think – no going back now.

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

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

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

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

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

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

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

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

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

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

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

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

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

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

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

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

Punctual, you note.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

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

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

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

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

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

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

But Joel isn’t just any man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

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

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sets them down by your feet.

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

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

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

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He settles in with a content sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

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

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

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

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

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

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

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

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

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

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

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salbei-141 · 8 days

Text

My girl (Wanda x reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.2k

warnings: 18+, fluff, comfort, friends to lovers, trauma, death, love confession, etc.

a/n: woah, first post of the year...almost 5 months into the year...wbk a schedule doesn't exist here.

So, there were a few things that made me realise I was bi and Elizabeth Olsen was one of them - can you blame me? So I propose this!

Also, y'all please if I get any lore incorrect do not come for me, I haven't watched Marvel in a while, and nor can I be bothered to rewatch them either, SUE ME.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Wanda were best friends and had grown up together in Sokovia - your home country destroyed by the supposed American hero Tony Stark himself. You remember it as clear as day - being huddled between Wanda and Pietro. None of you moved, still as day, and terrified - it was a kind of fear you'd hope you'd never have to experience again. You remember the cries of Wanda as you held onto each other - you were just children at the time, it was a diabolical event to be forced to endure.

To this day you were unsure of what happened to your parents - you could only assume the same had happened to them as had happened to the Maximoff's parents, but you couldn't say for definite, and it weirdly gave you some sort of peace not knowing the brutality of how they had died - although you'd hoped it was quick and succinct in nature.

You were all in your 20s now, and yet not a year had gone by since that day where you'd forgotten the trauma of it all - it weighed upon your shoulders day in and day out like a parasite. What followed the bombing wasn't any better…you were mutants - or at least that's how some people had described you. You felt stronger now though - it felt freeing almost, there was little to fear now. However, nothing could save you from the memories…you, Wanda and Pietro still fell victim to your childhood trauma - especially Wanda.

"Wanda?" you walked into her room tentatively after hearing the soft sounds of her cries - it tore your heart into two, knowing the pain she was in, and more so that she was enduring it alone was hurting you in an indescribable manner that you always felt upon seeing her in any severity of distress.

She was led on her bed curled up like a child clutching onto a teddy you'd got for her Christmas several years ago - it warmed your heart that she still held it so closely and for comfort. You watched as her head turned slightly - her eyes were red and slightly puffy, but she said nothing to you as you stood at the door.

You closed her door silently and moved towards her tentatively as you sat on the side of her bed staring down at her with soft eyes. Moving your hand, you gently carded your fingers through her auburn locks, watching as tears silently rolled down her reddened cheeks.

You remained sat at the edge of her bed, and gently beckoned her into your arms, "Come here, I got you". Instead, she pulled you further onto her bed, so the both of you could get comfortable before she then sunk into the comfort of your arms as she continued to cry into your chest. You moved slightly to adjust to a more comfortable position with her in your arms, and felt as her grip tightened, "I'm not going anywhere…I'll never leave you Wanda". She looked up at you with desperate eyes, "Never?". "Never", you confirmed and kissed her on the forehead as you pulled her against your chest again, holding her with a conviction that you'd only ever designate to her.

You don't know how long had gone by, but Wanda still lay in your arms, having calmed down now. You had been gently running your fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, feeling as she'd occasionally shiver from your touch.

"Y/N?"

She looked up from your chest with those round, soft eyes that made you cave to her every request.

"Hm?"

You looked back down meeting her gaze, watching as she searched your eyes.

"Thank you."

Tucking a strand of her hair that had fallen across her face back behind her ear, you smiled softly, speaking in a whisper almost, "I'd do anything for you".

"I know", and she stared at you just adoringly as you had been staring at her - neither of you quite aware of the emotions that had transgressed the platonic relationship you both maintained - fearful of losing one another over the looming prospect of an unrequited love. How naive you both were.

You let your hand linger on the side of her face - never having drawn back once her hair had been tucked. Your fingers delicately caressed her cheek - feeling the way it warmed under your touch.

You watched intently as her eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. Should you? You didn't know, scared to ruin things and lose your best friend, but she was also the woman you'd grown to love - she was more than your friend, and she knew that too - you'd both been yearning for this for years – too naïve to notice one another’s loving gazes.

"please", her voice was quiet, meek almost, but you could hear the plead in her voice.

Her eyes looked into your own – begging for your attention, and that's when you'd had enough, you leaned forward – teasingly stopping just before her lips.

“Promise me…promise me we won’t go back to just friends after this…please Wanda”, you searched her eyes for any doubt, and you couldn’t identify anything – her pupils were dilated as she stared into your eyes.

Wanda closed the gap between the both of you, catching you off guard while you’d awaited an answer, but this was the best way she could’ve answered you. Her lips were soft and you were quick to respond to her. You could still taste the remnants of salt from her tears, which had been long forgotten as the both of you were entrenched in one another.

It was euphoric - the way her lips moved along with yours - it was better than any dream you'd ever had about her; the days you’d deafly listen to her as she’d speak in front of you, only for you to have been too busy watching the way her lips moved as she spoke, before turning into a grin as she’d realise you’d been in a word of your own.

You let your hand drift from her face down her arm – feeling the way her skin goose-bumped as your supple touch passed over the exposed skin of her arm until you rested it on her waist as she kept herself steady with her hands wrapped in your shirt.

A soft moan reverberated in her throat as you lightly gripped her waist more – a smirk plastering your face as you continued kissing her.

The both of you slowly pulled away fluttering yours open. Nothing was said as you both smiled at each other before falling into a fit of giggles as she buried her face in your chest and you in the nape of her neck.

“We’re idiots”, she mumbled against you, as she gently lifted her face to meet yours again – both laying against her pillows with little space separating you.

“I love you”, you couldn’t hold it in any longer as it blurted out of you. She knew you meant it – you’d never looked so serious about anything as you did now.

She leaned forward pressing her lips to yours again, “I love you too…I love you so much Y/N”.

You both stared into each other’s eyes – soft gazes lingering as you gently stroked her waist with your thumb.

“Now you can really never leave me”, she smiled at you – referencing your earlier comment back to you.

“I never planned on it anyway”, you pressed a kiss to her forehead, bringing her close to your chest as her arms wrapped around you. "My girl", you whispered into her ear hearing her hum in content as you proceeded to lay in each other’s hold in silence with the occasional kiss – the reality a surreal eutopia that you’d both thought unlikely.

#fem reader #wlw #fluff #fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel #avengers #mcu #lesbian #bisexual #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x y/n #wanda x y/n #wanda x fem!reader

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winwintea · 15 days

Text

dreamies as your disney world boyfriend

pairing ▸ boyfriend!dreamies x reader author's note ▸ i am working on the SERIES I PROMISE GUYS... it's just quite long... oops. i needed to channel my inner disney for inspiration for this sorry. the prompt seemed to make more sense in my head so i guess it's just, 'dreamies at disney' now lol. ALSO SOME DISNEY TERMINOLOGY in there i apologize. should make sense but if it's confusing ask me lmfaooo

mark lee

photographer boyfriend obviously

doesn’t even complain about how many photos you want to take

is actually dying inside but hides it away with dad jokes to cope with the pain

“it’s not even noon yet and dis-knees are killing me bro”

will only complain about the heat

“It’s like we’re on the surface on the sun dude… like satan’s armpit. that’s crazzzzyy.”

you couldn’t help but laugh

but then he just KEPT GOING

“it’s like we’re in the inside of a mouth… there are things sticking to things that-”

and you cut him off right there.

can’t help the fact that bro is a D1 yapper.

will not wear mickey ears though no matter how much you beg him to :(

favorite ride: slinky dog dash

least favorite ride: dumbo

huang renjun

the boyfriend that actually disney bounds with you

so y’all are disney bounding as nick wilde and judy hopps from zootopia (renjun’s idea)

chenle took him to shanghai disney once, so he’s a big fan of duffy and friends

oh how disappointed he was when he realized that the mascots don’t exist in WDW

“preferred parking? i would prefer parking to be free, thank you very much.”

mood is very sour upon entering

“i know you’re cold but i did tell you to bring a jacket.” rude.

however once you two start collecting your first character signature he’s locked in

somehow more excited to meet the characters than the kids are? (ur 24. reality check!)

he gets more into it as the day goes on

YOU BET HE’S WEARING THE MICKEY EARS.

although he already had fox ears on to begin with anyways

favorite ride: mickey & minnie’s runaway railway

least favorite ride: seven dwarfs mine train (it was too short)

lee jeno

foodie boyfriend

wants a turkey leg like really badly

“that guy has a turkey leg… sir- um sir- where did you get that turkey leg”

you have to bribe this man with food.

which honestly is okay by you because you just wanna take photos of the food.

"yknow with this ride being 50 years old, you'd think they could've made the boats a little bigger. have to man spread now"

whatever you’re thinking of, that’s literally not what he meant.

he’s an innocent lil guy. (seriously, it just came out wrong.)

holds ur hand on all rides.

let’s you grab onto his muscles arms while you are nervous on the thrill rides

no mickey ears though. (it’s the bow that always throws them off)

favorite ride: rise of the resistance

least favorite ride: teacups

lee haechan

out of pocket boyfriend who will not stfu

“bambi’s the only movie i really couldn’t watch… i could not be as strong as bambi”

after you give him the, “wtf” look he just continues. on.

“cause if my mom died well… there goes my friend group.”

will randomly start singing disney songs in the middle of waiting for a ride.

in those show/ride/attractions he’s the only one clapping and screaming.

especially true for the beauty and the beast sing-a-long attraction, cause yknow he’s gonna scream his lungs out.

yeah he’ll wear mickey ears, but you bought him a goofy hat instead. It was more fitting.

“can’t believe disney made a character after me… should i sue?”

also complains a lot. way too much.

“EPCOT? more like every person comes out tired.”

favorite ride: pirates of the caribbean (he kept making a booty joke over and over again)

least favorite ride: toy story midway mania (bc he lost)

na jaemin

hardcore boyfriend photographer (pt 2) + ‘mom’ boyfriend

man knows all your best angles and where to take photos

“picture, picture over here… yes yes right… in front of the castle angel. oh that’s so pretty… in… in… down… up… okay! smile!”

you two spend like half the day taking photos, jaemin needs to show off his gf ofc.

cares for you the whole entire day, makes sure you drink enough water

aggressively refills your waterbottles every second he gets.

“when it doubt, chug it out! (cue jaemin chugging his own bottle)

he unfortunately will not wear mickey ears. (jaemin i believed in you.)

he’s not the one being taken photos of, so no mickey ears for him.

“princess i don’t wanna hear it. the humidity is good for you. this is like nature’s pore declogging.”

favorite ride: frozen ever after

least favorite ride: none (bc he did everything with u <3)

zhong chenle

in between buying you everything and calling everything too expensive boyfriend

HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET A MEMBERSHIP WITH CLUB 33.

this man pulls you into that sus green building on main street, and your jaw drops.

club 33, is an exclusive, membership only restaurant at disney. it’s like an elite society filled with rich upper class, but at disney. (never been inside not sure how to describe it but oh boy is membership expensive.) the waitlist got so long in 2007, they closed it for 5 years. look it up on wikipedia disney lore goes hard

“i just asked a couple of friends, and they recommended me this place.” boy.

you’re panicking because you’re severely underdressed. (you’re in a jessie costume.)

he reassures you, since you’re at disney, and being dressed like this is normal.

once u have one of the most expensive meals of ur life, chenle drags u to every single thrill ride.

he also buys you a balloon and a bubble wand <3

but for some reason when you arrive at the gift shop he realizes he’s spent a lot.

“okay enough gift shop. look away from the gift shop. this vacation already has us in poverty.”

AND BRO ACTS LIKE THIS THE WHOLE TRIP IM NOT KIDDING.

he’ll buy you a nice meal at one of the restaurants and then…

“we’re not getting churros they’re 5 dollars.”

no mickey ears either why do you even ask

“next time i’ll take u to shanghai, it’s better okay?”

favorite ride: tower of terror

least favorite ride: it’s a small world after all

park jisung

anti-disney everything boyfriend

gets frustrated at everything. cannot read the map.

when he goes on small world…

he severely questions his mental sanity. like actually guys i think he needs help.

“this ride is for kids.”

the ride in question: the barnstormer! a 40 second kiddie roller coaster that has top speeds of up to 25mph!

literally jisung’s 13 reason.

he was screaming his little heart out poor baby.

“I’m not wearing those. Stop.” you do not stop. “Take these off of me right now.”

he wears the ears for half of the day though so a win is a win.

“we’re going to the other park? we’re not going home? there’s 3 more??????”

favorite ride: none

least favorite ride: all

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stormberry-12 · 2 months

Text

faceless // P4: are you ugly? ~ charles leclerc x reader

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader

includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n".

Bold Italics are the past.

Normal Italics are thoughts.

summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sat alone in a medical room, sure you had wanted to reveal your identity eventually but this was too much to handle all in one day. You could sense the awkwardness of the doctors who had come to perform tests on you, they were polite but curt. A nice nurse offered you some tissues but no one uttered more than 5 words to you, probably still processing it themselves.

You pulled out your phone, there was no doubt Charles knew, he was out of his car even before you were, probably watching televised on hundreds of screens around him.

He hadn't tried to contact you.

You didn't blame him.

However, you did have hundreds of notifications from other people and F1 Instagram pages tagging your private account and spreading the news worldwide.

A knock on the door frame made you jump, "You're free to go miss, as long as you have no more neck pain."

"Thank you," you replied, not looking the doctor in the eyes, and climbing out of the bed.

"Take the pain meds twice a day, for your wrist and neck, don't over-exert yourself. Have a good day."

'Have a good day.'

You walked out of the medical center with your belongings, walking to the parking lot, not planning on going back to the Red Bull garage. You couldn't care less what Christian thought about this whole thing and would probably receive a very heavily worded email from him later tonight.

The sky was dark, you must have been in there for a while. The lights from the posts shone down on the many expensive cars that the drivers had driven to the race.

Charles's car was gone.

"Fuck me," you cursed, the tears had returned along with shooting pain up the side of your neck. You called an Uber, waiting in the crisp air and wiping the tears off your face. The world seemed wobbly as you scanned your surroundings, letting reality hit harder and harder every time you thought about the day you just had.

You looked across the parking lot to see Yuki getting into his car. He shot you a small smile and wave. "Fuck is a fun word. And you have a cool helmet by the way,"

"YUKIII!" Pierre screamed, running over to the car drawing both of your attention. "I'm driving,"

"No!"

"Yes."

They argued for about 20 seconds before Yuki hopped in the passenger seat. Pierre then noticed you, giving you a thumbs up and a knowing smile before hopping in the car.

God, word spread fast.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

You and Charles settled onto the couch, cozy blankets draped over your laps, snuggled up next to each other. Tonight's choice? The Office. It was a show you both adored, somehow whenever you watched it it always managed to lift your spirit. With a bowl of popcorn between your legs, you hit play, and the familiar theme song filled the room. You nestled into Charles's side, feeling the comforting warmth of his presence.

"Guess what, I have flaws. What are they? Oh, I don't know. I sing in the shower. Sometimes I spend too much time volunteering. Occasionally I'll hit somebody with my car. So sue me." Michael Scott's voice rang from the speakers.

"Oh my god," Charles chuckled. "I can't with this show,"

As the credits rolled, you turned to Charles, a contented smile playing on his lips. "I love nights like this," you whispered.

"Me too," Charles replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Especially when I'm with you."

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

The door to your apartment creaked as you opened it slowly, the hum of the airconditioning filled your ears and and hit you with a cold blast that sent shivers down your spine. You tossed your backpack on the floor and braced yourself for all of the outcomes that could happen next.

'What if he breaks up with me?' Flashed in the back of your mind as one of the possibilities that made your stomach ache. He was sitting on the couch, gaze not leaving the TV, but you could see his shoulders tense as your footsteps entered the room.

"Charles, we need to talk," you said softly, your voice barely audible over the blasting TV and loud voices outside the thin wall.

He ignored you coldly, grabbing his plate off the side table and walking towards the kitchen.

