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coco-loco-nut · 7 days

Text

Iconic

pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: you make it your life goal to embarrass Oscar and annoy him, keeping things fun in his life

masterlist

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“He’s so cute,” a girl sighs in the McLaren fan zone.

“He really is,” you smile, leaning against the barrier.

“Oh my god, hi!” the girl gasps, recognizing you from your boyfriend’s Instagram. You haven’t had social media since you were cyber bullied in middle school, so you were a mystery to his fans. It also let you go to fan zone and have fun with them. You also run a fan page for Oscar on Instagram.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind that I am standing here?” you say, holding a folded poster in one of your hand and an arm full of friendship bracelets that Oscar helped you make.

“Not at all, oh my god. Sorry, it’s just that you are so iconic,” the girl says and you quirk your eyebrow.

“How so?”

“You don’t have social media which is iconic, but all the fans know how nice you are, and you are always hanging out with us here,” one of her friends say, you nod along.

“Of course I would be here, I gotta support Papaya boys,” you smile. “Wanna help me embarrass Osc?” you ask the group around you.

“It would legit be our honor,” the one laughs, you laugh with her.

“Here,” you take off some friendship bracelets and exchange them with the girls.

“You are the best WAG,” another girl says and you blush a little, dutifully putting on each bracelet.

“I really do try. I even run a fan account for Osc,” you laugh, not revealing more than that.

“No way, that’s actually icon behavior,” the first girl says and you grin.

“Want to see the sign?” you ask, excited to show your latest sign off. Oscar tried to look but you refused to even work on it until he left the hotel.

“Yes!” you are quick to unfold the sign. Your neat handwriting carefully placed each letter just large enough so Oscar could read it.

“Omg, I can’t wait to see his reaction,” one of the fans say, the area is brimming full now, ready for the drivers to come out in a couple minutes.

“Make sure you get pictures of his reaction, he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed,” you giggle, getting ready to hold the sign in front of you as Lando walk onto the stage, excited to see what you wrote this time. He reads it and laughs, turning towards where Oscar is entering. You watch his brows furrow as he reads it. Oscar- I want to eat you up like a pastry :). The Australian’s face turns bright red as he laughs and winks at you, trying to hide his awkward embarrassment at the pickup line. It wasn’t your best, but it was the perfect amount of cringe. Lando gives you a thumbs up from the stage.

“You were right, his face was priceless,” the fan says as you watch Oscar push back his mousy brown hair before putting the hat back on. You swear you might be drooling while watching him, but you catch his gaze falling on you too.

“I LOVE YOU OSCAR!” you yell as he waves goodbye to the fans, giving you a wink. You make sure all of your friendship bracelets are given away before thanking the fans for being cool about you chilling with them. You head back to the paddock, scanning your pass, and beelining to the McLaren motorhome.

“Y/n, can I have that sign?” Lando asks and you happily hand it over.

“As long as you don’t use it to steal my man, have at it,” you chuckle as the Brit hugs you in thanks before walking away.

“Eat me like a pastry?” Oscar gives you an amused smile. “You do know my parents watch that, right?” His favorite thing about you his your playfulness, you can be serious when needed, but your teasing and jests keep his life fun.

“Oh, I know, your mom helped me with that one, the fans loved it too,” you laugh. “You did look so hot up there,” you slightly exaggerate checking him out.

“Why don’t we go back to my drivers room and you show me how you’d like to eat me?” Oscar whispers in your ear, trying to seduce you, but you resist.

“Oh, I’d probably start with the thighs, best muscle to fat ratio in my opinion. Hm, now I’m kinda hungry, what is in hospitality?” you ask, moving towards the food area. Oscar wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him as he picks you up to carry you to his room.

“Nope, don’t start things you can’t finish,” he says, clearly a little hot and bothered.

“Osc, I’m not a cannibal, I don’t actually eat humans,” you tease, not giving up on what you started. Oscar clearly had a different interpretation, maybe the right one, maybe not.

“Shut up before I make you shut up,” Oscar growls in your ear, quickly turning you on and making you drop the joke.

“Yes, Mister Piastri,” you say, knowing it’s affect on him as he drags you into his room, locking the door behind him. Oscar was a couple minutes late to his meeting, Lando holding back giggles as Oscar walks into the room.

“I see the fans aren’t the only ones who love Y/n,” Lando whispers to Oscar, who shoots him a glare. Meanwhile, you scroll Instagram using your fan page, laughing as some of them post the pic of you and the sign, the comments calling on your to reveal yourself via the fan page. You make a post about it as well just to blend in, thirsting over Oscar as well. You can’t imagine if he ever finds out about the account.

“Good luck, Osc. Drive safe,” you kiss him before he puts his helmet on.

“I am always safe,” he gives you his usual awkward smile, you smile back as he puts his helmet on. He squeezes your hand before walking over to the car. You take a seat in the garage, the headphones unflattering as always.

Your stomach drops as there is a crash late in the race, but you are instantly relieved when you realize that Oscar made in through and no one was hurt. He ends up in P2 for the race and you join the team in celebrating at the podium.

“Thank you for being my number one fan, even when you run a secret fan account,” Oscar hugs you in his drivers room.

“How? What?” you play if off but he just laughs, pulling out his phone.

“My private account follows you,” oscar laughs, and you just stare at him.

“That’s actually you? I thought it was a fan,” you quickly pull out your phone and request to follow his account, which he immediately accepts so that you can see all the cute posts he makes about you.

“Stop, Osc, you’re basically running a fan account for me,” you say, admiring his posts, including one from today of you holding the sign. You quickly type a comment that has the other drivers replying like crazy claiming that they found your secret account.

“You two decent?” Mark Weber’s voice says through the door, after a confirmation from Oscar, he lets himself in.

“Why wouldn’t we be decent, Mark?” you ask from the couch.

“I used to be a driver too, and after your fan zone sign nothing is off the table,” Mark shrugs causing you and Oscar to blush. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you great race, I will see you in a few days,” Mark tells Oscar before leaving the room again. You still aren’t sure how Oscar was able to bag the former F1 driver as his manager. Oscar yawns and you notice how tired he is, sleepy Oscar is your favorite version of Oscar.

“Alright, let’s get you back to the hotel, first loser,” you tease, helping him gather his things to leave.

“Hey,” he groans at the jab.

“You could be Lando NoWins, my love,” turning your jests onto his teammate.

“That is true,” Oscar yawns, holding your hand as he leads you to his chauffeured car.

“Osc, would you marry me if I was a worm?”

“Who said I’d marry you at all?”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m deleting your fan page,” you pull out your phone. Oscar basically tackles you in the back seat as he lunges for the phone.

“I take it back, I’ll marry you right now if you want,” Oscar pleads.

“Who said I wanted to marry you? Do I look like a worm?” you retort, putting your phone away. Oscar just sighs in defeat.

“God gives is strongest people his greatest challenges, I’m not strong enough for this,” he groans a few seconds later, the tiredness setting in.

“Sorry, baby, I promise you will get unlimited cuddles when we get back to the room,” you smile softly, holding his hand tight.

“I love you,” he whispers, his beautiful brown eyes gazing into your eyes.

“I love you too.”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris #unhinged behavior

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navybrat817 · 17 days

Note

Can lumberjack Bucky take care of me?

Yes, nonnie.

To-Do List

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky shares a list of things to do with you when you wake up. Word Count: Over 600 Warnings: Fluff, pet names, talk of sex, light humor, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: More Burly and Bambi . @tavners, can we manifest this? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky’s spot on the bed beside you is cool when you wake up and reach for him, seeking out his warmth. You don’t want to start the day cold.

But he’s back in the bedroom before you can get up to look for him, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face as you yawn.

The shirtless sight of your burly man is enough to chase any lingering tiredness away.

“Wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed, Bambi,” he says as he sets the tray over you and lets you look over the feast he prepared. “You drooling over the food or me?” he teases.

You wipe at your chin, thinking for a moment that you did drool. “Both,” you smile, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear once he gets back in bed. “What’s the occasion?”

It isn't your birthday and or anniversary. No reason to celebrate anything.

“No reason at all, darling,” he answers, sincerity in his bright eyes before he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Just want to take care of you.”

Your heart flutters because no other guy had ever done anything for you just because they wanted to. “You take very good care of me,” you promise, feeding him a bite.

You watch him lick his lips after his bite, your heart fluttering for an entirely different reason. “This is just a start,” he says, feeding you a bite in return.

You would never turn down his cooking or him feeding you.

“What else could you possibly have planned? You have to work.”

“No work today,” he replies, nodding to a small piece of paper beside the plate.

A smile spreads across your face due to the impromptu day off before you pick up the sheet and scan it, recognizing his handwriting. “‘Burly and Bambi’s To Do List’,” you announce as he chuckles. “Breakfast in bed.”

“Check,” he smiles, feeding you another bite.

“Cuddle in bed,” you continue.

“After breakfast.”

A giggle bubbles up when you read the next thing on the list. “This just says ‘Each other’,” you state, which you would happily help him cross off.

He puts a hand on his chest when you laugh more. “Are you making fun of my list? You wound me.”

“I’m not,” you promise. Any excuse to do your lumberjack, you’ll take it.

“Good. Because I have us doing each other as number 6,” he smirks, your throat dry when his gaze falls to your chest. “And 9.”

You laugh all over again, careful not to shake the tray. “6 and 9? 69? Really?”

“It’s a good number,” he says nonchalantly. “And as your personal lumberjack, I’ll also be happy to split you in half.”

It’s a tempting offer and you’ll take him up on it. “After we eat.”

“Good idea,” he agrees, popping a bite of fruit into his sinful mouth. “You need your strength.”

“Cocky,” you whisper, but he’s right. You do need your strength because he’s insatiable. “You also have watch a movie together and snuggle with a blanket under the stars.”

“I’ll keep you nice and warm,” he promises, gesturing to the sheet. “Flip it over.”

You’re not sure how you manage to hold back tears as you read it, falling more in love with Bucky as you read out loud, “Tell Bambi how much I love her every day.”

He grasps your chin so you can’t hide your face. “I love you, Bambi,” he whispers, pressing his soft lips against yours.

You ask yourself how you’re lucky enough to be his girl as you kiss him back. “I love you, too, Burly.”

And you would tell him every day, too.

These two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

Text

Pt 4 - Drunk words are sober thoughts.

✩ Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: The one where Pansy organises a dinner party, you’re on the run from Theo, and bad decisions are made. Alternatively: Uncomfortable awkward tension, then smut.

A/N: We aren’t out of the trenches yet. We’ve only dug ourselves deeper with this one.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

Please let me know in the comments if you want to be added to the tag list!

MDNI!

Tags: Smut (duh),Drunk sex, PIV, Hair pulling, praise.

Songs: Love survive - Michael Nau

Star Treatment - Arctic Monkeys

The sun filters through the cracks in the blinds, casting an almost heavenly glow on your bed. The warmth was soothing, and you’d almost call it a very peaceful morning.

That is, of course, if you weren’t woken by Pansy yanking the covers off you, tossing them to the side.

You groan sleepily, rolling over as you try to shield your eyes.

“Oh come on! Merlin, you've been asleep for so long! Everyone else is up! I refuse to let you spend all holiday rotting in bed.” She nags, grabbing your arm as she tries to pull you up. You let your body go limp, the dead weight pulling you back onto the bed as you use your free hand to pull a pillow over your head.

“You know Pansy, have you ever considered my idea of a holiday is sleeping in all day?” You mumble and she tuts, grabbing the pillow from you.

“Nonsense. I’ll kill you if we don't make the most of this.”She admonishes, faffing around you like a mother hen as she walks around your shared room with Theodore (who notably wasn't there, his bed made.) She opens your closet and takes the liberty of choosing you an outfit as she flicks through your clothing, speaking again.

“We're going to celebrate the start of this beautiful Holiday I have so kindly provided us with. We’re making dinner and having a small dinner party. Nice clothes, naturally. Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theodore will be making the starters, and Draco, Blaise and I will be making the main, which means you’re in charge of dessert. Consider it a penalty for waking so late.” Pansy explained as she crouched down to sort through your other clothes.

You grumble, muttering childishly under your breath as you sit up, on the edge of your bed as you come to your senses.

“I'm putting poison in yours.” You half-joke, and she isn't phased as she tosses you a floral white sundress and a handful of jewellery. You dodge the assortment of gold sent towards you and you glare at her.

“There. You’ll have to change for dinner but this is good for now. We’re all downstairs, but I sent some of the boys to fetch the ingredients. Chop chop!” She calls out, as she descends down the stairs.

Pansy. She truly tested your patience.

You manage to drag yourself up from the warm confines of your bed as you head over to the bathroom, going to take a shower. You walk past Theodore's bed as you do so, and you see his copy of Little Women lying on his bedside table. Curiosity tugs at you.

It would be bad to take a peek, right? I mean, he did hand it to you that day in the library. Granted, he took it back right after, but surely that implied you could take a look.

You (rather weakly) justify your decision and pick up the book, thumbing through the pages as your eyes scan over the various annotations and underlined passages Theodore had analysed.

One in certain catches your attention. There, messily underlined, is the quote:

“Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault.”

Followed by “No. 4” scrawled in Theodore's handwriting. You frown, confusion etched on your face as you try to decipher what the four could possibly mean. You flick through the rest of the book, trying to spot any other instances.

“You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.”

No. 7

I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo, - couldn't help it, you've been so good to me, - I've tried to show it, but you wouldn't let me; now I'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I can't go on so any longer.

No. 5

You couldn't seem to find any rhyme or reason for this labelling. It was simply random parts of the text underlined every now and then with a number next to them, as though some sort of list. Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you're itching to look for more when the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs snaps you out of it. You quickly shut the book, placing it back down as you grab your dress and towel, dashing into the bathroom. You just manage to lock the bathroom door when you hear the door to your room click open, and you let out a small breath of relief. Your mind is working tirelessly, trying to decipher the cryptic annotations as you take a shower.

You finish off and get dressed in the bathroom, taking your time to avoid Theodore. By your luck, when you unlock the bathroom door and peer out the small gap, Theodore is not there, and you let out a small sigh as you step out.

You put on the jewellery Pansy set out for you and slip on some socks, combing through your wet hair as you dry it lightly. Satisfied with how you looked (you did feel rather pretty, in all honesty), you make your way downstairs.

The kitchen is empty, save for Blaise putting the groceries away into the fridge. You grin as you walk over to join him, his eyes flickering over to you as you walk in.

“Morning. You got your rest, didn't you?” He teases and you shoot him a mocking smile, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah yeah, make fun of me all you want.” You sigh as you reach for the second bag, helping him put everything away.

“Where is everyone else?” You ask.

“Pansy and Lorenzo went out to get drinks, and I'm pretty sure the rest found some sort of creek or something so I think they went out for a swim,” Blaise says and you hum, nodding.

Come to think of it, you had completely forgotten about the rather surprising development between Blaise and Pansy. You and Lorenzo had bet on it as well. Deciding to pay Pansy back the favour, you begin probing into their little dilemma.

“So Blaise, tell me. What's going on between you and Pansy?” You ask, and he chokes on the coffee he was sipping as he sets the cup down. You open one of the cupboards, storing away a packet of pasta as he looks at you.

“What do you mean?” He responded, and a small grin tugged at your lips.

“Oh come on, don't act all shy now. This whole flirting thing you have going on.” You say, vaguely motioning in his direction as you put some fruits in the fruit bowl resting on the kitchen island.

“There's nothing. Just friend.” He denies, and you turn to him, resting against the island.

“Sure. Just one thing? You're both stubborn fools. Don't let that prevent anything.” You advise, looking at him. You grab an apple, tossing it into the air before catching it as you walk past Blaise, patting him on the back.

“Right now, out. I need to start prepping the dessert.” You say, and for the first time in your life, you see Blaise ever so slightly red.

He playfully grins as he walks out, and you tie your damp hair up as you look through what the boys bought.

You settle on a classic after taking note of the copious amounts of cream cheese the boys had bought (You were reminded to never ever ask them to go shopping, and you'd be sure to remind Pansy the same.)

A salted caramel cheesecake. You decided to make the biscuit base yourself - it would serve as a good way to pass the time seeing as you had the whole day to yourself.

Before you begin cooking, you wander over to the living room. Your eyes settle on a collection of vinyl records in the corner, and you sift through the sleeves, settling on one that doesn't look immediately terrible.

You carefully place the vinyl onto the turntable, the soft crackle of the needle hitting the record filling the room. The sound of a smooth jazz melody starts playing, creating a cosy atmosphere in the kitchen. As the music envelops the space, you begin gathering the ingredients for the biscuit base.

You preheat the oven and begin making the biscuits, sifting flour into the bowl as you work. It's surprisingly relaxing, the villa is empty and you're left to your own devices, humming along to the music as you bake. Sure, you definitely weren't the cleanest baker. A simple biscuit recipe had left you with a white powder coating over the kitchen, stacks of bowls in the sink and somehow, flour on your clothes as well. You huff, dusting down your dress as you place the haphazardly shapen uncooked biscuits into the oven. It didn't matter whether they looked good or not - you'd be crushing them anyway.

It only takes about 15 minutes before the delicious aroma of vanilla fills the kitchen, You're admittedly pleased at just how good they smell, and you can only hope they taste as good as they smell.

Whilst those finish off, you begin making the actual filling of the cake. You reach for one of the bowls when a certain song begins playing, your ears perking up at the sound.

“This is my conquering song

played on a wave so strong

pulled the broke-down ride for far too long”

You lightly sing along to the lyrics, a small smile tugging on your lips as you do so. You had always imagined this song to be blissfully domestic, something you'd willingly play if you were to cook or bake, so the fact you selected it by chance made you oddly happy.

Sometimes it was the little things that count.

With a little pep in your step, you walk around the kitchen as you gather the ingredients. Liberated by the villa having no other occupants, your movements are freer, a small little (unnecessary) spin or a little break to sing along as you cook.

Now, it had been long established that you really did not have the best awareness of your surroundings. This continued to be the case now because you were sure you would have stopped immediately if you had seen Theodore leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, looking over at you.

Unfortunately for you, you did not notice him.

