#how to make muffins from scratch

[quietwingsinthesky]

watching my brother and his girlfriend fuck up baking muffins so bad it’s stressing me out

[navybrat817]

Vanilla Frosting

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky takes a call at home and you decide to tease him a bit.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Established relationship, banter, teasing, dirty thoughts, very slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you.

A/N: I blame these photos as they gave me CEO vibes. And @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer . Again, before our couple has Muffin and Bean. ❤️ 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!

“I thought you said no calls, Boss.”

Bucky sighed and rolled up his sleeves as he looked toward the kitchen. You stood in the doorway with crossed arms and slow building irritation in your eyes. The sight of you always lightened his mood and made his heart race, but that look wasn't a good sign. Oh, he was in trouble.

Some sort of trouble.

As a CEO, he was always prepared to take the fall when it came to his company. Seeing your kissable mouth set in a grim line though? “It’s Steve’s fault,” he blurted out, throwing his best friend under the bus without hesitation.

“Really, Buck?” Steve’s voice rang out from the laptop speaker.

“Yeah, really,” he snapped. When Steve found a partner like you, he’d get why he bent his will to you over everyone else. Hell, he welcomed Steve getting a bit of payback because it would mean his best friend would have found happiness. “I’m sorry, Cupcake,” he added in a softer tone to you.

He didn’t want to take the call, he really didn’t. All he wanted to do was hold you and forget about the stress of work for an evening. He even assured you that there would be no work tonight, but Steve insisted he get on a video chat with some of the executive team. God knew the punk was relentless, but the unimpressed look on your face made him want to fire everyone and start from scratch.

The two of you had plenty of money, so you’d be set if he went that route.

“Steve’s fault, huh?” You slowly smiled after a moment. “Okay. You take the call and I’ll start making some cupcakes.”

Bucky cocked his head with a confused stare as you went further into the kitchen and out of sight. Baking cupcakes wasn't out of the ordinary for you, but you saying “okay” wasn't okay. He knew better. There was no possible way he was off the hook for this. He already had at least ten gifts in mind to buy you once the call wrapped up.

“I love you,” he called after you, not at all ashamed for anyone to hear that as they joined the meeting. If anyone eyeballed him or said an unkind word about voicing his feelings for you outside of the office, they could find another job.

“Love you, too!” You called back.

That brought a small smile to his face. “Let’s get started so we can all get back to our regular evening plans,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

After a minute, he glanced over the monitor as he heard gentle movement in the kitchen. You weren't slamming things around, which was good. You understood how crazy things could get since you were his secretary. It didn't mean he enjoyed taking time away from the two of you and he didn’t want you upset with him. Even if you weren't upset, he still had to make it up to you. He-

“Hey, Bucky?” Your eyes lit up as you appeared in the doorway again with a small bowl. He was certain he forgot how to breathe when he eyed what you were wearing: a new black and white apron. And nothing else. Jesus fucking Christ. “You want vanilla frosting for the cupcakes, right?”

Bucky subtly shifted in his seat as you sauntered further into the room, his throat dry at the sight of you. The curve of your hips, your hardened nipples teasing him through the fabric. Calling you beautiful wasn't enough. Your beauty was transcendent, indescribable. The kind that made the strongest of people drop to their knees. He was a powerful man, but still just a man at the end of the day and you rendered him powerless. And right now he needed to focus on the call, but how could he focus on anything but you?

He cleared his throat when Jack rambled on about something. Or was it John? Who gave a fuck? “Cupcake,” he growled.

“I know I do. Maybe you can frost me later?” You scooped a bit of frosting onto your finger and wrapped your lips around it with an obscene moan. Thankfully he had his microphone turned off. They didn't need to hear your pretty sounds. “Mmm.”

He groaned when you showed him your tongue. He knew it was frosting, but the image made it easy to picture you wrapping your warm mouth around his cock and showing him his release before you swallowed like a good girl. It took a lot of control not to palm himself. Surely everyone would understand if he ended the call now. Why the fuck did he take this call?

Making sure his hand was out of sight, he beckoned you closer with his finger. If he was lucky he could get you to take the apron off, sit in the nearby chair, and touch yourself. Or you could keep the apron on. As long as he could see your glistening pussy. Even looking wouldn't be enough. He had to get his mouth on it, his cock in it.

But you didn't go to him.

Instead, you tsked with the finger you licked and pointed at the laptop. “Oh, no, Boss. You listened to Steve and took the call. Now deal with the consequences,” you smiled sweetly, turning on your heel and giving him the perfect view of your ass as you walked back into the kitchen.

Yep, he was in big trouble.

Bucky's fists clenched as he got back to the task at hand, but he also chuckled. He deserved a bit of blue balls for the time being. He also had to respect the way you played the game, but he knew how to play the game, too. Before the night was over, he’d be back in your good graces. He’d eat one of your delicious cupcakes before he got a taste of you. And he'd remind you that he didn't have the world because of money, power, or any of that.

Bucky Barnes had the world because he had you.

Oh, these two. 🥰 Steve isn't even upset for getting blamed. 🤣 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lxvvie]

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

[absurdthirst]

The Last Part of Him {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.2k

Warnings: Flirting/Courting, Joel's a little confused, Flirting through food, dates, feelings of inadequacy, oral sex (male and female receiving) premature ejaculation, shame, fleeing the scene of the crime, public blowjobs, mentions of infertility, sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, Joel being sexy when he's confident, relationship issues, miscommunication, five year flash forward, mentions of illness, canon events, pregnancy.

Comments: When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel sighs as he looks around the house, full of mismatched furniture and remnants  from long dead owners who perished during the outbreak. Joel feels a little awkward touching anything, the space doesn't feel like his, but since he and Ellie returned from Colorado, he is desperate to settle down. He doesn't know how to. It's been twenty years of fighting to stay alive and all of a sudden he doesn't need to fight for his meal, it's provided. He doesn't need to try to stay warm, he has a fireplace and space heaters. He doesn't have to just survive. It's hard to shake old habits so the residents of Jackson are skittish when he's around, dark eyes full of the battles he fought over the years and that makes them nervous, scared that he's going to snap. Ellie has settled in like a duck to water, meeting the other teenagers despite her initial apprehension, and Joel is happy to see that. It confirms that he made the right choice to save her. Picking up the coffee cup, Joel falls back into the chair at the kitchen table. He doesn't have to survive anymore...he can live. He stares at the cup until there's a knock on the door. His heart pounds and the instinct to grab his gun is there but he slowly makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing there. "Uh, can I help you?" He asks, taken back by the pretty young thing on his doorstep holding a basket of what looks like muffins.

You shift nervously, smiling at the handsome newcomer to Jackson. Not exactly new since he and the girl were here for a few days several months ago, but they are back to stay. You’ve met the girl, Ellie, and she’s nice, if not a little abrasive. Joel, though, you’ve only seen him in passing and you wanted to introduce yourself to Tommy’s older brother. Your name comes out of your mouth, almost hesitantly and you could kick yourself for nearly stuttering because of an attractive set of brown eyes and silver threaded hair. “Wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to Jackson.” You offer, holding up the basket. “Hope you like blackberries?” You ask. “I’ve got a greenhouse in my backyard. Blackberries are abundant this year so far.” You’re rambling so you clamp your mouth shut. “Made them myself.”

Joel hates that his immediate reaction is suspicion but what can he do? He raises his eyebrows, watching you shift from one foot to the other, biting your lower lip like he’s gonna shove the muffins on the floor. “I, uh, thanks.” He says, brow still furrowed but he musters a smile for you. “You didn’t have to do that.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, “they, uh, they look good. Thanks.” He adds again, not sure how to act when faced with genuine kindness.

“We’ve grown our wheat fresh.” You offer, knowing that some have voiced concern about eating flour when they first arrived. “No old stores. Not that they would have survived twenty years anyway.” You hate how stupid you sound, especially because he’s more attractive up close than he had been walking the streets, an unapproachable scowl on his face. “So you know, it’s safe to eat.”

You’re nervous and he has no idea why except maybe his reputation has preceded him in Jackson. He knows that the people are wary of him and don’t know who exactly he is. “Thanks. I, uh, I don’t remember the last time I ate a muffin.”

God, he’s sexy. You swallow down a slight giggle, wondering if you are just horny because of lack of selection. “Well I promise you’ll love my muffins.” You don’t even think about how it will sound until it’s out of your mouth and Joel’s brow twitches slightly. “So, uh, welcome to Jackson, neighbor.” You offer, even if you don’t live nearby. Because you’re single, you live in an apartment.