"Oh come on, Charles! Jesus, listen to me, I can explain!" you cried, following him around the apartment until he finally turned to face you, his eyes were broken.

"Explain..."

"Yes-"

"Explain? You've been racing alongside me all this time, pretending to be just another driver, while I've been completely in the dark about who you are! You lied to me!" he spoke, voice cracking and eyes watering.

"Charles I-"

"Like holy shit!" Charles's voice trembled as he continued to word vomit his feelings like he always did. "You were the faceless driver. The one everyone speculated about, and-"

"Charles, I didn't want to lie to you. I just... I never wanted my identity to overshadow my abilities on the track. I wanted to be known for my skill, not my gender or boyfriend's name." You sighed heavily, hands trembling slightly, head pounding.

"You didn't think I deserved to know? We're in a relationship, Y/n. We're supposed to trust each other!" Charles's voice grew louder, his words cutting through the air, making you feel small.

"It was in my contract Charles, I couldn't tell anyone-"

"Why would you sign your life away like that? Red Bull was taking advantage of you but you were too stupid and blinded by all the secrets you had to keep-" he hissed.

"Oh my god! Why are you being such a dick? I came up with half my contract rules, I didn't want to tell anybody!" you held your neck as it ached.

"You told Lando,"

"No, I didn't. I never meant for him to find out!" you yelled, well tried to, as you found it harder and harder to catch your breath. "And do not bring Lando into this, he's your teammate and friend-"

"But he knew before I did! He kept secrets from me too," he complained. "And you had your little waves out on track and everything, don't bring Lando into this my ass. I hate how you realized you could trust him but couldn't think of anyone else in your life that you might be able to trust. Someone who might deserve to know. Was there no one else Y/n? No one else that you spent hours of the day with, that had trusted you with all of his problems? No one that loved you so much and would support you no matter what-"

"Charles-" you choked out, guilt overtaking you.

"This is so wild, I can't believe this day is real," he mumbled and you weren't sure if he was referencing the fact that you were a driver or the fact that you had left him in the dark and damaged the strong relationship you had. Probably both.

You sighed and rubbed a hand over your face, you felt like you were going to puke. You pushed past Charles and shuffled to the bathroom slamming the door behind you. You heard Charles call after you but his words were drowned out by the pounding and ringing in your ears.

As you leaned over the toilet vomiting you felt your hair being pulled away from your face and a hand placed firmly on your back. You knelt there for a while, his fingertips traced up and down your spine until you pulled away to splash your face with water.

You slid back down to the floor leaning against the sink. You hugged your knees to your chest, not wanting to feel the cold tiles on the back of your legs any longer, as your boyfriend sat across from you quietly. Charles hesitated, his eyes locked with yours. The weight of the words you yelled at each other hung heavy in the air. His foot grazed yours softly and you both looked down at your matching socks that you un-intentionally wore on the same day.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. They told me I didn't have a concussion..."

"That's bullshit. And the wrist?"

You looked down at your bandaged hand, "Sprained."

He hummed in acknowledgment, "They did a shit job at that too, can a re-wrap it for you?"

You nodded and he skooted closer, taking your arm gently in his hands. He unwrapped the tenser bandage around your wrist and you winced, Charles whispered an apology, examining your bruises and swelling.

"Jesus, love," he wrapped the bandage around you once more, neat and tidy, securing it tightly. He looked up meeting your eyes with an unreadable expression, fingers still grazing your bandaged wrist. "Lando had more than one secret he was keeping from me,"

"What?" you croaked.

Charles closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, "He's leaving. His contract was only for a year to try out a new team..."

You stared at Charles in shock before he continued. "He misses Mclaren, and of course Zack misses him. So yeah," Charles laughed but no humor filled his face, "I'll be saying goodbye to yet another awesome teammate that I've considered a brother."

"I'm so sorry Charlie," you whispered, linking your hand with his. You knew how hard it was for him when Carlos left, they didn't speak as much anymore, and you could always see the pain in Charles' eyes whenever Carlos brushed him off with a rushed wave in the paddock.

"God, I've got to stop being so sensitive and annoying," He sighed.

"No, your empathy, understanding, and awareness are some of my favorite things about you," you smiled softly at his blush.

"But I wasn't very understanding to you," he whispered and you felt your heart pinch.

You were about to respond, countering his statement with the truth that you were so terribly sorry and pissed at yourself for everything, when your phone rang pulling you from the moment. Looking down at the screen you stared at Christian Horner's name as it buzzed.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~

#storms library #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 #faceless driver trend #fanfiction

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sethsclearwater · 11 months

Note

Poly seth x paul

Similar to the Bella pregnancy but because she's pregnant with a wolf the baby is naturally stronger and it breaks a rib of hers

"ow-" you whimpered, pressing one of your hands to where the baby had kicked, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath.

"what's wrong?" paul and seth said in unison as they got up and came over to you, paul sitting down in the chair next to you while seth crouched down in front of you.

you shook your head, "jus' kicked my rib," you murmured, whining softly as you took in a painful inhale.

"can i touch?" seth asked, lacing his fingers with your free hand and offering your hand a gentle squeeze when you didn't respond after a moment.

at his squeeze, you nodded, dropping your hand from your rib so he could investigate. when he slid his hand over your rib, you let out another loud whimper at the painful sensation, "that hurts-" you whined, letting out a heavy sigh as seth nodded and dropped his hand.

"let me call my mom, yea? i think it might be broken - emily had the same thing happen when she was pregnant," he murmured, getting up and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head before going to grab his phone.

with his absence, paul slid his hand over your thigh, gently squeezing there, "you're okay," paul reassured, "hurts when you inhale?" he asked softly and you nodded, whining as you realized just how annoying and painful breathing now was.

"yea that sounds like a broken rib," paul murmured, letting out a heavy sigh as you leaned into his side. he slid his hand around your waist, gently rubbing at the soft flesh of your hip as the two of you waited for seth to get off the phone with sue.

seth returned a moment later, "she said you can't do much until he's born," he explained as he crouched in front of you, "but we can get some ice on it, yea?" he suggested, offering you a small smile when you nodded.

"let's get you laid down on the couch for a little bit then, yea?" seth cooed as both boys helped you up. paul helped you over to the couch, allowing you to lay down with your head in his lap while seth grabbed an ice pack from the fridge.

"there ya go," seth murmured as he got the ice pack under the affected rib, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before sitting down at the other end of the couch and taking your feet into his lap.

"just a few more weeks and then you're done," paul reassured, stroking his fingers through your hair with one hand while he got your favorite show on with the other.

you nodded, sighing as you slid your hand down to your swollen belly, smiling softly when you felt your baby's movement under your touch.

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queerofthedagger · 1 year

Text

all this growth and this decay

[Steddie | T+ | 2,9k | ao3]

you will open your wounds / and make them a garden —Wale Ayinla

One of the weirder things in the aftermath of hell dimensions and surviving by the skin of his teeth is seeing Steve Harrington kneel in the middle of a flowerbed, elbow-deep in soil.

Eddie watches him for a little longer than he probably should; the methodical movements of his hands, hair pushed back carelessly, the skin revealed by the loose tank top that, frankly, should not be doing it as much for Eddie as it does.

Sue him; he survived the apocalypse, so he might as well enjoy the aftermath.

“If you’re determined on staring, Munson, at least hand me the hose, will you?” Steve says without turning around, not sounding too bothered about it. Eddie’s still glad that the sticky summer heat hides the flush that rises to his cheeks at having been caught.

“What are you doing anyway?” he asks, once he nudges Steve with the hose and drops down to sit next to him on the warm stone.

Beyond the property, the forest is humming with the August afternoon, everything bright and languid and achingly peaceful.

“If the bushes aren’t taken care of regularly—“

“Not that,” Eddie cuts in with a huff of laughter. “Why are you gardening in the first place? Didn’t exactly take you for the homey type.”

Steve cuts a glance at him, all raised brow and judgmental twist to his mouth. “What, not metal enough for you? Expecting me to chew on Demobats in my free time?”

“Yikes, don’t say that. You know what I mean.”

Steve shrugs, all casual, and scans the rose he has been working on as if it is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Eddie looks at Steve the same way, so perhaps it is a good thing that Steve isn’t looking back.

“Do you know what a pain rose bushes are if you let them run riot?”

Eddie doesn’t; if anyone had asked him ten minutes ago if he thought that Steve Harrington might have the answer, he would have laughed.

Which, really, is probably on him; the last couple of months should have gotten him used to Steve constantly flipping the script on him.

“Still, didn’t expect you to do it yourself,” he says, watching the careful way Steve’s hands push the soil into place.

Steve shrugs, still not looking at Eddie. “It’s nice. I don’t mind.”

It’s the way he says it, quiet and a little tired; or perhaps it’s the way he brushes his fingers over the dark green leaves, his expression oddly pensive. Or, perhaps, it’s all Eddie reading into things—in the end, it doesn’t really matter.

In the end, he watches as Steve waters the rose bushes, careful not to wet the leaves, and chews on the feeling that the explanation he has been given covers only the smallest part of it.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t explain why Hawkins High’s former king suddenly took up gardening; fortunately, Eddie has always liked a bit of a riddle.

---

For the most part, Eddie does not, in fact, think too much about it. Between navigating Hawkins and its continued animosity, the kids, and his ever-growing crush, it isn’t exactly among the top ten things he has on his mind.

He’s reminded of it once October rolls around, the days golden and cool in the evenings.

He spends most of his time at the Harrington residence these days, some nights with Robin, others—most—only the two of them, talking and watching movies and spinning fantastical plans for a future that Eddie still struggles to believe he is allowed to have.

It’s a rainy afternoon, the first real cold one of the season, when he arrives after his physical therapy. Truth be told, the main reason he still goes at all is that Max would never forgive him if he quit, and he still hasn’t learned how to say no to her in the slightest.

The house lies quiet and dim when he lets himself in, which is unusual in itself. For the briefest second, panic wants to climb up his spine, but he pushes it down. Takes a deep breath and walks through the foyer into the living room, and the air still trips out of his lungs with relief when he finds the patio door open, curtains billowing.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but puddles are scattered across the porch, and the ground beyond is a riot of colors from the maple trees’ leaves.

On the far end, Steve is kneeling in front of the rose bushes, a stack of cut fir branches beside him.

Eddie grimaces at the gray sky and pulls his jacket closer around himself. In the end, his curiosity wins out, though (or, if he’s honest it’s all concern, but these days any pretense about all the godforsaken emotions Steve causes in him is a welcome one, in Eddie’s books. There is only so much a guy can take before he has to have some serious concerns for his own sanity).

“Hey,” Steve says, once Eddie comes up to him. “I didn’t expect you back this early; you can wait inside if you want, no use in us both getting drenched.”

It’s such a Steve thing to say. Eddie’s fingers are itching to run through Steve’s wet hair, to tip his head back. To make him look at Eddie, perhaps become a horrible, pathetic cliché and kiss him right here in the quiet rain.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he asks instead, burying his hands in his pockets.

“Winter-proofing,” Steve says, as if that makes any sense. “They dislike soil frost.”

Eddie blinks. “Okay but—can that not wait until it’s, you know. Not raining?”

It finally gets Steve to look up at him, a small crease between his brows. The hoodie he is wearing is washed out, fraying at the seams, and he looks tired.

Then again, he always does; it is just rare not to see him pretend otherwise.

“It’s impossible to say how far the temperature will drop tonight. Really though, just wait inside, I’ll be done in a moment.”

His hands are dirty with soil, pink with the cold. There are pine needles everywhere, the smell of them mixing with the rain.

By now, Eddie likes to believe that he has come to know Steve fairly well—hell, it would be quite sad if he didn’t, considering how much time they spend in each other’s pockets.

It’s clearly important, he can see that much. It’s clearly something Steve doesn’t necessarily want to explain, although Eddie is mostly sure that he could needle an answer out of him if he tried.

He’s strangely reluctant to do so, though; the thing he doesn’t understand—about the importance of rose bushes, about Steve’s sudden brittleness, about his own hesitation—is why.

It doesn’t stop him from curling a hand around Steve’s shoulder briefly, squeezing. From saying, “Alright, I’ll warm up some food then,” and letting his hand linger for a moment, for just this little bit more warmth, before going back inside, leaving Steve to his garden.

---

Eddie grows used to Steve’s strange affinity for plants, ironically, when winter washes across the land and most of his gardening gets focused on the various indoor plants that somehow, Eddie hasn’t paid much attention to before.

It’s a thing, though, their presence and Steve’s calm care for them; his herbs on the windowsill in the kitchen, thyme and mint, rosemary and sage and basil. The orchids in the living room that seem fickle even to Eddie, and the ivy climbing up the balustrade of the stairs.

It’s a thing, even when Eddie moves from spending the nights in the guest room to spending them in Steve’s bed, legs tangled together, mouth to skin. When still, some nights, he wakes up alone, knowing he missed one of Steve’s nightmares. How he finds him tending to one plant or another, steady hands and quiet voice.

Eddie will wrap his arms around Steve’s waist, those nights, letting the warm weight of his body leaning back against Eddie’s chest calm them both; he still knows that if he asked, Steve would tell him.

These days, it is more a matter of feeling that he should get it than the charm of a riddle, but something about it remains just out of reach.

---

Spring crawls across the land slowly, spindly fingers pushing back against the seemingly ever-lasting gray. All thoughts on gardening aside, Eddie cannot wait—for longer days, for fewer clothes, for all of his, Steve’s, and Robin’s plans that wear titles like Chicago and two-bedroom apartment.

For now, though, March is still struggling to assert itself, and Eddie is picking up Max from physical therapy. She has been getting better, can walk mostly fine without a cane, and the progress of the last couple of months has made her a little lighter, too.

Still, there is some kinship between them about the months they spent listening to Mrs. Parker droning on about exercises and discipline, about the gritted teeth and pulling scar tissue, and how this godforsaken town has never learned to mind its own business.

They are driving down Maple Street, Bowie playing quietly because it’s a compromise they both can live with. It’s a detour, but it’s Wednesday, which means the market stalls downtown are open, which means they are going to get donuts from that one stall that makes them with enough sugar that they can feel their teeth rot in real time.

Eddie pulls into the parking lot and ignores Max as she climbs out of the van—their deal, after all; he doesn’t help, so she lets him pay. If it works, and all that.

It’s busy, which, of course, doesn’t stop people from staring, but they ignore it. Eddie thinks that if there is one thing he would like to leave behind once he finally gets out of this hellhole, it is for Max to let all the small-town bullshit roll right off her.

Eddie’s never mastered it as well as he would have liked, but he has high hopes for her.

They get their donuts—dark chocolate for him, glazed for her—and huddle around one of the bar tables somewhat out of the way.

It’s when he sees it, one of the stalls at the far end of the market. It’s not been around the last couple of months, ever since autumn made Steve cover his garden with branches of fir, but Eddie remembers it from last year.

He nudges Max, keeping his voice casual when he says, “Hey, mind if we stop at the plant stall for a moment?”

“Sure,” she merely says, her grin knowing, and pops the last bit of her donut into her mouth.

There is a reason she’s his favorite, really.

Truth is, Eddie has no fucking clue about plants whatsoever, and until he started being friends with Steve, he did not much care either. He can admit, though, that there is something pretty about it, and perhaps that’s the point; to make that empty house into a bit more of a home, some self-chosen colors amongst whatever nightmarish monster of decoration the elder Harringtons had let lose however long ago.

He runs his fingers over the petals of some tulips when Max says, “Don’t get cut ones.”

Eddie turns to frown at her. “What?”

“Bouquets; he doesn’t like them.”

Under different circumstances, Eddie may have at least tried to pretend that he didn’t know who she was talking about, but he has been turning over the matter of Steve and gardening for well over half a year now. Steve has never been much help, all Eddie’s assumptions that he could simply ask aside, and no matter how much he has turned it over and over, it always felt like he was missing something obvious. Something that he should get.

So, Max remarking upon Steve’s preferences for flowers, of all things, makes any urge to pretend take a backseat.

“Why not? They are less work, aren’t they? Put them in a vase, give them some water—“

“—Watch them die,” she interrupts with a shrug. She isn’t looking at him. “He likes the work, though; to keep them alive, watch them grow.”