Theodore leans against the doorway, his eyes fixated on you. They always would be, he couldn't not look at you even if he tried to.

A fond smile is tugging at his lips, watching as you lightly sing along to the song. It's offkey, and your impromptu dance moves incorporated with your haphazard baking skills is laughable, but Theodore can only look at you and feel simultaneously so happy yet also so terrified. Terrified because he acknowledges how such a simple sight can't get that smile off his face, and the fact someone has the capability of doing that to him seems daunting. He was scared because, for a brief second, he imagined walking over and helping you. You'd look up at him with that smile of yours.

God, that smile.

You have that little impish look in your eyes, ready to poke fun at him. He does the same with you. The worst thing is if he hadn't fucked up so royally, you could have been doing that.

Instead, he pushes off the doorway to go and help you. The first part goes as expected, you see him and you yelp, spinning around. He knew your ears would turn red, as they usually did when you got embarrassed. Theodore knew you like that.

He knew you'd look at him akin to a deer caught in headlights because your mind would go blank for a second. Theodore knew you like that.

He also knew you well enough to know that, despite his own hopes of your once confused and mortified face breaking into a wide grin, it would instead fall and you would avert your eyes.

Theodore knew you like that.

He hated it.

“Oh. Hey.” You utter, clearing your throat. You berated yourself for always acting so obviously on edge when Theodore was near. He looks down at you with an indescribable look in his eyes before he speaks.

“Hey. Need help?” He asks, and you look around at the messy kitchen, before shaking your head.

You actually did, but you'd be damned if you had to spend more time with Theodore, alone. You'd either end up dead silent or stammering some embarrassing declaration. You couldn't tell which one would be worse.

“Alright.” He mused, looking down at you. He doesn't make any move to leave though, and you're hyper-aware of the fact that he is very close to you.

His hand comes up, cupping the side of your face gently as his thumb brushes against your cheekbone. His hand is there for a second too long, crossing the boundary of what it should have been. Again, it seemed as though everything you and Theodore did crossed that boundary.

“You had flour on your cheek,” he says, and you nod, drawing away your face. You turn around, praying to the gods above that they'd stop torturing you and make Theodore leave. You keep your back to him as you continue cooking, and he seems to finally leave, making you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You hasten your cooking after that and you're out of the kitchen in no less than 20 minutes with the cheesecake stored in the fridge as you make your way to Pansy’s room. You absolutely would not go back up to yours, as you were sure Theodore was there.

Exactly how long did you plan on running from him?

Hours have passed lazing away on Pansy’s bed, bored out of your mind when she finally returns.

“Finally.” You sassed, sitting up as she raised a brow at you.

“Why are you waiting here?” She asks, and you shrug.

“Can I not miss my friend?” You quip and she eyes you, knowing there must be another reason. She chooses not to probe further, however, joining you on her bed.

“We ought to get ready. I did tell the boys to dress nicely, we’re dignified people.”She chided as she got up, walking over to her closet.

You giggle at her swift change of actions and lean back on her bed, looking over at Pansy.

Her love for micromanaging you often was a negative, but now it could very much be a huge positive.

“Pans… You always know just how to style me right. Can you run up to my room and choose a look for me? I'm hopeless.” You groan, putting your hand on your chin in an exaggerated display of hopelessness. Her eyes light up, as though she was a little kid playing dress up, and she nods.

“Finally, you've come to your senses! I know exactly what I'm getting, wait here.” She gasps, scampering upstairs. You grin, having successfully avoided Theodore once again.

(The answer to the previous question? You'd run from him for a very long time, seemingly.)

Despite her reassurances, Panys arrives a solid half an hour later, a scarlet lace dress clutched in her hands. An impulse buy, the dress was shorter than what you usually wore. It had a fitted bodice but a flowy skirt, though it only reached your upper thigh. The long sleeves that extended down into flowy bell sleeves had to be your favourite feature of it, alongside the bustier style bodice at the front. She grins as she passes over the dress, alongside a pair of black boots.

“Dressed nicely but not too fancy. Plus I've been dying to see you wear this, so up and change.” She demands, pushing you up. You grin lightly at her antics as you take the dress, disappearing into the bathroom to change. You run your hands down your body as you admire yourself in the mirror. A hell of a good impulse buy, the dress looked incredible. The low cut was far out of your comfort zone but boundaries were meant to be pushed, right?

(No, they were not.)

Pansy gasps as you step out, pulling you over as she admires the dress, words of praise leaving her lips.

“You look so good! Oh my god, wear this everywhere.” She gushes, and you smile shyly.

“Thanks, Pans. Really. And you look incredible too, like positively mouthwatering,” You say and she grins, doing a small twirl in her satin black dress. After styling your hair and doing some light makeup, you make your way over to the dining room, which had already been set up beautifully.

The table, adorned with a crisp white tablecloth, is set meticulously with polished silverware, crystal glasses, and porcelain plates. A centrepiece of fresh flowers in varying shades of red and white adds a touch of elegance, their fragrance mingling with the soft glow of candles placed strategically around the room.

Pansy's attention to detail is evident in every aspect of the setup. Delicate linen napkins, folded artfully, rest atop each plate. You begin to feel excited for the evening, walking over to the kitchen as you look for everyone else. Theodore, Lorenzo and Mattheo are all in the kitchen, sorting panicking over the starters as they rush around like headless chickens. You step in and Lorenzo spots you, a wide grin breaking out on his face.

“Wow wow wow. Look at who we have here.” Lorenzo says admiringly, calling over the attention of the other two boys. You grin, ironically doing a small little pose to shake away the awkwardness of their gazes on you.

“Stunning!” Mattheo announces, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he ruffles your hair. You groan with disdain as you jab him in the side.

“Ow!” Mattheo complains, letting go as he frowns, rubbing his side.

“The bloody devil, you are.” He mumbles, glaring at you, A small laugh escapes your lips.

You affectionately pat him on the cheek, before turning to Lorenzo.

“What do you need help with?” You ask them, and Lorenzo shakes his head.

“Nothing. You go and rest, we’ll come serve them soon.” He says, and you nod.

You've been avoiding Theodore's gaze the whole time you've been in here, but you stupidly can't resist looking up at him and instantly regret it when he staring at you so intently. His eyes meet yours and he seemingly snaps out of it, swallowing harshly.

You quickly walk back to the dining room.

A solid 4 hours or so later, you're all lounging in the living room, stomachs full with what was a surprisingly good meal. Whilst the starters were good, Blaise, Pansy and Draco had really knocked it out of the park with the main, a mouthwateringly good risotto that you helped yourself twice to. The cheesecake seemed to be a crowd-pleaser though, with Draco having three slices.

With a glass of whiskey loosely held in your hand, you take a sip, leaning back into the couch. Whilst you tried to fit the aesthetic and sip some wine, you couldn't bear the taste and (truthfully) wanted to get drunk tonight.

It was a lazy and subdued atmosphere, and you didn't even notice Pansy, Blaise, Draco and Mattheo all retiring back to their rooms. You yawn as you get up, stumbling slightly (you had drunk quite a bit actually). You sleepily bid goodnight to the remaining two ( as vaguely as possible because god forbid you say Theodore's name) and make your way upstairs (in one piece.)

You walk into your room and kick off your boots, wandering over to your bed as you begin taking off your jewellery. You look up a mere few seconds later when Theodore walks in, seemingly equally as drunk as he looks at you. He shuts the door, yawning as he pulls off his knitted jumper, leaving him with his white t-shirt on. He throws his sweater somewhere to the side as he flops down onto his bed with a sigh, rummaging through his pockets as he produces a lighter. You can't help but openly stare at him as he does so, alcohol freeing you of what little inhibitions you had.

Something about the sight of Theodore laying on his bed, lazily smoking a cigarette with his slightly messy hair and those damn eyes….

You could see his muscles shift every time he brought the cigarette up to his lips, and you didn't realise smoking could be so erotic.

For some awfully stupid reason, really I mean, you had to question your own sanity, you get up, walking over to Theodore. You're alarmingly quiet as you approach him, and don't say a word as you stand there. His eyes flicker up to you, and suddenly you realise:

Alcohol + tension + two rash people

Is not a very good mix.

You reach down, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. Theodore observes you with a small smile, those sinful eyes of his boring into you as you take a drag, before passing the cigarette back to him.

“He was right,” Theodore says after a second, looking up at you, You tilt your head. If you were already slow at making these connections, the alcohol only made it worse.

“Hmm?” You hum.

“Mattheo. You did look stunning today.” Theodore says, voice low.

Instead of doing what you usually did (some awful combination of looking away, panicking or just remaining quiet), a lazy smirk tugs at your lips as you look down at Theodore.

“Yeah?” You question, and you're 100% sure you watch his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Theodore's eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and excitement flickering across his face as he absorbs your murmured words.

Tentatively, as though testing the waters, he sits up, back propped up against the headboard as he looks up at you. His hand tugs at the sleeve of your dress, pulling you down, His hand rests on the curve of your hip, massaging light circles, and you go dizzy at the feeling.

You make no effort to move.

Rather, in a bold surge of confidence that quite literally materialised from nowhere, you swing your leg over Theodore's lap, straddling him. His hands immediately find their place on your hips, as though they're meant to be there, and he's looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

You knew this was a bad idea, but the alcohol spoke prettier words than your rationale did.

“You certainly know how to make an impression.” He murmurs his fingers trailing lightly along your thigh. You resist the urge to shudder at his touch, goosebumps erupting on your skin as he touches you. You lean closer, admiring the features of his face as you speak, mere inches away from one another.

“Well, I had someone to impress.” You say. He lets out a small, wry laugh, though he's far too consumed with looking at you.

Close the gap. Do it.

You do.

With a surge of hunger, your hands fist his shirt, pulling him in. His hand cups the back of your head as he meets your lips in a passionate kiss, mouths melding together. He holds you tightly, his grip both possessive and comforting at the same time.

The bulge of his clothed cock presses against your wetness, grinding against you with a desperate need. A small meek escapes your lips and it’s as though Theodore immediately swallows the sound, tongue slipping into your mouth as you continue to make out. It’s simultaneously lazy yet desperate - hungry.

"Fuck," Theodore murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with desire. "You're driving me insane." He mutters, trailing open-mouth kisses down your jaw and neck. You moan, arching your back as you tilt your head back, giving him easier access. He wastes no time in sucking and kissing the delicate skin of your neck, tongue soothing the places he nips at you, your skin blossoming red and purple.

His hand trails down your body, his fingertips tracing along the swell of your breasts. A low groan escapes your lips, hands coming up to thread through his hair. You tug lightly and feel him smile against your neck. With deliberate slowness, he undoes the lace on the back of your dress as he continues to press sloppy kisses to your skin, undoing the top as he tugs it down. He pulls back, eyes hungrily taking in the sight.

He flips you over with alarming ease, pinning you down onto the mattress as he hovers above you, holding your hands down by the side of your head as he begins kissing down your neck to your breasts.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, large hands coming up to cup one of them, the other holding your hands in place. He squeezes one of your nipples, pinching the bud lightly between his fingers as you gasp, arching off the bed. The sound is music to his ears, and he grins, his eyes remaining on you as he leans down and takes the other one into his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive bud as he pulls away, blowing lightly.

The contrast sends you into a haze, and a whimper escapes your lips. Theodore wants to devour the sound, he simply can’t get enough.

“Do you know how fucking long you’ve been on my mind?” He mutters, voice laced with desperation as he leans back down to kiss you, bulge grinding against your clothed cunt in a way that had you desperate for more. You can’t even formulate a response, because you’re all too consumed by Theodore. Everything about him.

He sits up slightly, hands resting on your thigh as he runs his hands up and down, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your dress.

You feel his fingers brush against the damp spot on your panties and swear that Theodore Nott will be the death of you.

Seemingly satisfied, a small smirk tugs at his lips, observing your reactions as he slowly pulls them down. He throws them to the side, and words cannot describe the look on his face as his eyes hungrily rake over you.

You needed him, every bone in your body ached with a visceral need for Theodore. Your hands come down to his belt, tugging at the buckle as you look over at Theodore, eyes glazed over as you were driven mad with your need for him.

He undoes his belt, the sound of the metal buckle clinking as he throws it onto your bed, unzipping his slacks. You can make out the bulge of his erection against his boxers and your heart skips a beat. You’re filled with this primal need to just have Theodore, you need as much of him as physically possible.

You tug his boxers down, freeing his strained erection from its confines. You swallow harshly at the sight of his cock, the tip glistening. You lean up to meet his lips in a kiss, your hands wrapping around his length as you give him a single jerk. You suddenly realise why Theodore was kissing you the way he was because the low groan that escaped Theodore's lips had you mad for more.

“Look at what you’ve done to me.” He murmurs, pushing you back onto the bed. He hiked the skirt of your dress up over your hips, eyes straying down as he spoke.

“You’ve unravelled every thread of control I have.” He says against your lips, teasingly running the head of his cock between your folds. A low moan escapes you, desperately seeking more friction.

“I’m going fucking crazy for you. I ache for you every second of the fucking day.” He mutters, and you pull back from the kiss, looking up at him.

“You have me now.” You respond.

His lips surge forward and meet yours in a kiss with renewed intensity, slowly thrusting into you.

You both let out a collective low groan as he slowly thrusts into you, and you can feel every inch of Theodore within, stretching you out so good you feel as though the simplest movement would split you open. A plethora of gasped curses escape your lips, but Theodore silences them instantly, coming down to kiss you deeply. He buried himself inside you fully, savouring the way you stretched to accommodate him, clenching tightly. He gives you a second to adjust before slowly pulling out. He rocks back in again, his moments slow and measured, but strained as though it’s taking every inch of self-restraint to not ravage you there and then.

“More. Don’t be nice.” You moan, and Theodores swears he won’t ever be the same again. One look at you, hair splayed out against the mattress, your back arched off the bed. It’s a sight he’d never forget.

“Don’t say shit like that. I’m already close to losing it.” He utters, voice strained as his hand grip your hips harshly, surely leaving imprints.

“Good. Ruin me.” You whisper, a fucked-out grin on your face.

Theodore groans, pulling out slightly before slamming back into you. You gasp, cursing as your hands grip Theodore's sheets. He sets a ruthless pace, fucking into you hard. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, though you’re sure it had to be muffled by the moans leaving your lips. It was only then that you were thankful for having a room all the way on the top floor. You both were too drunk to realise Muffliato did exist.

“God, you’re so fucking tight. Taking me so well. It’s like you were fucking made for my cock” Theodore groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. Your hands come up, running along his back as you lean up (to the best of your ability) to meet him in a kiss.

Theodore's forehead presses against yours, breaths mingling as he shifts slightly, before thrusting back into you. You can feel every inch of his cock brush against your walls, and you can’t help the pathetic plethora of moans and whimpers escaping your lips when he brushes against that spot, stoking a fire in your stomach.

“Theodore- Fuck! ‘m gonna…” You babble, and he lazily smirks, slowing down slightly as one hand tangles in your hair, tugging at it lightly. He experimentally plays with it for a second before harshly tugging your hair, eliciting another moan that felt like it came from the depths of your body, the line of pain and pleasure blurred.

“Hmm? You’ll have to speak up.” He hums, teasing you with shallow, slow thrusts.

You let out a whimper at the loss of contact, frustration gnawing at you as you look up at Theodore.

“Fuck, stop being such a tease. Please just..” You whimper, trailing off and he tuts, his grip on your hair tightening slightly as he forces you to look up at him.

“You have to tell me what you want. I don’t speak in half sentences, sweetheart.” He says, voice laced with an almost animalistic pleasure.

You groan, nails digging into Theodore's back as some slight form of retaliation.

“I’m gonna cum- please.” You say, breathlessly, and a small smirk tugs at his lips, his hand loosening its vice-like grip from your hair as it trails down the side of your face, his thumb running along your bottom lip.

“Good girl. Since you asked so nicely,” He muses, no longer teasing you with shallow thrusts as he wastes no time slamming back into you, cock brushing against your cervix. You moan, eyes rolling back as the heat in your stomach rises rapidly; the sensation of Theodore fucking into you was pure perfection.

“Theo…” You moan, breathlessly. He responds to you moaning his name with a harsh snap of his hips, nails digging into your hips as he grabs them tightly.

“Say it again.” He grunts, his thumb coming down to rub harsh circles against your neglected clit, sending a surge of electricity through you.

“Mmm- Ah, Fuck- Theo-“ You moan, and you’re sure you would have done it without him even asking.

“You close? Gonna cum on my cock?” He groans, and you’re sure you’ve become mush because you can’t respond, can’t think, your mind and body reduced down to one simple thing.

Theodore. Theodore, Theodore, Theodore.

You teeter impossibly close to your climax, nails scratching down his back. The sheer ecstasy was too much, and you felt like you couldn’t handle it but also like you needed more and more.

His eyes take over you, as if even though you're both inebriated, he tried to commit every little detail to memory, the way you moaned, mascara streaked around those eyes of yours.

His thrusts grow more intense, fingers working their magic against your clit as he brings you to your release. His relentless thrusts push you close to the edge over and over again,, eliciting a strangled moan from your lips as you feel his thrusts become sloppier, indicating that he was close. With what little strength you have left you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as his lips descend down onto you, ravishing you with messy kisses. It takes one last thrust for you to be sent hurtling over the edge, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips as your orgasm crashes through your body with frightening force. Your walls clench around Theodore's cock, eliciting a low groan from him as he chases his own release, eyes never leaving yours.

It’s positively sinful, but he’s sure he’s never seen a prettier sight.

“Fuck-“ He grunts, his movements becoming erratic as you feel him twitch inside you. your legs don’t give in, though you’re surprised you have the strength as the rest of your body convulses with the sheer intensity of your orgasm.

“So fucking perfect.” He gasps, and with one final thrust, he stalls, burying himself deep inside you as he groans, hands momentarily tightening their grip on your hips before relaxing slightly. He utters your name with reverence like a sinful prayer, coming down to press lazy kisses to your lips as he releases deep inside you.