Joel nods, still cautious and confused as you offer him a little wave and he frowns when his thought is “how cute.” He doesn’t think of anything as cute, not since Sarah would cuddle her teddy bear when she fell asleep. He sighs, shutting the door when you bounce off the porch and he looks down at the muffin, picking one up to take a big bite out and groans, “fuck, those are good.” He mutters to himself as he strides into the kitchen just as Ellie comes through the front door, shrugging off her jacket, and she strides into the kitchen to see Joel with a muffin in his hand. “Muffins?” She guesses even though she only saw them in books. Baked goods were really a common commodity in the QZ. Joel nods, “neighbor brought them over.” He explains after he swallows and Ellie eagerly grabs one, “fuck yeah.” She declares, taking a big bite and she groans at the taste. Joel looks at the muffin in his hand, thinking about the pretty woman who made them for him. She won’t be back…she will realize he’s not someone you want as your neighbor.

You don’t hear anything back from him, although it’s to be expected. You didn’t exactly tell him where to find you. You had hoped that he would ask around, maybe using the basket as an excuse to track you down. Still, you see Ellie around town for the next few days and spot Joel once or twice, but he’s always talking to Tommy and Maria, obviously discussing something serious. You don’t see him at dinner in the dining hall though. Making you decide that the perfect excuse to visit again would be dropping off the casserole you had made. Calling yourself an idiot as you once again wait on the porch for someone to answer the door.

Joel adjusts the reading glasses that were gifted to him by Tommy as a joke for being officially an old man but he has found himself reluctantly reaching for them for reading things. He makes his way to the front door, wondering if Ellie forgot her keys and he is surprised when he sees you standing there. “Uh, hi.” He says your name, stomach twisting at the sight of you.

You can’t help but grin, a silly little happy grin because he remembered your name. “Hi.” He doesn’t open the door wider, doesn’t offer to let you come inside. Still guarded and there’s confusion in his eyes. Making you wonder when the last time he had someone just be nice to him. “I never see you in the dining hall.” You announce. “Maybe you don’t like crowds? Or people?” You chuckle slightly but he just looks at you, his eyes heavy on you and you shift. “Anyway, I, uh, I made this casserole.” You love a good, hearty casserole. It’s comforting and warming, reminding you of better times. “For you.” You add. “The casserole is for you. And Ellie.”

Joel looks down at the dish in your hand, eyebrows raising slightly, “I, uh, I still have your other basket.” He remembers, scratching his jaw, “do you - Ellie is out and I ain’t really lookin’ forward to eatin’ alone. You wanna come in and have some of this?” He asks, not wanting to be alone despite that being selfish.

“Y-yeah.” You nod, heart pounding at the unsure look on his face. As if he was expecting you to say no. “I’d like that. I don’t like eating alone either.” You shrug slightly. “Unless I’m pissed at the world and don’t want to talk.” You admit with a roll of your eyes. “Because for some reason, people can’t just sit with you and not talk.”

Joel snorts, nodding his head, “Ellie never shuts up.” He confesses, making you chuckle as you follow him into the house after he turns and makes his way into the house he’s still trying to be comfortable enough in to call home. “You want a beer?” He asks, thankful Tommy brought them over today and he’s had them cooling since they arrived.

“Sure.” You set the casserole down on the counter when he guides you into the kitchen. It’s nice, the old appliances are still sitting on the counters although they look like they haven’t been used. Except for the coffee maker. It still holds a cup of coffee in the carafe from where he had made some this morning. “What was the old saying? ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere.’ Well, it’s past five now, so I think we are good and I’m not going on a recon tomorrow.”

He frowns, trying to figure out where the plates are. He hasn’t memorized the kitchen set up just yet so he opens a few cabinets before he finds them. He sets them down on the table and quickly locates the silverware. “It smells really good.” He compliments you, wanting you to know he appreciates this, even if he can’t really express it.

“Thanks.” You watch him stumble around his own kitchen, now looking for cups and you tilt your head before you move to arrange the plates in front of the chairs. “You know, you should really reorganize the kitchen how you want it.” You suggest. “It’s your house now. Not like the old owners are going to be upset.”

Joel pauses at your words, surprised you observed him like you did. He feels a little exposed and he finds the cups. After setting them down, he opens the fridge to pull out two beers. “I haven’t been here long.” He reveals even though you know that, “I don’t remember the last time I had a kitchen like this.”

“You’ll get used to it faster than you believe possible.” You promise as you move to shift the casserole to the table in the middle. “It’s honestly nice, trying to rebuild a little bit of the past. Maybe improve it.”

He shifts to sit down, watching you as you take the seat opposite him, and he remembers he’s wearing the glasses. He reaches up to take them off, folding them, and he reaches for the serving spoon at the same time as you. When your fingers brush his, his heart flutters in his chest. “You first.” He insists, handing you the spoon.

It’s almost a shame that he took off his glasses. It gave him an almost scholarly appearance, although without him, he’s just hot. He even has manners, which makes you smile as you dip out a portion and turn the spoon around towards him. “Thank you.” You murmur.

He serves himself and lifts his full cup after pouring the beers out. “Thanks for dinner.” He murmurs, taking a sip of the beer that’s the equivalent to Michelob Ultra. Basically water but in these times beggars can’t be choosers. He sets his beer down and picks up the spoon, taking his first bite, and he groans at the taste of your cooking.

You hope that’s a good groan and not one that means he hates it. You take a bite yourself and feel like it’s good. It has to be, because Joel digs in a little faster. Not hunched over his food like some do, but the scrape of the spoon is quicker than yours. Smiling, you reach for your beer and take a sip.

He’s not used to eating slowly. He’s used to eating to survive and he is still in that habit. Shoving food in until he sees your eyes and he slows down. He swallows his bite, knowing he should say something. “It’s really good.” He gestures his spoon towards the food.

“I’m glad you like it.” He sounds gruff, but you think that’s just the way he talks. You don’t take offense to it. “Because there’s enough for leftovers.” You crack a grin and look around. “And I don’t see any evidence of sneaking one of the dogs home.” You joke. The dogs are trained to sniff out infected, treated well, but definitely not allowed to be kept as pets.

He chuckles for a moment, setting his spoon down, “the dogs would definitely love your cooking. Ellie, uh, she really liked the muffins. Kid ain’t had one because of the outbreak and the QZ didn’t exactly have a Panera.” He jokes quietly.

“I couldn’t imagine they did.” You like the fact that he can make a joke. The little half smile that curves his lips makes you want to see a full one. “Although coffee would be the most important thing to me.” You admit. “Nothing better than a cup of hot coffee, especially first thing in the morning.”

He nods, “absolutely. One thing I missed all those days on the road…cup of coffee. Could do without food. Could do without…well, without sex.” He says honestly, “but coffee? Especially Ellie tellin’ me these stupid puns all day.” He gently rolls his eyes but his gesture is full of affection.

There’s obviously a fatherly love for the girl, you can tell by the way his voice changes, softens. It makes you smile, even if your entire body had lit up when the word ‘sex’ had dripped off his tongue. “Coffee and sex makes for the best morning though.” You chuckle. “You can survive anything then. Even puns.”

He snorts, “true. Folgers and an orgasm ain’t a bad way to start the day.” He chuckles, “not in that order.” He adds after a beat and he continues eating, spoon scraping the plate. “Where did you learn to cook?” He asks, curious if you taught yourself or a family member taught you.

“The group I was in before Jackson recon found me.” You smile. “There was an old woman who served as our cook. No matter how low we were on supplies, she could make it feel like a feast.” You shrug. “She taught me, and so I volunteer in the kitchens sometimes.”

Joel nods, “you got skills, sweetheart.” He smiles and looks down at his plate as you smile at him. “What happened to your group?” He asks, curious because everyone has a story, everyone has a tragedy.

“Dead.” Your group had been unfortunately softer than needed in this harsh world and hadn’t put down someone infected right away. “About a hundred miles from here.”

He taps his spoon against the plate, “shit. I’m so-sorry.” He murmurs, knowing that he has seen some shit go down in groups. “Well, I’m glad you ain’t one of them.” He murmurs until he catches himself, “otherwise I would be eatin’ stale crackers and jerky.”

You chuckle softly. “Thanks.” You shrug. “And you came out here from Boston to find Tommy?” Everyone has heard the story, you just think that it’s amazing. The show of loyalty makes your heart flutter.

Joel nods, “yeah. He, uh, didn’t exactly tell me he had found fuckin’ apocalyptic paradise and got married with a kid on the way, I thought he was in the middle of nowhere.” He confesses, “but I brought Ellie along with me and yeah, she’s a good kid.”

“You thought he was in trouble and came to the rescue.” It makes him even more admirable in your opinion and it’s amazing you aren’t just simpering in a puddle at his feet. “I know that the town has been buzzing. You used to build? Before all of the end of the world shit?” Fuck, in his prime, on a construction site? Joel Miller would have been fucking eye candy to you.