And oh. Oh, Eddie is a goddamn idiot, isn’t he, he thinks as his heart stumbles into a violently painful rhythm.

Steve with his nail bat crusty with blood, always jumping in first; Steve, always ready to be the one to pick the fight, kill the monster, do what needs to be done. Offer up his rose-thorned heart to spare everyone else their shreds of remaining innocence.

Eddie swallows the revelation down like burning absinthe, and if Max notices his sudden unsteadiness, she is kind enough to keep it to herself. He asks the old woman inside the stall for her most long-living plant, barely pays attention to the price, and tugs the dragon tree sapling under his arm as he and Max make their way back to the van.

He has no idea yet what to do with this new piece of information, isn’t even sure Steve is aware of why he’s doing this himself. What he does know is this; if he were to love Steve Harrington for the rest of their days, it still would not be enough.

Fuck him if he isn’t going to try, though.

---

When he finds Steve in the kitchen cutting herbs, of all things, he kind of wants to cry, although it would feel rather selfish, all things considered.

So he carefully puts the sapling on the counter and offers Steve a smile when he turns, raising a brow at the plant first, at Eddie second.

Eddie crosses the distance and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist from behind; slips his hands beneath the worn sweater, traces the path of the scars. With his forehead between Steve’s shoulders, he breathes and breathes and breathes.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asks when the silence stretches. He turns in Eddie’s arms, knife forgotten and hands heartbreakingly gentle on Eddie’s face. “You’re starting to freak me out a bit here, sweetheart.”

Eddie laughs and it comes out wet, but god. God.

“Difficult to explain,” he says, because damn it, this shouldn’t be about him, this shouldn’t be—

“Try me, then,” Steve counters, mouth quirking.

Eddie loves him so much, it would be enough to grow a garden of its own.

“That’s why you do it, isn’t it?” he says, not making any sense. “The plants, the gardening, taking care of them—something to keep alive, to take care of? To… I don’t know, something good.”

Steve’s brows furrow, his eyes skittering away, through the kitchen, back to Eddie. The afternoon light is soaking tentatively inside, and it has been a long time since Eddie has felt this untethered; he’s not sure why this feels so monumental, only that it does. That he shouldn’t have missed this.

“I’m not sure…” Steve starts, shaking his head, shoulders tensing. “It’s not that deep, honestly, just—“

“Steve.” Eddie’s voice doesn’t break, but it’s a close thing.

Steve sighs. “It’s… Nice. To make something grow for once, you know, instead of…”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers, his voice rough. He leans his forehead against Steve’s, breathes him in. “Yeah, I think I get it.”

Because he does, is the thing, the same way he has been pouring himself into their relationship, into his friendships with the kids, with Nancy and Robin and Jonathan. The same way he is tired, so tired of destruction and decay; he has no idea how much more true this must ring for Steve.

He still thinks that he should have gotten this sooner, that it should have been obvious, but he doesn’t apologize. Perhaps, in the end, it doesn’t matter, isn’t really about him or them. Either way, Steve seems content enough where he is, breathing slow and even in the dim kitchen, the smell of thyme and sage still lingering.

“So,” Eddie finally says, pulling back just far enough to grin at Steve. “Update for the flat search then, huh? A garden, or at least a balcony; can’t risk having you take up knitting next, my tattered reputation would not survive self-knitted scarves.”

Steve’s laughter is unexpected and bright, his head falling back so that Eddie can trace the familiar spattering of moles. He nuzzles his nose against it, the crook of Steve’s neck his favorite place in the world.

“Christ, but I love you,” Steve murmurs, his voice turning quiet once more.

It isn’t the first time either of them has said it, but Eddie’s heart still jumps and trips all over itself. He takes Steve’s face between his hands, makes sure to hold his gaze. Says, “For what it’s worth, I think we are growing this, too, just fine.”

He kisses Steve before he can answer, but he doesn’t miss when the dragon tree ends up on the windowsill of their bedroom that same night, re-potted and watered with care.

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s fingers clench into his skin, trembling and desperate, when Eddie whispers, “Good, you are so good, Steve,” a vow pressed into his skin.

Eddie makes a second one—hours later when Steve is long since asleep—that he won’t stop saying it until Steve believes him, too.

#st #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #mona's writing

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not-neverland06 · 8 months

Text

Broken Machinery

Pt. 4 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: A long one, I wanted some more domestic moments between the two, sue me. Black dahlia’s represent betrayal (or it’s just a nice gift for that emo friend in your life)

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), body breaking like fine china, shoulders out of sockets (not that bad but I googled a picture of one and it’s gross), overdose (but not really), past death of a child (not reader’s), readers got hair long enough to be in a braid, death of a pot

Word Count: 6.4k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

Shoulders aren’t supposed to look like that. They’re sure as fuck not supposed to feel like that either. You can’t even lift your arm to peel off your jacket, you don’t have to though, they’re dislocated.

“Y/N!” Calloused hands on your wrist and then all of your body weight is jerked down and hanging from your shoulders, you can feel the moment they rip out of socket, you can’t help the guttural scream that rips its way out of your throat.

The pain from your everywhere is momentarily ignored as you lay in Hank’s lap, sobbing with the relief that you’re still alive. You’re not dead or a paraplegic somewhere in a hospital bed, you’re breathing. You can feel Hank trembling, you’re not sure from what, but he’s silent as he holds you.

You must be going into shock, you can’t really feel anything as he slowly gets you on your feet. You can’t feel your legs moving down the stairwell or him directing you towards the group of patrol cars. One moment you’re on the roof, then you blink, and you’re standing behind an ambulance being looked over by paramedics.

“Cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder,”

Guess it was only the one shoulder, then.

They’re looking you over to assess the damage done. You can just stare blankly down at your sneakers. You’re trying to remember what exactly happened on the roof. But it’s all a blur of adrenaline and primal panic.

He was holding you over the edge, talking to someone. Who?

“Detective! Lieutenant!” Your head shoots up, you ignore the stabbing pain that travels down your spine.

Connor, Connor will save you.

Except he didn’t, he walked away.

He walked away.

You yank your arm free from the paramedic, ignore Hank as he tries to stop you and storm over to Connor. You’d say the look on his face is proud, but you’re not gonna let your heart trick your mind into thinking this plastic son of a bitch can feel anything at all.

“Y/N, I’ve successfully apprehended the deviant.” You’ve still got one good arm. You don’t aim for his face, that won’t do any good, you punch him right in the bio component and watch him crumple to the floor. When hes down you kick your foot into the same spot as hard as fucking possible, ignoring any pain that it brings you.

“Congratu-fucking-lations.”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

It’s been two days and the detective still refuses to acknowledge Connor. He’d tried to explain his reasoning for leaving her in favor of catching the deviant.

FIND Y/N

Connor double checked the door on the hospital room, he could hear Hank and Y/N bickering from inside. “What did the doctors say?” There was a pause before she responded.

“Another day of bed rest,” she sounded reluctant to answer. Connor hadn’t been able to speak with her after the incident on the roof; he'd had to go straight to CyberLife technicians for repairs. She’d done considerable damage to his biocomponent.

Maybe I deserved it.

“Then get your ass back in bed.”

“Hank, please, I’ve suffered a lot worse than this and made it out perfectly fine.”

Hank didn’t sound amused, and there was a loud thud as something landed on sheets. “I don’t care, Y/N! You’re staying right there, it’s not just your fucking physical issues you have to worry about. I’ve never seen you act like that before, I’m worried about what that fall did to your head.” There was a moment of silence and Connor thought it was a smart time to go inside.

There seemed to be a strange, different sort of silence when he walked into the room. Connor wished his hands were free, there were no objectives or dialogue options to pick from as Hank and Y/N both turned towards him. His hands were full, he looked down to the potted black dahlia between them.

He outstretched his hands and moved towards Y/N. She just stared at him from her spot on the bed, unsure of what to do now, he looked to Hank for an order.

The Lieutenant was watching him with crossed arms and an undetermined look on his face.

Connor cleared his throat and placed the flower down on the table near the bed. He scanned her, a minor concussion, two cracked ribs, and one dislocated shoulder. Her heartbeat was increasing the longer he stared, adrenaline and cortisol reaching a level that told him she was very upset about something.

“Your arm seems to be healing at a good pace. You should listen to the Lieutenant, a couple more days rest and you’ll be feeling much better.” The room remained silent and Connor reached up to fix his already perfect tie. There was something odd about him as he felt the stares of his partners. Something inside felt off.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“I’m programmed with psychological software that could help you after recovering from a strong shock.”

SUPPORT

ANALYTICAL

STAY QUIET

Connor immediately knew what he said was the wrong choice.

“A strong shock?” Your voice was quiet enough that he almost didn’t catch what you said, but the room was so deathly still it was impossible for you not to be heard. “A strong shock?” You were quickly gaining in volume. “You left me to fucking die! And for what, for the goddamn android to smash its fucking brains out on the interrogation table before we got anything! I would have died for nothing!”

Connor opened his mouth, prepared to argue his side of the problem, but you cut him off with a quiet question he wasn’t expecting. “What was the chance?”

“Sorry?”

You walked up closer to him and tugged his tie so hard he stumbled into you, you used the shock of the movement to jerk him down lower than you. “The chance of my survival, RK800, what was it?”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

That strange feeling was back, the use of his model instead of his name made him feel wrong.

He shouldn’t be feeling at all.

When he took too long to answer you knocked his legs out from under him and tightened your grip on the tie. “40%,” he tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible but it was clear both you and the liteuant heard him.

You released him like it had burned you to keep holding on to his tie, and the Lieutenant muttered a quiet, “Fucking bastard.” Connor opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but wanting this feeling to stop and needing the tears forming in the corners of your eyes to go away.

You and the bag you had been packing were gone by the time he had gotten to his feet, Hank stayed behind a moment, gave Connor a long look before following after you. Connor straightened his tie and sleeves and stared at his shoes. He didn’t know what to do.

There was no objective, there was nobody to give him an order. He lifted his eyes to the flower sitting on the table in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he ignored the way his LED flashed red in a mirror as he reached forwards and grabbed the potted plant.

Connor looked down at his hand and noticed he was holding an umbrella, he was back in the Zen Garden. Amanda was waiting for him on the other side of the bridge.

They walked under the umbrella together. “That deviant seemed to be an intriguing case, a pity it deactivated before you could get any useful information out of it.”

Connor felt the need to defend himself, “Deviants are extremely irrational, which makes it difficult to anticipate their behavior… I should have been more effective.” The last part of his sentence came out without any thought behind it. Like it was an instinct to automatically blame himself, even though no one would know what the deviant could have been planning.

“Did you manage to learn anything?” Connor told her of the strange drawings on the walls, the ones like mazes and the journal that had a strange code inside it. He still had no explanation for rA9 and he could tell Amanda was disappointed.

“You captured the deviant at the cost of your relationship with the detective, have you made any development in that fixing that?”

Connor couldn’t help but think of your face in the hospital room, you were angry yes, but you also seemed . . . Sad.

Connor wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was guilt, but he knew he shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me for leaving her to fall. We had an altercation in her hospital room, after the fact and whatever good grace we had developed seems to have been erased.” Connor stopped once he realized Amanda was no longer following.

“We don’t have much time. Deviancy continues to spread, it’s only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

Connor straightened his shoulders back and looked down at her, “I will solve this investigation, Amanda. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Don’t let relationships get in the way of success, Connor. Improve on them if you can, but remember their lives mean nothing in the grand scheme of your mission.”

“Detective?” Connor knocked on your door again. You lived in a house about fifteen minutes away from the lieutenant’s. He’d attempted to contact Anderson to get your address, he’d hung up every time he’d realized it was Connor calling him. Eventually he just used the information from your personnel file.

Which is how he ended up peering through your windows, trying to catch a glimpse of where you were. Eventually he managed to get a small peak through one of your blinds in the living room. You were asleep on the couch, the TV playing, and there was something in your hand. Connor pressed his face fully against the glass and alarms went through his processors at what he saw.

Pills were spilled on the ground and the bottle was empty in the loose grip of your hand. Connor attempted a scan to see if you were even breathing, but after unsuccessfully trying to wake you up and get your attention he simply broke the glass.

Connor quickly dove through the window and rushed to your side on the couch. He took in your appearance, your mouth was open, barely any breath going in or out. Your lips and nails were discolored and there was a clammy feeling to your skin when Connor pressed his hand to your forehead. He needed to get you awake and alert, first and foremost.

He lightly brought his hand down on your cheek, you shifted but stayed unconscious. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I need you to wake up.”

He brought his hand down harder and your hand immediately swung out in response. Connors cheek whipped to the left at the force of your slap, it didn’t hurt of course, but it still shocked him.

“What the hell? Connor? Did you just slap me?” Connor looked down at you, extremely confused at your sudden alertness. He couldn’t stop you in time to not notice what he had done to your window. “The fuck? Did you break my goddamn window?” You used his face as an assist in pushing yourself off the couch, his hands went to your hips to stabilize you.

Connor stood as you kneeled down by the broken glass on your ground, swaying slightly. “Shit, I can’t afford to fix this,” you groaned at the sight of the rain pouring into the empty frame. “My things! They’re all getting wet.” Connor walked over and moved anything around the frame to the wall, making sure nothing besides your carpet would get wet. You were silent as you went and retrieved some plastic to cover the window up. Connor wanted to say something to you, but he was unsure what would help the situation.

“Why did you bust in here like the Kool-Aid Man?”

“I thought you had overdosed.” You seemed to finally take in the mess around the couch.

“Oh, crap.” Connor watched you as you picked up the pills and put them back in the bottle, he finished up the window and moved towards where you were sitting on the couch. Your head was in your hands like it was bringing you pain.

Your voice snapped him out of his observation. “You know, for a state of the art android, you’re a real dumbass.” Connor looked down at you, his face must have displayed something he couldn’t identify because you laughed a little.

“My nails look weird because I haven’t finished painting them,” you pointed towards the nail polish bottles on your coffee table. “I haven’t used any chapstick or taken my iron supplements, so there’s lips. And I got tired and fell asleep with the pill bottle in my hand. I was gonna take one for my headache but passed out after I opened the damn thing, which is probably why my head hurts so much.”

Connor was disappointed with himself at everything he had missed, he should have seen all that from the window and not taken such drastic measures. His damage to your domicile had only worsened relations between you. Right now, you hated him worse than Hank.

“You were barely breathing.”

You shot him a deadpan look, “Deep sleeper.” Connor fixed his tie and looked around the house for something to occupy himself with. There was trash everywhere, dirty clothes scattered the ground, and old dished piled in the sink.

“Hey, hey! I don’t need your judgy ass android eyes making me feel bad for my pig sty. Okay?”

“Allow me to help, detective.” Your eyes narrowed, you didn’t seem particularly trusting towards Connor. He couldn't blame you, he’d completely destroyed the small bridge of trust he’d managed to make with both you and the lieutenant. “Your shoulder and ribs are still damaged, I understand it’s difficult to take care of yourself right now. Allow me to help you.”

You laid back down on the couch, and Connor thought you were going to ignore him until you spoke up after a couple of moments of silence. “You’re a detective bot, not a house maid.” You paused before waving your hand through the air. “But sure, whatever, knock yourself out. Just stop fucking standing over me like that.” Connor watched you close your eyes, he continued standing there for a few seconds. You seemed to be faking sleep to try and get him away from you.

At least he finally had an objective he could follow now.

TAKE CARE OF Y/N

He started with the kitchen. Cleaning the takeout boxes off the counter and grabbing any dirty dishes scattered around your home. He stopped when picking some napkins off your coffee table, to check on you. Your breathing had settled and your back was turned towards him. You appeared to actually be asleep this time.

Connor frowned at the position your body was in. You were going to do more harm than good sleeping on your worn down couch. He placed the trash can on the ground and stepped silently towards you. He made sure to be as still and gentle as possible as he slowly rolled you into his arms. You only moved once, to settle your head in his neck.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

He ignored the way his thirium pump seemed to move faster and how the blue blood rushes towards his head. It simply wasn’t possible.