You reciprocate the kisses, and embarrassingly whimper at the loss of contact as Theodore pulls out of you, collapsing down next to you. You’re both breathless, panting as you come down from a high you've never experienced before. The post-orgasmic haze lingers over you, making you feel impossibly sleepy. Your eyes flicker over to Theodore and it’s evident that he feels the same. Your eyes widen slightly when you see the red spattering along his neck, not realising when you had done that.

In any other situation, you both wouldn’t have done this in the first place. But the effects of the alcohol had you both giving into temptation, and you didn’t fully comprehend just how badly you both had fucked up.

You roll over, pressing a teasing kiss to the hollow of his throat as he tugs the blankets over the two of you, an arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. He rests his face in the crook between your neck and your shoulder, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder with an arm wrapped around your waist. You let out a small sigh of contentment, wrapping an arm around him as his hand massages your back and side lightly, the tender feeling sending you further into that sleepy state. The sheets smell of Theodore, and you find yourself (as you often did) consumed by him.

You and Theodore both fall asleep in each other's arms, holding onto one another as the night passes by.

You had fucked up, truly.

If only you knew the consequences your actions would bring in the morning.

You couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, for it was a known saying that drunk words are sober thoughts.

The same undeniably applied to actions too.

@llpovi @camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8

#harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #blaise zabini #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott angst #theodore nott smut

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norrisleclercf1 · 3 months

Note

Doctor Charles who starts doing teeny tiny gestures to show maybe he’s not such a dick and actually cares about you

A/N: Good ole Dr. Charles who is cold but warm with you

It was another hard shift, one where you just wanted to quiet your job. Dr. Charles was on the night shift with you and you couldn't help but cast glances his way. After that night where he forced you to sleep, you noticed that he was going easier on you than anyone else.

The others didn't like it, but you always stepped in when he went all Dr. Devil and he'd calm down and apologize leaving your coworkers in shock at the fact he'd go all nice whenever you were around. "Here," Jumping you open your eyes to see Charles sliding a protein bar your way.

"What's this for?" You ask, opening it and taking a bite. "You need to stay awake. Also, noticed you haven't eaten all day." He mumbles and passes off a chart. "Should put your glasses on." You pass, which has Charles turning, squinting at you. "Why?" "Your handwriting is atrocious right now, noticed it gets worse the more your eyes get tired. Here," You slide his glasses out of your pockets and hand them to him.

"You left these at the last trauma." Charles just nods, and gently takes them and slides them on. "Thanks," He turns and walks off leaving you with a slight blush.

--------------------------

"Dammit, just can't you work!" You kick your med cart, as you couldn't get your simple insulin out for your regular. "Stop," Charles rushes over and grabs your foot as you go to kick the cart again. "I just want my stupid insulin for Walter." You snap, as Charles gently steps back with you.

"This is my trick for this one." Charles moves and shoves the drawer in and lifts up before pulling it back and revealing your insulin. "How'd you know that? Don't know many doctors who pull their own meds." You move and grab the vial.

"I did my internship here when I was a newly graduated medical student. Would help the nurses." You stare at him like he's grown another head at the reveal. "What? I was nice, once." Charles moves and closes the draw walking off.

---------------------------

He couldn't help but watch you as you helped a kid who was in an accident. He loves watching you work, ever since he let you take that nap he refused to see you that burnt out again. Especially when he's the one that caused it. Charles wanted nothing more than to see you smile all the time, he knew what the other nurses called him and he could care less as long as you were smiling at him.

Charles didn't even know he was moving until he was behind you and smiling at the boy. "Hi there, I'm Charles." The kid smiles as you clean his wound. The boy was crying but seemed to stop seeing Charles. "What's your name?" Charles pulls a stool over and sits down and starts cleaning the other scraps.

"Andy." The kid whispers and Charles nods, "I like that name, how old are you?" Andy smile and pulls his hands back showing he's 5. "5? That's a great age, I remember being five. I really loved cars." Andy giggles and moves closer to charles. "I like red cars," "So do I!" Charles and Andy laugh and you have to stop yourself from melting as you get Andy all cleaned up and transferred to Peds.

"Hey, Charles?" Charles turns as he waved off Andy. "What's up?" You take a deep breath and smile. "Will you go on a date with me?" You wait as you see Charles smile grow wide. "Yeah,"

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months

Text

Carpe Diem | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After himself being ditched by Oliver, they meet once again. Both seemingly skirting around what happened in the Common Room when they last saw one another. | Word Count: 5.1k~ (oops) | Warnings below the cut!

Part One: Quid Pro Quo Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

A/N: I feel...like the word count is overboard but FUCK IT it's my blog 😈

“Greek and Latin both belong to the Indo-European language family, which does not necessarily mean they are similar. The branches are totally different. Whereas Latin belongs to the Romance branch, Greek belongs to the…”

She half-listens to the lecture, caught between Professor Wardon’s monotone ramblings and scribbling whatever bits and pieces she can string together in swirly handwriting, trying to ignore Trevor two rows in front of her, typing loudly on his brand new Macbook that he no doubt got from his well-off parents for Christmas.

Pencil and paper for the peasants, she thinks bitterly.

The laptop she has back in her dorm is clunky, too thick for carrying in her bag, and any notes she makes now will have to be typed up meticulously later. She supposes it’s a good way of getting the information to be irreparably printed into her brain though. That’s the only thing keeping her from going insane.

Which is where she finds herself now, in the wee hours of the morning, her fingers so tired and eyes so strained she feels that all the letters and characters are beginning to merge together.

She's just about to close the damn thing when a notification blares in the bottom right corner of her screen.

‘m_gav_314159265359 is now online’

She presses her lips together to stifle a laugh at the username, it makes her giggle every time. Of course his username is fucking Pi.

After their little ‘happening’ in the Common Room, they'd talked for a bit over MSN, sometimes texting when she had enough credit and even more rarely meeting up at Trinity College campus. Their timetables never seemed to line up very often, so their meetings were quick and over before they could even get settled into really getting to know each other.

It felt strange to have done something so exciting and yet not really know someone.

The memory made her blush. She was never usually that impulsive and brazen. But she didn't regret it.

Everytime Michael saw her, his cheeks flushed almost without her even needing to try. And it felt nice to see someone act like that in her presence.

After lectures had started after Christmas into the New Year and then into Spring, she found herself somewhat self-conscious. Second guessing herself. Wondering if the freedom and calmness of the holiday period had given him a new sense of clarity.

After all, he'd not spoken to her once since lectures had started again.

A heaviness weighed in her chest, bitterly like rejection.

Maybe she was delirious from the time of night, but she felt a surge of courage, desperately wanting to just know if this was going to be more or not.

She felt her cheeks heat somewhat, rubbing the backs of her knuckles against her lips. There was no time to reply before he sent another.

And if what he'd said before didn't make her face burn, that certainly did. She nearly smirked when she thought to herself, 'you mean when I sucked you off in the Common Room?'

But she didn't type that. She decided to have mercy on him, if only a little.

His replies were so blunt and to the point that they were so quintessentially Michael. She found herself wondering if what he'd typed before had been for the intention of making her blush, but she doubted it. He seemed the type to be somewhat oblivious to how words could affect the opposite sex.

Or anything to do with the opposite sex for that matter.

Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she typed off a few quick goodbyes and with a soft, plastic tap, shut her laptop for the night.

“There are no fit guys in my class this semester, fucking livid,” Priya rolls her eyes, nursing a stale pint and a cigarette.

“Did you really expect Modern Languages to be teeming with attractive men?” She smirks in response.

“No. But I at least expected a good shag within the first three months.”

“Does they have to be within our course?”

“No, course not. I'm not lazy as fuck. Can’t be arsed to go off campus.”

She laughs, waving the smoke trail that's formed between their faces, the smell of cigarettes and damp, beer-soaked carpets fill her senses, nursing the only pint she's capable of downing.

“Don't shit where you eat, Priya.”

“Don't you fuckin’ start,” she grins with all her perfect teeth before checking her phone, “fuck, is that the time. Sorry mate you've got like half your pint left-”

“Don't be silly, just go. Whoever you're meeting is bound to have a bigger cock than me anyway.”

“You're a nasty bitch, you know that?” she smiles, standing and pulling her mini-skirt down, “see you later? Catch up?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Have fun!”

“Oh I will!”

She smiles, sipping the stale beer as Priya rushes out the door excitedly tapping the keypads on her phone in reply to a guy no-doubt, nearly running right into a lamppost.

She pulled out her own phone, spotting a new message from the ex-boyfriend she hadn’t heard a peep out of since Freshers Week, groaning with a displeased expression at the first few lines of text that read as if he were desperate. Even over the crackling sound of the speakers and Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’ lulling quietly through the pub, she was still sensitive to the sound of his voice.

“-get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.”

She had to crane her neck, half-swivelled on her chair, but it was undoubtedly him. Only one person had that hissy, direct way of speaking, had dirty, blonde hair that touched the nape of his neck and was likely to wear such an…interesting selection of clothes.

Her mouth was barely open before she realised it was Michael, and by then he was too far away to shout from across a busy pub. She found herself with a sort of stupid grin, watching him walk with such a lanky gait, as if walking were an inhuman thing for him to do.

It took her a few moments to text back a reply to her ex before she looked up again, eyebrows furrowed when she saw that whoever Michael had been with, was now umming and ahhing about whether to join the popular lot, for which she recognised Felix Catton amongst them, shockingly ill-dressed in a ‘what happens in Kassiopi stays in Kassiopi’ t-shirt, with a cigarette between his lips that had been inhaled to a nub.

She grimaced. Only rich people could dress so fucking shocking.

And then her heart leapt in a different way when she saw Michael look distantly at Oliver, his hand half-raised in an awkward wave, his face crumbling in a way where she knew he was disappointed and yet, not surprised in the slightest.

It was when Michael pushed his glasses up his nose in a way she couldn’t help but find sweet and go for the door, that she slipped from the stool she was on, a quarter of her pint left, and took off after him.

“Michael!”

The late winter air nipped at her skin, cursing internally that his legs were so fucking long he could stride a hell of a lot further than her.

“Michael!”

It wasn’t hard to see the glint of his glasses lenses off the streetlights once he’d turned to face her, his lips parted in surprise and a heat rising to his cheeks.

He swallowed visibly, “H-hey..”

She felt her own heart rattle in her chest at how easy it was to fluster him, “Hey, you alright?”

For a moment, the self-proclaimed mathematical genius seemed genuinely lost for words, his throat closing up on him like he was having a sort of allergic reaction to the opposite sex. So with all that, he simply nodded, his hands clenched as if not knowing what to do with them.

“Sorry about your mate, that was a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh, he’s…he’s not my mate.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together to warm them from the chill, “d’you wanna go somewhere?”

Michael’s eyes behind his glasses widened, “like…together?”

“No, I’ll make you go off on your own,” she grinned, “yes together!”

He huffed an embarrassed but elated laugh, and only now her eyes studied his shirt, cocking her head in amusement at the ‘that’s how I roll’ shirt with what looked like a maths equation beneath it. The actual meaning was lost on her, but it was so dorky it made her smile.

“U-uh, my mum bought it me for Christmas...” he muttered quickly to which she cracked an even bigger smile, the two of them laughing quietly for a moment before he spoke up again.

“Do you wanna come to mine?” he asked, and it was so direct it made her blink, her lungs feeling as if they were fluttering, “I mean-my dorm.”

She wet her lips from the dry cold, watching how nervous and twitchy he was. And how it reminded her of the last time they were alone together.

“Like…catch up or something. I-I’ve got alcohol if you-”

“That’d be lovely, Michael.”

He at least seemed grateful that she’d actually replied to save him from rambling, and even cracked a thin-lipped smile himself, clearly and delightfully nervous. Thirty-minutes ago, he’d have never considered this to be the ending to his evening.

Michael’s room is disturbingly tidy, she wonders if he actually even lives here. It’s like those university rooms that they take photos of to advertise the ‘spacious’ and ‘community-driven’ atmosphere of campus life.

At least it was clean, she mused as Michael passed her a bottle of the only alcohol he had, which were lukewarm WKDs.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking a sugary sip and looking about the room. Michael has since cracked open his own drink, but seems disinterested in it as it rests on his bouncing knee, looking up at her from where he’s sat on his desk chair from under his brow.

His laptop sits shut, pencils in a neat line next to it. His walls are bare, with what she can only assume are blue tack marks from the previous tenant’s last year. With the exception of a wall-mounted calendar next to his desk.

“No posters? Was hoping I could be nosy, see what you like.”

When she turns back to Michael he quickly looks down as if not wanting to be caught staring, “It’d just be maths stuff.”

“And Carol Vorderman?” she teases mindlessly, not catching the way his cheeks go alight.

She hums an amused laugh behind the bottle at her lips, “It’s very tidy.”

When he just replies with a shrug, she scoots off the bed to have a roam about the place, needing only a few steps to cross the room to his bookcase, filled to the brim neatly with books. She runs her finger along some of the spines.

“You’re not going to mess anything up are you?”

She laughs, coming out more of a snort, which makes her cheeks warm, “Sorry. Just curious about your books. ‘Mathematics of Language. Sounds like a bit of me and you.”

There’s that flush again.

That deer in the headlights look.

“Uh…just sounded interesting.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

She smirks, “interesting.”

There’s a silence that for a moment neither of them are able to shake.

Michael swallows visibly, “don’t know yet..”

She sees something in his expression when a playful smile lifts across her face, suddenly the memories and implications of what they’d done before now weighing heavily on them. And all at once, he’s able to smell the body scrub she’d used in the shower that morning and eyes flitting to the glint of her stud earrings. He’d remembered brushing past them with his fingers when her mouth wrapped around his-

“And who says you’re not a languages man?” she presses with a teasing lilt to her voice. The tone and sing-songy nature of her voice has his heart doing backflips, feeling as if he could feel the erratic beating between his ribs.

Michael seems stuck in the position he finds himself as she lazily crosses the room, slipping back on his bed, one hand brushing across his bedsheets and the other setting the drink on his bedside table. For a long moment, his eyes couldn’t leave her. The whole situation was suitably extraordinary. A girl who had come onto him (to say the least) was now in his room, sat on his bed, touching his things…all while wearing something he personally deemed unsuitable for the cold, a dress with black tights beneath.

She turns her head to him, smiling, “you seem nervous.”

He swallows, trying to claw at any sort of reply, “is that an accusation?”

It comes out a bit harsher than he probably expected, but instead of recoiling, she bites her lip as if to stifle a full-toothed grin, “an observation.”

He shrugs, “just never had a girl in here before.”

“Worried I’ll mess up your feng shui?”

“My what?”

She genuinely laughs at that, nearly smacking her head on the bed frame, but a hearty chuckle all the same. And Michael doesn’t know why his own cheeks start to heat up at that, taking this opportunity that her eyes are shut to look down at her legs. For some reason, making her laugh just makes him want to try more.

He’s never had that feeling before. Wanting to make someone laugh.

“No, really, my what.”

She meets his eyes brightly with her own, “feng shui, it’s like…the vibe of a room, a space. Like, how you place your furniture or whatever.”

Michael raises a brow, his lip quirking on one side, “sounds like bullshit.”

“It probably is.” she laughs.

“Can I ask you something?”

The quick u-turn and tone in conversation has her eyes meet his nervously, her interest and curiosity piqued. Her hands find themselves nervously stroking her legs, the texture of the tights providing some level of comfort, “yeah sure.”

She can't quite figure out what expression he's trying to put on. His brows are furrowed in judgement and a curious sense of guarding himself. And yet he's sat back in his seat, looking at her like he is trying to figure her out, and yet wants to know why she is the way she is.

“Why did you do that?”

She blinks at the accusatory and monotone rhythm of his way of speaking.

“Do what.”

“Don't play stupid. Doesn't suit you.”

She nearly scoffs at that, “what? Why have you gone all weird all of a sudden?”

“Why did you do…that at the Christmas party?”

She shrugs and shakes her head, as if the answer should be obvious, “because I wanted to? And you didn't seem to mind either.”

“I didn't-that's not the point!” he retorts, “are you genuinely taking the mick out of me?”

“You've asked that before and no.”

“Well why then?”

“Is it not enough to really think that I find you interesting? And nice to talk to?”

Of all the things she expected Michael Gavey to go quiet at, it certainly wasn't that. But she watches him all the same, the line between his brow slowly disappearing as his frown vanishes.

She cocks her head, “and not bad looking either.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it!”

“Nobody wants the fucking maths virgin-”

“Michael. I don't give a fuck about that,” she says calmly, “Hell, I was a virgin not that long ago. You keep saying ‘nobody wants the virgin’ but you can't keep using that as an excuse just because you're embarrassed you haven't done anything.”

He sighs, like he doesn't want to believe her. And she can hardly believe how self-deprecating and yet direct this man can be in a single breath.

“Look, if you don't want to talk to me, I can always go-”

Almost as soon as she is stood, he is too, one large hand wrapped around her forearm, “No.”

They've been sat so long, she had almost forgotten how tall he was, and the difference between them briefly has her tummy doing back flips. From here, she is able to smell whatever body wash he uses, and if she had to guess, probably blue radox.

“No, I didn't say I wanted you to go. Stay…”

He doesn't say ‘please’ once, and yet she's able to hear the desperation.

When she doesn't move, his grip loosens, and she feels tingly all over when his hand slides up her arm.

“Can I kiss you again like last time?”

She almost smiles in adoration at how he asks it, but for the sake of saving him the embarrassment of thinking she's laughing at him, settles for a simple and gentle nod of her head. She is sure she's not really thought it through. Weighing up the pros and cons isn't exactly the first thing on her mind right now though as Michael has to bend significantly to crash his lips to hers.

Much like last time, he is a bit endearingly clumsy, his lips moving quickly on hers like he's running a race with his mouth. This time there is no pool table for him to cage her against, but all the same his legs take him forwards until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

By the time he is on top of her, she's managed to weave her fingers through his hair, her nose nudging against his glasses every now and then, and guiding him with her own movements to slow down and enjoy the moment, with no need to rush.

She knows that secretly he's probably just excited.

But this time, his hands are extremely active.

She's unable to help the breathy whimper between desperate kisses as he tentatively squeezes her thighs, not quite brave enough to go beneath the dress yet and drifting upwards to her breasts, touching and clutching fondly, as if any harsh grip or movement and she'll get up and leave.