Joel nods, feeling like that career was a lifetime ago. He’s developed other skill sets, ones he never imagined having to learn back when he was building houses for a living. “Yeah. Me and Tommy had our own business.” He reveals, “was damn good at it.” He boasts and smiles softly at some of the jobs he did. “I can help out around town.” He offers, knowing he’s already offered that to Maria. He wants to earn his place here.

“That’s impressive.” You have a competency kink and you know it, so that just makes him even more attractive. “I know we will be grateful. Everyone pitches in, but people who had knowledge before all of this, they are important.”

“Not quite as useful as a doctor but I’ll do my best.” He offers you a small chuckle until he finishes his dinner. “I can’t really cook for shit other than rabbits and uh, things I catch like fish so that was really good.” He compliments you, “thank you.” He murmurs, wanting you to know he appreciates it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He’s a little more friendly now, but you don’t want to push him, knowing that he’s not one for a lot of chit chat. “Let me help clean up and I’ll let you enjoy your evening.” You offer. “I doubt you’re going to the movie tonight?”

He wants to say more but he’s not capable. Ellie did all the talking when they were traveling. He sighs, shaking his head, “not really my scene.” He confesses, “no one wants me around.” He admits what he’s been thinking since he arrived in Jackson. “Here, lemme clean up.” He orders, taking the plate from your hand.

You don’t think that is true, but you just hum. “I’ll cover the casserole and put it in the fridge for you.” You stand and reach for the pan at the same time that Joel does and you laugh. “I can help.”

You seem to be unable to resist and he knows when to relent. He nods, “I appreciate that.” He says softly as he carries the plates over to the sink to rinse them off. It’s still crazy to have running water like this. He’s still trying to adapt to living like he did twenty years ago.

There’s a soft silence between you as you work. It’s not heavy, or expectant. It’s actually kind of nice. Once the food is stored away and the dishes are resting in the drying rack, there’s nothing keeping you here. “Well, I better go.” You murmur, not sure of what to say, or how to indicate that you would stay if he asked you too. He probably doesn’t anyway, finding you annoying and wanting to be rid of you. “I’ll take my basket back though.”

He wants to ask you to stay because he’s alone and he doesn’t want to get too used to being alone. He doesn’t say that though, he nods, “of course.” He walks over to where he stored it, handing it back to you, and he scratches the back of his head, “thanks…for, you know, the casserole and the muffins.”

“You’re welcome.” You flash a smile and then turn around to walk down the porch steps, already planning the next thing you’ll drop by with. 

Over the course of next two weeks, you bring him a blackberry pie, another casserole and a beautiful teal plaid shirt you had traded a gallon of blackberries to Seth for. The crotchety older man didn’t know why you wanted a shirt he didn’t like, but you knew that it would look amazing on Joel. Still, since that first dinner with him, nothing had gone past awkward conversations at his door and you wondered if he just wasn’t interested in you.

Joel adjusts the shirt he’s wearing - the one that you got him - as he stands outside your door. The small box suddenly feels heavy and he feels dumb and as soon as he knocks, he wants to stride off. Before he can step away, you open your door and his chest suddenly feels tight. “Hey.” You greet him with a smile and he nods, “hi.” He shuffles from one foot to the other, “I, uh, brought you something.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen and they drop down to the box in his hand. “Uh, come in.” You open the door wider, surprised and pleased that he had figured out where you live. “Sorry about the mess.” You apologize, gesturing to the messy sofa with a throw tossed aside from where you were reading with a cup of coffee.

He snorts, “don’t even worry about it.” He shakes his head, “Ellie makes a mess.” He chuckles, stepping into your place. “I, uh, wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” He murmurs, “so, uh, I made you this.” He holds out the box.

Your heart pounds in your chest when you take the box from him. “Wow.” You murmur softly. “I don’t know what to say.” You don’t even know what it is, but you are touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.” You look back at him. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

He nods, a little nervous, and his stomach twists at the thought of you not liking the gift he’s spent hours making for you. He hasn’t had the luxury of a hobby, not for years…not really since before Sarah was born. So it’s been strange to spend time working on something without there being a financial gain or to keep alive. He watches you make your way into the kitchen, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You set the box down carefully and pull a mug off the open shelves that make up the top of your kitchen. “I have some fresh milk if you want?” You offer as you pour him a cup.

He shakes his head, “black is good. I ain’t drank it any other way since I started drinkin’ it.” He confesses, taking a seat at your kitchen table after you gesture for him to sit.

“Same.” You admit. “When I was younger, fuck, I thought coffee was nasty. But now?” You roll your eyes as you bring the box over to the table with your own cup. “Now, I’ll open this.” You promise, sitting down and trying not to let the thrill of being given a gift outweigh practicality. You smile at him before taking off the small lid and gasping at the sight of a small wooden figure.

He’s nervous. Fuck, he hates to admit that but he likes you. Even if he’s too old to think about a relationship and you should be avoiding him like everyone else. “It’s, uh, it’s not anything that special.” He rushes out before you take the figure out of the box.

“Not special?” You huff, shaking your head as you run your finger over the small bird. “It’s beautiful.” You murmur. “It must have taken a lot of time.” Which makes it more special. He has taken the time to make something. “I love it.”

His heart flutters at the smile you give him, “you said your mom used to call you little bird so, uh, I thought I’d whittle one. I ain’t that good. I haven’t done anything like that for years.” He confesses, “it’s not my best work.” He self deprecates, not wanting you to say you like it if you don’t.

You practically melt when you hear it’s not something random, he had made it for you. “No, it’s beautiful.” You insist. The imperfections make it that much more special to you. ���I-“ you blink back tears. “I think it might be the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

He blushes a little, ducking his head, and he clears his throat. "I'm glad you like it." He murmurs, "it's - I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me." He reveals, tapping his fingers on his mug as he watches you admire the woodwork.

“It was nothing.” You hum, still admiring the little figure. Part of you wonders if he is giving you something out of guilt or perhaps he’s realized you are interested in him.

You're quiet as you touch the figure and Joel doesn't find it awkward. He isn't a stranger to silence. He tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, "why?" He asks softly and you turn to look at him. "Why what?" You frown and Joel clears his throat, "why - why have you done so much for me?"

You’re a little embarrassed when he asks, but you clear your throat. “I wanted to make you feel welcomed.” It’s true, but not completely true and from the doubtful way Joel eyes you, you know it doesn’t believe that. At least he’s not looking at you suspiciously. “I did. And I -“ you hesitate. “I wanted to see if you were as handsome up close as I thought you were.” You admit. “You are, by the way. Very handsome.”

He is surprised by your comment, cheeks flushing a little more and he turns his head to look at your sink. He almost chokes on his breath when it hits him that you are saying he’s handsome. You. “I, um, thanks.” He mutters awkwardly and you seem to shrink back a little, “you’re- you’re great too.” He says and your smile falls, your brow furrowing without your awareness and Joel immediately realizes his mistake. “And gorgeous. Really like - I think you’re beautiful. Inside and out.” He rushes out, wanting to make this right.

“It’s okay.” You are a little disappointed, but not surprised. He’s not interested. You had heard rumors that he had been with a woman until he had lost her on his way to Jackson. You will just swallow down your little crush and go about your life. “You don’t need to make me feel better.” You promise. “I’m a big girl.”

His brow furrows at your words, confused because he just paid you a compliment and you think he’s making it up. He reaches out to cup your cheek, turning your head towards him. “You have any idea how often I think about you? About your smile, your laugh, the way your nose does that little bunching thing when you’re confused? I think about you all the time but I don’t deserve you. I’ve done bad things. My hands are bloody and I don’t deserve a happy ending. I cannot taint you with my fuckin’ sins. I cannot add that to the guilt that drowns me every damn day.” He explains, hoping you understand.

“Everyone has blood on their hands.” You feel like you’re about to whimper, he’s so close to you, touching you. Like you would beg him to kiss you. “We’ve had to be different than before, that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve whatever happiness we can find now.”

Joel doesn't hesitate. He surges forward to press his lips to yours. Spurred on by your kind words, he tilts your head so he can kiss you like he's been imagining far too many times.

His lips are surprisingly soft, tender as he kisses you. It’s not nearly as rough as you imagined, but you can feel the repressed need underneath. Making you sigh as you curl into him, sinking deeper into the feeling as your head spins.

Having you kiss him back has his stomach twisting and he wants to deepen the kiss but it’s not time. You’re not some quick fuck to release stress and tension. He wants you - this - to be different. He nudges his nose against yours before he pulls back, caressing your cheek until his hand drops back to the table while he waits for see your reaction.

You whine slightly, a little protest, but you don’t try to pull him back in. “That was….” Your smile is soft. “Very good.” You hum, eyes fluttering after opening. “Um….yeah.” You are a little befuddled, but it’s not in a bad way. Like the promise of something sweeter has already been made.