Connor went down the hall and to your bedroom on the right. He gently deposited you into your unmade bed and tucked the sheets over your body. He checked your pulse and scanned your body. Everything seems to be working perfectly.

You were just a disturbingly deep sleeper.

On his way out, something shining on the ground caught his eye. He made his way towards your dresser, at the foot of it appeared to be a picture frame. He looked over his shoulder to ensure you were still asleep before he bent down and grabbed it.

You appeared to be around nineteen years old. You were sitting on a roundabout smiling at the camera, your hair done in two French braids. Your arms were wrapped around a young boy around the age of three. He had his hand around your forearms and was making a strange face at the camera with his tongue out. Neither of you seemed aware your picture was being taken at the moment.

The scan confirmed your identity and gave him the identity of the boy.

DECEASED

Anderson, Cole

9/23/2029-10/11/2035.

Y/LN, Y/N

DPD Detective

Other known aliases:

Y/N ANDERSON

Hank had a son, who had died? You both appeared close in this picture. It’s approximately three years before Cole’s death. Could the death of Hank’s son be what caused the drift between the two of you?

Connor heard you shift on the bed and quickly put the picture back down on the floor. He didn’t believe you would appreciate him further investigating your life. Not when you got so upset with him when he simply took a look at your adoption papers.

Connor examined this new piece of information. It was like he was working two cases at once, solving the deviancy problem.

And trying to figure out your unfortunate past with the Lieutenant. Knowing now that the Lieutenant's son had died he could go ahead and assume that’s when your relationship started to go downhill. A year after Cole’s death is when Hank’s divorce became official, according to the papers he not so legally acquired.

The death of a child will often destroy families, if Hank could no longer be a viable partner to his wife, then perhaps he could also no longer be a father to you.

Judging by the Lieutenants drinking habits he didn’t have a healthy view on mental health, or know how to properly deal with grief.

The way you seem to isolate yourself when Connor brings up your past or tries to have a better understanding of your emotional well being, he can also go ahead and come to the conclusion that Hank passed on his unhealthy coping skills to you.

His assumption is proved correct when he comes across a packet of cigarettes buried between the couch cushions. They’re unopened but the plastic surrounding the carton has been picked at. You seem to be trying to stop yourself from giving in to your unhealthy impulses.

Connor frowns down at the box and decides to do you a favor, he throws them in the trash.

Connor continues cleaning up your home while you sleep, attempting to wash and dry your dishes as quietly as possible. The cleaning gives himself something to occupy his mind with, the frantic, buzzing thoughts about deviants and his frustrating partners temporarily quiet while he focuses on one singular task.

PROTECT Y/N

Connor always accomplishes his missions, even if that just means making sure you can wake up to a clean home, or if he has to protect you from self-sabotaging habits.

You wake up to the smell of smoke and a loud blaring alarm.

You’re soaked in a puddle of your own sweat and have no idea where you are or what day it is. Your head shoots up from your pillow at the sound of something crashing onto the floor in your kitchen. You take a second to realize that you’ve been moved to your bed.

Then you remember what woke you up and you’re bolting out of bed. “Jesus Christ,” your kitchen is a smoky haze as you cough on the suffocating smell of something burned. Connor is standing in front of a pan on your stove, simply watching the flames. “Connor!” You grab a lid off the counter and shove him out of the way as you slam it over the pan, suffocating the flames. You quickly grab the metal sheet off the ground and slam it into Connor’s chest. “Quick make sure the sprinklers don’t go off.” Connor runs towards the alarm in the hallway and immediately starts waving it around.

The sight of Connor, the emotionless android who is always calm and collected, frantically running around waving a metal pan in the air, jumping up and down to get closer to the smoke alarm makes you double over in laughter. There’s an ache in your rbis and arm from the force of your laughter, but you don’t care. You haven’t felt this light for years, you haven’t laughed like that in years.

So you allow yourself to bask in the moment, one peaceful moment where you’re not weighed down by anything, except the weight of your own joy.

Connor didn’t hear you laughing until he finally managed to get the alarm quieted. The joints in his shoulders were tired from his wild maneuvering, but it was worth it. This was the first time since you met that his observation of you showed endorphins and a positive change in your body, not one that comes from feelings of negativity.

It felt like something was in his chest, lifting him up and lightening his weight as he watched you.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

Perhaps you did more damage when you attacked him than he originally thought. Your face contorted in pain as you finally raised up from your position. Connor moved before his processors could give him the option to. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he assisted you in standing. He pointedly ignored your protests that you didn’t need help.

You did and you were getting help whether you wanted it or not.

There was still a slight smile on your face as Connor deposited you on the chair next to your table. He moved towards the stove and turned off the burner, dropping the ruined pot in your sink and running water over it, your house still smelled very strongly of burnt food.

He heard a grunt coming from his right, when he turned something inside his head felt strange. LIke he wasn’t okay with what was happening, perhaps humans called this irritation. A concerning thought, but one he ignored in favor of nudging you aside while you failed to open a window.

“Connor-”

The look he shot you when he turned around was enough to get you to sit back down. “Why are you so stubborn? You should not be here alone, you’ve taken too much damage to even do basic household chores.”

You looked around your house and finally noticed all the hard work he had put in. “Holy shit.” There was a look of appreciation on your face until you turned towards Connor. A pout formed on your face and you crossed your arms like a petulant child, “Maybe I wanted the mess. I liked it like that.”

Were you seriously having this argument with him right now? You being difficult for no reason was causing his programming to go haywire. There were red warnings in the corner of his eye telling him he was going to overheat, he dismissed them and stormed towards you.

His hand landed on the table more harshly than he intended, causing you to jump in your seat. “You’re behaving like a child, Y/N, you’re a grown woman act like it! You need my help, there’s nothing wrong with letting me assist you, so just let me help you.” Without consciously activating it the voice he uses during intimidation tactics had been used.

His eyes were drawn down to your thighs, you had them clenched tightly together, your thighs pooling out on the chair below you. Your lips parted slightly as you stared at him. Connor quickly scanned you, your heat level was rising, your heart rate had accelerated and there was an increased level of estrogen and testosterone production. A thermal scan showed an increase of heat in your pelvic area.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE?

It wasn’t until the message appeared in front of him and blocked his view of your face did he realize how close he was to you.

This was highly inappropriate. You were injured and still upset with him, there was no need to seduce you.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE

He was designed with the intent to complete his mission at any cost. In case there was ever an issue between him and one of his partners and other more illicit methods were needed to gain their support, he was equipped with the capabilities to do so. This wasn’t a situation where methods like that were necessary, so why was there a prompt for it?

Connor backed away from you immediately, it wasn’t right to be taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability. From the corner of his eye he saw you slump back down into your chair. “What-“ you cleared your throat. “What were you even trying to make?”

Connor looked back towards the pot, his hands reached for the coin in his pocket. He needed to do something to get his software back in order. He didn’t turn to look at you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus. He thought back to the pasta sauce on your counter. “Spaghetti, for some reason the noodles burned onto the bottom of the pot.” After he was done recalibrating he placed the coin back in his pocket and found it was okay to look at you now.

Your eyes were glued to his hand for a moment before they shot back up to his face. “Burned, to the bottom of the pot? How the hell do you burn water?”

Connor tilted his head to the side, “Water?”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes widened. “You’re kidding? Tell me you’re kidding.” Connor didn't know how to respond to you so he remained silent. “Oh my god,” you dropped your head into your hands. “You didn’t put water in the pot.”

“Was that required?” You didn’t answer him, instead you stood and walked over to the sink, Connor followed behind you, unsure what you wanted him to do. The both of you stared down into the pot as you lifted the lid, the pasta has blackened at the bottom. Even when you stabbed at it with a knife it wouldn’t come off the pot.

Your, “yeah, it needed water,” was quiet as you went outside and tossed the pot in your trash bin. Connor stood by your opened back door awkwardly, he didn’t feel good at disappointing you and failing his task.

“I apologize Y/N, I failed.”

You snorted, “Big time, how the hell do you not know to put water in the pot?”

Connor looked down at his shoes, “I was not built with cooking capabilities,” he risked a look at you.

You were standing there, just staring at him with your arms crossed before you finally shrugged, “Well then… I guess Barbie’s got you beat.”

“Dammit, Connor, I can feed myself!”

Connor leveled you with a look that allowed for no arguing. “Your dominant arm is dislocated and you refuse to wear your sling, I’m going to assist you.” He pushed the fork against your mouth again and you reluctantly opened your mouth to eat the pancakes he had ordered. This was so humiliating, you were desperate to get him to leave at this point.

After the pot had been destroyed and subsequently disposed of he had ordered some food and you sat down in your living room.

Your entire home was absolutely spotless, when you went to the bathroom you’d noticed he’d mopped the tiles. You were not asleep long enough for him to clean your living room, let alone your whole house.

While you were still against the idea, you could understand why some would prefer android cleaning services to human. You didn’t even want to sit on your couch, afraid of wrinkling the now pristine cousins.

Once you’d sat on your couch, you’d waited for him to leave.

Except, he didn’t, he sat down next to you and then just stopped moving. No blinking, no breathing, just absolute stillness. So, still being pissed at him you’d grabbed a marker off your desk and scribbled some drawings on his face. A heart, random flower, some choice words, nothing too bad. However;

They were staring at you right now as he force fed you.

He’d called a repairman while you had drawn on him, someone would be coming by to fix your window tomorrow, CyberLife would be footing the bill. After he’d made the order for the repair he’d asked what you would like to eat and made a call for the pancakes.

He still hadn’t noticed the drawings, it was a struggle not to choke on your laughter.

You forced a yawn as you pushed his hand away from your mouth, he frowned at the action. “Are you tired, detective?”

“Yeah, I am,” now please get the hell out of my house.

“You should bathe before you go to sleep.” Your head shot towards his, the action hurting your neck. You ignored it in favor of giving him your famous The Fuck Did You Just Say™️ look.

First, he lets you fall off a building and nearly die. Next, he breaks your god damn window and destroys your pot. Now he’s saying you stink. And good grace you held for Connor was gone, obliterated at the comment.

“That’s it Connor. You’ve stayed far past your welcome, I’m done.” Your resolve almost broke at the way Connor’s shoulders slumped. You straightened your shoulders, ignored the pain shooting down your arm, and rebuilt your walls.

You should thank Connor honestly, him letting you nearly die had reminded you of exactly what he was. Nothing more than a plastic soldier that only cared about his mission. You meant nothing to him. Your life was nothing. How could something that could so easily be put into a new body have any idea about death. He couldn’t.

But something that couldn’t die, also couldn’t feel. Those small touches, and the times he would check in on you, it was all manipulation. Just like the way he lied about having a favorite dog, they were all subtle little manipulations to have you as agreeable as possible. And a visceral rage filled you at the thought that he had almost succeeded.

Your heart had almost been his.

You rebuilt your walls and stared him down. “Leave. Now.”

Connor didn’t frown, he didn’t cry or scream at you to let him stay, but the look in his eyes as he stared up at you from his spot on your couch said enough. He looked genuinely hurt at what you said. Not possible.

“You can take your sad little eyes and you can shove them up your ass, Connor. Get the fuck out of my house.” You stormed out of the living room and into your bedroom. He’d cleaned it up and replaced your sheets while you’d waited for the food to arrive.

The lack of your mess made you angrier than it should have. How dare he just come into your house and start acting like he belonged there?

Like he had any right to be near you?

If he could feel pain you would beat him twice as bad as you did after the rooftop incident.

Apparently he’d had to get three parts replaced by CyberLife after what you did. Hank had been complaining about the paperwork the entire time you were in the hospital.

If your arms and ribs weren’t aching you would be pitching a major fit, and ripping the goddamn sheets right off the bed. At the moment, however, the pill Connor had forced you to take was kicking in and making you sluggish.

The only reason you had allowed Connor to stay in the first place was because you were still waking up from your nap. He seemed determined to keep you weak and tired so you couldn’t get rid of him.

You heard footsteps and then a hand was wrapped around your non-injured elbow. “I’m not leaving, detective. Someone in your condition needs assistance.” You turned around in his arms and tried to push him off of you, but he wouldn’t budge. Both of his hands moved to your biceps. The look he gave you made you stop, “Y/N, please, let me help. Please.” He seemed so sad, there was a slump to his shoulders that made him look almost shameful. The tone of his voice made you believe he actually wanted to help, that this wasn’t a part of his programming.

You blamed how easily you gave into him on the drugs.

“Absolutely not!”

Connor was holding your towel in front of him like a shield. “I won’t look, detective, I promise.”

“Hell no! Line drawn! You shall not pass.” He gave you a stern look. Like you should feel dumb for thinking he wanted to see you naked, maybe you were, but you didn’t want any pervy CyberLife techs scanning through his mainframe and seeing footage of you naked. “I’m not gonna let your bosses see me naked.”

Connor seemed to catch onto your train of thought. “I won’t be recording when you’re bathing, I promise we’ll be completely alone.” You crossed your arms, this is one battle he would not be winning. Android or not, your stubbornness was not something to be so easily reckoned with. Connor let out a long sigh, “Fine. You clean yourself, and then we can draw a bath and I’ll assist you with your hair.”

You’d made the mistake of admitting to him that you hadn’t exactly been keeping up with your hygiene while you’d been on the case. You’d been keeping your hair in two braids and have been taking quick showers in between working the case. It was one of your more major flaws. Letting yourself get swept up in the mystery at the expense of your own self-care.

You’d also made the mistake of telling him that it hurt too much to wash your hair, or even attempt to. Now he was insisting on helping you.

Connor looked at your arms and mimicked your posture. “We can stand here all night, detective, I’m not budging.”

You were standing there for two minutes before you realized he was actually being serious. Your chest was starting to ache with the effort of keeping yourself upright. You shifted around and he didn’t even blink. Your skin was starting to buzz with boredom.

After another minute you saw that he wasn’t blinking. Narrowing your eyes and moving closer to his face you waved your hand in front of his face. “Are you serious?” He’d gone into sleep mode, you could tell by the pulsing yellow LED on the side of his face. “Bitch.” And he had ‘coincidentally’ blocked the bathroom exit. Groaning you took the towel in his hands and threw it over his head.

“RK800 wake up.”

Connor’s systems slowly came back online at the sound of your voice. Everything was at 100%, except his optical units didn’t seem to be processing his environment correctly. It took a second before his sensors recognized the fabric of a towel over his head. He sighed and ripped it off his head.

The sight before him had him momentarily stopping. You were in your freshly cleaned tub, bubbles covering your body as you looked at him expectantly. “You wanna help me out or what, sleeping beauty?”

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINES?

SYSTEM OVERHEAT IMMINENT

ACTIVATING COOLING SYSTEM

You looked concerned by the time Connor had managed to calm his sensors, there were parts of him coming online that were not necessary at this moment. He tightened his tie as a poor attempt to get everything back in order. It didn’t work, he was still distracted by your lack of clothes. He could not understand why.

“I’m starting to get creeped out, Connor.” That got Connor’s attention. He never meant to make you uncomfortable.

He moved to sit beside the tub and pulled up his sleeves. “Apologies, detective, my systems were coming back online.” You nodded your head and he hoped you couldn’t see through the lie. Connor used the pitcher beside him to wet your hair and began massaging your scalp as he rubbed the shampoo in.

You moaned as his hands came down to rub your neck. It triggered another cooling process. Much of the rest of your bath was the same, he was struggling with strange impulses that were activating outside his control and programming. When you had leaned your head back on the rim of the tub he’d wanted to press his lips against your stretched neck.

He’d seen humans do it before, but the emotions connected to the act were something Connor wasn’t capable of. He was experiencing what some might call a mental crisis as he helped you wash your hair.

When he was finished, he handed you a towel and went to your room to grab you some pajamas. The picture of you and Cole was facedown on your dresser, moved from the upright position he had placed it in while he had cleaned.

He placed the tank top and shorts you requested on your sink and waited for you in your bedroom. When you walked in you seemed surprised to see him standing by your bed. Your face quickly morphed into one of resignation as you threw your towel on your bed.

Connor made a note to pick it up.

“What now?” He held out the brush in his hands.

“I’ll braid it for you, so you don’t have to worry about styling it with your injured shoulder.” You stopped fidgeting with the end of your shirt and instead gave him a bewildered look. “Is something wrong, detective?”