He's still unsure, maybe even nervous, she can feel it.

It's here she realises that whether he is doing it subconsciously or not, she can feel the strained bulge at the front of his trousers rubbing up against the inside of her leg, probably chasing friction that feels too good for him to feel lucid.

“Can I see you…” he asks as his lips break away.

She doesn't even reply, she just complies, pulling the sleeves of her dress over her shoulders and the bra straps along with it. The position she's in making it near impossible to reach behind her.

If she could print his face in her mind as she pulled her dress down to her ribs, she would. He looks entirely mesmerised in adoration, and once the only thing covering her breasts is the thin material of her bra, Michael looks at her with an almost dream-like gaze.

His hand moves before his mouth, or at least before he catches himself, “Is it oka-”

“Course..” she says far too quickly.

All she can hear as Michael pulls the thin straps of her bra fully down her arms, exposing her breasts, is his breath, staggered and uneven. His hand easily covers one of her breasts, squeezing experimentally, his thumb gently drifting over her nipple and watching them stiffen to needy buds.

She doesn’t need to look between them to see how hard he is, she can feel him against her thigh, where her dress has since ridden up to her hips.

His glasses knock against her chest as he leans down, all-too-carefully covering her nipple with his tongue, like he is trying to print the taste of them to memory.

There is an unconscious desire to press her thighs together, but she settles for rolling her hips, causing Michael’s voice to rumble against her chest where he mouths at her breasts. One hand forever stays at the one he isn’t paying lip service to, testing the weight and shape in his palms.

It feels like all sensitivity has been turned up to 1000. He is so slow, so unsure, that every languid movement has every nerve feel as if it’s on fire. A selfish part of her wants him to go faster, so used to the fervent, almost rushing nature of who she’d been with before. It was never like this, borderline worshipping.

“Michael…” she breathes, rolling her hips against him experimentally, rewarded with a low whine from him.

She watched as her nipple slips from his lips in the most erotic manner she’d ever seen, before his clear eyes are on her again.

“Is this okay? Am I doing something wr-”

“No,” she shakes her head quickly, “feels nice.”

Michael licks his lips, a sign of how nervous he is, “Can I do something else?”

He is so eager to please, to learn, that looking at his face as he asks she can hardly deny him. And her head moves without effort, nodding as she watches his hand disappear beneath the hem of her dress to pull her tights down her legs.

It then becomes obvious what he wants to do.

“Are you sure, I-”

“I’m sure.” he adds, rolling the black nylon down her legs until all that is left between Michael and her bare skin below her hips, is her underwear. A flush of embarrassment engulfs her face at the thought of how aroused she might be, knowing he has no experience, she doesn’t want to scare him off. The tender and yet needy way he’d mouthed at her breasts had her body all warm, and she can’t remember the last time she’d been this ready for anything.

“I just want to do the same for you as you did for me. Make you feel good.”

And that certainly doesn’t help that feeling either.

She’s not sure if she will get tired of the sight of his long, lithe fingers gripping her thighs apart, and for a moment she finds herself entranced by the view, until he is pressing sweet kisses to the inside of them. Open-mouthed, with an addictive cooling sensation when he pulls away, only to edge closer to the centre of her underwear.

Her breath remains stuck in her chest as she watches him navigate the female body, mapping it out in his head. She knows better than to say anything, knowing him as she does now, he is immensely competitive, and wants to get things right. It’s likely if she stepped in to instruct him, it would only embarrass him more. So she stays quiet, and lets him come to her.

His thumb dips beneath the leg hole of her underwear, “Can I?”

She swallows visibly, now for some reason it’s her being the nervous one. Possibly because the first time, it was her doing something for him. And now, it is very much the feeling of being studied, of being watched to see what made her tick. A feeling that has her desperate for some kind of fulfilment. Anything.

She lifts her hips to help him slide her underwear down her legs, her cheeks warming at being so utterly exposed to him herself for the first time. There is a finality to it that she just can’t quite put into words. A point of no return.

A full body shudder made its way through her when she felt his thumb trail across the spot where her leg met her hip, trailing the line there that led to her sensitive womanhood.

Michael looked as if he was being presented with an equation, she could practically hear the thoughts in his head. But beyond not entirely knowing what to do, it didn't dissuade his curiosity.

She could tell though, that he didn't know what to do.

Michael nearly flinched when she took his hand, encouraging his thumb to touch her bundle nerves hidden between her folds.

She watched him as his thumb cautiously collected the wetness that had begun to come out of her and used it to gently apply pressure to her clit. Breath was hot in her chest as he started slowly.

“Does that feel good?” He asked softly.

As soon as she nodded, confirming how pleasurable it was, Michael's first reaction was to go faster. And so he did. Like he was trying to light a fire.

“No, no, no, it's fine to go slow.”

“Shit, sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “just more gentle.”

The panic on his face had been clear. But at her gentle instruction, she saw him relax, taking her words and applying gentle pressure in slower, tighter circles. And it seemed Michael was now fully aware of its intended effect, as his eyes were able to lift up to hers underneath the rim of his glasses to see her breathing had increased, and blood rushing to her cheeks.

It felt incredible to watch his expressions, she thought. Seeing the little thoughts rattling around in his head, to be able to awaken something in him for the first time. But it also felt utterly exposing, and every time his thumb drew circles against her clit, she heard the soft click of her arousal that made the room feel as if she were inside an oven.

Michael’s lips parted, his head moving as if pulled by an invisible string to her core.

“Can I…?” he asked again, but more uncertain this time.

The anticipation gnaws so much at her skin, combined with the way he is taking his time that she has become somewhat impatient, so it’s completely involuntary when she nods her head and somehow manages a whispered ‘yes’.

She doesn't really, really know what's wrong with her. She's had head before. But when he dives between her thighs so quickly and eagerly, his thumbs almost pulling her skin gently to expose as much of her as he can, and swiping his tongue over the centre. From her entrance, all the way to her bundle of nerves.

It has her breath stuck in her chest, instinctively reaching down to run her fingers through his sandy hair. Even the slightest tug on it has a low groan vibrating through her where his mouth moves slowly against her.

“Michael…”

At first he is careful, taking the instruction she'd given him before and applying it to tasting her instead. But his eyes flit up to her when she breathes his name like that, so he redoubles his efforts, gripping the underside of her thighs to tug her towards him in a teasing rhythm.

She didn't really know what to expect, assuming he hadn't done anything like this before. But Michael seems eager to please, as he nudges between her sensitive folds to tease her entrance with his tongue, the sharp shape of his nose butting against her bud with every movement, as little as it is.

With one hand in his hair, her hips move against his face, the glasses perched on his face hanging askew. And all she can see is that his eyes are closed as he tastes her, every now and then he makes a noise between a whine and a moan, as if he didn't want the experience to end.

Dragging his tongue back up to her bud to focus his attention there, Michael experimentally slides one long, slender digit easily inside her, pleased at the breathy sound it seems to elicit from her. Two feelings at once, just as she'd given him before.

“Oh, shit-”

He fights the urge to smirk when he hears that. She's so warm and wet, that it's easy to slide in the second, feeling her walls suck him in as they clamp around his fingers moving in and out of her. It's a feeling he couldn't describe if he tried, and he daren't think of what she'd feel like around his cock, or if she'd let him.

She can feel her stomach muscles tightening, an orgasm bubbling up to the surface when he gains confidence, flicking her swollen clit with his tongue and pistoning two fingers with a pornographically wet smack into her over and over. Brushing that sweet spot inside that he manages to find sometimes, seemingly without realising.

“Michael - fuck - I'm gonna-”

He groans as her fingers tug at his hair, her hips grinding herself against him and chasing that delicious friction as her high barrels through her, sparking pleasure down each notch of her spine until it fizzles out through her limbs.

She can feel Michael grinding himself against the bed, searching for his own, as he maintains his actions, lapping up everything she gives him with determination. When she dares to look down at him, as if he can sense it, his eyes open to watch her expression, the blue of his eyes nearly entirely eclipsed by black.

As if something had been awoken in him that even he couldn't recognise he'd wanted.

With one last swipe of his tongue over her centre, Michael withdraws his fingers, gripping her thigh with them and making the skin there glisten.

Her cheeks feel as if they're on fire when he rights himself to his knees before her, looking down at her with admiration at how she is still essentially half naked. The tightness at the front of his jeans makes it obvious how he felt about what he'd just done.

Engrossed by watching her breasts move as she breathes heavily, the slight shimmer of sweat on her collarbones, Michael raises his hand to his face, using his palm to wipe her slick from his lips and chin.

She breaks the silence with a tired laugh when he pushes his glasses back up his face, one half of the lenses completely fogged up. It prompts him to laugh too.

“Was I okay?”

This time she doesn't hold back her smile at the way he asks it. As if she hadn't just shaken with the force of her high all over his face.

She nods, “More than okay.”

He seems genuinely relieved.

She bites her lip as she looks at him, his cheeks all tinged pink, his mind reeling at what they'd just done.

He doesn't know what to say or do, and she can see it.

“Do you fancy having a girlfriend, Michael?” she asks.

“Uh…I've never had one, not properly anyway.”

“Yes, but would you like one?”

She watches the bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallows heavily, “Y-yeah…”

She pushes herself up to meet him where he's knelt, admiring his features for a moment, before leaning forward to kiss him, encouraging him to kiss her back. It takes a second for him to respond, but when he does, it's needy, teeth and tongues clashing as the musky taste of her is captured on him.

“Tell you what, after your exams, when you can relax, I'll be your proper girlfriend. In every way..”

His breath comes out shuddered against her lips, “what do you mean?..”

She wets her lips as she smirks, “I think you know exactly what I mean, Michael.”

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing him blushed and bothered.

And when they're both dressed, sharing awkward giggles and nervous kisses, she gives him a look with a cock of her head as he checks his wall-mounted Countdown-themed calendar.

“What you looking for?”

“My last exam is the 15th. There's exactly 12,246 minutes between now and then and all I'm going to be thinking about is whether you'll really be my girlfriend or not.”

She nearly smiles at the fact he does the maths so quickly. 8 days, 12 hours and 6 minutes until his last exam. And even though she's made it clear she wants him, he's still unsure.

She meets his gaze, unable to hide the grin off her face, “Better get studying then. You've only got 12,245 minutes left until you've got me.”

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munariplans · 5 months

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hi there! hope ur doing well. i love ur writing and have been wondering if you could do a story about reader disappearing on the teams day off. natasha who has a crush on reader notices and spys on reader to see if she’s meeting up with someone. instead it’s just reader being a good person and helping people along the way. making natasha fall in love with her even more.

days off | natasha romanoff

synopsis: based on the request above! thank you anon for your submission :)

natasha romanoff x reader

word count: 3.3k words

a/n: requests and asks are always open

masterlist

“what are you doing?” natasha asked you shyly, her figure leaning against the frame of the kitchen entrance. she watched your hands skilfully kneading the dough on the counter over and over again, folded into a neat rectangle before being flattened and folded again in the next moment. behind you, pans were sizzling with the mouth-watering fragrance of scrambled eggs being cooked on the stove, and the oven let out a ding right as she stepped closer, telling you that it was preheated and ready.

you let the dough rest, before putting a pre-prepared one in the oven and finally turning to her. “making breakfast,” you said, matter-of-factly, “for the team.”

“but it’s our off-day,” she replied, “and we have chefs in the compound.”

you smiled. “well, i just thought it would be nice to have something homemade, for once. my mother taught me how to cook, and i figured i’d spend the morning of the day-off in the kitchen, where i’ll be busy, and…the thoughts wouldn’t be so loud.”

natasha folded her arms over herself as you came closer. you noticed she had just come back from the gym. she probably hadn’t had anything to eat.

carefully slicing the freshly baked bread into halves, you took a pair out of the perfect symmetry and placed them on the plate, before ladling a helping of the scrambled eggs, taking a few pieces of bacon out of the other pan, and placing a piece of hash brown right on top, before covering it with the other half of the bread. she watched you work, methodically, seamlessly. you looked like you had been doing it for years.

then, you wrapped the sandwich quickly, and wrote her initials, N.R. with a smiley on top of the wrapper, before handing it to her. she was taken aback, and slightly red when she looked at the sandwich being offered to her.

“i-it’s…” she stuttered, heart beating quickly when she realised she hadn’t exactly taken the sandwich, but hadn’t rejected your offer, either.

“i want you to be my first taster. if it’s good, i’ll call the team down to have it as well. and if it’s bad…” you shrugged, half-laughing in anticipation as natasha finally took it, taking a small bite in front of you.

she took a moment to chew, face in contemplation, as if she were assessing a fine dining establishment before you. you began taking off your apron, deciding to let the chefs help you take over for the serving of the food later on, and started packing your things.

just before you left, however, you noticed natasha fully into the entryway of the kitchen again, sandwich half-eaten.

“it’s okay,” she said nonchalantly, wiping a little bit off the ends of her lips. “it’s edible.”

you nodded, hiding a smile. “okay means good. i’ll tell the team to come down, then.”

natasha shrugged this time, as if saying if that’s what you want. when you left to shower, however, she smiled quietly to herself, and after making sure that no one was around, did a little happy dance from one of the most delicious sandwiches she had ever eaten. it was more than okay, it was the best breakfast she had ever had. she only wished she had the courage to tell you so.

the redhead then tore the part of your handwriting of her initials off the wrapper, and kept it in her pocket for the rest of the day.

–

natasha never really knew what to do on her day-offs. it felt weird, to be sitting around doing nothing. she could do her remaining paperwork, but she knew if tony caught her, he would ban her from working on it at all for a week, leaving her even more bored and restless.

she could sleep in, or explore new york for the day, but she wasn’t fully confident that her russian accent wouldn’t throw the average new yorker off yet. it also didn’t help that ever since her joining the avengers, there was always someone around the block who recognised who she was, who let their eyes rake over her figure for far too long, who made her feel uncomfortable when they got too close to ask for a picture. the others never seemed to mind, but she did.

she noticed you always seemed to step in when it got too much; telling the fans that enough was enough, or simply holding her waist and slowly whisking her away from their prying eyes and grubby hands. she threw her head back onto her pillow at the thought of your hands on her waist again. natasha seriously needed to stop thinking about you, and her festering crush, whenever she had the opportunity. she needed to busy herself.

but when you appeared in the commons right as she stepped out of her room to ask what you planned to do on your day-off, you were in your coat and scarf, prepared to head out. the rest of the team was still lazily lounging around the area, in a dazed state from the aftermath of your coma-inducing breakfast.

“where are you going?” she asked, not wanting to pry too much, but still allowing herself to feed her own curiosity.

she hated that you always replied with a tone that seemed like it was painfully obvious what you were doing. “out.”

“i know, but–”

“hey romanoff, are you still coming for the basketball game later? steve needs to book the seats.” tony called out to her before she could finish the sentence. he asked you too, but you reaffirmed with him that you weren’t coming.

you shifted your scarf slightly, turning your attention back to her. “you ever been to a basketball game before? you’ll like it. the warriors are something else.”

natasha shook her head. you knew she had never been. but it didn’t mean that she wanted to go, not without you around. but she also didn’t have the courage to ask if she could tag along to wherever you were going. she knew her limits.

you didn’t seem to take the hint of her wanting to come along, despite her readily asking if you were going to meet someone, or if you were just going out alone, and if you had plans for after. you simply waved her goodbye, and told her to enjoy the game with the team.

she sighed in irritation when you left, much to the amusement of clint behind her. “does she have a girlfriend or something? is that what she’s using her day-offs for?”

if clint wasn’t already hiding his grin, his friend’s newfound annoyance at your departure definitely made him let out a chuckle. “not that i know of.”

natasha didn’t have much to do that day, and it wasn’t like she was particularly looking forward to the game either, so she decided to spend her day-off the only way she knew how, using her spying skills and finding out what you were doing with yours.

–

in retrospect, natasha knew that you probably wouldn’t have liked being stalked, or followed around without her telling you why, or even simply her not taking the initiative to just ask, when you would have told her willingly of what you spent your breaks on.

she followed you into the university uptown, where natasha knew you guest-lectured in between longer breaks from missions. she just never expected you to come in on your days-off as well.

you tapped your card in to the science department of the school, while natasha snuck past the security guard after causing a well-crafted distraction. when you entered the lockers to change into your lab coat, natasha waited patiently outside like a schoolgirl hiding from their crush. she supposed she wasn’t so different from one then.

it was only when you walked down the halls into a room guarded by a facial recognition scan, that natasha finally got to know that she a) wasn’t being so discreet after all, or b) you were a better agent than you let on to her. she should have known that you didn’t get promoted through the ranks so fast, so young, without reasons.

the machine scanned your face, and as the door unlocked, you stood there for a moment, holding it wide open, before leaning your head to the side, one eye locked with hers.

“do you want to come in and see as well, or do you plan on just waiting for me until i finish?”

if clint had seen the embarrassment on her face, along with the walk of shame she had to put on to enter the room with you, he would have certainly made her the laughing stock of the compound for the day.

–

you drew up a chair for natasha as you went to your usual work station, a little early for your patient. in the few minutes that the two of you were alone, you hadn’t engaged her at all, simply directing her to sit and watch, while you prepared your materials and waited for your lab assistant. natasha was a little unnerved, and in awe at your professionalism, at the same time.

you clicked your tongue in slight annoyance as your assistant came in five minutes late, reminding him, almost naggingly, that you only had one day-off per week, and it was precious time that he was wasting for the both of you. he apologised, and got to work helping you set up what looked like a robotic prosthetic leg, on your station.

the lab was pristine; white-tiled walls and floors scrubbed clean with a very strong stench of antiseptic ensuring to even the most sceptic of minds that you knew what you were doing, and that the lab was clean; if the multiple diagrams of your inventions on the walls and the prototypes lining the shelves around her were not enough proof. you had never told her you had a lab.

a few minutes later, two knocks on the door were heard, and your assistant rushed over to open the door for a man no younger than seventy, hobbling in with great difficulty as he tried to offer help with his support, only to be rejected with a wave of his hand and an upbeat smile. he was an amputee.

oh. this was what your days-off were for.