He likes seeing you flustered, he realizes, and he wants to kiss you again, but for now, he settles for a small smile. “You- you wanna go to the movie night with me tomorrow?” He asks, knowing this is a huge step because he avoids the town events but he wants to treat you well.

Your eyes widen in surprise but you immediately nod as if you’re afraid he might take back the offer. “Yes. Yes.” You huff out in a rushed little laugh, feeling like a teenager being asked out by a boy you have a crush on. “I would like that.”

Joel nods, trying not to act like a teenage boy who just got the girl he likes to go on a movie date with him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” He promises, reaching for your hand, and he picks it up to kiss the back of it.

“I’ll see you then.” You promise with a small wink. “I’ll make some cookies for us to eat at the movie.”

He nods, nervous of being out beside you but he wants to make a life here and that means remembering how the world worked before it went to shit. “I’ll leave you to your evenin’.” He says after a moment, “I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ some peace.” He squeezes your hand and shifts to stand up from his seat.

“Okay.” You know that he needs to take things slow and it’s honestly a good idea since it’s not like either one of you can move away. Jackson is home and you’ll have to be in proximity to each other. “But only because I will see you tomorrow.” You tease as you walk him to the door.

His heart flutters at your words, smiling softly as he turns to look at you while he’s leaning against your door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, hovering for a moment until he pulls away. Looking at you one last time before he disappears down the hall.

****

Joel reaches up to adjust his collar, stomach twisting with nerves like he’s a damn teenager going on his first date. In a way, it kinda is. He hasn’t dated since Sarah’s mom and he was a teenager back then. He waits for you to answer and when you do, his breath hitches at the sight of you standing there.

“Hi.” You smile softly as you take him in. He looks fresh from a shower and even his beard looks thinner, like he’s trimmed it. “You look great.” You compliment honestly. “I don’t know if I’m dressed up enough to be on your arm.” Everyone dresses practically, but you had picked the jeans that make your ass look the best and the prettiest top you have. Feeling like a teenager as you ripped through your small wardrobe.

He swallows harshly as he drags his dark eyes down your figure, “you look great too. Actually, you look- too damn good to hear out an asshole like me.” He chuckles humorlessly and you shake your head, reaching for his hand. That grounds him and his eyes meet yours. He licks his lips, staring at you for a moment. “Sorry. I ain’t - I’m out of practice. You ready to go?” He asks, not wanting to ruin this.

“Yeah.” You grab the container with the cookies that you had placed near the door. “I’ve heard that there’s gonna be a dance coming up.” You offer as you both step out of your apartment. “They want to do more of them. Promote community.”

His hand hovers over the small of your back as you make your way downstairs and out of your apartment. He glances around once you’re outside, still a little anxious being in a place that isn’t constantly under attack. He wants to ask if you want to go to the dance but that’s a bit too much for him unless he can hide in the shadows.

You don’t take offense when he doesn’t answer. You just walk by his side, smiling and calling out to people that you know as you make your way to the movie. It’s enough that he’s just here with you.

He walks alongside you, feeling a little anxious, but he’s determined to be there beside you. He wants to try, he wants to try for you. There’s a lot of people gathering for the movie and Joel tenses but you sense his unease, taking his hand to guide him to some chairs in the back row. You know he’d feel better there and he appreciates it, trying to ignore how everyone looks at him with a mixture of surprise and distrust.

Everyone is curious, craning their necks and looking at the both of you. They have asked about Joel to Tommy and Maria, but his brother and sister-in-law have kept their answers vague, respecting his privacy. Now you know that people will ask about you, since Joel tends to keep to himself. Instead of ignoring them, you nod and smile politely, knowing that Joel is probably glowering slightly. He’s just got a face that is always gonna look a little annoyed.

He hates how people stare but you squeeze his hand and he focuses on you instead as you guide him to your seats. When you’re seated, you set your purse down, opening it to hand him a flask and he frowns at it, “figured you could use it.” You wink and his heart flutters. You thought of everything. “Thanks.” He murmurs, his eyes on yours and he takes a swig to quell his anxiety.

You nod, reassuring him softly and soon the lights are dimming for the movie to begin, the projector in front of you coming to life. “Hope it’s not a boring movie.” You whisper to him with a slight giggle. “If it is, we might have to ditch.” You really just want him to know that if he wants to leave, you’ll be okay with that. Although he’s relaxing beside you. Reaching over, you take his free hand, keeping your eyes on the screen.

Your hand in his has him relaxing slightly and he nods, squeezing your hand back, the flask in his other hand, and he sighs, leaning in towards you, “thanks, sweetheart.” He murmurs before leaning back in his seat to watch a movie he hasn’t seen since Sarah was a little kid. He’s taken back to the memory of her sitting next to him in the movie theater, popcorn in hand, and her eyes wide in amazement at the movie.

You feel him tense beside you, looking over to see shadows in his eyes and you wonder if there’s something in his past that’s triggered by the movie. Everyone here has a past, something that they have struggled with since the end of the world. Even the ones that were born after the outbreak. It might be easier for them though, since this world is all they’ve ever known. “Do we need to leave?” You ask quietly, leaning in to smell the scent of soap mixed with wood and man. He smells wonderful and you could curl up into him.

He turns to look at you, surprised by your consideration, and he shakes his head. “No. No. I’m good.” He promises with a whisper, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders, wanting to feel you close to him as you ground him in the moment.

You hum softly, leaning into him and your arm rests on his thigh. It feels natural and you love how protected and safe you feel. You can’t even explain it, but Joel has never once made you nervous besides the attraction and the fear of making a fool of yourself. He’s a violent man, he’s done violent things, but he wouldn’t hurt you unless he was forced to. You know that.

Joel relaxes as he breathes in the clean scent of your soap and shampoo. You are warm and he allows himself this time to be absorbed into the movie. He doesn’t remember the last time he allowed the tension to leave his body. He’s always been on since the outbreak started. He absentmindedly rubs your arm and when the movie ends, he blinks, brought back to reality.

“That was pretty cute.” You decide, having never seen the movie before and you watch as others start to gather their trash and belongings. You don’t feel the need to move right now, unless Joel wants to sneak out before everyone else.

He nods, turning to look at you, “I went to see that at the movies with my daughter, Sarah.” He confesses, a soft smile on his lips. “She, uh, she was shot on Outbreak Day.” He reveals, flexing his fingers at the memory of her dying in his arms.

“Oh Joel.” Your heart shatters for him, watching the way his eyes reflect the devastation he must have felt that day and carried with him for the past twenty years. “I am so sorry.” You murmur softly, touching his arm and not trying to give him any platitudes beyond the simple touch.

He nods, jaw tightening as the memories hit him, but your touch seems to pull him out before he gets too buried under the past. He glances around at the nearly disappeared crowd, “you wanna go back to yours or we can go for a walk?” He offers, not wanting to let go of you just yet.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You agree with a smile. “I normally go and check on the horses every evening.” You know he rides, when he left months ago, he had actually stolen a horse. Or rather, Tommy had said he had given him a horse. “Is that okay?”

He nods, standing up, and his joints ache, but he takes your hand as you make your way out of the barn. The night is chilly and he adjusts his jacket, “you cold?” He asks and you shake your head, “no, I'm good.” You promise and you take a slow walk to the stables.

It’s not too far, and the familiar scent of hay and horses calms you. “It’s so beautiful out here.” You smile softly as you both walk towards the stables. “And the town is growing, rumor has it, it’s gonna grow even faster now that you are here.”

Joel snorts, “yeah. Maria has all kinds of plans for this place. Between me and Tommy, it’s gonna be a construction zone.” He confesses, squeezing your hand as the moon rises in the sky.

“That’s good.” You smile, although it’s a little bittersweet. “We need people in Jackson. Otherwise all we are doing is just prolonging death.” You wish the world was different, but it’s not.

Joel chuckles, "true. Gotta have more kids." He hums, turning to look at you, "but I'll leave that to the younger men. Ain't no one needing me to be a daddy at my age." He declares, "there's enough men to make Jackson thrive in the future."

You could make a dirty joke, but you just shrug. “It’s not in the cards for me either, so I don’t worry about it.” Joel looks over at you with a frown, clearly confused but unsure of what to say. “Never been pregnant.” You admit. “Never even had a scare, not like there are fertility doctors nowadays, but I think that it’s not my fate.”

Joel frowns because he thinks you’d make a good mom but he won’t pour salt in a wound. “I kinda wish I’d gotten the snip before the world went to shit but I was in my mid 30s, wasn’t sure if I’d be a dad again, and I had Sarah. She was my life but I kinda wanted to have another kid back then. Now? I got Ellie.” He says without elaborating.

“She’s a good kid.” You assure him. She can be blunt and assertive, but that’s not a bad thing. Reaching the stables, you open the doors with a grin. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” You coo. “The horses are kinda like my kids.” You tell him. “They are like temperamental toddlers sometimes.”