You cleared your throat before answering, “Nothing it’s- Nevermind.” You sat on your bed with no argument, something Connor was surprised by, considering you seemed to find it necessary to argue with him about everything.

By the second braid you were fully leaning onto his leg, Connor had to keep readjusting so he had room to finish off the braid. The medicine seemed to have fully kicked in, you didn’t make a fuss when he gently guided you under the covers and turned your light off. He knew you were still awake as he made his way to your door.

“Good night, detective.”

He didn’t get a response.

#Broken Machinery #connor rk800 x reader #Connor rk800 x fem!reader #connor rk800 #Connor rk800 dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit: connor #dbh #dbh x reader #dbh x fem!reader #detroit become human x reader #Detroit become human x fem!reader

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hugheswritetr · 3 months

Text

Unforgettable

MASTERLIST

Heartbeat | Jack Hughes

Author’s note: my fav chapter so far;)

Song: Unforgettable- French Montana

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Thalia’s POV

The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and i finally found the comfortable position to tan.

I haven’t got much time to tan during this summer, always running around, spending time with family or Luke.

I try to fill my free time with them as much as possible, knowing that once the summer ends, I am returning to Switzerland for my last year of boarding school.

But back to my tanning, If you didn’t notice, I am really enjoying the time for myself.

I just wish the process was faster, because I want the tan lines right now . Oh how I love being a girl.

My mom is cooking lunch with Ellen, so the Hughes family is over. Luke finally returned from his tournament, and it couldn’t be more perfect. The only two people who can’t share my enthusiasm are Quinn and Mattheo.

They are groaning few feet from me, laying on the outdoor sofa with ice packs on their heads. Thats what underage drinking does to you, my friend.

I can faintly hear Luke and Jack shouting at eachother as they play football, the ball nearly hit me a few times, but because of how good I feel right now, I can’t imagine myself caring.

After my mini breakdown I endured yesterday, today is a perfect calming day. My nerves settled down a bit after the talk with Jack, and I feel lighter.

Sure, I still have some anxiety left but I know I have a lot of time to figure it out. Nobody has it figured out at the age I am at, and I know that by then I will be calm and collected.

I hope.

My train of thoughts is stopped when I suddenly do not feel the sun on my face. I open my eyes and see Jack standing over me. I would start cussing him out, but today is a great day, so I choose not to.

But the words he says take me by surprise.

“Scoot over” he instructs me, and I free some space for him on the towel. “What do you want, Jack?” I suspiciously ask.

“Just want to spend some time with my friend, is that a crime ?” he chuckles. I look at him, and see no sarcasm in his eyes. He settles down beside me, the skin contact making me shiver. Why is he wearing no shirt? Thank god he isn’t tho, at least I have something to look at.

I stare, no shame in that. The hard ridges of his abs on the tanned skin are making it impossible not to. “Take a picture, it will last longer”he says, noticing my stare. Okay, I feel shame now, but I do not regret it, the sight was pleasant, not going to lie. So sue a girl for looking.

I am sure I look like an apple right now, and the embarrassment surges through me. “ I wasn’t looking” I say, trying to save at least a bit of dignity I have left.

“Please, Lils, let’s stop lying to ourselves “ he laughs and I scoff at the cocky asshole. He knows what he is doing.

We once again settle into comfortable silence, just sitting beside eachother.

He is one of the few people I actually enjoy spending time with in silence, just soaking up him and his energy.

“So tell me about the girlfriend” I suddenly ask, circling back to the words he said to me at the draft, even though a long time passed since that, it’s still on my mind.

It pains me, but I know that Jack Hughes will always be here for me to admire, not to have. I just hope he finds someone who understands his soul and his body, the way he deserves to be understood.

“Avery? What about her?” he confusedly replies, waiting for me to clarify. “You told me about her at the draft” I recall.

“Oh, yeah, sorry I forgot” he apologises, but continues “She’s great, we have been together since my birthday, so I think we’re doing good” the smile on his face when he is talking about her making my heart break more and more.

“I’m happy for you Jack, you deserve all the best” when I turn to look at him, he’s already looking at me, smiling. “Thank you Lils” he softly smiles and throws his arm around me.

I’m grateful that there are no powers that allow others to read my mind, because all I can think about is wanting him to speak about me. I know it’s dumb, but the charm of Jack Hughes has still not left me. I don’t even think it will leave , ever.

I think about Avery, already feeling the distaste for her, but deep down I know it’s just jealousy. Jealousy about her having him, and not me. She may be a great girl, but I can’t help myself.

That is something I will have to get used to by having Jack in my life, I mean, how can you NOT fall for him? I don’t think that is possible. And if it is, I need a tutorial right now.

There is no possibility that anyone who hears his voice, sees his smile, and gets to know his character will not feel love for him. And once again, if you don’t, please pull me out of this misery and tell me how.

I still remember the first summer living in Michigan, the first time I met him. The second I saw those ocean eyes, I knew I was goner.

The second I felt my hands on his skin, making them tingle, I knew he would be forever imprinted on my mind.

The second his signature toothy smile made appearance on his face, I knew I would do everything possible to be cause of it.

He stole my heart, and I don’t think I will get it back. I also think i’m fine with that, part of my heart being a small price to pay for his presence in my life.

I notice Luke walking up to us, he left to check on the dinner, the teenage boy appetite making him already hungry. I like to tease him about it, but that’s another thing im jealous of, non stop eating and not gaining a pound. If I even breathed the amount he eats, I would be ten pounds heavier.

Okay, I’m lying, I eat the same amount, especially when I’m having mental breakdown about the latest show I’m obsessing over.

Luke plops down next to us “What are you talking about?” curisously asking. “My girlfriend” Luke scoffs, I look strangely at him, and he rolls his eyes. I’m definitely going to ask him questions.

Jack notices his reaction, and scoffs too “I don’t get why you don’t like her, she’s been nothing but nice to you” he says, defending her, making the ache in my chest present again.

“Yeah, sure” Luke answers him, not wanting to talk about her for minute more. Okay, now I’m definitely curious.

I shift the conversation, not wanting to feel the uncomfortable silence longer “Luke, do you want to play volleyball?” I say, actually hoping to press him for details, but I forget that Jacks needs to be centre for everything.

“ No invite for me?” he frowns. Luke and me answer at the same time “No”, “Sure, but I want Luke on my team” . The answer I give him making him gain attitude “I’m much better player than Luke”

I answer him with laugh as I leave to get the ball “Sure Jack, hope you enjoy living in delusions”. Let me tell you a secret, he is better player than Luke, but I love annoying him.

He shouts after me, but I just laugh.

I stay in the supply room a little longer, needing to cool down my blushing cheeks, but the cause of my blushing problem once again appears.

“Having trouble finding the ball?” he asks, stepping into the room with me. “Not at all” I turn around about to reach for it, but he decides to do the same, and closes the proximity between us by pressing his front into my back.

I instantly pull away, the blush I originally had, and I don’t even know how it’s possible, worsening even more.

Why am I still blushing? Seriously, my face needs to get it together. Man up, we can’t embarrass ourselves more, I internally speak to myself and my face.

Yeah, I know these are the signs of starting insanity, but we are going to ignore it for now.

Jack coughs beside me, making me pull myself from my thoughts. “Went to Wonderland?” he teasingly asks.

I dismiss him with a shake of the head and leave the room.

When I return to Luke, he suspiciously looks at me, and then at Jack trailing behind me.

,,What took you two so long?” he asks, suspicion evident in his voice.

,,Nothing, let’s play” I say, hoping to stop his thoughts from wandering too much.

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I always considered myself great at volleyball, but how embarrasingly we are losing right now to Jack is almost making me rethink that statement.

But I’m not a quitter, and Luke isn’t one either, and we know that we are going to win this.

Because if not, this is going to get embarrassing real fast. But it won’t, because I wouldn’t let Jack’s ego rise more. Someone needs to seriously humble that man, and that someone is going to be me.

That is one of the main reasons I’m sweating like a pig right now, because there is no chance he is going to win, and if he is, it’s going to be over my dead body.

I don’t know what was I thinking wanting to play volleyball with two hockey players, because their stamina is much better than mine, hell, they didn’t even break a sweat yet.

I’m aware of how unattractive I look right now, but I don’t even care, the sole goal is to win the game and then shower.

“Wishing you chose me, huh Lils?” Jack chirps from the other side in a true hockey boy nature.

“Not at all” I answer him, one thing I’m not going to admit is me being wrong. My competitivness matches Jack’s own one and I think if volleyball scouts were here, they would choose us on the spot.

My poor Luke is in the middle of our ego match, I feel bad about screaming at him about every mistake he makes, but I will not lose to Jack. Luke will get his apology later.

The only boy matching my screams is the one infront of me, screaming obscenities at the poor ball whenever something doesn’t go his way.

I think today the universe is on my side, because when I do the winning move, my ego rises a few feet.

“Ha!” I laugh at Jack sitting defeatedly on his knees, between catching my breaths.

Luke does not even stay to clap me on my back, I’m sure he is going to Ellen for her to comfort him about how we were yelling at him. He’s SUCH a mamas boy (don’t tell him I said that).

Suddenly there’s a hand stretched infront of me, Jack’s hand to be particular. I don’t take it, smirking as I stand up even though I have about two cramps in each leg, but he doesn’t know that.

I’m certainly not going to shorten my ego even by millimetre, duh.

He laughs at me, then he hughs me.

“Congrats on winning, not sure you would win without Luke, but I’m going to let it slide” he says, that asshole. He knows damn well that I carried the team.

I don’t even answer him, my heart set on the shower I’m going to take.

What I don’t know is that by the time I was collecting things in my room for the shower. He beat me to it. In my own house.

But I’m not going to be mad, he deserves at least one win today. I laugh at my thoughts. I always knew I was funny.

If someone finds out what’s up with men and their long showers, let me know. I’m pounding on the door of the bathroom, because I honestly can’t wait no more.

I don’t even get my second pound in at the door, and hes opening them.

Once again, he knows what he is doing. Because he is standing there in all of his bare-chested glory.

Suddenly, my mind is a bottomless pit and my mouth stopped functioning, because I can’t even form and speak one word.

”Cat got your tongue?” he knowingly asks, getting second ego victory that day, dork.

I spare one last look at his chest, of course I’m not going to leave without looking. When he already catched me, I don’t have to hide it.

I push past him for the second time that day. Why does this keep happening to me? Entering the bathroom, I release a sigh.

But when I notice the familiar scent of the bathroom, I know that he used my bodywash, making a smile appear on my face.

He is going to be falling asleep with my scent today. I hope he enjoys thinking about me.

I know I called him delusional today, but I’m starting to think I should have been reflecting that one on myself.

Shutting down my thoughts, I step into the shower, the warm water calming my aching muscles.

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When I step out of shower and I notice the tan I gained, I smile from joy because that was the original plan for today.

The cooling lotion on my skin feels great, and I almost fall asleep from the relaxing effect it has.

Until I smell the scent of the food from downstairs, my stomach now agressively grumbling.

I put on some sundress I fish out from my closet, not even caring what I put on, I just want to fill the void in my stomach.

I braid my drying hair, not wanting to have a side of them with my meal. Men have it so easy with their short hair.

As I sit beside my now hungover-free brother, who is finally not complaining anymore, I notice the happiness radiating from the people around the table, making me smile.

The food is great ( shotout to my mom and Ellen ). Everyone is laughing and I’m winning again, beating Jack once again in our private kicking tournament under the table.

I laugh at him and stick my tongue out, making him smile. At least he is not a sore loser, because that would be sad for him.

He takes all these losses like champ and I think I found my new hobby, winning.

Everything is perfect right now.

#jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #new jersey devils #nhl #hockey fic #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fanfiction #nj devils #jack hughes x oc

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levmada · 6 months

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Omg Kane, I love your smiling Levi post so much I'm giggling every time I see it!! Speaking of which: do you have any headcanons to share with us about what / who makes Levi smile like this?

Take care 💙

thank you!! :D hmm

- it IS canon that Levi smiles whenever he sees his reflection in a clean window

- bet he smiles the same when he sees his reflection in a shiny clean sword/knife. melee weapons are one of his special interests sue me

- …Levi also smiled in the manga whenever armin was talking enthusiastically to eren and mikasa about exploring the world like they dreamed of doing as kids. maybe this was just a specific situation, but Levi strikes me as someone who smiles a little during really dark times when he notices a tiny glimmer of genuine hope. is that too serious? idk, like he wakes up from a terrible nightmare shaky with a cold sweat and finds his lover downstairs and humming while they brew tea/make some breakfast. he just smiles a little. it looks halfway pained but you’d know he was relieved and grateful if you saw it.

- he smiles easier whenever his horse Nibbles is chomping happily on apples levi feeds him or bunts his shoulder or something else cute like that.

- whenever Levi heard about trigger-action cleaning bottles. figuring out easier ways to clean is his jam. i wonder if he ever saw the invention of the electric vacuum cleaner

- whenever someone he really really cares about smiles and laughs he can crack a little half-smile sometimes that almost always goes unseen bc levi is stealth like that. especially if they’re normally pretty stoic like erwin, mike, or mikasa.

- btw he usually doesn’t possess the faculties to smile without covering his mouth or looking away btw. he gets embarrassed, and also he has crooked teeth so he doesn’t like his smile

- idc if this counts - Levi is easily EASILY ticklish and grins and giggles uncontrollably if you/his lover tickled the back of his neck fkskgkwjd. he HATES it. good return but expect payback.

- he can crack a smile when he receives a really, really thoughtful and sweet gift in private. big expensive gifts are the last thing levi likes because he feels so damn guilty about it. honestly if you got him a perfectly smooth little stone from a river that you washed, shined, and painted with blue white and grey (the wings of freedom colors), he’d treasure it foreverrr. and smile when you first place it in his hands of course.

- honestly when he thinks fondly about his mama back when he was little. it’s implied canonically that he’s a mama’s boy (when an interviewer asked isayama how levi would be if his mom lived when he was adult, he said levi would make sure she’s happy or something to that effect).

all that said, it’s just really, really hard to make levi smile because he doesn’t smile much or easily :( these are for sure tho. if anyone has any hcs feel free to pls add on :D

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman hc #levi heichou #levi headcanons #aot levi #snk levi #aot headcanons #captain levi #snk headcanons #levi ackerman fluff

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take-taker-taken · 9 days

Text

WARNING - the chapters that comprise this section of The List will contain CNC (consensual non-consent). It will mention rape. There will be humiliation. It will involve weapons. This particular part is mainly corporal punishment. The sub will not always be treated / spoken to kindly. If you’re happy to read such things then feel free to continue.

The List - CNC - Part Four

As you huddle on the floor, gradually getting your breathing back under control, you become aware of the curious feeling of being surrounded. You lift your head and peek around and sure enough, two pairs of boots are inches away.

“I knew you’d choose those,” Mark’s voice floats above you.

“So I’m a tit man - sue me,” comes Shawn’s reply. “Already know what you’re gonna do next.”

Mark huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” He says. “She doesn’t though.”

Shawn nudges you with his boot and when it makes you huddle in even more he curses and does it again, but harder. “Get on your back, slut - should be familiar.”

You slowly roll over on to your back with your knees raised up and cross your arms over your chest. In response he kicks lightly at your knee so that you drop your legs flat and then he follows you down and sits astride you. He takes hold of your arms and works to pull them away from your body; you do your best to resist but he’s far too strong and he easily forces your hands up and over your head before his gaze roves hungrily over your breasts. As soon as he lets go you begin to move them again and so he grabs them and shoves them back down, holding them there as he looks down at you with a stony expression.

“Leave ‘em there, or I’ll get him to stand on ‘em.” He warns with a nod over to where Mark is standing. “Probably break your fucking wrists.”

You swallow a whimper and just lay there as he slowly lifts his hands away, watching to make sure you’re going to obey. He reaches behind his head and removes a silver chain that’s draped around his neck. At first you think he’s taking his necklace off and then as he lifts it free of his hair you grit your teeth - it’s a set of clover clamps. Fuck… this is going to hurt.