“hello, mr. miller. you look cheerful today.” you got up from your seat to shake his hand. he took your support this time, leading himself to the plush armchair placed across your station.

he laughed, rough and loud. “david, how many times have i come in here and asked you to call me?”

you smiled sheepishly. “sorry, david. let me help you with this.”

he winced as you kneeled down beside him, outstretching his prosthetic leg and inspecting it. your assistant took notes as you made observations of the various deficiencies and defects it suffered through david’s use of it for the past six months. natasha watched as your hands, the ones that would hold her at night when she cried, the ones that punched the faces of enemies trying to get to her, the very same hands that made her breakfast that morning, ran over the intricate details and bolts and nuts of the prosthetic leg she learned you made just for david, knowing what was wrong just by the feel and touch of them. she adored those hands so much.

then, you helped him take off the prosthetic, instructing your assistant to hold his hand in encouragement as he winced at the removal. “there we go. wasn’t so bad this time, right? and the leg did hold up quite well, for six months.”

“well, you do maintenance to it every week,” david patted your back, “hard to fuck it up so bad when you fix it up every time i try to, right?”

you laughed, and natasha stopped herself from smiling. at your signal, the assistant brought forth the limb that you both had been working on to replace david’s old one for the past year, shiny and new. the man positively gleamed at the sight of it.

“ready for a bit of a change, though, mr. miller?”

“now, that is a beauty,” he said as his eyes latched on, before they inevitably noticed natasha sat at the corner of where the limb was, and she swore he held recognition for her instantly.

you followed his gaze, before his met yours, and the playful smirk he let out was all that you needed to know that he knew. “is that your…”

“...friend, natasha,” you replied him quickly, eyes slightly panicked and subtly, not so subtly, shaking your head to ask him to stop before he let out your little secret.

“is she the one–”

“–yes, david. she’s the one.”

he finally caught the hint, and chuckled to himself as he waved hi to her. she waved back, no doubt in confusion of the connection between him and her. she made a mental note to ask you about it later.

–

when the new leg was fitted on him, david was practically almost jumping for joy at the new flexibility and strength it gave him. his laughter was infectious, as natasha quickly learned, when it caught up to her after it caught you and the assistant, as well.

“look at the reflexes! and fluidity of this thing!” no longer was he hobbling and exerting his entire strength on the one leg, it was almost as if the leg was natural and part of him itself, as david brought you in for a hug enthusiastically.

you hugged him back, still grinning. “amazing right, what science can do for you. soon, the future of prosthetics is going to change, and we can make so many more lives better in our community.”

“you two are amazing, simply amazing!” david exclaimed, even as he finally accepted the assistant’s help in testing out the other features of the prosthetic.

–

natasha stayed until the end of the day for you, when david’s tests were complete and he was all but ready to leave.

“and to what i owe you this time, again?” he asked. you knew he didn’t have much, it was the sole reason you took him on for the project; but the fact that he remained so grateful, always offering payment, even when you had repeatedly rejected him, always touched you.

“for you to come back next week, as always. and to thank mr. parker here for all his efforts. i couldn’t have done all this without him.”

your assistant looked like he was going to cry at the recognition and hug david gave him. “doing a good job, kid.”

you held the door open for david then, and he stole one last glance at natasha before he left. “you know, your girlfriend here really is a genius, ms. black widow. the best of her–”

“–thank you, david!” you cut in, visibly more in a panic this time, as you held his hand and ushered him out, “just a friend, a friend!”

“what?” he didn’t seem keen to leave, “i’m just helping the two of you speed things along. god knows she wouldn’t have stayed here in this boring lab all day, running tests on an old war veteran running his mouth, if she wasn’t smitten with you too!”

natasha’s cheeks instantly reddened, as you sighed in embarrassment. so maybe her feelings were reciprocated, for a while now.

with the assistant chuckling in the background, you shut the door ushering david out, whispering frustratedly that he was leaking all of your secrets about natasha. “david! i told you and peter about her in confidence!”

“i know, but you didn’t tell me she was head over heels for you too.”

“because she’s not!” you whisper-yelled, “she came just to see what i was doing, and…and…”

and…oh.

david’s look made sense now. it all made sense now. her shyness around you, the way she always wanted you around, always wanted to know what you were doing, the reasons for her coming all this way to accompany you on your day-off.

you had thought she wouldn’t be interested, and would leave after seeing what your activities just were, but you hadn’t expected her to stay. and you hadn’t expected to feel her gaze on you throughout.

“when you know, you know.” he assured, patting you on the back again as he walked off, “trust me, kid. and she’s a good one, you picked a good one.”

–

your assistant had retreated to his corner of the lab when you came back in, while natasha stretched her joints and got ready to leave too. it was dark by then, and you felt guilty for making her stay past dinner. you excused your assistant to leave quickly, before finally turning to her.

“sorry.”

“for what?” she yawned.

“for trapping you here with me on your day-off. i feel guilty now.”

she rolled her eyes, before jabbing you slightly. “idiot. i stayed because i wanted to stay. and you didn’t force me here, in fact, i was the one who followed you, remember?”

“yeah, you do need to make sure that the person you’re stalking isn’t a super spy like you before you do that, though.”

at the blush on her cheeks and feigned hurt on her face, you quickly decided to change the subject. “what david said earlier…ignore him. he’s old, a little senile. really doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“really?” natasha frowned, “that’s a shame.”

you nodded, biting your lip as you leaned back against the counter of your station. she continued, “i really wanted what he said to be true.”

you blinked in surprise, unable to hide the shock on your face. it was your turn to be nervous around natasha now. it was always the other way around. perhaps the knowledge of knowing your feelings were mutual beckoned you to retreat to a shy disposition you never showed anyone else.

natasha shrugged. “damn, i really thought i had a chance with the most wonderful, kind-hearted person i know, who would spend her days off, even, to help people. who i thought was hiding to meet a secret girlfriend or something.”

a smile began to creep its way onto your face. “n-no, no secret girlfriend.”

“shame. i bet that secret girlfriend would be so in awe, falling even more for this person, when she finds out what she does for the people around her. a superhero saving the lives of many as an avenger, and a scientist changing the lives of even more as a civilian.”

“mm,” you took off your lab coat then, coming closer to her. she had a playful glint in her eyes as she put one hand on your chest, preventing you from getting too close. “tell me more praises of what this secret girlfriend would feel about me.”

“this secret girlfriend also does not appreciate when you keep such lovely secrets from her,” she felt your arms on the counter behind her now, entrapping her body with yours, “and when you try to do anything without taking her to dinner first. she’s starving, you know.”

the chuckle that left your lips made natasha only want to kiss you even more. “what do you say i make this secret girlfriend not-so-secret now, and invite her out to dinner with me? her favourite italian down the street from here, my treat.”

in response, the woman before you finally let go of the hand on your chest, and brought her hands to your collar to pull you in, leaving a searing kiss on your lips that left you lightheaded and longing for more, at the same time.

she held your hand as the both of you walked out of the university, before declaring something she had to say before she forgot, “tell david he should expect to see me around the lab every week from now on too, then.”

“yes ma’am.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel cinematic universe

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sycamoregirlsworld · 3 months

Text

Valentine- L. Castellan

“won’t you, won’t you, won’t you, won’t you be my valentine?” - Suki Waterhouse

luke x fem! oblivious aphrodite reader

Valentine’s day.

You might think that the day that celebrates love would be favored amongst the children of the Goddess of love herself, Aphrodite.

And for many campers who resided in Cabin 10, they did love the holiday!

“You’re a disappointment, (Y/n).”

Unless you were (Y/n).

Silena frowned as she looked over at her sister. (Y/n) was lounged across her bed, watching all of her siblings get ready with a longing look in her eyes.

“Thanks, Sil.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes as she set her gaze upon her black haired sister. “Really feeling the support here.”

“What am I supposed to support you in?” Silena pointed her hairbrush at (Y/n) and raised her eyebrows. “You plan to spend the day moping around instead of confessing to—”

“I’m too scared!” (Y/n) cut Silena off as she buried her head in her hands. “I mean— Luke probably doesn’t even like me.”

Silena sighed and rolled her eyes. Honestly, she found it hard to believe that (Y/n) was her sister sometimes. For someone who was so good at knowing about other peoples love lives, (Y/n) was oblivious to her own.

(Y/n) was in love with her best friend, Luke Castellan. Anyone who knew her would know that. And anyone with eyes could tell that Luke shared the same adoration.

Anyone but (Y/n), apparently.

The door to the cabin opened and (Y/n) smiled when she saw the blonde locs of her other sister, Cordelia.

“Why are you still here?” Cordelia wrinkled her nose, carelessly swinging a pink bag in her hands.

“I thought today was supposed to be a day about love.” (Y/n) frowned. “I am not feeling the love from you guys.”

“Its tough love, sweetheart.” Cordelia grinned and threw the bag onto (Y/n)‘s bed. “For you, by the way.”

(Y/n) sat up and grabbed the pink gift bag. She wondered who it was from, secretly (or not so secretly) she hoped it was from Luke.

She knew it wasn’t, though. It wasn’t even his handwriting that was scrawled across the bag.

Peeking in, she saw an envelope and a jewelry box.

She took the jewelry box first. She was in the confines of her cabin, she was allowed to be selfish.

In the box was a necklace. Half of it was pearls and half of it was a silver chain. Perfectly her style.. whoever picked this out must’ve known her well. Or they had asked her friends.

(Y/n) hoped it was the former.

Ripping open the envelope with little regard, she furrowed her brows as she read the card.

“you know i’m no good with words. meet me in the strawberry field so i can show you how much you mean to me.”

-your secret admirer

“Whose it from?” Silena asked curiously as she sat next to (Y/n).

“Dunno.” The girl shrugged as she handed her the note. “There’s no name.”

Silena smiled and grabbed (Y/n)‘s shoulders. “Well you have to go! I’m curious.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s someone creepy.” (Y/n) scrunched her nose up at the thought.

Cordelia and Silena shared a glance before pushing (Y/n) towards the vanity.

“Don’t worry about that.” Cordelia cooed as she began to rifle through (Y/n)’s closet. “It’ll all be fine.”

It was not fine. And (Y/n) was worrying about it.

Reluctantly, she stood in the middle of the strawberry field. She had gotten there ten minutes ago and still, no one had shown up.

She was starting to worry that Connor Stoll was playing a prank on her. She looked so nice, too. If her pretty, pink, summer dress was going to be wasted on prank— (Y/n) was going to be pissed.

After five more minutes, (Y/n) decided that this was a bust. She was about to turn around and march back to her cabin when she heard the grass crunch behind her.

Turning around, (Y/n) felt her face flush as she saw the familiar brown curls.

“Luke..” She breathed out. “What uh— what are you doing here?”

“M’ waiting for someone..” He mumbled and ran a hand through his hair.

He seemed… nervous, and he looked nicer then usual. Instead of the orange camp shirt and khaki shorts, he wore jeans and a red sweater.

And then it dawned on her. Oh gods… how embarrassing! She was supposed to meet her secret admirer here, and now here comes Luke.. probably meeting his Valentine here too.

“I’m meeting someone here, too..” She flashed him an awkward smile and reached up to fidget with the necklace she had received.

Luke stared at her, his brown eyes boring into her soul as he opened his mouth. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he decided against it and took a step closer to her.

“That’s a pretty necklace.” He mumbled, reaching out to touch it.

(Y/n)’s face burned red at the contact as she looked up at him.

“Thanks.. my uh— secret admirer, or whatever, got it for me..”

Luke took a deep breath in and (Y/n) pursed her lips.

“(Y/n), listen…” He reached up to touch her cheek, his warm breath fanning over her face. “I’m not good with words, but I love you.”

“Luke..” (Y/n) breathed out. Her face felt hot and her heart was fluttering so fast she was sure she was about to have a heart attack.

“When I’m with you, everything just feels right. And I just—” He hesitated for a moment and leaned closer. “Can I just show you?”

Instead of responding, (Y/n) threaded her fingers through Luke’s curls and tugged him closer, smashing her lips against his.

For years, she had wondered what it would feel like to kiss the Luke Castellan. Would it be fast and rough? Slow and sensual? She finally had her answer.

After a moment of shock, Luke pressed his lips against hers with the same amount of passion. His lips moved against hers fast and rough, but he held her face like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

Maybe Silena was right, (Y/n) was stupid. But she was making out with her best friend, so her stupidity must’ve payed off.

After a moment, Luke pulled away. (Y/n) frowned and tried to chase his lips with her own, but he pushed her away softly.

“(Y/n)..” He laughed, his nose brushing against hers. “Will you… be my valentine?”

“That was incredibly corny.” (Y/n) laughed. “But yes. Yes I will.”

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #x reader #valentines day #percy jackson #pjo #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #aesthetic #luke castellan x you #pjo series

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 11 months

Text

Erotomania

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer discovers that his girlfriend has a stalker

Warning: Stalking, obsession, creepy basement, weapons, cursing

Word Count: 3.6K

Masterlist

“Thanks,” I smiled at the barista as she handed me mine and Spencer’s coffee. Well… while my drink was coffee his was just cream and sugar with a little bit of caffeine.

“Have a nice day,” she wished before turning her attention to another customer.

As I headed for the door a fellow customer on their way to work held it open for me. I gave him the same thanks with a smile as the barista, heading for my car.

Arriving at the office I delivered Spencer’s drink to him. “One milkshake for you,” I announced teasingly.

“Actually a milkshake is characterized by it’s mixing process when it is whipped until it’s frothy,” he informed, taking mild offense to my comment.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I dismissed, taking my seat at my desk across from him. “Oh, by the way, I made reservations at Francesco's for Friday but if we aren’t able to make that we have a reservation at Town Kitchen for Sunday.”

“Sounds good but our anniversary is on Saturday,” Spencer informed gently.

“Yeah but I don’t want either of us to be upset if we have to miss the reservation on our actual anniversary.”

Spencer smiled to himself. While Y/N wasn’t like him in the way that he had millions of facts spanning thousands of subjects memorized, she always thought of everything. “That’s why I love you. You always think of everything.”

“And I love you because you know everything,” she smiled.

“Ugh, love,” Emily gagged as she approached.

“Aw, did Sergio not want to cuddle last night?” I teased her about her cat.

“Shut up,” she scoffed.

I laughed, reaching into my bag for the case files I was working on last night. As I pulled the stack out I noticed a bright blue post-it note sticking out of one of the files as if it had fallen in. Pulling it out and flipping it, I noticed some words written on it.

Have a nice day, Y/N

My first thought was that maybe it was something Spencer slipped into my bag last night but the handwriting didn’t match. This was messily scrawled while Spence’s handwriting was neat. Still, it seemed like the most logical conclusion. “Spence, did you leave this?” I asked casually, sliding it over to his desk.

Upon just glancing at the note his brows furrowed. “No, where’d you find it?”

“In my bag. I know that’s not your handwriting— or anyone else’s on the team— but you seemed to be the most logical explanation.”

“Maybe it was a cop on the last case who had a crush on you,” Spencer shrugged, trying to dismiss any jealousy.

“Maybe,” I mused, thinking back to the behavior of the officers from Utah. Nothing seemed to stick out but my attention wasn’t exactly focused on any of the police there. Shrugging I crumpled it up, tossing it into the trash bin under my desk.

“Conference room,” Hotch announced from his little balcony, tearing me from my thoughts about the note.

Three days later we landed back in Virginia just in time for Spencer and I to make our anniversary dinner. “L/N for two,” I told the hostess at Town Kitchen. Our reservation was at 7:00 and we had arrived at 7:06.

“Just in time,” she commented, grabbing us our menus and leading us to our table. We sat down graciously, thankful that they hadn’t given away our table.

“I know it’s not the most romantic to be doing this in the clothes we just spent three days in but I’m glad we could do this,” Spencer smiled, reaching his hand across the table.

I placed my hand in his. “Me too.” As much as I loved our impromptu date nights that consisted of takeout and whatever was on TV of the station we were working out of, it was special to be able to have a proper date. “It’s almost like we’re a normal couple right now and not two FBI agents.”

“Do you wish we were normal?” he asks.

“Not in the slightest,” I smiled.

“I’m like 99% sure I have all your Dr. Who DVDs in a drawer in my living room,” I said, unlocking my apartment door. “Grab a bottle of wine and some glasses from the kitchen and I’ll start the DVDs?”

“Sure,” Spencer agreed with a smile. “Assuming you can find them,” he teased.

“They’re more than likely there,” I defended, finally getting the door unlocked. “Go,” I laughed, pushing him towards my kitchen. I went towards my TV stand, starting to go through my drawers. By the time I concluded that they weren’t in there Spencer was already sat on the couch with two glasses of wine. He had an amused look as I turned around to face him. “Let me check in my room.”

As I walked in I stopped abruptly, finding the floor covered in photos and post-it notes. Horror filled my chest. “What the fuck?” I must have yelled it because Spencer was running to my side. Upon seeing all the photos, he was immediately dragging me out of the apartment.

Once we were out in the hallway, Spencer kept pushing me towards the stairs while pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as he ushered me out into the parking garage.

“I’m texting the team to come to your apartment but we’re leaving for now,” he explained, opening the passenger door to my car. “We can’t just wait in the apartment. Your stalker may have been waiting around.”

“Okay, yeah, good idea,” I agreed through my hyperventilation. Reaching into the glove compartment I grabbed our guns. We had stashed them there for dinner.

Spencer sped out of the parking lot, parking on the street two blocks away before sending our location to the team. “Okay they’ll be here in a few minutes and then we can go investigate the apartment,” he explained. I only nodded along. Normally I’d be much more rational than this but I was in so much shock in terror I couldn’t think straight. “Hey, hey it’ll be okay. No one’s going to hurt you. The team will be here soon and we’ll find this person. We’ve dealt with erotomaniacs before.”

“You think this is an erotomaniac?” I asked, scared.

“Based on the note I saw earlier and I didn’t notice any threatening imagery in your room. We’ll know more when we get a proper look,” Spencer tried to soothe.

Soon enough the others were pulling up to our location, Hotch and Morgan wearing their bulletproof vests. “Morgan and I will go in and clear the place. Then we can call CSI and have them collect any forensic evidence,” Hotch explained. His gaze and tone then softened as he looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “just a little shaken up.”