He snorts, walking over to the horses. He slides his palm along his nose, smiling when the horse snorts. “They kinda are like toddlers.” He agrees, “and you do a good job of looking after them.” He adds, watching you as you stroke the horse.

“They are probably the most vital assets we have, besides the dogs.” You admit. “I know they are animals, but they are also a part of our community, our future.” You look over at Joel. “Just like you and Ellie are.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to you. “You are the future.” He murmurs, his hand coming up to slide along your arm until he is taking your hand in his. He tugs you close and cups your cheek with his free hand. “You are always on my mind.” He admits softly, caressing your cheek.

“It was the muffins, wasn’t it?” You tease, your own hands pulling him closer, enjoying the broadness of him as you wrap your arms around him. He chuckles again, the best sound in the world to you right now. “So are you going to kiss me Joel?” You demand. “I know I’m a little rusty, but I know a date usually ends with kissing.”

His eyes meet yours, dark and intense. He’s nervous and he feels stupid for being so nervous when he’s a grown man. He leans his head towards yours, gently brushing his lips against your softer ones. His calloused hand caressing your cheek while he kisses you.

You sigh softly, eyes fluttering closed while the horse in the stall next to you shifts, annoyed that she’s not being petted anymore. Not that you realize that. You can’t think of anything but Joel kissing you.

You’re so soft and sweet, leaning into him and your hand caresses your chest. He knows you can feel his heart pounding and he should be more confident but the last woman he kissed was Tess…even his kisses to her were few and far between. He kisses you softly, not wanting you to see the dark side of him just yet.

You can tell that he’s holding back, and you don’t mind it. This is getting to know each other and you won’t push him for more than he wants to give. Finally Shimmer butts her head against your shoulder to get your attention, breaking up the kiss and making you giggle. “Jealous, pretty girl?” You coo, turning towards her to pet her nose. “You should be.”

Joel watches you, a soft smile on his face as he watches you interact with the horse. Your words make his stomach flutter, and he sighs, “I should be gettin’ you home.” He glances out the stable opening to the sky.

You would like to be with him a little longer, but you just nod. “That sounds good.” You hum softly. “I’m sure you are busy tomorrow. Are you working on the gates?” You ask, aware that the council had voted on improving defense systems for the town.

He nods, "yeah. Gonna be heading out on patrol." He confirms, "gotta be up at eight." He doesn't want to leave you but he needs to let you get some sleep. He knows you could wake up in the morning and realize that the town is scared of him and ultimately reject him. He is preparing for that to happen. You are too good for him. He takes your hand again, guiding you away from the stables and back to your apartment building.

You don’t talk as you walk, but again, the silence isn’t stifling. It’s really rather nice. Just two people, enjoying the night together. When you are at your door, you open it and turn to him. “I had a nice night.” You promise. “I would invite you in, but I don’t think you’re ready for that and I don’t want to wonder if you don’t want me.” You admit, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His hands find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you. He pulls back after a moment, "you don't have to wonder. I want you. I just - I don't want to ruin you." He confesses his fear, "I don't want you to end up hating me."

You can’t help but laugh at his comment. “I’m not going to hate you.” You promise, reaching up and caressing his whisker rough cheek. “I’ve been chasing you, remember?” You have been throwing yourself at him to get his attention. “If you want to come inside, I want you in my bed tonight. If you want to wait, I’ll just touch myself and think about you in my bed.”

His cock twitches in his pants at the thought of you touching yourself. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He groans when your body presses into his, and he loves it. "Let me come inside and I want to bury my face in your pussy. I don't- I don't deserve to fuck you yet. Lemme taste you." He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours.

You huff, not agreeing with his assessment of him not deserving, but your nod is accompanied by grabbing his hand and stepping back through the door to tug him with you. You smirk when he kicks the door closed and throws the lock before you launch yourself at him. Kissing him again with more passion than before.

He groans, unable to stop himself as he lets you guide him through your apartment. Now that you’ve given him permission, his hands slide along your form, squeezing your ass. He loves how your fingers grip his shirt and he slides his tongue into your mouth.

There’s no hesitation right now. Just the jittery anticipation that makes your stomach feel like you’ve swallowed butterflies and your core flutters wildly. His taste is perfect, warm and rich, his tongue skillfully making you melt as your hands let go of his shirt to push his jacket off his string shoulders.

He walks you backwards, trying to navigate your apartment to find your bedroom while his jacket drops to the floor. He groans into your mouth, pulling back when you stumble into your bedroom and your jacket has joined his. He pushes on your chest to push you backwards into your bed and his hands find your boots, working on pulling them off your feet.

“Eager. I like that.” You aren’t passive, leaning up to pull your shirt over your head to reveal the practical bra you are wearing underneath. There’s little luxury for sexy items, especially now. “Fuck you are so sexy.” You moan, loving the darkening look in his eyes.

He wants to scoff in disbelief that a pretty thing like you would find him sexy but instead, he decides to prove it to you. He unbuttons your pants and pulls them down your legs, his cock already pressing against his zipper as he watches you lift up to unclip your bra. “You’re goddamn sexy.” He rasps, tossing your pants aside so he can slide his hands up the length of your legs until his fingers are hooked in your panties. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes on yours until they flick down to your core.

“You can do anything you want to me, handsome.” Your pussy aches for him to touch you, taste you. It’s been a long goddamn time since you’ve had a lover and you are eager to see how the two of you are together.

He drags his panties down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and his hands slide back along your thighs until he’s pushing them apart to expose your folds. Soft curls surround your sex and Joel groans when your heady scent hits his nose. He leans in, slowly pressing kisses to your thighs as he shifts closer until his tongue is sliding through your folds.

You moan so loud that you embarrass yourself. The feeling that races through you is enough to make your thighs squeeze around his head, but his strong hands grip your thighs and pull them apart. “Jesus, fuck.” You whimper, eyes fixed on his head between your legs. “That- God, I haven’t felt this in so long.”

He chuckles, sliding into the ease of making a woman feel good. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to take his time and savor a woman but right now, he isn’t in a rush. His tongue flicks over your clit, loving the way you tangle your fingers in his hair while he pushes his tongue deep.

You don’t know his sexual past, but his previous lovers have been lucky as fuck if they experienced half of the talent in his tongue. “Fuck Joel,” you pant breathlessly. “That feels so good. You must have majored in pussy eating in college.”

He chuckles into your folds, amused by how easily wrecked you are. He slides his tongue up to flick over your clit and he sucks on it, shaking his head and your cry makes his cock twitch in his pants.

He’s so fucking gorgeous, making you cry out as he tears you apart with his mouth. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’re eating my pussy. You know how long I’ve imagined you? Since the first day I saw you. I knew I wanted to get to know you. So fucking pleased when you were single.”

Your words unravel him and he grinds into the edge of your bed. Groaning your name but it’s indistinguishable in your folds as he greedily absorbs your dirty confession. His hands squeeze your thighs, keeping them pushed apart.

He is going to have his way. That is obvious from the way he handles you. He’s not rough, but he’s focused, determined. You had heard from Tommy that he had saved Ellie’s life from a group of men when he had been seriously injured. He hadn’t been trying to dissuade you from your pursuit of Joel, but he had wanted you to know that there are some things about Joel that could be seen as a caution sign. You see it as his willingness to do what needs to be done. Now he’s using that same focus on you, “Fuck!” You squeal when he pulls your clit into his mouth, hips trying to buck up, but he holds you in place. “I’m gonna cum!”

He needs to hear it, feel it. When your cry echoes in your tiny bedroom, your fingers tugging on his silver streaked hair, and your thighs squeezing his head, he groans. While you cum, he grinds into the mattress, his cock twitching in his pants as he cums in them like a fucking teenager.

You are completely unaware, riding out the best orgasm you’ve had in years and he hadn’t even fingered you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel.” You whimper. “Fuck me.” You beg. “You’ve earned it, fuck yeah, you deserve to fuck me.”

His cheeks immediately redden when he comes back to his senses and your words hit him like ice cold water. "I- I didn't - shit." He hisses, stomach twisting with embarrassment as he shifts to stand up, the front of his pants wet.

You frown, confused by his upset tone. Eyes fluttering open and you blink to focus on him. Then you see the dark spot. “Oh.” You bite your lip, knowing he won’t appreciate a smirk, but it’s kind of sexy that he was so turned on that he shot his load.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes, shuffling back from your bed and he stumbles through your apartment trying to find his coat. "Joel?" You frown, shifting off the bed, "Joel?" You make your way through your apartment just as the front door slams, "Joel!" You shout but he's gone. He's thankful there's no one out as he makes his way home, his jacket not concealing his pants, and he hates how he disappointed you. You'll probably tell your friends, laugh about it, and he will go back to the shadows where he belongs.