Keeping the clamps in one hand he uses the other to toy with your left nipple. Not viciously like he did before - it’s a gentle, teasing touch and of course the bud turns hard under his ministrations. You’re expecting him to put the clamp on right away but instead he takes his time to play with the other one, until both have been coaxed into firm peaks. He leans down and traces the tip of his tongue around each of them in turn and you whimper as the skin tightens further.

He shifts his head so that his mouth is next to your ear and whispers, “I think you enjoyed that… didn’t you, fuck toy?” He raises up again and you close your eyes briefly as your stomach flips over at the name but say nothing; when you open them he’s dangling the chain over your face as he smirks down at you. “Know what these are?”

Deciding to play dumb, you shake your head and he traces his fingers over your breasts again.

“Remember me saying I wanted to hear you say ‘please’ some more?” He doesn’t wait for an answer as he rattles the clamps in your face. “These are gonna make that happen.”

Without any further preamble, he deftly attaches the clamps to your nipples and as the pain lances through your flesh you scream. It’s the sort of reaction that you’d normally work to keep a lid on but no such pretence is needed here. Before you can move he lunges forward and holds your wrists to the floor as you struggle beneath him.

“Fuck! Take them off, please! Take them off!”

He looks down at you and smiles, running his tongue across his teeth before shaking his head. “Nuh uh - they look real pretty.” He moves a hand in order to pinch the chain between thumb and forefinger, holding it loosely though it sways some. “And the best part? If I give this here a little pull… they’ll get tighter - wanna try?”

You shake your head and your voice cracks a bit as you speak. “No… please don’t… please!” You’re breathing hard as you try to cope with the pain, your hands clenching repeatedly into fists though you leave your hands over your head for fear of reprisals if you move. You close your eyes and let yourself feel the fear, the helplessness, the pain and yes… the arousal.

“You said she kicked you earlier?” Your eyes open when Mark speaks, though you’re still mostly distracted by the sharp pain in your nipples and the fact that Shawn still has hold of the chain and thus controls whether it goes up a couple of notches.

You gain a couple of degrees of relief when he lets the chain go and kneels back up in order to look at Mark. “Yeah, when I was putting her in the truck.” He says and then gets to his feet but continues to stand astride you. “She was mouthing off with some BS about people coming over and then she slammed her foot right into my kidney, little bitch.”

“Well, that sure ain’t the kind of behaviour we expect. Get her up here.”

For a frightening moment you think Shawn is going to drag you up via the clamp’s chain but as he bends over he’s reaching towards your arms and unthinkingly, you bring them down from over your head to aid the task. Given that it’s achieving his aim he doesn’t rebuke you for moving and just hauls you to your feet and you stand there with your head down, teeth gritted against the pain in your chest. You gasp as a hand goes into your hair to drag your head back and you find yourself looking up at Mark. You again have a moment of wonder at how he’s emanating this air of being a stranger but then you have to concentrate because he’s speaking.

“So you’ve been cussing, being violent - and you even spat at him,” he’s saying, indicating Shawn with a nod of his head. “Can’t be letting you get away with all that now, can we?”

You don’t say anything because even though it’s clear to everyone that your actions over the course of this scene were entirely to be expected, you know that no good will come of answering back.

“I’m kind of an old fashioned guy,” he goes on as he releases your hair and his hands move to his waist. “So I’m gonna give you some old fashioned discipline.” Your breath catches as he unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops - it’s an aspect of impact play that’s been as yet untouched on your list, though not for much longer. “Get her bent over,” he says to Shawn and as the blonde walks by you he pats your cheek but you shy away from his touch which makes him huff with laughter.

There’s another table at the far end of the cabin, pushed up against a wall and next to a door that you notice for the first time. You briefly wonder where it leads to but then Shawn’s back and setting the table in question down a couple of feet away.

“C’mon, get over.” He pulls you by the wrist to stand beside it and then pushes on the back of your neck. You go quietly into position, though set your forearms on the wooden surface to prevent your clamped nipples being squashed against it. Without relinquishing his grip on your neck, Shawn runs his other hand firmly down your back and on to your ass cheek which he squeezes hard and then smacks. You whimper but this time it has a different tone because it’s becoming harder to play act against the rising tide of lust.

“A good dozen should do the trick, what d’ya think?”

You swallow, wondering whether the question is directed at you and then feel relieved that you didn’t try to speak as Shawn smacks your ass again and replies, “For starters.”

There’s a brief silence and then you feel Mark’s huge hand between your shoulder blades. You have a mad thought that it’s weirdly comforting to have both of them touching you at the same time but that’s quickly driven from your brain when the belt comes whistling down and lands squarely across your backside. For a second you feel virtually nothing and then as the sting spreads over your skin you gasp and then cry out. There’s a pause that you recognise dimly as an opportunity to call red but you decline. Shawn’s hand is still on the back of your neck holding you down, and then you feel Mark’s lift from you and hear him changing his stance. In that moment you realise that first stroke had just been a taster and ball your hands into fists beneath yourself as the leather snaps down again.

“Ahhhhhhh, FUCK!” Still held in place by Shawn’s powerful grip, you stamp one foot against the floor as though it will shake off the pain.

“Still cussing, girl?” Your outburst seems to have earned you a break just two strokes in as you hear him issue another order. “I don’t want to be getting my ears assaulted all the way through this - can you gag her, please?”

“Sure can,” You hear the reply and then you feel Shawn’s fingers at the waistband of your panties and he has them down and off before you can react. Next thing, his grip is back in your hair as he drags your head up, pushing the material at your mouth. “C’mon bitch - open up, you’re good at that.” You begin to make a muffled protest that never gets the chance to be anything else as he forces your panties into your mouth. You taste yourself on the fabric but then get distracted by his other hand worming its way under your chest. You try to pull away, certain that he’s seeking to mess with the clamps but then you feel a totally foreign object being urged against your fingers. You move your head and realise that it’s a golf ball and then you understand - you can’t speak right now to use your colours. You clutch on to the ball and he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze before withdrawing and pushing your head back down. “That’ll shut her up,” he says and you hear Mark make a noise of satisfaction.

He doles out another four hard strokes with the belt and you squeeze the golf ball for dear life and yell into the makeshift gag. Through the pain your brain starts to swim in that beautiful, serene way and in your mind’s eye you see yourself as they probably see you - bent over with your pussy dripping as a leather strap strikes your pale skin in such an intimate way. You can picture the welts, bright pink with the edges oh, so slightly raised up. You scream into the fabric as the leather connects twice more and then your head is raised again by Shawn and he’s looking right at you. You meet his gaze and then after a few more seconds he lets your head fall and the belt snaps across the back of your thighs once, twice and then another mighty crack across your ass.

You scream one final time, your head lifting up as the blow sears into your flesh and then it drops again and you hear and feel the thump as Mark sets the heavy belt down next to your head. There’s a moment of silence and you’re dimly aware of Shawn’s hand gently kneading the back of your neck. The very second you find it comforting, it leaves you and you hear him speak again, his voice back to that dark, sneering tone.

“Get her upright; it’s time to get those clamps off. I wanna hear her begging again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Previous | TBC

#the undertaker #undertaker #this character lives in my head rent free #wwe #wwf #american badass #shawn michaels #taker smut #shawn michaels x reader #undertaker x reader #Shawn Michaels smut #the undertaker x reader #fanfic #undertaker kink smut #the undertaker kink smut #kink fic #TTT The List

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primusdemoniccreatrix · 1 year

Text

Dreams of Milk and Honey (The Mandalorian X Earthling Reader)

I was inspired by a need to mother Grogu. I love him, my green son. Yes, I made things up, Marie Kondo style. Sue me. gif by @jedialways

Love, One At A Time

"Okay, there we go" You set up your phone just across from you, propped up precariously from across you on the counter, the device perched upon a strange contraption of wires and some questionable scrap metal that looked like it should be on the outside of the great antique ship the Razor Crest instead of inside but who was going to notice?

Well, someone, but not you. Out of sight, out of mind.

You open up the app, letting the timer start.

"Grogu, we're taping! Come on! Let's start!"

A small wrinkled green child with ears twice the size of its head and a nose as small and cute as a flower bell smiled widely at you, excited for what you had planned today.

"Good morning, and Welcome to the 'Craver Crest' where we make and bake what you're craving!" you spoke into the camera, smiling at your reflection as you speak. You turned and waved Grogu over, speaking once more to a disembodied audience as you kept your eyes on the little baby padding his way over to you, arms outstretched and ready for the world. You cradled him into your arms and had him face the camera with you to 'say hi to your fans!'

"Today and every day, all day, we welcome our sous-chef and taste-tester, Grogu! So today, we'll let Grogu decide what we get to make!" You presented two unused wires, one blue and one red, as choice makers. "So, Grogu, we can make either those cookies you like or we can make a snack sandwich today! Which would you like to pick? Blue for cookies, red for sandwich!" you chirped for him. Under your breath, you hummed the Jeopardy theme song as you smiled at Grogu, his big brown eyes full of innocence and sunlight that had seen too much pain already, living every day to the fullest, eagerly choosing the blue wire like you guessed he would. He did have a sweet tooth after Nevarro, after all.

"Well, looks like we're making cookies!" You grab a bowl and bring it to the camera, filling it with the egg whites and the cream you'd gotten at the behest of a few villagers you'd met several days ago. The places you'd travelled to had often yielded both unimaginable (to you) adventures and was often rewarded with homely little goods or money, but they were often a combination that greatly helped you pick out what you wanted. The last planet you'd been on, a pretty planet named Naboo, had offered you some goods that were easy to keep in the foodstore inside the Crest. The eggs belonged to some animals whose name you couldn't remember, but all that mattered was that the ingredients given to you by some thankful shop-owners you'd inadvertently helped by getting rid of the bounty had thanked you with some confectionary recipes for on-the-go dessert as a thank you, and also gave you at least 3 weeks of ingredients' worth for it! Mando sighed as he accepted, and you were determined to use them; it'd clear the shelves for the 'more important foodstuffs' he'd claim, like the practical grump he was.

"So, we've got our bowl with the rested egg whites, and the yokes I already cooked for breakfast, isn't that right, Grogu?" you asked, turning to the small green child who cooed in agreement, the camera catching your interactions as you spoke on about the ingredients of green sugar, blue cream, some paste that was almost almond-like, etc. You'd no idea that some sugars and milks in the galaxy could come in their own colours like that, but it just goes to show how far humankind could go if they weren't currently warring over dreams of delusional imperialism.

You turned to Grogu often, letting him join in the cooking after introducing the ingredients.

"Here, Grogu, could you pour the sugar in for me?" You'd lift him up and use a free hand to help him pour the contents of the bowl and then kiss his cheek as he laughed. "What a lovely assistant you are!"

"Would you pass me the spatula, dear?" He cooed as he lifted a small spoon, before you told him it was the one beyond, and as he grabbed it, you called him a 'sweet and clever sous-chef!' and bopped his teeny tiny nose before helping him stir the ingredients to finish off the quick recipe. Soon enough, it was time to put the fast-made sandwich batter for the macarons onto baking sheets and warm them, and you and Grogu laughed as you piped little circles of the batter onto a hoverpan, known to be the perfect non-stick pan even in heavy baking! You gave Grogu the important job of holding a small heart-shaped thick wire that worked as a cookie-cutter, and the wire was clean and usable, you'd made sure. Grogu was up to the task, concentrating very hard, his little eyes narrowing to inspect your work and ears perking up at every little heart-shape you both made. He took his job seriously and it warmed your heart every time.

By the time the pan was covered in two dozen hearts, the first two hearts were ready to be baked. In a matter of a few more minutes filled with your storytelling of Mando's most recent hunt, every last one of the hearts were ready, the quick-acting flour doing its job well. "Well, these look ready, so, with my sous-chef's word, we shall bake them! What do you say, chef? Shall we show our audience how to cook?"

Grogu's tiny fists waved in the air as he let out a squeal of agreement, and with a kiss to his head, you placed it into the Crest's oven, no preheat needed.

The wait was only 30 minutes, and you filled that time playing with Grogu, keeping him occupied as he passed you some sugar and milk, spilling a teeny bit as he lifted it to you, and you took it graciously and joked about the milk being excited enough to leap, just to hear Grogu giggle.

Grogu helped you mix, and in the corner of your eye, you could see your phone still recording, you and your lively little green boy stirring some fluffy butter-cream mix together for his cookies. You didn't know if he could read these recipe cards, but he was clearly vivacious, eager for the world, seeing it with the eyes of a child, even though he's known so much pain. This video wasn't just to make a joke and some fun: it was a small part selfish, but a bigger part for Grogu: he was already 50, and considering how young he was, it was clear he was going to outlive you. You didn't know if you'd be able to see him beyond a toddler's age, didn't know if you'd be able to hear him speak English/Basic, didn't know if sometime in the future, he might even forget you, or worse: not have the means or time to do something that makes him happy in a galaxy, a whole fucking galaxy's worth of enemies. You wanted to leave something for him, a memory of something fun, and maybe, just maybe, you'd find some way of living too, even as a little ghost who brought Grogu some joy in his young life. You'd give anything to be with him, but even you were mortal: you hoped you could give him a childhood to look back on before the future comes, whenever it may be.

The timer dinged in the midst of your little game of patty-cake you were teaching your three-fingered companion, and he jumped up, ears perking at the sudden noise. His eyes lit up, and you giggled at his antics. "Looks like our cookies are ready!"

His scream of joy was worth your teeth nearly gritting. His little feet pitter-pattered towards the oven that took you only a few steps to reach, but you walked slowly so as to give him time. "Come along, sous-chef, let's see what we made!" You had to move Grogu from the oven's front as he stubbornly squirmed until you told him hot air might hit him, and when he moved, you grabbed a protective handler and took the hoverpan out, placing it on the counter. You could feel Grogu tug on your clothes, trying to get up, so you picked him up and let him see the cookies.

"Well, it looks like we're finished! We just need to put them on the cooling rack! Would you help me, oh great sous-chef?" you exaggerated with a flourished bow, and a coo answered you in the affirmative. You took Grogu in your hands, took a flat-headed spatula that should be legally classified as a giant screwdriver, and with both your hand and Grogu's on the handle, lifted the first cookie up off the pan, the airy concoction coming up effortlessly, and you flipped it onto a cooling rack, making Grogu kick his little feet in excitement at this new activity. You two continued to flip the cookies, making sure you were explaining to Grogu to 'flick the wrist' and 'be gentle, or they might break before we can use them, okay hon?" and soon enough all the shells were cooling. You checked the recipe card from the shop-owner once more, seeing that the cookie shells just needed "a moment to rise and then it would be ready for the filling"; you turned to Grogu, telling him: "we can wait, right? We're almost done?" He tilted his head at you, and you nodded back, setting him down on the counter. "Well, we heard him, we're almost done and then its time for filling the cookies and eating! Did you want to say hi to the camera, sous-chef? Any words?" You pointed him the camera out to him, and he waved at his reflection, babbling at the phone, before the last clump of green sugar left from cooking caught his interest.

The timer blinking on your phone, and with Grogu occupied within supervision, you decided to add a personal touch to the video.

"So, Grogu and I made some cookies today, and we found out that flipping the cakes is a lot of fun! And that we have to be careful near heat sources, right?" You sighed at the camera, eyes distant, looking at Grogu in the camera who was facing the cookies, watching them with interest. "I hope that this recipe is something that you can enjoy any time, and I hope life gives you many sweet treats as sweet as you are. You're the world to me, baby, I love you so much; I hope you know that, sweetling". You smiled softly at the camera, before your expression turned to one of confusion as a turquoise macaron shell hovered in the air, Grogu's eyes narrowed and hand raised.

"Grogu no! They need to cool-" You got out of your seat and caught the cookie as it was making its way, hissing at the heat remaining on it before putting it back on the rack. You turned back to Grogu, his teeny hand now down as he looked up at you with those puppy eyes that screamed innocence with the gleam of mischief only you, Mando, and other parents could recognize in him. Snickering, you pick him up, cradling him to you, as you spoke with as honeyed a stern voice as you could make: "Grogu, those need to cool before we put the icing in or they'll get mushy and not tasty!"