He pursed his lips, nodding and unsure what to say. He looked back up at Morgan, nodding as they both walked towards my apartment.

JJ and Emily were both fretting over me as Morgan and Hotch searched the apartment. To my relief they called soon saying there was no one in my home.

Entering again, I made a beeline for my bedroom, wanting to see the photos. As I entered, Hotch was already there, observing the photos and notes spread out on the floor. They were all of me taken from a distance away with a zoomed in lens. There were several of me just going about my life in various stores and coffee places. But the most horrifying ones were of me and Spencer. If he was able to, it looked like the unsub just cut my boyfriend out of the pictures but the ones where Spencer was too close, his face was angrily scribbled over. Among the photos were notes ranging from I miss you, to I’m going to kill him.

By now Spence had entered my bedroom with the rest of the team. “I think we’re dealing with an erotomaniac.”

“Looks like it,” Derek agreed. “I assume you haven’t noticed anyone lurking around?” he asked me.

“No, nothing. The first thing I noticed was as a note in my bag that said Have a nice day, Y/N. We just assumed it was from a cop in Utah but this?”

“You definitely have a stalker,” Hotch concluded. “The question is how did he manage to avoid detection of seven FBI agents and why now?”

“Maybe Y/N and I’s anniversary?” Spencer suggested.

“Well that’s the best we’ve got for now. We’ll let CSI search for forensic evidence, meanwhile let’s all head to the office so we can start forming the profile.”

Back at the office everyone was treating me like well… a victim. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I felt of their lingering gazes. “We need to work on our bedside manner because I hate this.”

I got a few muttered sorry’s until Spencer came and sat in front of me. “Okay Y/N we’re going to try a cognitive interview.” I nodded, closing my eyes, allowing myself to be open to Spencer’s words. “Okay, go back to the day you found the note, what were you doing before you found it?”

“I was getting us coffee,” I answered, bringing the coffee shop to mind.

“Okay, describe it for me. What do you see, smell, and hear?”

“It’s crowded- and loud. The machines are whirring and people are talking.”

“Okay, does anyone get close to you? Close enough to put something in your bag?”

As I’m standing in line I feel a guy brush up against my bag. I hadn’t thought much of it because it was crowded and I thought he was moving to let someone pass. “Yeah, I’m getting in line, I’m near the door, and this guy brushes against my bag behind me.”

“Can you see his face or give any description?”

I strained hard in my memories, essentially begging myself to be able to turn around enough to see him. I open my eyes, looking into Spencer’s hazel ones. “I can’t see his face but based on his body… he’s white, roughly middle aged, medium build.”

Spencer smiles, taking my hand. “You did good. C’mon, let’s go tell the team.” I let him help me off the seat as we headed towards the conference room where the others were discussing theory. “He’s a white male, middle aged, with a medium build,” Spencer informed. “He slipped the note into Y/N’s bag Thursday morning.”

“Okay so average guy, probably feels too average and therefore inferior since erotomaniacs tend to be obsessed with those perceived to be above them,” Derek pieced together.

“So maybe a working class or blue collar guy?” JJ suggested. “Store clerk, janitor, any mechanic, plumber, electrician you’ve interacted with in the past few weeks?”

Before I could answer Rossi jumped in. “Or months, possibly within the last year? There were a lot of photos.”

“Nothing significant I can think of but I know it doesn’t have to be significant to me for it to flip the switch for them,” I explained.

“Garcia, start compiling a list of middle aged white men who work here as janitors, live in L/N’s building, work at shops she frequents,” Hotch looked at me expectantly for a list. I nodded, silently agreeing to write one up. “I know it’ll be a broad list but it’s a place we can start.”

“That’s not even covering all the places we traveled in the last year,” Emily added. “This is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Ooh report from CSI. There were no finger prints and absolutely no sign of a break in or picked locks—and I know an FBI agent isn’t leaving her windows or doors unlocked—leading them to believe that the stalker somehow got ahold of a copy of your key.” I felt nauseous at that news. “As for the notes, they’re currently working on handwriting analysis for any other stalking cases in the area, so far nothing. As for the photos, they were shot on real film and developed in like a darkroom so I’ve already cross referenced photographers and frequent buyers of darkroom supplies with the list I have so far. When Y/N gets me that list of frequent stores I will cross reference those as well.” Penelope took a big breath, having not breathed the entire time she was talking.

“Y/N get started on that list, Reid and I will head to the coffee shop to see if they have any security footage of this guy,” Hotch ordered.

It was hard for Spencer to watch the security camera footage. He and Hotch watched as the shady looking man slipped the note into Y/N bag and proceeded to hover around her as she waited for her coffee. It was a busy morning in the already cramped coffee shop explaining why Y/N hadn’t noticed his too-close for comfort presence.

I shuddered watching the man follow me around the coffee shop. I’m a highly trained FBI agent, how did I not notice him?

Sensing my unease, Spencer stepped closer, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “Have you ever seen or noticed this man before?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can remember,” I confessed shyly, feeling like a failure for never noticing him.

“Garcia’s running his picture through facial recognition software. If he has a criminal record, we’ll find him,” Hotch assured.

I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I need some air.” Everyone looked after me, hesitant. “I’ll stay in the building I just can’t be around this,” I gestured to my pictures, “anymore.”

They all looked hesitant but no one stopped me as I exited the office, heading to nowhere. I had no specific destination, I just wanted to walk around.

Upstairs, Garcia ran into the BAU conference room. “Guys, guys, I got a hit on facial recognition. Our stalker’s name is Michael Garrison and the reason he didn’t show up in my initial search is because his juvenile criminal record is sealed. When he was 15 he got a restraining order against him from a senior at his high school and when he was 18 he got another one from a teacher also at his high school. During these trials it came out that he was also stalking middle school girls while in high school. As for him now… he works as a janitor here. Now, he’s not scheduled to come in today but I have a feeling he’s not sticking to that schedule,” she said nervously.

“No he is not, babygirl,” Derek confirmed. “Reid, call Y/N.”

“Already on it,” he confirmed, holding the phone up to his ear. But when her phone began to ring on the very table they were standing around, every heart rate in the room spiked.

“Everyone, split up,” Hotch ordered, everyone already headed for the door.

I pressed the elevator call button, ready to head back upstairs when a custodian came up beside me, also waiting for the elevator. I have him a soft smile of acknowledgment before looking back at the elevator call button. Once the door opened I stepped in first, followed shortly by him. Before I could reach to press the button, he was already pressing his floor, the basement. “Where to?” he asked.

“Seven, thanks,” I answered as the doors closed. But once they closed he made no move to press the button. Confused and hesitant I stepped forward to press it, only for him to step towards me as well. “Wha-”

“Finally, we’re alone,” he said with a big smile.

“What are you-” I began to ask, backing away as far as I could, cursing myself for not bringing my phone or gun.

“I knew you’d come find me once I left those notes.” The elevator dinged and opened to the basement, I just hoped someone else would be down here. I looked out into the dark basement hesitantly. His face fell seeing my hesitation. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a government issue gun, one he had probably swiped from an agent. “Go on,” he urged, carelessly waving the gun around.

I hesitantly walked past him, never taking my eyes off of him. “Where are we going?”

He followed me out of the elevator, gun pressed against my back, making me shudder. “I have a space down here,” he answered. We walked down a very long, very dark corridor until we reached a maze of stairs and pipes. Continuing down we reached what looked like an old, forgotten broom closet. Inside was a single dingy lightbulb which he tugged on, illuminating the repulsive room. The walls were covered in mysterious grime and scattered around the walls were pictures of me. I shuddered before looking at the absolutely repulsive mattress on the floor.

Scared but curious about how I got here. What set him off? How did I catch his attention? But I’d need to do this subtly. I pretended to look at all the photos in awe, as if touched by his infatuation. “You did all this, and the stuff in my apartment for me?”

If he was a cartoon I’m sure the hearts in his eyes would double in size. “Yes, yes, of course!” he confessed excitedly. “When I saw your picture on his desk, I knew you were the one.” Based on the way he said ‘his,’ I knew he was referring to the picture of Spence and I at the beach on his desk. “You’re so pretty,” he mused, stroking a finger down my face. It took everything in me not to slap his hand away. “And your notes… I knew you loved me too.” Against my will, a look of confusion must have crossed over my face. His eyebrows furrowed a little. “You know, the ones you left on your desk for me to find! In that glittery ink.” He rushed over to a box, pulling out half a dozen notes. I recognized Penelope’s handwriting and glitter gel pens. The messages came from a time when she was teasing Reid and trying to steal me away from him as a joke.

You should be with me

I love you <3

I’m leaving him for you, do the same for me?

I looked up at my stalker nervously, completely unsure what to say. Seeing how unstable this guy was, I knew the safest thing would be to agree. “Oh yeah, I forgot about these.” It took me swallowing my every ounce of pride to say the next words. “It had been so long I was scared you wouldn’t do anything. Like… I’d be stuck with Spencer forever.” The man visibly melted at my words.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry you felt that way.”

Before he could say anything, the door burst open, revealing Emily with her gun. I nearly sobbed in relief seeing her but before I could react, the stalker’s arm was around my neck, pointing the gun at my head. “I found Y/N, Garrison has a gun!”

Soon enough the rest of the team showed up, including Spencer. “She’s safe with me!” Garrison insisted.

“Then why are you pointing a gun at her head,” Emily countered.

He lowered the gun, pointing it at my teammates who weren’t wearing their vests. I nearly screamed when he pointed it at Spencer. “Tell them we’re fine, that you’d rather be here with me!” Garrison demanded like a child.

“Come on Garrison, you know this isn’t rational,” Derek interrupted. “Look at her, she’s terrified.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, moving the gun towards Derek. “Tell them!”

“I’m fine guys!” I told them. Grabbing at his arm that was wrapped around my throat, I began to plea. “Please let me go. I can’t breathe, we can talk about this. We just need to settle some things so we can be together.”

But he only tightened his grip, I began to feel a little lightheaded. “No, he’ll just steal you away from me.” The gun was once again trained on Spencer.

“I won’t, I swear,” Spence promised, putting his gun away. “We were never really a couple. It was all just a ruse to make you jealous and catch your attention.”

Suddenly his grip loosened and I fell into a coughing fit. “Really?” he asked. Realizing I had fallen at his feet he dropped the gun, crouching down. Next thing I knew Garrison was being pushed back by Derek while Emily pulled me away.

I was immediately pulled up into my boyfriend’s arms. “Thank god,” I heard him whisper as I sobbed into his shoulder. I clung to his shoulders, a sobbing mess as he hugged me tightly, nuzzling his face into my neck.

Behind me I could hear Garrison’s shouts. “No! I trusted you! I loved you! You lying bitch!” he continued to scream profanities at the top of his lungs as Derek dragged him out, not shy about roughing him up a bit.

“Reid, take L/N home. Take the night off too,” Hotch ordered. “Glad you’re okay,” he said to me before following the others upstairs.

That night I couldn’t stand the idea of being alone but fortunately Spencer didn’t mind. He stuck by me all night, whispering assurances and sweet nothings whenever I got scared.

Masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #spencer x reader #reid #reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

2K notes · View notes

livingemkayde · 10 months

Text

ride

neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: Rated 18+. Minors please dni. Smut. fingering f!receiving, grinding/dry humping, pet name (angel, baby), swearing. Not proof read.

a/n: bit the bullet and wrote something about joel. This was meant to be a one shot (a really fucking long one-shot holy shit) but if you guys want more parts just comment or lmk. Taking a small teeny tiny break from my beloved din (he will forever and always be the standard tho lol).

wc: 4k

this is the first installment of my small dbf!joel mini series!

find the next parts in my masterlist

“Hello?” you shout as you walk through the threshold of your home — your childhood home. You haven’t been back in Texas for a couple years. Your studies and research have admittedly kept you too busy and sometimes your dad would fly out to see you in California.

You really haven’t been back since two Christmases ago. And by really you mean you haven’t seen Joel since two Christmases ago.

You’d been desperate for graduation some weeks ago, and now that you’re back, you remember how slow Austin is. And how small. How everyone knows each other and each other’s business. But sometimes that’s kinda nice.

Word spread quickly about your recent graduation and your dad kept bothering you about having a party — but it all seemed silly to you.

He isn’t the party planning type, so naturally, it fell through the cracks. He did say something about having Joel and Sarah over instead. That got your attention. You haven’t seen your neighbor from across the street in a couple years, his daughter even longer. You wonder how grown up she is—you miss them both.

You know your dad and Joel have gotten closer since you’ve been gone. When you were younger, they were always friends, but more so in a ‘we’re neighbors and we both have daughters so let’s hang out a couple times a week’ type of way. But after your sparse visits and facetime calls, you can tell they’ve gotten close. Really close. The kind of friend that has keys to your front door and can ‘use my grill whenever you want ol’man’ said your dad. The kind of friend that spends every holiday together, and treats each other's kids as their own.

“Hello?” you try again as you lug a suitcase and duffle bag into the foyer. You had shipped all your belongings back to Austin from California a couple days ago and hopped on a flight with no return ticket. It felt nice to be home — you were excited for your first summer with no prospects of school looming around the fast approaching September.

“Nice welcome,” you mumble under your breath as you shut the front door. You figure your dad might be out. It's a Saturday — and it’s fucking hot. You huff and shrug out of our cardigan, placing it on the banister of the stairs before rolling up your sleeves.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs and abandon it on the floor of your bedroom — partially unzipped from digging a pair of shorts and a tank top out before making your way downstairs.

You shuffle into the kitchen to get a drink— a note on the fridge catches your eye.

Someone’s number. And your name underneath it.

You recognize the area code as someone who lives in Austin, but you aren’t sure whose it is — let alone why your name is written under it. Like someone called asking for you and your dad was too forgetful to tell you.

You brush it off and move towards the whiteboard which hangs on the fridge next to the note.

It’s your dad’s handwriting, you recognize it. It’s a list of stuff your dad had planned for the day.

Grocery

Home Depot

Joel’s

You smile at his poorly articulated plans and at Joel’s name at the bottom of the list. You’re happy they can keep each other company. Sarah is at that age where all she wants to do is hang out with friends at the mall, and you’ve been away for four years. You note your dad is probably with Joel. You didn’t get a chance to text him when you landed so you don’t blame him for not being around when you got back.

You grab a mug from a cabinet and fill it with ice, opening the fridge to grab some lemonade. When you begin pouring, you can hear the door open from the foyer directly ahead of you.

A loud chorus of laughter rings through your ears when the door opens and you look up from the drink you’re pouring to the door.

Your dad enters first, his figure hunched over, laughing, while his hand jiggles the keys out of the front door.

You can hear another laugh join from behind him. It’s not as loud or obnoxious (not that your dad is obnoxious) but settles for a small huff and a couple ha ha’s. You know who it is before you can see him. You can see the peak of curly brown hair follow in as your dad’s eyes meet yours.

“Baby!” he shouts, drops his hand from the door — the keys still hanging from the lock — and moves towards you in the kitchen. You abandon your drink and move to hug him. He gives you a big hug, lifting you off your feet and sets you back down while giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“Hey dad,” you say while straightening out your all too small tank-top you wouldn't have worn if you had known there was going to be company. Especially this kind of company.

“You shoulda told me you landed! I was waiting to pick you up from the airport,” he notes while putting his hand on his hip. You can see Joel out of the corner of your eye, picking the keys out of the lock and shrugging off his light jacket — showing his gray t-shirt which lies under.

You flush.

“No, no dad —” you chuckle, breathless. “It’s okay. Taxi was faster. You always get lost around the airport.”

“Damn signs get me all turned around,” he mutters under his breath while making his way past you into the kitchen.

“You ‘member Joel right?” your dad jokingly asks from the kitchen. He’s already got his head buried in the fridge looking for something to eat.

“Yes. Ha ha dad —” you turn your head from the kitchen and look up at Joel, “— hey,” your arms come to wrap around your torso, suddenly a little insecure about your state of dress.

“Hey, kid,” he replies coolly. Settling into the middle of the foyer. His head bends to the side slightly but he keeps his eyes trained on you. He looks at you through hooded eyes.

“So biology —” he moves past you to follow your dad into the kitchen, you trail after him, “too smart for your ol’man now.”

“Hardly,” you say as you all settle in the kitchen. You dad — who still has his head in the fridge — snorts. He mumbles something about plants, doctors, and I ain’t that old from behind the door.

Your dad tosses Joel a can of beer and he catches it. He pulls one out for himself and shuts the fridge. They both swig the cold beer — relief hits them after being in the heat.

“Congratulations are in order,” Joel says and takes another sip — his eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head back, you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down. He leans back against the counter, facing you, arms crossed.

“Yeah…thanks,” you reply sheepishly as you sit at the island chairs giving him a small smile — the counter separating you.

“No neighborhood party?” Joel says while turning his head to look at your dad.

“I — I tried my fuckin’ best. You know how hard it is to get everyone’s number?” your dad laughs while taking another sip of his beer, running a hand over his forehead — rubbing his eyes.

“Just knock on people’s doors man — it ain’t that hard,” Joel quips back teasingly while chuckling. Your dad shoves him playfully. You smile at them. They remind you of teenage boys. Or frat boys. You laugh at both images.

“You want a party, kiddo?” your dad looks at you sheepishly, like he really means it.

Maybe it would be nice to see the people in your neighborhood, but the thought of a party dedicated all to you seemed overkill.

“No…s'alright,” you reply, sipping on some lemonade. Your eyes quickly shift to cheat a glance at Joel, but he’s already looking at you. You avert your eyes quickly.

“Maybe barbecue. Not a party. Barbecue,” your dad throws out his arms and says the words like he’s testing the idea to you and Joel. You shrug with a smile in response and Joel tips his beer to your dad and takes another swig.

The phone rings in the other room. You honestly still can’t believe your dad still has a landline. He rushes to get it, leaving you and Joel alone in the kitchen.

“Remind me where you were at again?” he says, pushing off the back counter and leaning forward on the island to meet your eye.

“USC,” you reply before bringing your lips to the rim of the glass again.

“That’s right,” he says and stands back up straight. “Smart girl,” he adds — lowly — and you sort of freeze.