You get up and wrap a robe around your body, opening the door to see if Joel is outside. He’s nowhere nearby and you consider getting dressed and going to his house, but you know he would just ignore you. You’ll give him tonight but he won’t just run out without a better damn reason than premature ejaculation again.

****

Joel groans when he wakes up, he hardly slept from the embarrassment of cumming in his pants because you sounded so fucking good when you came on his tongue. He rubs his face and knows he has to get ready for patrol. That also means seeing you in the stables. He groans as his joints ache when he shifts from his bed, and soon he’s stepping into the stables to collect a horse. You’re there, helping another patroller saddle up, and he feels the blush creep onto his cheeks as he waits for you to see the other patroller off.

You’re surprised when you see Joel come slinking into the stables and you half expected him to try to race out of there with his horse. You don’t say anything, just get your rider out. Surprised to see him standing by the horse he had been assigned last time. “Good morning.” You are alone in the stalls and you step closer to him. “If I touch you, are you gonna run away again?” You ask.

He ducks his head, swallowing harshly. “I - shit. I’m sorry. I, uh, fuck. I don’t know why- it’s that- it’s been a while and I’m on the way to sixty and I fucking came in my pants without you even touching me. I was embarrassed.” He knows there’s no point but doing anything but tell you the truth.

You snort softly, not wanting him to think that you are mocking him. “Fuck, it’s a compliment.” You huff, shrugging slightly. “You were that turned on by eating my pussy? By just touching me? In my mind, that just means I was doing something right, even if it has been a long time since someone touched you.” You bite your lip, biting back the urge to offer to touch him right now. He probably wouldn’t accept a blow job in a stall in a horse barn.

Joel glances around, glad that no one is here to hear your conversation and his cock twitches at your words. He's relieved you aren't laughing at him. "I've - I haven't done that since - well, I don't think I ever have. Sweetheart...I ain't - can I try again? Later?" He asks, wanting to show you what he can do.

You lift a brow, this time your lips curving up. “I think I would be crazy to turn that down.” You step a little closer to him, “you know that you are early for your patrol, right?” You murmur. “Plenty of time to go to the back stall and work out a little tension before you go out?” You reach for his hand. “Might help you focus?”

He tilts his head, squeezing your hand, “you sure?” He asks, his voice lowering at the idea of touching you again. You nod, guiding him to the back stall, and it’s like a switch has been flicked on as he drags you close. He cups your cheek, tilting your head to his as he presses his lips to yours.

You let him kiss you, feeling your body light up in pleasure but before he can get farther than cupping your ass, you are pushing him back. Joel frowns in confusion but you press your lips to his reassuringly and drop down to your knees in front of him to smirk up at him as you reach for his belt buckle.

“Darlin’ you don’t have to-” You cut him off by shaking your head and telling him to shush. You pull down the zipper and smile at him, his cock hardening under your naughty gaze as you reach into his pants to pull his cock free.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, twitching in your hand as you squeeze him and start to pump him. “Fuck, baby, you’ve got a gorgeous cock.” Your mouth waters as you greedily take in the sight of him as he sways on his feet slightly, leaning back against the wall of the stall as he looks down at you. “Thick, long. Goddamn I can’t wait to see how you feel inside me.” You clench around nothing. “But right now, I want to see how you taste.” You lean and take the head of his cock into your mouth.

He groans as he watches you wrap your lips around his cock. Your mouth is hot and wet and he is already throbbing in your mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He rasps, caressing your cheek as you start to bob your head to work his cock into your mouth.

You know that someone could come into the stables, but that just makes it a little more exciting for you. Your pussy soaked as you take him deeper, listening to him groan and feeling his stomach lurch under the palm of your hand laying against it. Your lips stretch around him and he hits the back of your throat easily with more to take.

He can’t believe you’re on your knees for him right now. You look so fucking gorgeous and your jaw seems to loosen so you can take him deeper. “Fuck. So goddamn good.” He pants, glad that he doesn’t seem to be shooting his load too soon as you take him in your mouth over and over. His hand grips the metal rack on the wall as the other caresses your cheek.

Your hand moves to his hip, around to his ass as you look up at him. Watching his jaw clench. He looks wrecked, in the best possible way as you suck his cock. Pressing him, encouraging him to rock his hips forward. You can take everything he gives you and you want him to enjoy this.

He pants, watching you as his chest heaves. It's barely past 7am and here you are on your knees for him. He knows he will be thinking about you all damn day now. "Fuck baby. Feel so fuckin' good. Look at you, takin' my cock like that." He growls, tongue loosened by your mouth. He unconsciously rocks his hips like you want and his eyes widen when you choke. You hum around him, barely shaking your head when he shifts to pull away, and your fingers dig into the meat of his ass to keep him down your throat. A move that makes his stomach twist and his cock twitch violently. "Fuck, gonna make me cum if you keep it up." He warns you with a wrecked growl.

You chuckle around him, the sound vibrating up his cock. That’s why you are doing this, to make him cum. Your eyes are watering, but you keep swallowing around him as you bob your head. Wanting to taste his load and swallow him down. Joel chokes out your name and you feel him tense. Knowing that he is so close to cumming. You hum again, eyes fixed on his face so you can watch him. Wanting to see how gorgeous he looks when he falls apart on purpose.

He knows this is so fucking wrong but he can’t help it. He chokes as his cock pulses inside your mouth, a gasp your only warning that he’s cumming. You taste the salty seed as he clings to the metal rack, barely able to stand as you rock his world with your mouth.

The thick spurt of cum coats the back of your throat and fills your mouth. Making you moan as you start to swallow. Trying and failing to swallow every drop as some slides down your jaw. His head tilts back and his growl of pleasure is probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Only stopping when his cock stops twitching and you pull off of him with a soft pop, panting as you lick at the side of your mouth.

He is certain he’s stopped breathing. “Fuck me.” He mutters and you giggle, looking up at him. “I really wanna fuck you but I gotta go on patrol and I need some time to recover. Lemme see you tonight.” He pleads, “need to see you.”

You push to your feet and reach down to tuck him back into his jeans. “Come over when you get back from patrol.” You order softly. “Johnny will be here tonight to put the horses away.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, not sure about how he feels about kissing you with his cum on your tongue. “Be safe, handsome.”

He cups your cheek, uncaring of the taste of his cum on your lips, and he brings your mouth to his so he can kiss you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, wanting to devastate you with his kiss until he steps back, “see ya later, baby.”

“See you later.” You wink and step back as the stable doors open. “Let’s get you saddled up.” You call out a little louder and step out of the stall to give him an extra minute to compose himself. “Tommy. Are you going out this morning?” You greet his brother with a smile.

Joel’s eyes widen at his brother’s name and he runs his hand through his hair, tugging on his shirt before he leaves the stall and finds you talking to his brother. Tommy frowns when he sees how flustered his brother is and his frown shifts into a smirk, “mornin’.” He greets Joel who grunts back. Soon enough, the two men are riding out for patrol, Joel looking over his shoulder at you for a second.

Tommy catches the glance and smirks to himself, shifting in his saddles as he looks ahead. “Good morning?” He asks innocently enough. “You look a little….light on your feet.”

Joel grips the reins a little tighter, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He murmurs and Tommy snorts, “you looked like a man who got his world rocked in a stable stall.” Tommy says bluntly and Joel ducks his head, “she, uh, we - it’s just started.” He confesses softly.

“Bullshit.” Tommy shakes his head, wondering how his older brother could be so obtuse about things for a man who can normally figure anyone out. “She’s been chasing after you for weeks.” He looks around after they clear the gate and starts the loop around the town. Today is to find any weakness that needs to be shored up. “Everyone in town knew that she was courting you.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head, “she has just been nice.” He tries to justify how nice you’ve been and Tommy snorts, “more than nice. She’s been wanting to jump your bones.” Joel bites his lip, “I’m too fucking old for her. Or anyone.”

“She doesn’t think so.” He points out with a grin. “Been rootin’ about for information on you. Trying to be real casual about it, but she has it bad for my older brother.” Honestly, Tommy’s glad for it. Since Tess, he’s been all alone and whether or not he admits it, Joel needs someone to take care of. It’s a part of who he is.

Joel’s heart thumps at that revelation and he almost wants to ride back to town and find you. “She will realize who I am soon enough.” He grunts and Tommy rolls his eyes, “whatever you say.”

Joel huffs and falls quiet again. Tommy doesn’t push it, instead he starts talking about the plans they want to implement for defense and Joel gives some suggestions on fortifications.