The last thing the camera saw was a human placing buttercream onto little green shells, and a green baby putting another one atop, making a sandwich, both filled with smiles on their faces, love in their hearts as the human fed the tiny one the first of the cookies, the child enjoying them quite dearly.

Mando heard a beep registering on his vambrace, the alert not important but originating from his ship: your 'phone' he'd connected to his systems had taken a video. He remembered how he'd tracked your moves when you came aboard, and though it wasn't necessary, it was still a precaution that could help, he believed. The notification was a video file, titled Craver Crest1_ Cookies.

Well, it was alliterated?

He opened up the file. His helmet's visor picked up the command, and as he walked down the tunnels back towards the Crest since he'd delivered the bounty, the backdrop of the dark empty tunnel was perfect for the hologram as it appeared from his vambrace's built-in holoprojector.

He watched, nearly stumbling a few times as the passengers on the Crest made the same cookies he'd seen Grogu eat on Nevarro. It was so lovely to see Grogu smile and laugh, and learn about different things while having fun. The sight of him kicking his feet in excitement was something the Mandalorian would carry with him, an image in the back of his head, of just how cute Grogu would get sometimes. He watched as the video ended with the passengers, Grogu and his babysitter, smile and eat, waving goodbye to the camera with cookies in their hands. The video turned off, and the Mandalorian stepped out into the light of the lavender sunset on Tiragon, and made his way back to the ship. He wondered if there would be any cookies left for him? He'd know once he got back to the Cravor Crest, where they made the cookies he was now craving.

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anakinsthot · 3 months

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Since im not sure which ones you've been sent already: 13, 15, or 25 for jarpatine (i kid, i kid! Please do obikin!)

I was soooooo tempted to write jarpatine it's not even funny.

Here's a super self-indulgent fill from this prompt list.

Background: eventing is the equestrian sport that Anakin participates in. It is a 3-phase sport and the one that's relevant here is cross country, where horse and rider jump over solid obstacles across terrain. It is one of the riskiest competitive horse sports and also what I do - although not at the same level Anakin is at. If anyone has questions feel free to ask!

15. meeting in the ER/A&E au (1.3k words)

beep beep beep

Anakin came to awareness in stages. Hearing first: a steady beeping sound and far-away murmur of voices. Then touch: cotton sheets over him, cool air on his face, and pain in his shoulder.

Finally he blinked his eyes open and took in the white ceiling tiles above him.

Ah. Hospital then, was his first thought. Guess we couldn’t save it at that oxer. I knew it was going to cause problems for someone today, followed quickly by, “Artoo? Is he okay?”

His voice must have alerted someone that he was awake, because a doctor came into the room followed quickly by his mother and his coach.

“Mr. Skywalker, please lay back down. I need to assess your concussion,” Anakin hadn’t even realized he’d sat up. He ignored the doctor and repeated his question.

“How is Artoo?” His heart was lodged in his throat – if the worst had happened to his horse he could never forgive himself.

“He’s alright,” Mace reassured him. “He got up and walked away from your fall. The vet assessed him and he’s a little sore but nothing some NSAIDs and stall rest won’t fix. Ahsoka is taking care of him.”

Relieved, Anakin finally lay back down in the bed. “Sorry you had to see that, mom,” he said quietly. His mother had been so worried when Anakin started to move up the levels in eventing. After a couple years and successful runs at Advanced she’d finally started to calm down. This certainly wouldn’t help her nerves next time he left the start box.

Shmi didn’t say anything. She sat at Anakin’s side and took his hand gently, evidence that she’d been crying on her face in bloodshot eyes and dried tears on her cheeks.

“Mr. Skywalker,” the doctor stepped closer now. “I’m sure you’ll want to catch up with your mother and…” his voice trailed off for a moment, before Mace brusquely introduced himself as Anakin’s coach, “and coach. I really do need to do a TBI assessment though. This is the first time you’ve been awake long enough since you came in an hour ago.”

Anakin winced. Things could have been worse, obviously, but that wasn’t a good sign. Now that he was paying more attention he realized that the lights were dim and there was a pulsing pain in his head.

“I’m Dr. Kenobi, the neurologist on your case,” the man introduced himself. Anakin took a good look at him for the first time. He was well built, with an impeccable beard and kind eyes. If he had to be stuck in a hospital room, Anakin thought, at least he got an attractive doctor.

“Hi doc. You can just call me Anakin,” he said. He tried to offer a hand to shake, but at the sudden pain in his shoulder quickly thought better of it.

“You’ve broken your collar bone on the right side,” Dr. Kenobi informed him quickly. “You should be given a sling for it shortly, but the preliminary results from radiography look like you won’t need surgery.”

“Can’t you just kiss it better?” Anakin asked on autopilot. Shmi sighed and squeezed his hand. He could practically hear her and Mace rolling their eyes. He’d just been through a traumatic accident and the doctor really was attractive. Sue him.

Dr. Kenobi pulled up a chair on the side of the bed across from Shmi. “I’m afraid the hospital frowns on patient-provider relationships,” he said lightly. “Now, you’ve had a CT scan done while you were unconscious and we didn’t find anything concerning, but I need to do a neurologic exam as well. The CT shows us if there is any physical injury such as bleeding, but it can’t show a concussion.”

Anakin nodded his assent and followed the doctor’s directions. He tracked a pen light with his eyes, pushed and pulled with his good arm against Kenobi, and held his breath while the doctor leaned in close his face to examine his pupils and touch various parts of his face while directing Anakin to bite down.

“You’re lucky,” Dr. Kenobi announced, rolling back in his chair. “From what Mace has said your head was very badly clipped by Artoo’s hoof when you both fell. You have a mild concussion, but no significant brain injury and your collar bone should heal well. Thank your helmet that it’s not any worse.”

“And the air vest Mom makes me wear,” Anakin tried to joke. He glanced at Shmi from the corner of his eye. If he weren’t laying in a hospital bed, she’d probably be smacking him on the arm for such a poor joke right now, based on the look in her eyes.

“Maybe we can get Hit-Air to sponsor you now,” Mace said lightly. He gave Anakin a smile and stepped towards the door. “Text me any updates. I’m going to get a press release out and make sure Artoo gets home.”

“Thank you Mace,” Shmi said. Her eyes were clearer now, losing the ring of red around them and she’d scrubbed the tear tracks from her cheeks. “Anakin, would you like something to eat now? If that’s ok with Dr. Kenobi.”

Dr. Kenobi nodded, but gave Shmi instructions to get Anakin something light that would be easy on his stomach. She nodded and followed Mace out.

Now that they were alone, Anakin the question that had been sitting on his tongue for several minutes now. “When can I ride again, Doc?”

Dr. Kenobi laughed. “Typical equestrian,” he said with a smile. “I tell you you have a TBI and broken bones and the only thing you’re worried about is when you can get back in the saddle.”

He clicked his pen a few times in thought. “The collarbone break is pretty clean. Radiology has to write up their opinion on the x-rays but I don’t think you’ll need surgery. You’re still fairly young, I’d say six to eight weeks for that to heal.

“The TBI is another beast, as I’m sure you know. You could be recovered in a couple weeks or it may take months. I want you to take this seriously, Anakin. Even a mild brain injury can have effects that last for the rest of your life. After you’re released we’ll have follow-up appointments to monitor your progress. Physical therapy for your shoulder, possibly occupational therapy if you have any issues come up.”

It could be much worse, Anakin reminded himself before picking up on part of what Dr. Kenobi had said. “We’ll have follow-ups? You’ll continue to be my doctor?”

Dr. Kenobi chuckled. “If you’re staying in Ocala, then yes, I’ll be your neurologist.”

“Can I request someone else?” Hurt flashed across Dr. Kenobi’s face and he pushed further away from the bed before he quickly put on a professional mask. Anakin immediately kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dr. Kenobi. “Only I’d really like to ask you out for dinner and I heard the hospital doesn’t like patient-provider relationships.”

“If we’re going to get dinner I think you should start calling me Obi-Wan,” Dr. Kenobi rolled closer to the side of Anakin’s bed. “And I have to insist that you at least wait until you’re discharged to ask me out.”

“I can be patient,” Anakin promised with a grin.

Obi-Wan scoffed. “If you were patient you wouldn’t be doing eventing. Don’t forget, I’m a doctor in Ocala. I know your type.”

“I can be patient if you tell me to,” Anakin insisted. “And anyway it sounds like it won’t be too long before they discharge me.”

Obi-Wan laughed and scribbled something on his notepad before tearing it out, folding it delicately, and giving it to Anakin. “Here, for when you get out. I’ll speak to one of my colleagues about taking on your case.”

Anakin grinned and took a moment to admire Obi-Wan’s ass as he walked to the door. “Thanks doc. I’ll see you soon!”

#this is sooo self-indulgent #i've been wanting to write an equestrian au for ages #anyway anakin gets back in the saddle before he's cleared to because horse people be like that and he def would #obi-wan punishes him for this with spanks (when he IS cleared for full activities)#obikin #prompt fills

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 5 months

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It’s time for another Fic Rec List fellow humans!!!

And boy howdy do I have a LOT this time lmao. A good chunk of them are Kyle-centric, bc I, like my son Stan Marsh, have been fixated on that guy. Also there are multiple from the same authors bc I find something I like and read EVERYTHING by them.

There’s a range of pairings on this list too bc I’ll read pretty much anything (still mostly style they do be my favorite) so hopefully if u see ur favorite ship or an intriguing concept this’ll steer you to somethin u like!

Here ya go!

* (rem)ember by boxwinebaddie. Ok we all knew I was gonna start the list w this one bc I am OBSESSED!!! Style holy shit! Crimson Dawn! Mentally unstable law student Kyle! RAVEN!!! The friendships and group dynamics! Rm lives rent free in my head dude plsplspls check it out!

* Painted In Shrouds by courtanie. Y’all want some Kysterion? This is one of my favorites! And NOBODY does Kenny like this author seriously. We got espionage! We got organized crime! We got overworked cfo Kyle! We got working together to take down the bad guys! We got blood and injuries and falling in love!

* Swansong by OrcaTimes. Fair warning this made me ugly cry. No one writes Craig like OrcaTimes YALL the Cryle destroyed me and doctor Craig always slays!!! It’s a beautiful story about love and grief, just GORGEOUS!!!

* Collector by cement_shoes. WHOLESOME STYLE ONESHOT!!! Them over the years, taking care of each other, Kyle handling bugs for Stan when he’s scared of them, growing up together and the trials of being human, but with someone always on your side. This one is SO sweet and gorgeously written, and a quick read too.

* A Ballad Of True Hearts by luckypoppies. Dude we all know I’m feral about SOT Style and THIS RIGHT HERE EATS!!!!! The history, the betrayal, the FANTASY VIOLENCE AND THERES THIS FIGHT SO FAR THAT SLAYS SO HARD! Being falsely accused of treason and subsequently exiled, tasked with escorting your prince to safety, GOD you just FEEL for the boys in this (plus we got them taking care of each other like yes yes gimme that fantasy whump) the world building is AWESOME I love sot AU’s and how different authors come up w the lore!

* Behind The Wall by Jwink85. Alright this one STARTS OUT nice, and is such an accurate representation of manipulative abusive relationships. Damien man holy shit. There’s so much going on in this, and the STAN PLOT OMG (yes style I love them) Kyle and Stan reconciling, Ike is my DISTRUSTING KING, high school angst, Tweek and Kyle friendship, Kenny being an icon, and I’ve said before but I love when Kyle’s written as generally wanting to see the good in people but still fiery in his own right, this is (a lot of jwinks stuff really that’s why I like their works so much) a great example of that!

* Simply Expandable by Kivea. YO WHO ORDERED THE MOB AU!!! Dude we got private investigator Craig, rival gangs, supernatural elements and mystery, conspiracy, fucking MOB BOSS KYLE?!?!? Kyle’s a bamf in this holy shit and bodyguard Stan, (this is Cryle btw and it’s fantastic) former k2, twenny, underground fighting rings, some KICKASS gang fights and the true antagonists bro the reveal was SICK! And when I say it’s a The Gangs All Here fic, I mean EVERYONE it’s wild and such a fun read it had me on the edge of my seat!

* And The Lightning Cracks The Sky by PastorCraigEnjoyer. Yeah yeah it’s cringe to rec your own shit sue me. But like Druid prince Kyle, Smokejumper Stan, forest fires, little mermaid but in the northern rockies ass plot, OVERLY PERCEPTIVE KENNY, mutual pining, magic, my beloved injury recovery (I gotta fuck Stan up ok) (I’m the worst)(giving Kyle chronic pain who me never) falling in love and saving each other’s lives, EVIL Cartman, I LOVED WRITING THIS ONE SO FUCKING MUCH it’s truly my baby.

* A quiet place (where I can scream how I love you) by sleep2thefr33zing. Coming of age style!!! So much emotional tension dude the pining is so fucking good, the first chapter is Stan’s perspective and the second one is Kyle and it’s BEAUTIFULLY PAINFUL WHEN THEYRE BOTH DOWN BAD BUT THINK THE OTHER ISNT!!! I love them being there for each other through all the bullshit of growing up, how resonant their falling outs are, it’s just so incredibly gorgeous and you really feel their emotions along with them.

* Knives by SparrowGrim. Ok so kyman isn’t my cup of tea but I’m putting it on the list bc some people do like it and this is an OBJECTIVELY FANTASTIC STORY!!! Tbh I only clicked bc I saw that it was Kyle centric (and that injury tag what can I say I eat that shit up) but I was HOOKED! Dark urbania, gangs running the streets, THE CODE NAMES SLAY SO HARD, we also got creek bunny stendy dip, the character relations are all so cool and the plot is WILD! Also Butters Kenny Stan and Craig are so badass jesus. Not even a ship I like but I loved the story.

* Peering Through Windows by Jwink85. C’mon I gotta have another jwink on the list and this one is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. K2 has been one of my favorites lately and THIS!!! We got dark cryle (my beloved) but when I say dark I mean CRAIG IS SO DEPRAVED!!! Like dude. But the story is THRILLING and artist Kenny is so kickass, Stan is a dad I literally cried over that small detail lmfao and I love jwinks Kyles and their idealistic nature (also I’m a sucker for any artist character) this story broke my heart and mended it again it’s incredible.

* Hunger Pains by Bellweather. Ain’t nobody doin Stan like bellweather MY SWEET PRECIOUS BOY UGH!!! The style is so great omg. The main four dynamic in this is wonderful, them trying to help Kyle through his ED (damn I really do read a lot of shit where Kyle’s suffering huh) all the characters are so well fleshed out and IKE I LOVE IKE IN THIS! The chapters have individual content warnings which is a great touch. Craig having prophetic dreams! Kenny dying multiple times! Chaos! Teenage camaraderie! There’s plenty of humor to make up for the dark shit but it DOES get dark. The mystery element in the beginning is really cool too I definitely have read this one multiple times.

* Find Somebody by hypercatt. STYLE!!! Stan-centric and so so so good, I love a platonic stendy team up too. some of the senior class goes “missing” and WHEN I TELL YALL I WAS so nervous that I read it out of order to make sure everything turned out okay lmao seriously this one had me WRITHING! There’s a gorgeous analogy throughout of physical hurts as a metaphor for mental illness and healing that just SPOKE TO MY SOUL!!! And there are so many beautiful moments, especially near the end, and the message of opening up and not running from your problems is beautifully written. Another one that occupies my brain lmao.

* To Have And To Hold by courtanie. Yes this is another one where Craig is SERIOUSLY DEPRAVED but hear me out!!! The plot, like I would DIE to adapt this to the screen, you feel like you’re watching a dark kidnapping race against time when reading this. And THE K2 IN THIS HOLY FUCK!!! Another one of my favorite Kennys ever and it’s so frustrating for the reader and the characters because WE ALL KNOW WHO TOOK KYLE BUT THE COPS ARENT DOING SHIT! The ending is unbelievably satisfying and the rest of the gang teaming up is so awesome STAN AND KENNY GOING FERAL OVERPROTECTIVE I live for that. But god the shit Kyle is subjected to, but he doesn’t lose that fire (Kyle ily sry)

* When The World Shakes, Hold Me by Bellweather & Blinkxs. The world building in this is PHENOMENAL!!! Post apocalyptic stuff, survival, STYLE!!! Some serious dark themes tho this is a heartbreaking read like damn check the tags frfr but the writing is MAGNETIC!