His words — even though seemingly not sexual or suggestive — send a heat down to the place between your legs. You push your thighs together and pray he doesn’t notice.

“You liked it?” He adds.

“Loved it. The bio program there was really great,” you say, playing with your cup’s handle.

“How’ve you been?” you ask, curious. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand.

“M’fine. Same as always,” he says, meeting your eye.

“Sarah?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good. Into boys now or somethin’,” he notes, shaking his head.

“‘S normal,” you chuckle. He gives you a certain look that makes your head spin. It’s suddenly too hot in this house despite the constant flow of your air conditioning.

“I guess,” he mumbles.

Your dad emerges from the living room, shaking his head.

“Fuckin’ kid again. Always callin’ my phone like it’s a goddamn hotline or somethin’,” he mumbles as he enters. He looks up to you, “Some kid is always callin’ the house askin’ for you,” he nods in your direction.

“Who?” you ask, curious, and now — maybe a bit on edge because of Joel.

“Dunno. Some kid named Liam. Said he went to highschool with you,” he says, sitting across from you, Joel somewhat behind him.

“Always askin’ if you’re home yet — you know this guy kiddo?” he asks, his head quips to look at you.

Suddenly it feels like all eyes are on you, because they are. Joel’s are trained carefully on you, waiting for your response. You glance up at him and quickly look back down to meet your dad’s gaze.

You did know him — Liam. An old fling from high school. A ‘friends with benefits’ sort of thing, but you had ended it pretty quickly after school finished. You made it your mission to go to college with no strings attached to anyone. He tried to keep it in touch through college but you eventually attempted to ghost him — you thought it was successful until now.

Your eyes widen.

“Uh—yeah. I guess,” you flush and look down to your fingers around the glass of lemonade. You pick at the skin there. “Boyfriend from high school, dad.”

“Huh. Don't ring a bell,” he says, and you chuckle silently.

You don’t miss Joel’s unmoving face. Though he looks unbothered. You have to admit — you’re a bit disappointed by that.

“His number’s on the fridge. Wrote it down the first time he called and forgot to ring you ‘bout it,” he gestured to the note.

“Geez. Thanks dad,” you move to pick the note off the fridge and put it in your pocket. No use in leaving it up there for the whole world to see.

Joel’s eyes follow you, and trail to the note being shoved into your pocket.

“I should go. Gotta pick up somethin’ from the office,” he says as he breaks his gaze to look at his watch.

“Yeah, yeah sure. She’ll walk you out. I’m beat,” your dad gestures in your direction while making his way towards the couch in the living room. Joel waves ‘bye’ and your dad follows suit — holding his hand up with his back still turned towards you. He disappears out of sight. You can hear the TV click on, and some FBI drama series begins to echo loudly through the house.

You make your way to the door, Joel follows suit. When you reach the foyer, you bend down to pick his jacket up from the bench. You hold it out to him, he takes it — and when your hands brush against each other — you gasp. A loud gasp. Loud enough for Joel to definitely hear it, but not loud enough for your dad to hear over the sounds of gunshots and some yelling.

Your eyes snap up to look at his, to find them already staring back at you. You drop his gaze quickly and let go of his jacket.

“I’m actually gonna head out too. I’ll walk you to your truck,” you say, trying to be polite. You shake your head at the embarrassment you feel because he definitely just heard you gasp like a teenager over your hands brushing.

You step out, certain your dad is already drifting to sleep on the couch.

The sunset hits your face and you squint under its rays. Joel follows you out the door, shutting it behind him.

You see his truck sitting a house down from yours and begin to walk with Joel settling next to you.

“You goin’ to see him?” he asks, not meeting your eye.

“Who?” you reply — teasing.

“Don’t play dumb. That boy botherin’ you?” he asks, while approaching his truck. You both settle into some slow steps until you’re leaning against the side of his black flatbed and he’s standing in front of you.

“What’s it to you?” you ask, teasing again.

“Nothin’—” he replies, shaking his head and looking past the truck, to his house across the street. “Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“Wasn’t really my boyfriend. Just easier to explain that to my dad than what it really was,” you reply, trying to meet his eye. Trying to get an indication of — anything.

A beat.

He doesn’t meet your eye.

Another beat.

“‘N what was it really?” he asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

“Thought it was nothin’ to you,” you bite back with a smirk.

“Yeah, well maybe it’s somethin’ —” he catches your gaze for a moment before looking down at the concrete. You cross your arms. “— if he’s botherin’ you.”

“He’s not bothering me. Just an old…friend,” you say with a smirk playing on your lips.

“Friend? Got any other ‘friends’ I gotta worry about?” He quips back. It's playful.

“Didn’t know you worried about me,” you say with a small smile.

“Only when your ‘friend’ calls the house twice a week sayin’ you don’t pick up his calls.”

“Yeah well I've had other things on my mind.” You look at him. Really look at him. It forces his gaze to meet yours.

He drops it quickly.

Some silence.

Fuck, what is happening?

“Y’wanna ride?” His head gestures to the truck behind you. You find yourself nodding, and moving towards the passenger seat door. Joel opens it for you, you flush and almost lose balance while hoisting yourself in. You mumble a small thank you and tell him you were actually planning to just go to the library near your house to pick up a couple books.

He starts the engine and begins to pull out onto the street.

“Books?” He follows up.

“Gonna continue some research while I look for a job,” you say, and pick at your fingers in your lap.

“Could always babysit Sarah,” he teases.

“16’s a little old for a babysitter? Don’t you think?” you quip.

You settle into a soft silence after your laughter dies down. He turns down some streets and settles on the main road. The radio is off. You wonder if he drives in silence when he’s alone. You know Sarah liked it when the radio was blasting in the car.

“So, there’s no other…” he starts, a lazy hand placed over the top of the steering wheel. “no one else?” he finishes, awkwardly.

His hand comes down the center console to rest on the gear stick.

“You’re asking me if I'm dating?” you chuckle a bit, peaking over at him. He keeps his eyes on the road. “God, you’re worse than my dad.”

“Wouldn’t say that, angel.”

Fuck.

The nickname rolls right off his tongue and hits you between your legs. You shuffle in your seat. You don’t know how much longer you can do this before you soak through your shorts.

You continue to sneak glances at him.

“No. I’m not,” you answer his question from before.

“Hm,” is all he says, rounding the corner.

“Hm?” you reply — teasing him. “You got something to say?”

“Just surprised is all,” he says, more serious.

“Yeah?” You reply, mostly because you want to hear him talk more but partially because you have no idea what to say.

“Mhm —” he throws a glance in your direction “—unless you’re gonna finally give that poor boy a chance.”

“Probably not. He’s…boring,” you answer like you’re thinking about it.

“Boring? That it?” He says.

“Yeah. Or maybe I’m just looking for something else,” you try to meet his gaze but he focuses on the road.

“Sure —” he replies “— just didn’t think a pretty girl like you would be single after college.”

Pretty. Pretty.

Joel Miller just called you pretty and didn’t even bat an eye. You can feel the wet spot in your panties begin to grow and you shuffle again, rearranging in the passenger.

Is this real?

Or is it years of built up sexual frustrations about your dad’s best friend building up and threatening to spill over at the sound of him calling you pretty?

It seemed innocent enough.

But you can’t help but feel something between you.

Something different.

Like maybe he doesn’t think of you as an innocent little girl anymore.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe it's the enormous wet spot growing in your panties from a few words thrown carelessly your way. But you want him. Really want him. And you know he would never make the first move. So you do it for him.

You reach out — tentatively — to the center console to grab his hand on the gear shift. He looks at you, and you meet his eye. There’s a sort of darkness behind his pupils — like his irises have gone a shade darker and you didn’t notice. You lead his hand over to your lap, bringing it down so his fingertips rest on the inside of your thigh.

You can hear both of your uncontrolled breathing. Yours sounds more like a gasp at his touch, while he lets out a sharp breath when his hand ventures into your space.

After a couple seconds, he squeezes your thigh in his palm and you sigh. The truck drives over an especially rough patch of road and it jostles your body. His fingers threaten to make their way higher. You squirm in anticipation.

“Quit moving,” is all he says with a deep voice, his eyes still on the road.

You stop squirming, despite your wanting anticipation and a nervous cloud that blankets your mind.

But his words only spur you on further — only makes you want more.

His pinky finger toys with the hem of your shorts, you part your legs for him, and he scoffs.

“What I say?” He grabs your thigh roughly. Splits them apart, and slips his hand under your shorts, finding the soft fabric of your panties. He slowly runs his finger over your clit, teasing downward.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. You squeak quietly in response.

“You wet?” Your eyes shut, “Huh angel?”

You nod, but that makes him let out a small tsk sound.

“Words,” he demands.

“Y-yes. Yes,” you let out.

He ventures lower, and you suddenly worry about his reaction to how wet you are, but he lets out a growl from deep in his throat and pulls your panties to the side.

“Fuck. Used to be such a good girl.” his thumb nudges your clit as his middle finger touches your aching entrance, gathering your slick. “Now look at you. Fuckin' soaked. Clenching around nothin',"

“F-fuck—Joel—p-please.”

He only scoffs in response.

How can he be so focused on the road while he’s got his hand down your pants?

His finger still toys at your clit, making you moan and whimper. You feel close just from that. You might come, embarrassingly fast — with no penetration — and you don’t want this to end so you put a light hand on his wrist and he stops his movements.

“P-pull over. Please pull over.”

He does, he pulls over to some side street. It's late now, the sun just barely peaks over the horizon and you’re both met in a dark dusky light.

He puts the car in park with the same hand that was just toying with you, that still has your wetness all over it — you flush.

You expect him to continue, to put his hand back down your pants. But he looks down at his fingers. Inspecting his hand under the soft light.

“You tryin’ to get us killed?”

“No,” you reply softly.

“Your dad would have my neck,” he says, bringing his fingers to his lips. Oh my god.

“I know,” you whisper, entranced by his movements, “But I'm all grown up.”

He lets out a puff.

He sits there for a long time. He doesn’t meet your eye. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for something to be said. Anything. Your orgasm is long forgotten under all the uncertainty.

“Take your shorts off," he says, waving a hand in your direction.

“What?” You ask, surprised.

"Shorts," he leans over to grab your face, "Now."

He lets your face go, and you slip your shorts off, face flushing in embarrassment. He watches you the whole time, seeing you bare for him makes him groan a bit — you like the sound of it.

He grabs you then, lifting you off your seat, so you bring one leg over his body, straddling him. The steering wheel digs into your back. When you’re fully seated, you can feel his length, hard and wanting, press into your core. It makes your head tilt back as you grind down on instinct.

He grabs your hips to stop your movement.

“Please Joel—I-please f—” he slides a finger through your folds and cups your core with his hand.

You moan loudly, and whimper at the feeling of his breath so close to your face.

“Quiet.” You grind down in his hand, he lets you. “‘Less you want someone on the street hearin’ you.”

“Joel…” you let out in a pathetic whine.

He sinks a finger into you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. He meets your eye. His brows furrow almost like he feels sorry for you.

When he feels how wet you are, he sinks in a second. He lets out a god as you grind down against his thrusts, the palm of his hand hitting your clit just right —like you’re close already.

“Fuck baby.” He groans when he feels your walls tighten around his thick fingers. “Already?”

“Joel—I—fuck-p-please—ah—”

His fingers sink deeper. You throw your head back, your back hitting the steering wheel.

You both know you’re close, just a bit more and you’re gonna come, embarrassingly quick.

"That's it—c'mon angel. Know you want it," he pants, you whimper in response.

But his phone rings. And he looks down to the center console where it’s buzzing, and sees your dad’s name pop up.

His hand stops, and you whine in protest, but he throws you a knowing look, your eyes meeting him then down to the phone.

You go rigid.

You look back at him, panic in your eyes, as everything kinda floods back. Like the fact that your dad’s best friend almost made you come in his truck.

He picks up the phone, and holds it to his ear. He gives you a ‘be quiet’ motion and you sink back into his lap.

“What’s up?” He answers.

You seen my daughter? I woke up and she was gone.

Your eyes widen.

“Uh—yeah. I drove her to the library. Figure she’s still there,” he says, coolly, like he wasn’t seconds from making you come all over his hand. In his lap.

Oh.

Some silence. You can tell Joel is waiting with bated breath.

Okay. Thanks.

“Yeah no problem,” Joel responds.

Alright. See you later.

“Yup,” he says, and hangs up quickly.

He looks back at you, and down to your cunt, bare for him, in his truck.

Fuck.

part ii

1K notes · View notes

bumblebeesfromvenus · 4 months

Text

Red Ribbon ❣️

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

A/N: The end of Fi's Christmas Market ☃️ is here! A bittersweet goodbye 😞 I hope you enjoyed my lil festive event! I had lots of fun doing it. There's much more planned for the new year! I hope you like this smutty parting gift!

~Fi 🐝

Warnings: NSFW CONTENT 17+. proceed with caution. Oral (m and f receiving), slight bondage, orgasm denial, PiV, creampie (don't be like them), very needy lovers, this is so soft and sappy.

Word count: 3.0k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

It all started innocently, you were just wrapping presents with Leon. You were seated on the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper, ribbons and gift bags. Humming along to the music in the background, you finished another bow on a present, handing it over to Leon so he could write the name on the little tag you'd attached.

"Who is this one for?" Your boyfriend asked, gold pen in hand. You glanced at the gift and narrowed your eyes at it for a second before answering.

"That one's for Jill." He nodded with a hum and went to write the name on it before you quickly stopped him.

"No, wait-" you took the present from his hands leaving him with his brows furrowed. You gave the box a small shake and listened closely before giving it back to him.

"Yep, it's for Jill."

"How do you- it didn't even make a sound." Leon said, his face contorted into utter confusion.

"Exactly." You gave him a proud smile, going back to wrapping the remaining gifts.

"You're a mystery to me, baby." He slightly shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well," you began, leaning in his direction and placing a hand on his thigh, "solve me, then."

He didn't miss the sultry tone in your voice or that playful and seductive glint in your eyes. A smirk settled on his lips, and there was a lustful glow in his sparkling blue irises.

Leon almost pounced on you, he'd never say no to an opportunity to ravish you. But, to his dismay, before his heated lips could even touch yours, you stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

"After we get the presents done, of course." You smiled sweetly as you went back to wrapping up gifts like nothing ever happened. Leon slumped back into his previous position and grumbled quietly under his breath. He respected your decision, of course, but did you have to tease and rile him up?

Even the slight touch of your hand on his thigh had his cock throbbing in his pants. And the way your voice was so silky and suggestive made him want to rip your clothes to shreds.

Nonetheless, he continued being the good boy he was and tried his best to put all the names on the designated presents in his best handwriting.

You clapped your hands together as you finished the last wrapping job.

"That's the last of it! They look quite nice, huh?" You smiled proudly, admiring the wrapping skills you had painfully acquired over many years.

"Good job, baby," Leon said with an equally as proud smile, placing a big kiss on your cheek, "now, about solving that mystery-"

You broke into a giggle.

"Patience, sweetheart, patience." You scolded playfully, waving your finger in the air. You leaned to one side and grabbed one of the many ribbons you had splayed out, along with a little festive tag. Shuffling over to Leon, you sat down on his thighs and began to tie it around his neck.

"What're you planning?" He smirked, his hands kneading at your hips.

"Just wrapping the last present." You smirked, finishing up the red bow. You had to stop yourself from drooling, the crimson satin band sat so nicely against his pale skin. The bow was peeking out from under his chin as the tag dangled from the ribbon.

"Hm.. and what does the tag say, huh, baby?" Leon grinned. The way his arms completely encased your middle and pulled you flush against his chest made your breath speed up, but hopefully, not enough for him to notice. With nimble fingers, you took hold of the tag and turned it over.

"Mine." You said quietly, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth to try and hide your smile as his jaw slacked slightly and his eyes widened. He squeezed you just a little tighter, and you

could feel his dick getting painfully hard as you were seated on his lap. The pressure of his hard on nestled perfectly against your pussy made your breath hitch in your throat. No matter how many times you would do this dance, he would always have this effect on you. All the blood rushed to your cheeks and to your cunt, leaving you light headed.

"S'only fair that I get to add a little bow to my present, too, right?" He breathed out. Even in his breathless state, there was nothing stopping that cocky smirk from creeping onto his face.

After you'd undressed, although it was actually more like tearing the clothes off one another, you'd dropped to your knees and decorated the base of his cock with a ruby band. You trailed kisses up his shaft, all the way to his tip. You gave it a gentle suck and Leon let out a small gasp, his head slightly tipping back as his hand found your hair.

It was so gentle, the way you dragged your lips up and down his dick, holding onto his thigh with one hand, and lacing your fingers together with the other. Your movements were slow, but calculated. Leon knew he wouldn't last long when you took him in your mouth as far as you could, and rubbed along the veins with your tongue.

"S-Shit, Baby... you really know how to make me fall apart, huh?" He chuckled breathlessly, which was quickly cut off by a groan when he felt your lips stretch into a smile around his cock. The hand that was tangled in your hair tightened its grip, but not to hurt. Never to hurt.

You gave his hand a loving squeeze as you moved up and down on his length, the bow at the base occasionally brushing against the tip of your nose. You pulled away for air, your chest slightly heaving as your spit dripped from his dick.

"I love you.. I love you so much. Want you to come in my mouth, Baby, please." You breathed out, pressing kisses to his trembling thighs.

"Y-Yeah? What my girl wants, she gets." Leon grinned, still breathless and all the love he held in his eyes for you never wavering for a second. He sheathed himself back into your mouth and gently began fucking your throat.

You hollowed out your cheeks and looked up at him with glazed eyes. His head was thrown back, his mouth was agape as whimpers and moans fell from him. The ribbon around his neck was being stretched slightly and the tag swayed with each thrust of his hips.

When the muscles in his stomach tensed and his moans became deeper you focused on his tip, swiping your tongue over it and sucking on it.

"I'm.. f-fuck, I'm gonna come.." Leon groaned, the sound being raspy and hoarse. He held onto your hand for dear life, grounding himself as the euphoria you brought him made his head spin. You gently stroked your thumb over his thigh, reminding him that you were here with him.