**** 

Joel arrives back at the stables with Tommy and you’re waiting, eyes lighting up when you see Joel and his stomach twists at how eager you are to see him. The memory of your lips wrapped around his cock hits him and he twitches in his pants. Tommy quickly dismounts, thanking you for helping, and he slaps Joel on the shoulder once his boots hit the ground. “See ya later, man.” He raises his eyebrows at Joel when you’re not looking and Joel huffs when his brother leaves you alone. “You need help?” He offers, not wanting to leave just yet.

“If you want.” They weren’t gone as long as you expected them to be, the horses are not tired. “I’m just going to take the saddles off and brush them down quickly before putting on their blankets and feeding them.” You explain. “Did your patrol go alright? You weren’t out long.”

Joel nods, “it was fine. We found some places that need reinforcement but it was quiet out there.” He admits, “always makes me fucking nervous when it’s quiet.” He confesses, “I always think somethings gonna happen. Like this place is gonna go to shit and I’ll end up back out there.” He jerks his chin as he works on removing the saddle of his horse.

“I worry about that too.” You admit, working on taking the saddle from Tommy’s horse. You know he had wanted to get back to Maria as quickly as possible since she was due any second now. The baby was overdue actually, and everyone was keeping an eye on her. “Raiders worry me the most, honestly. The clickers are bad, but humans are worse.

Joel nods, “we gotta keep this place safe and not get complacent. The day will come where shit hits the fan and we need to be prepared.” He says firmly, working efficiently to get the horse ready after riding. “You still want me to come over later?” He asks, not wanting to assume.

“If you want to.” You don’t want to push him, and you know that he might need to pause or even take a step back. “What do you want to do?” The blanket is secured and you guide Betsy back to her stall before filling her food bucket with oats. “I’m going to let you decide.”

He waits until you are done, striding over to you, and he grips your chin to lift your eyes to his. "I want to come over to your place, strip you down, kiss and bite every inch of your skin, and then I want to fuck you until you soak me and you can't remember anything but my name."

You could melt into a puddle on the floor right now from the possessive look in his eyes and the rough words. They paint the most delicious picture in your mind. “Do you want to eat dinner before or after you fuck me?” You ask breathlessly.

“After.” He says, knowing he won’t be able to wait and watch you eat dinner before he has you. “You’ll need it after I fuck you.” He promises, “go home. I’ll see you at yours in a few hours. I want you naked when I arrive.” He orders, leaning in to softly kiss your lips. Now that you’ve unlocked his desires, he’s going to give you exactly what you want. He pulls back before you can deepen the kiss, a whimper leaning your lips, and he winks, turning to stride out the stables.

Your knees are weak, the man is positively deadly when he decides to become self-assured in his abilities. He doesn’t give you an exact time and you know he did that on purpose. Wanting you to anticipate his arrival. You finish up with the horses and hurry back to your apartment, immediately stripping down to climb into a bath and scrub every inch of your skin. You want everything to go well tonight and you think that it will, given his cocky attitude and that sexy wink.

Joel tries to concentrate for the rest of the day, showering after his patrol, and he groans when he thinks of you on your knees, the way you looked at him. His cock hardens again and he can't help but start to pump his cock. The image of you burned into his retinas and he swears he will remember that until the day he dies. Groaning, he rests his forehead against the cool tile until he grunts your name, hot seed hitting the ceramic minutes later.

****

He adjusts his jacket as he makes his way over to your place. He didn't tell you a time and he hopes you understood why. His cock already hard and adjusted in his jeans as he enters your apartment building. You left the front door unlocked so he opens it, shrugging off his jacket and boots. Letting you know he's arrived and taking his time until he slowly makes his way to your bedroom.

In the bedroom, you are already soaked, naked and spread out on the bed. You had repositioned several times, trying to find the sexiest pose, but ended up on your back. The door is halfway closed so you perk up when it slowly opens. Wondering if Joel will be nude too, or if he will still be dressed.

Joel's cock twitches violently in his pants when he finds you spread out on your bed waiting for him. He stands in the doorway and your eyes meet his. "Good girl." He murmurs, walking over to the foot of the bed, still dressed minus his jacket and boots. Feet bare on the scratched wood floor of your apartment and the bulge in his pants very noticeable.

“Fuck, Imma need you to say like a thousand more times tonight.” You admit, pressing your thighs together before deliberately spreading your legs slightly. His eyes are dark and you would be afraid if it was anger instead of desire in their depths. Your eyes slide down to the front of his jeans and you smirk slightly, proud that you affect him as much as he does you.

"Spread your legs." He orders, voice rough with desire, and you obey. He groans at the sight of your dripping wet folds, curls framing your pretty pussy. He reaches down to squeeze himself through his pants, "beautiful." He murmurs, unable to believe you are letting him touch you. His hand finds your ankle after he kneels on the edge of your bed, caressing the soft skin and sliding along your leg. You whine when his hand brushes over your sex and continues along your stomach until he's squeezing your breast.

You moan softly, pushing your chest up into his hand. Your eyes are fixed on him, waiting to see what he will do. Your chest is already heaving, cunt clenching around nothing as he takes his time. Joel doesn’t just rush into sex he squeezes your breast again and then takes your nipple between his fingers and rolls it just hard enough to make you gasp out his name.

He's already obsessed, loving watching you react to his touch, and he groans when you whimper. "Look at you. So fuckin' needy." He murmurs, switching to pluck your other nipple with his fingers while he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can take the peaked tip of the breast he abandoned into his mouth.

“Oh god.” You hadn’t expected Joel Miller to be a fucking tease. His mouth is almost playful, tongue flicking over your nipple. He chuckles but you don’t do more than run your fingers through his silver streaked hair.

He groans when you tug on his hair, his cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants and he squeezes your tit before he abandons it to slide his hand lower. His fingers brush your soaked folds and he cannot believe you are this wet for him. He groans as he slides his fingers until he finds your clit, rubbing circles while he bites and sucks on your nipple.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pushing your hips down. “Touch me. Fuck, let me- let me touch you.” You beg, needing to see him, touch him. “I want you so much.” You don’t care how pathetic you sound, all you care about is him fucking you.

"So fuckin' desperate." He mocks you softly but his heart is pounding at that fact. He swallows harshly and leans in to kiss your neck before he pulls his hands from your body. You whine but sit up on your elbows to watch him as he starts to unbutton his shirt. He wants to feel every inch of you against him. Shirt shoved from his shoulders and tossed across your room, his hands find his belt, ripping it open and finally he pulls the zipper of his pants down to free his throbbing cock. You moan and he smirks as he shuffles off your bed to shove his pants down. Kicking them off as he kneels on your bed once again. "How do you want me?" He asks, wanting you to decide while his fingers slide up your leg and push into your leaking cunt.

“Fuck.” He’s not lean with the rawness of youth, he’s broad, seasoned. Filled out with years and experience. The scar on his side is the one that you had heard he got between stays in Jackson, when he was taking Ellie on her ill-fated trip. Moaning when he curls his fingers up, you clench down around him. “However I can have you.” You choke out. “I can’t get pregnant.” It’s a reminder of his ability to fill you, to not pull out unless he wants to. “But sometime tonight I want to be bent over and you fucking me from behind.”

Joel groans at your words, ravenous for all of you tonight. He wishes he could fuck you like he was thirty but he's not. He pulls his fingers from your pussy, shifting to kneel between your thighs, and he wraps his wet fingers around his cock. You whine and he shuffles closer, slapping your clit with the head of his cock. "You want me, baby girl?" He asks, voice rough with desire for you.

“Yes.” You whimper, body tightening at his tone, the needy edge to his rough words. He can mock you for being eager, but he is just as bad. You spread your legs wider, hooking them on his hips and reaching down to caress his thigh as he shuffles closer. “I want you, Joel.”

That's all he needs to hear. He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing into you slowly because he's thick and you are so goddamn tight. He groans as your searing hot walls envelop him as he pushes deeper into your pussy. "Fuck." He pants shifting onto his elbows as he hovers over you.

“Oh my god.” You moan, reaching up to caress his shoulders and your hips roll slightly, meeting the angle of his own. “Fuck, you’re so big, so fucking big inside me.” He stretches you, fills up every space inside you until there is nothing that isn’t taken up by him. Lurching up, you press your lips to his, curling your hand around the back of his neck to drag him closer as your tongue slides into his mouth. Taking charge of the kiss for a moment as he groans and twitches inside you.

He lets you take control of the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a sloppy way that displays the pent up desire that's been building for far too long. "Fuck." He pants when he pulls back, kissing your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, setting a slow and deep pace.

This isn’t making love, there’s not an emotional connection between the two of you, not yet. This is more physical, deeply satisfying as he scratches an itch that you’ve been desperate to satiate for a long time. Sure you probably could have fucked anyone single in Jackson, but this is the man you wanted. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?” You ask breathlessly, laughing at the prospect.

He chuckles breathlessly at the prospect and he wants to wreck you. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. His cock pushes deep and he adjusts his knees to push into you from a different angle. “You’re too fuckin’ good for me.”