* -South Park- Style Sickfic/ Injury Fic Requests by AlwaysInSTYLE. Alright alright we all know I love my style hurt comfort and this is a request book/ oneshot series that’s JUST Stan and Kyle taking care of each other and I LOVE IT. you’d think it would get old but it DOES NOT. they’re not repetitive at all, and really fun reads! If you check it out, tell her PCE sent you we’re homies.

* Rookie Mistakes by espyonz. I love me some stenny and BRUH STANSTERION!!! Long oneshot that had me hooked. We got gentle hearted detective Stan who truly wants to protect and serve and is out of place in a corrupt police department. KENNY AS MYSTERION we know I love that shit, and he’s so awesome in this!!! The team up of Kenny Stan and Wendy to find missing people and uncover the truth behind their disappearances is AMAZING. We got Wendy as the tech girl which is SO slay (plus she and Heidi are together asjdhdks) and Kenny is hilarious in this, like he’s such a little shit and I adore this adaptation of his superhero persona. This one dropped LAST NIGHT and I’m so glad I didn’t make a red list post until now bc THIS NEEDED TO BE ON IT!!!

* Seven Candles by courtanie. Yep another one I’m tellin u, one of the best Kenny writers out there. So uhh Kyle in a Very Bad Situation again, like some of it was really tough to read. BUT!!! We got a war between heaven and hell!!! KENNY AS A FUCKING ARCHANGEL ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!? (I live for courtanie’s overprotective kenny holy shit) this is legitimately my favorite Kenny interpretation IVE EVER READ HES SO FUCKING AWESOME!!! Plus we got satan being Done with Damien’s shit lmao and Kyle making friends with a hellhound which is fun. THE FINAL BATTLE WAS SO COOL TOO I LOST MY MIND!

* Why Remind Me by Kasen. One of the best style oneshots BRUH it’s so good with such a wholesome ending and the FEELINGS CONFESSIONS!!! The boys playing superhero, then later we got high school style and an accident that leads to a reminder of a kiss and UGH ITS SO CUTE!! Just- just read this one I love it sm.

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variety-fangirl · 6 months

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Okay, I can't believe I've found someone who still writes actively for Jimmy Keene 🥺🫶 So I'd like to ask something like Jimmy falling for the nurse who is taking care of his father at hospital (feel free to choose the reason).

I was thinking in something like jimmy being an asshole with the doctors and nurses because he is stressed and worried about his father and, seeing that the reader is the only one who doesn't give in to his anger, he begins to see her in a different way.

Thanks in advance for considering my request. You slayy 🫶🩷

Nurse / Jimmy Keene x fem!reader

Summary: you are a nurse working your normal day shift at the hospital and treating your patients as you would any other day. Until you get requested by one of your fellow colleagues to take over their patient's case because of the difficult son.

Warnings: swearing, angry/stressed Jimmy, mean Jimmy (he's not really mean, lil worried sweetheart), talk of heart attack, cancer, medication and medical care.

Authors note: aww thank you 😁 I'm quite honoured to be one of the few who write for Jimmy tbf. Helps me to stand out a little ☺️ Oh 🥺 I love this idea! This is cute actually. Thank you for requesting and reading my stuff, it means the world to me! Yes queen, you slay too 😘🥰 Thank you for reading, please enjoy. Liking, reblogging, and commenting really helps me out.

P.s. I'm not a nurse so if details are wrong or inaccurate, don't sue me lol. Just go along with it haha.

Word count: 2.9k

"Okay Dorothy, you are discharged, signed, and all set to leave finally!" you happily inform one of your patients that you had been caring for, for about a week. She had come in for a Mastectomy but there had been issues and she had stayed a few days longer than planned, she had her surgery yesterday and was now finally going home cancer-free. Dorothy is a sweet 58-year-old lady who you have cared for repeatedly over the years for various health reasons. She was always an absolute delight to look after and provide care for, you'd developed a slight soft spot for her. Even though that wasn't typically allowed, but you kept your emotions in check mostly with your patients.

"Oh thank goodness, I can't wait to go and sleep this off in my own bed finally. Thank you so much for taking care of me again, sweetheart." Dorothy's cold, wrinkled but gentle and soft hand clasped yours with the strength she could muster. She was still a bit groggy from the high dosage of painkillers you had prescribed her for the pain. Her husband, Gordon, smiled and thanked you with a tender hand on your shoulder before pushing his wife's wheelchair out of the hospital room. You smile sweetly, "It was my absolute pleasure, it always is. Now, you both take care. I don't want to see either of you back here for a while okay?" you teased with half seriousness.

"Hopefully not dear!" Gordon calls with a chuckle as they both wave before leaving down the corridor to the elevators. You smile and fill in Dorothy's chart about her discharge, it took you about twenty minutes before you handed it back to reception. You were hoping to take your lunch break, it was about the time for you to take one. But luck was not on your side because no more than five minutes later, as you reached the break room, your colleague Jillian stopped you with pleading eyes. You grimace, "what's wrong?" you ask with an unhappy tone.

"I will do anything, anything, if you can please take over Nigel for the afternoon. He's-" she pauses and sighs, obviously exhausted. It had been a long day for you all. Nigel was hard work, for everyone but you for some reason. Maybe it was your sternness and no-messing attitude that got him to behave, or maybe he just had a soft spot for you, you weren't sure but he was good as gold for you. You sigh, "refusing to take his meds again?" you question. This was a recurring theme with Mr. Nigel. He had a habit of throwing tantrums and refusing to take his blood pressure meds. So most would come to you for help, knowing he would listen to you. She nods, "he's asking for you and will apparently only take his meds if you give them to him. Says he only trusts you."

You groan, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. You could feel an oncoming migraine forming, oh how fun. You held your hand out, "Okay." you huffed with a sigh, exasperated from your already too-long shift. You loved your job but sometimes you were beyond exhausted with some of the patients you had to care for. Jillian squeals happily, "Thank you, thank you! You are a lifesaver." she thanks gratefully as she passes you his medication, a now bright smile on her tired but still beautiful face. You take a moment to yourself, taking a deep breath in and out before making your way to Nigel's room.

Nigel was one of your regulars at the hospital, he was back and forth constantly for different reasons and always ended up staying longer than planned. On this occasion, he had surgery on his leg because of an infection. He took regular medication for Asthma and his heart but the old bastard was stubborn at taking them. His wife had always been the one to remind him but since she died a year ago, he's been awful about taking them. You knock on his door and wait patiently, receiving a very rude 'fuck off' before deciding to just enter anyway.

"Now Nigel, is that any way to treat your favourite nurse?" you kid, walking further into the room until you reach his bedside where the water jug is located. You pour some water into a small cup as he speaks, "I didn't realise it was you, I'm sorry. Glad they finally got you as I requested." he grumbles, obviously displeased but not with you. You turn with the water and pills in hand, "Meds, please." he grabs them from you instantly and takes them without fuss. You secretly roll your eyes at his tantrum, "And you know I can't always be here to look after you Nigel." you tut as you adjust the pillow behind his head and back to be more comfortable for him, and pull his blanket back us to his chest the way he likes. He pats the hand on his chest kindly, "I know but they don't look after me the way you do. You're special." you smile as you check his IV.

"Well thank you." you nod and check the now-empty paper cup, "finished?" you ask, referring to the water. He nods, passing the cup back to you where you refill it and place it on his bedside in case he wants some later. You check over his chart as well whilst there to make sure everything is in order and fill in the necessary information about what you've done. "Right, you are all set. I will come back and check on you later, anything you need?" you ask with a smile. The grey balding 65-year-old shakes his head with a returning smile, "Nope. I'm good." you nod with a chuckle, preparing to leave the room, "Okay, I'll see you later."

You spend the next few hours of your shift doing rounds, checking on patients, sorting out medication, filling in charts and the usual tasks you would normally do. By that point, you only had 30 minutes left of your shift, it was 7 PM. You'd always done 12 hours so you couldn't wait to go home, take a hot shower and get into your nice clean bed to sleep. You were exhausted and hungry. You were contemplating what to grab on the way home to eat because you were far too exhausted to cook tonight when another of your colleagues, Gloria, came over with a guilty look on her face. You glare at her, "no."

"Please y/n, I am begging you to help," she begs with pleading eyes, she genuinely looked like she was going to cry. "No, I have twenty-five minutes left before I clock out and I already took on one patient more than my own today as is." you close the last chart of the day and hand it back to reception, now finally finished for the day. "I'll give you $20?" she bribes, holding your shoulders with a grip of plea. You sigh, "Fine! You owe me so badly! Fill me in on the patient and the issue as we go to their room, lead the way." You indicate to in front of you for her to go first, she nods and starts filling you in.

"The patient is James Keene, who prefers to be called Big Jim. Sixty years of age and came in for a mild heart attack. Started the necessary treatment but there's difficulty with his check-up." She winces, leading you down the hallway slowly. "So what do you need me for then?" You question confused, not understanding what the issue is. She sighs, "The son is the issue. He's making treatment difficult and is freaking out on all the nurses." you turn to her with a raised eyebrow. "I know! But trust me, you'll understand when you meet him. Right, here he is, room 305. Thank you!" She scoots off back down the hallway without another word, leaving you with the difficult family member.

You roll your eyes, tuck the chart under your arm and knock on the door. A gruff but kind 'come in' voiced for you to enter, the annoyance immediately gone and a smile replaced on your face. "Hello, Mr. Keene! I'm the new nurse who will be taking care of you during your time with us. I'm y/n, it's nice to meet you." you walk to the left side of his bed as the son is on the right and place the chart at the end of his bed before taking his side. The son with an eye roll scoffs, "Great. Another fucking nurse." His arms are folded defensively over his chest and his body language suggests he is not happy. "Jimmy!" James scolds unhappily, a frown on his face. "Well sir, the other nurses were not pleased with your attitude towards them and unco-operation in their trying to help your father. So I was asked to take over." He squints his eyes but says nothing further for the moment.

"I'm just going to take your blood pressure, is that alright?" you ask sweetly with a smile, James nods with a smile. You go to take his arm when Jimmy growls, "Be careful for god sake! He's hurt." You give him a blunt look, "Sir, I did go to medical school for a number of years to train to be a nurse. I know what I'm doing." Your tone left no room for argument as you took James' arm carefully and gently as you originally intended to. You took his blood pressure, monitored his heart rate and checked what was necessary all with Jimmy making snide comments or yelling at you whilst you were just trying to help his father. You had enough.

"Okay, Mr. Keene, all done for now. I'm a little concerned about your blood pressure and hydration levels, so I'll get an IV and some medication to sort that out right away for you. The doctor has advised a few days stay, so we are going to keep you in for observation and granted you improve then you can go home. I'll be back shortly. Jimmy? May I speak with you outside for a moment please?" you ask with a tense tone, indicating to the door. He huffs but follows behind you as James thanks you. Jimmy closes the door behind you both and steps to the side so you are both by the wall, out of people's way. You look Jimmy over, noting the tired look on his face, the clear bags under his lovely eyes and a look of frustration on his face.

"Can I speak plainly?" you question as you look at his face, waiting patiently. He nods stiffly, not meeting your eyes, seeming to favour looking at your neck instead. "Okay, thank you." you pause for a moment, "I understand perfectly how worried you must be for your father and his wellbeing, it's absolutely natural to be frustrated and angry when you want the best care for your loved one. But, your behaviour and attitude with me and my fellow colleagues is unacceptable." His eyes shoot up to look at yours, a look of surprise in his eyes. He goes to open his mouth but you hold your finger up, "I'm not finished. The other nurses asked for me to take over because they couldn't deal with your difficult behaviour, it made caring for your father hard. I won't tolerate that kind of disrespect when I am just trying to look after your lovely father, so, If you are quite finished?" you ask, as if he's a naughty child being told off for his behaviour.

He clears his throat, a small smirk on his lips. "Absolutely, I apologise for my behaviour. I was in the wrong because I was worried. It won't happen again, ma'am." You smile in return and nod. You appreciate more than anything when someone admits they are in the wrong and apologises for their actions. Nurse no-nonsense strikes again! "Thank you, I appreciate the apology. Right, I'll be back shortly!" you call to Jimmy as you go to sort out Mr. Keene's medication and treatment. Unbeknownst to you, Jimmy stays rooted to the spot, watching you as you walk away with a smile on his face.

By the time you went back in there 30 minutes later, he was a changed man. He was polite and understanding towards you, letting you do your job in peace. You were grateful for it, it made your job so much easier. You made sure Mr. Keene was taken care of, as well as Jimmy, making sure they both had everything they needed for the night before you left.

Over the next four days of Mr. Keene being in the hospital for treatment, you start bonding with Jimmy slowly. After you told him off, he calmed down completely and left you to treat his father without argument. And anytime he did say anything out of line, you would just tell him off straight away and instead of anger, he would just smirk to himself not saying anything. You were unsure why but his smile was so infectious that you would end up smiling back in return. You would try not to, to be professional but it was damn hard with how gorgeous his smile is. You noticed a complete difference in him, it had been pleasant to have him around and James was an absolute delight. Despite his condition, he was cracking jokes and smiling non-stop. He is one of your favourite patients to date, although, you wouldn't tell the others that. Especially Nigel.

Jimmy had changed his attitude towards everyone at the hospital, so much so that your colleague came up and asked what the hell you'd done. She'd cracked an inappropriate joke about his dick which you both scolded her for and laughed at. You weren't exactly sure what you'd done, again. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't take his bullshit and called him out on it, maybe he liked you. You weren't sure but you were glad for it anyway. And you were very aware that like Nigel, Jimmy refused any other nurse to care for his father whilst he was here. Claiming you were "understanding and gentle" with his father's care. You didn't mind anyway.

By the time James was discharged from the hospital, you were honestly a little sad. You'd definitely miss seeing them both around here, James kept the job interesting. Which you were so appreciative of, the job could often feel a little samey at times. So, having interesting patiently made it all worthwhile. You had been extremely busy that day and had honestly expected Jimmy to kick off, maybe even just a little because of how long it was taking but he didn't say a word.

"I am so sorry for the wait Mr. Keene, we are down three nurses today so we are a little understaffed and very busy. You are all set to go, discharge papers are done and you have everything yes?" you didn't want poor James to forget any of his belongings here. James nodded with a smile, "All set, thank you." he shook your hand firmly before making his way towards the elevators but Jimmy stayed behind. You hadn't even noticed until you turned around and noticed him stood directly behind you.

You gasp quietly in shock, your faces mere inches apart. You both stare at one another for a few moments, seeming to admire one another with the same intensity. You unintentionally look at his lips, your eyes lingering on the pink plump and kissable lips as his tongue dips out his mouth and licks along his bottom lip. You clear your throat and take a step back, putting some professional distance between you both before someone sees and questions you. "Your number?" you shake your head and look up at him, considering how very tall he is, with a questioning look. "I'm sorry?" you ask shocked, eyes wide.

He smirks, knowing that you were too busy ogling him to hear a single word that he had just said. "I asked if I could have your mind to set up a date." He replies cooly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest so that his muscles were bulging through his cotton long-sleeved shirt. You smile, although you try to hide it but fail miserably, "Mr. Keene that is against hospital policy, no fraternising with patients." you try to say it sternly but it just comes out teasingly.

He smirks knowingly, "Good thing I'm not a patient then. So, your number gorgeous?" he leans in slightly closer, his eyes staring deeply into yours with lustful intensity. You scoff with a laugh but pull out your notepad and pen regardless, how could you say no to that charm? You roll your eyes as you pass the piece of paper to him, "8 o'clock this Saturday, I'll text you my address when you text me. Don't be late." You playfully glare as you turn and walk towards reception, needing to clear your head just slightly. His presence was intoxicating to be around. Just as you were about to turn the corner you heard him quietly say, "I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." The smile didn't leave your face for the rest of the day.

#fluff #y/n #jimmy keene #jimmy keene x reader #black bird #light angst #hospital #Nurse reader

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