He came in your mouth with a strained cry of your name, stilling his movements as spurt after spurt of his warm cum trickled down your throat. You pulled away and swallowed all he had to give you, pressing one last gentle kiss to the tip of his cock before getting up from your knees and wrapping your arms around him.

"Are you okay, my love? Do you need to sit down?" You asked softly, stroking along his spine.

Leon chuckled.

"Fucking hell, woman. I don't need to sit down, I need a new pair of legs."

"Sorry." You giggled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're in for something, pretty girl," he leaned down and spoke lowly into your ear, "because I won't stop feasting on you until you need a new pair, too. Who knows, maybe we'll get a couples discount." With that and a sinister grin, you were dragged off to the bedroom.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

And that's how you ended up like this. Writhing, with purple and pink marks littering your skin all while Leon had his head buried between your thighs. Shuddering breaths tore through you as he lapped at your sopping cunt.

The red satin tied around your throat started to feel more suffocating by the second, the sharp edges of the tag poking into your flesh. The sting melded so deliciously with the sensation of Leon dragging his tongue through your folds, making you moan and whine.

The second ribbon he had decorated you with was tied just underneath your soft tits, stretching across your ribcage as the satin brushed against the underside of your breasts. Everything felt so overwhelming, there were too many sensations at once, making your skin raise in goosebumps.

The band around Leon's neck brushed against the back of your thighs and your ass. The last ribbon was tightly tied around your left thigh, some of your pudgy flesh spilling from the bound string. Leon was eating your pussy like it was his purpose, like it was the sole reason he was created; to bring you bliss with such carnal adoration that you'd melt before him.

"F-Fuck, Lee... slow down, I can't... oh God!" You cried out when he took your sensitive clit between his lips and started sucking. Your thighs clamped down around his head and you tried to push him away in a pathetic attempt. Leon growled into your pussy in a displeased manner.

He wanted nothing more than to pin down your arms by your side and knead at your chubby tummy while he was fucking his tongue into your hole. Unfortunately for him, you'd tied his hands behind his back and he was straining against the ribbon. He wanted to touch you more than he'd ever wanted to touch you in his life and he couldn't.

He couldn't, and it was making the determination to make you come undone without his touch grow even more. Leon ceased his struggling against his restraints when a particularly cute moan fell from your lips and your eyes squeezed shut. His cock twitched and he moaned into your cunt, bucking his hips up in the air in hope for some friction.

The tip of his dick was flushed and had a pearl of pre-cum running down the underside of it, meeting the red ribbon tied around at the base. Leon pulled away from between your thighs, his hair disheveled and his lips glistening with your slick. You whined and cried at the loss of his tongue on your pussy, having been so impossibly close to the edge.

"Let me touch you. Please, I need to touch you so bad." He begged with a heaving chest. You'd do anything he asked, but fuck if he didn't look divine like this. That whole growly attitude about feasting on you went out the window the second your taste hit his tongue.

"I'll.. I'll let you touch, I promise, just- please go back to what you were doing." You pleaded breathlessly, fisting the sheets both in frustration and anticipation. Leon would've made a smug remark or gave you that cocky smirk but he was so drunk on you, and on the lack of touching you, that all he did was nod dumbly and went right back to lapping at your poor cunt.

A shiver ran through you at your approaching climax, your ruined orgasm from before having you dangle on a string above a raging hot fire of love and lust.

"Don't stop, don't stop..." you moaned, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and your back arching. Leon circled your clit with his tongue and with one last flick against your sensitive bud, the coil inside you snapped. Your thighs shook and shuddered breaths tore through you as you were riding out your blissful high.

"Holy shit.." you breathed out, one of your arms falling over your eyes.

"Was that good?" Leon asked, kissing and sucking at your thighs that were drenched with your release. You could hear the smirk in his voice; he already knew the answer to that question.

"That was more than good. I might need to tie you up more often." You smirked, getting up on your elbows.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, pretty girl?"

"Very much so. But, I believe I promised you something." You said softly, shuffling over to undo the string keeping his hands behind his back. His hands found your thighs and he gently caressed the marks he'd left, brushing his thumb over the ribbon around your thigh in the process. You took his hands and pulled him up from his knees, pulling him on top of you.

"I've not gotten a single kiss, can you believe that?" You teased, bumping your nose against his playfully.

"We can't have that, can we?" Leon smirked, capturing your lips in a kiss that overflowed with so much desire and passion it almost made you melt. His hands that were finally free to touch you gently slid over your body, stroking and kneading at your flesh. His cock lay heavy against your pussy, making the fire in your veins ignite once more.

One hand toyed with your tits, groping them, while the other cradled your cheek so delicately as if you were made from porcelain.

"Can I fuck you? Please, I need you. Need t'be inside you.." Leon breathed against your lips. You nodded eagerly before stealing a kiss from him once more.

"Yeah. Wan' you inside of me, Lee."

He continued to kiss your breath away, reaching a hand between your bodies to line himself up with you.

"You.. are you gonna leave that on?" You questioned with your lips puffy, glancing down at the ribbon around his cock.

"Yeah, I was gonna leave it." He said breathlessly, going back to your lips again. You sucked in a sharp breath.

"God, that's hot." You whispered as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" He chuckled against your lips, slowly starting to push inside your sopping cunt. You whined with a nod as he stretched you out.

"Fuck, Baby... you fit around me so perfectly... s'like you were made for me."

"I was." You whimpered, Leon's hips beginning to move slowly after he fully sheathed himself inside of you.

"Yeah, you were. My pretty, beautiful, perfect girl... all for me, all mine. For me to hold, to kiss, to love."

He groaned when you clenched down on him at his words.

He was stroking your hair while his other arm was around your back, pressing you close against his chest. His thrust became harder and you mewled when you felt the ribbon brush against your clit.

"Oh, fuck.. I love you, I love you, I love you." You cried as the tip of his dick rubbed against that spongy spot inside of you. Your lips were almost glued together, only ever coming apart to mumble sweet words to one another. He swallowed your every moan and whine, just as you did his.

"I love you too, sweetheart. M-My.. shit... my angel, my princess.."

"Oh my god.. I'm so close, please..." you panted, your eyes falling shut at the feeling of Leon inside of you. He moved his hips just a little faster and trailed one of his hands between your thighs to rub at your clit.

"Come f'me, Baby... you can be good for me, can't you?" He breathed, cut off by a whimper when you tightened around him.

"Mhm, I'll be good for you.." you babbled mindlessly, the only thing in your head was how good he made you feel and how much you loved him.

His hand searched for yours, grasping it just in time as you came around him with his name falling from your lips. Leon spilled inside of you with a moan muffled by your lips. His cum flooded your walls, making a delightful and fuzzy feeling creep up your spine. His cock twitched inside of you, making you gasp softly.

Leon stayed inside of you for a minute to catch his breath. You were all hazy and smiles when he finally pulled out and situated himself next to you. He pulled you close to his chest and you kissed along his jaw.

"Are you alright, pretty girl?" Leon asked softly, running his fingers through your hair.

"Always when I'm with you. How are you feeling?" You smiled drowsily, ready to pass out for the next two hours.

"I'm okay, Baby. More than okay." He replied quietly with a smile on his lips. There was a comfortable silence, your synchronized breathing slowed and your eyelids began to flutter shut.

"We should take a shower." Leon mumbled against your hair, not wanting to let you go.

"I know... jus' gimme 20 minutes and I'll wash your hair."

"I love it when you do that. But I think we need a nap first." He yawned, snuggling closer together and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

"Agreed." You sighed comfortably.

"Is your neck itchy too?" You mumbled into his chest.

"Yeah, I don't-" Leon reached up to his neck but stopped when he felt the ribbon against his fingertips. You opened one eye to see why he stopped.

"We forget about the ribbon, didn't we?"

"Yep."

The two of you broke into a fit of tired giggles, and you helped each other from your bounds, kissing the skin in your wake.

The crimson bands were tossed out the bed, and now you were content, cuddled up with each other. The world was left behind as you were enveloped by the warm and pleasant tug of sleep, drifting into shared dreams.

And just like your bodies were a minute ago, so were your hearts; bound with a Red Ribbon.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

This might be my last fic for 2023! It definitely won't be the last you hear of me, though.

My plan for the new year is to focus on the requests sitting in my inbox, maybe accept some more and throw in my own ideas here and there!

<3 🐝

#bumblebeesfromvenus #FI'S CHRISTMAS MARKET ☆#christmas 2023 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil leon #leon smut #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy comfort

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thelittlewriter · 3 months

Text

Anonymous letter

A Valentine's Day Story

Pairing : Kenma x Reader

"Dear Y/N,

I like you. There's no need to beat around the bush since it's Valentine's Day and I'm gifting you chocolate. Thank you for being as nice and positive as you are, it always makes my day better.

P.S. : there's no need for me to sign this letter because I'm only telling you that I like you, I'm not asking you to like me back."

And that was it. No hint, nothing. You had no idea who was this person. You stared at the handwriting for hours, and couldn't even figure out if it was someone you knew. You guessed it was someone you knew at least a little, seeing how you apparently made his day better. The thought made you laugh a little. How could you make someone's day better just by... existing ?

But you couldn't laugh too hard. After all, someone made your day better just by existing. But there was no way you would've gifted him chocolate for Valentine's Day.

Kenma just wasn't the type. You had spent the whole day with him, and he never asked once. Even when Kuroo asked you, he didn't seem interested. You tried to avoid answering the question all day until you just couldn't. So you lied.

"No, I didn't get anything", you said. "Did you ?"

He paused for a while, frowning his eyebrows. But he still answered :

"Of course. The ladies love me."

After a while, he asked again :

"So you really didn't get anything ?"

You shook your head. After all, that "anonymous sender" could've been a prank. You would never know.

"Even if I did", you added. "I wouldn't have kept them."

Finally, Kenma raised his head and looked at you.

"Why ?"

"Because I'm not interested. I'll just throw them away."

You didn't mean the last part. Whether you felt the same thing, someone had the courage to tell you how they felt for you. That was more than you could do. But you just didn't want to talk about chocolate and Valentine's Day anymore.

"You threw away my chocolate ?" you heard.

You turned to Kenma. He was pouting, as he avoided your gaze.

"It was you ?" you asked, confused.

He didn't say anything, as he walked faster to keep a distance between you. You couldn't see his face anymore. You turned to Kuroo, who was looking in the opposite direction. And then you realized.

They were both in on it.

"So it was a prank ?"

Nobody answered. You ran to Kenma.

"Why would you do that ?"

He looked back at you. His piercing gaze froze you.

"Wasn't the letter clear enough ?"

You didn't know what to answer. You didn't know what to do. You couldn't say anything. What if it was not a prank ? What if he really liked you ? What if...

"I was not pranking you," he said.

Then, he whispered :

"But you threw them away."

You quickly grabbed his hand as he turned away.

"I didn't !"

You opened your bag, showing him the chocolate box. You saw how his eyes lit up and you looked away, embarrassed. You thought about the letter again. It really looked like you were making his day better, just now. Just like he did.

"I was going to eat them, I swear."

"Then why did you say you wouldn't ?"

Your heart clenched. You wanted to say the words but all you could do was admire him for being able to do what you couldn't.

"I had my reasons", you just whispered.

You caught a glimpse of a smile on his face as you started to walk again.

"You know", he said after a while. "Gifting chocolate isn't really my thing."

You laughed.

"I know. That's why I didn't gift you any."

"What did you say ?"

You didn't answer. You weren't ready yet. Still, you grabbed his hand as he silently walked you home. You would have a lot of talking to do when Valentine's Day is over. But right now, all that mattered was that he liked you and you liked him too.

#haikyu x reader #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #kenma x y/n #kenma x you #kenma fluff #kenma angst #kenma x reader #hq kenma #hq fanfic #hq x reader #hq fluff

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nyxxxatnite · 3 months

Text

Poison

Plot: it should’ve been known that just because you slept with him, doesn’t mean anything changes. And you can’t help but fall for his words every time

Pairings: asshole!Wally Clark x loner!fem!reader, alive!wally x alive!reader

warning(s): SMUTT!!!! Heavy angst at the end, reader gets used for sex, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), no happy end, wally bullies the reader, wally is an absolute asshole unless he’s fucking the reader, fingering, degrading, tbh this is shit, NOT PROFREAD

a/n: YALL. okay so i recently binged Hazbin Hotel and this smut is based on a song from the show called Poison. I’m obsessed with it! Anyways. Lets get TO IT!

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

the sound of the bell snaps you out of your day dream, making you look up from your notepad. Students are standing and making their way out of the classroom to hurry to their next class, leaving you by yourself. As you begin to pack your things you noticed a folded piece of paper tossed between the pages of your notepad. You grab it gently and open it, immediately recognizing Wally’s sloppy handwriting.

“Meet me in the janitors closet during our free period ;)”

you roll your eyes and crumple the paper up, tossing it into the trashcan as you walk out of the already empty classroom. You wouldn’t fall for his shit this time. The last time you did your heart got torn into shreds. But at the same time…god you’ve never had an orgasm like the one he gave you. It should’ve been a one time thing, well no, it shouldn’t have happened at all. You only went to his house to help him out with homework like he had requested and one thing led to another and you were pressed face down into his mattress as he ruined your insides.

the second time it happened? Well, honestly that was your own mistake. It was after school and you wanted to find a place to smoke in peace, so you wandered to the football field. Low and behold there he was, running laps by himself. In your defense you did try and leave but he’s a football player for crying out loud. He caught up quick and stopped you, starting to tease you about your habits. And one thing turned into another and you were riding him on the bleachers with your skirt bunched at your waist.

you hated him and he hated you but fuck his dick game was too good. But you wouldn’t let it happen again, especially when you realized about a week ago you like the football player. When you fully figured it out you avoided seeing like like he was a solar eclipse. Which made him pissed off, so when he noticed you spaced out in class he thought it the best time to give you the note.

before you could even fully wander down the hallway, you were being pulled into a small space. And when the chemicals hit your nose you knew exactly where you were. You ripped your arm from the quarter backs grasp and glared up at him.

“what the fuck Wally,” you snapped and stepped back to the door. Effectively, he blocked you in and pressed himself to you, against the door. You knew if you tried to leave you’d out the both fo you, and you’d hate to have everyone mock you

“you’ve been avoiding me, asshole, what the fuck,” he sneered and leaned down to be closer. The closer he got the more his scent encapsulated your sense. Fuck he smelt so nice.

“no shit, i fuckin’ hate your guts,” you sneered back and glared up at him. The only response you got was a snicker from him.

“nah, the only guts in this equation are yours while i’m fucking ruining them,” he whispered and gently placed his lips to your neck. You shiver and try to flinch away but his hand in your hair stops you from moving. You try to free your poor hair from his grasp but he grips harder and glares down at you.

“admit it, you love when i dick you down. You’re a fucking whore who loves to get pushed around by the star football player. Which isn’t a surprise, seeing how much of a freak you are.”

you should’ve been upset by his words but all you felt was arousal, that familiar hear between your legs. Why was this turning you on so much? Without too much thought behind it, you swung your arm back a bit and up. With a loud smack, your hand lands on his cheek, a harsh slap erupted in the small space. His face turned to the side from the impact, but that wasn’t what deterred you. The smirk rising to his lips made you lean back a bit in surprise and then the sudden impact on your chest settled in as he spun you around. With a harsh push, he’s pinning you to your front against the door, arms locked behind your back.

you hiss at the contact and try to snap at him but are cut off by the harsh yank from your hair along with the smack that landed on your ass. You let out a yelp and squeeze your eyes shut at the harsh sting hits you like bricks. And within seconds you’re feeling the cold air hit your already soaked cunt. He’s all but careful as he shoves his ring and middle finger into your hot cunt, making you moan out. His free hand is slapping over your mouth as he pumps his fingers in and out of your aching cunt at an aggressive speed, curling them every now and then to hit that perfect spot inside of you.

with his hand muffling your moans, you let them fly. Small pants are given from the dark haired boy as he pressed his hard cock against your plush ass that still stung from his assault earlier. Your eyes roll a bit from the harsh pace, already feeling a small knot build in your gut but it was easily ruined as he pulled his fingers out abruptly. You wanted to cry out in protest but the sound of his belt being undone made your heart leap in excitement.

He’s grabbing your hips and pulling them back a bit so your ass is out more for him. You jump a bit as you feel his tip prod at your entrance, gathering whatever wetness he could before he pressed into you. The stretch always felt a bit tight but you knew you’d be feeling like heaven in moments.

but he sat for a second, stuffed to the hilt inside of you. You turn your head a bit to look back at him but he grabs your hair and forces you to look away from him. Your confusion is dissolved as he starts to pull out only to slam back into you. You bite down on your lip to keep your cries in, loving the feel of his dick deep inside of you. His pace is all but sweet as he starts to fuck into you like a dog in rut. The soft groans coming from him were like heaven, along with the loud sounds of your squelching cunt and his balls slapping against your clit and his pelvis smacking into your ass.

you try and reach back to hold onto some part of him but he quickly slaps your hand away, keeping his hand in your hair to keep your head stabilized. And for some reason you feel like he’s trying to keep himself distant from you. After he had just bitched about you avoiding him as well.

your thoughts are interrupted as you felt that knot in your lower abdomen build up again. You whimpered softly and reached down between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly to help. Wally’s hips keep pistoning into you, trying to chase his own high as well. Within a few more thrusts he’s shooting his cum deep inside of you, painting your walls that milky white color. His finish triggered yours making you spasm a bit, feeling your liquid leak down his dick and your own thighs. You were thankful you were wearing a skirt, clean up would be easy.

after taking a little breather you started to get yourself together. You turn your eyes up to the boy, seeing his eyes clouded with thought. You stepped closer only to be pushed back, “we can’t do this again. If people found out i was fucking you my reputation would be ruined. Just stay the fuck away from me from now on, freak.”

with that, he’s moving around you and darting out or the closet, leaving you alone. You’d fallen for it again, and this time his poison hit its mark leaving you with a broken heart.

#wally clark #school spirits #milo manheim #Wally clark x reader #wally clark smut #wally clark x reader smut

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munson-blurbs · 11 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

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