You moan softly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Didn’t think that when I was sucking you off this morning.” You tease softly, your hand caressing his back as he moves. “Fuck, I thought about how you looked, how you tasted, all fucking day.”

He rocks into you, shifting his weight to one arm so he can slide his hand along your form,  his hand cupping your breast. “Yeah? You liked having my cock in your mouth, baby?” He rasps into your neck, pressing kisses there until he nips at your pulse.

You whine softly. “Yes.” You pant out. “Loved it. You look so goddamn good, did you like it?” Every man likes a blow job, but you want to know if he focused while he was outside the wall, if it helped him.

He nods, “loved it. Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you on your knees for me. Lookin’ at me like that.” He confesses, “I kept thinkin’ about you. I haven’t stopped. Not since I met ya.” He reveals and leans in to slide his tongue into your mouth.

You groan into his mouth, kissing him back and loving that you’ve managed to get under his skin. Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts and you feel like he’s hitting a little deeper every time. “Fuck.”

He needs you to come apart for him, to prove to you that he doesn’t just cum in his pants like a teenager. He shifts, grabbing your calf to lift it onto his shoulder, “that’s it, baby.” He pants when you cry out his name at the new angle.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” He feels like he’s in your guts from this angle. Deep and his hips snap forward a little harder every time a squeal slips past your lips. “Oh fuck.” You moan again, eyes rolling back and your blunt nails dig into the meat of his shoulder blades as you hang on.

He loves how your nails dig into his back and he pants, “need you cum for me, baby.” He demands, his hand squeezing your thigh as he continues to fuck you hard, needing to feel the way you clamp down on his cock.

His pace is hard, harder than someone half his age. He’s sure of his thrusts, grunting and groaning when you tighten around him. “Joel.” You pant softly. “I need - fuck!” You are so close to cumming. So close to that perfect orgasm that will completely rip you apart, “I-“ your head tilts back and your breath catches right before your entire body tightens, crying out when he pushes deep again and pushes you her the edge.

You stiffen beneath him then shake like you’re experiencing an earthquake. Your eyes squeezed shut as almost inhuman noises escapes your lips. You squeeze his cock hard enough to cut off circulation and soak him but he fucking loves it. “Goddamn baby.” He murmurs, “good girl. Good fucking girl.”

He could call you a good girl for the rest of your life and you will die a happy woman. Body shaking as you ride out the pleasure until you just go boneless under him. “Fuck.” You whimper, kissing along his jaw. “Fuck, you’re amazing, baby. I’ve never cum that hard before.”

His stomach twists with contentment, and his back aches from fucking you so hard. He rolls over, bringing you with him, and you quickly shuffle to kneel, his cock slipping from your pussy. You whine and reach down, gripping him to push him back into your fluttering cunt. “Ride me, girl. Show me what ya got.” He orders, his hands smacking your ass.

He might even look better underneath you. His hands are gripping your hips, encouraging you to move. “Fuck, you feel even bigger.” You praise breathlessly as you start to bounce on his cock. “Joel,” your hands brace on his chest and you swivel your hips slowly.

He watches you with rapture, his hands leaving your ass to slide up your body. His hands find your tits, squeezing them as you ride his cock. “That’s it. Fuck. You look so fucking gorgeous like this.” He rasps, unable to believe such a beautiful woman wants him right now. You’re riding his cock, moaning his name. It makes him dizzy with pleasure.

Bending down, you kiss him, hips still rolling and your walls cinching down around his cock every time you move. You can feel how hard he is, how deep he goes. If you press hard enough on your stomach, you can probably feel him throbbing inside you. “You’re so fucking perfect Miller.” You praise. “Better than my wildest dreams.”

He can’t believe you’re saying this. You are too good for him and yet here you are, praising him, acting like he’s the best man in Jackson, hell, this fucked up world. “You’re so damn good. Fuck, so fucking beautiful.” He praises you, sliding his hands along your spine until he’s squeezing your ass again, helping you rock your hips.

You want to cum again. Addicted to the way his cock presses inside you. You kiss along his neck and his lips again. “I’m going to cum again.” You whimper against his lips. “Fuck, baby. I’m addicted to your cock.”

He pants, loving how your voice has taken on this high pitched gasp with each rock of your hips. “Good girl. Cum for me. Wanna feel it again. Wanna feel you cum for me. Soak my cock. Be my good girl.” He orders, thrusting up into you after planting his feet.

You toss your head back, crying out when he takes over. Panting and squealing every time he rocks his hips up, fingers digging into your waist and holding you in place while he fucks you. “Gonna- gonna cum!” You cry out before your body locks up again. “Joooooooooooellllllllll.” Your scream is so loud, your voice cracks halfway through your wail of pleasure.

He wants the entire fucking town to hear you scream his name. He loves it. He fucking adores it. “Yes. Yes. Fuck!” He growls, rocking his hips up into your pussy, pushing as deep as he can with you squeezing him like a vice. Soaking him. Fuck, he loves it. “That’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Can I - fuck. Can I - inside?” He wants to make sure it’s okay before he fills you up .

“Yesss.” You moan, not even hesitating. “Fill me up, want to feel you drip out of me.” You might have a little bit of a cum kink but you’ve never been so eager to have a make cum inside you. Before you would have them pull out just in case, but you don’t want Joel to pull out.  “Oh fuck, cum for me baby.” You beg.

He doesn’t remember the last time he came inside a woman. Probably pre outbreak. Too terrified to knock them up but you’ve promised him it’s safe. He grunts, wrapping his arms around you as he thrusts up into you, faster and sloppier than before. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants, moaning your name as he thrusts up into you, stiffening beneath you as his cock twitches.

The heat fills you, eyes closed as you moan. You press your face into his neck as he pumps you full of his sticky, hot, seed. It feels so good and you are practically limp by the time he finishes. Apparently Joel Miller has a lot of cum. “That was so good.” You mumble breathlessly, kissing his racing pulse again and again as you calm down. “Oh God, I can’t believe we just did that.” You giggle, completely relaxed and euphoric.

He smiles, probably the only real smile he's expressed since arriving in Jackson. He slides his hand along your spine, letting himself relax into your bed, and he's reminded that he's alive. He isn't fighting to survive right now. He wants to live for the first time since he can remember. "We can do it again." He promises, "you just gotta give me a while. I ain't young."

“You’re gonna wear me out.” You tease, lifting your head and grinning at him before you lean in and press your lips to his softly. “This was perfect.” You murmur. “You want something to drink? Or just lay here for a few minutes?”

Joel closes his eyes, “just lay here for a bit. Been imaginin’ this far too many times to move right now. Just want to savour you. Lemme feel you, baby.” He says, cock softening inside you but he’s in no rush to move.

You hum softly, melting against him. You know Joel can take your weight, he’s strong, so you don’t move off of him. Laying your head back down and your fingers stroking the freckled skin on his shoulder. “Bet you used to work shirtless before Outbreak.” You muse softly. “Building houses and breaking hearts of the women you put a show on for.”

He smirks, loving how you even think about that. “I was thirty-six. Didn’t need to work out when I had my job. I was happy to be shirtless. Now? I’ll keep it on.” He confesses his insecurity. “Had some horny housewives but me and Tommy wanted our business to succeed. A quick fuck and an angry husband wasn’t worth it.”

“Shit.” You huff and turn your head to kiss his chest gently. “You are still sexy, Joel.” You promise. “I’m not the only one that thought you were attractive when you showed up. I’m just the one who decided to try to jump in your bed.”

Joel smiles, kissing your hair, "I'm glad you didn't give up on me. I don't - I don't think I deserve anything good after all the shit I've done. I'm not a good man but you - you seem to see something in me and I ain't gonna take that for granted so whenever you want me in your bed, in your life...I am here."

You chuckle softly. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that, Miller.” You warn playfully. “You won’t remember what your bed feels like if I have you in my bed whenever I want.”

****

Joel sighs as you sit at his kitchen table, your half eaten food in front of you as you tap your fingers. Things were going great. Better than great. You saw each other every day. Attended town events together. Everyone knew you were seeing each other but you are currently sitting at his table with a pissed off expression on your face. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, needing to hear you say it.

“It’s not gonna change anything.” You admit, poking at your food and not meeting his eyes. Things have been good, but it seems like you’ve been in some kind of holding pattern. Maria had come to you today and asked about vacating your apartment. You spent a lot of time at Joel’s, enough that the council noticed and if you weren’t sleeping in your bed, they could give it to one of the numerous refugees that continue to come into Jackson.

Joel sighs, knowing that arguing won't make it any better but he needs you to understand his reasoning. "I can't - it's, uh, I haven't lived with a woman like that - like an actual relationship - for over twenty years. I don't want to ruin what we have because I leave the toilet seat up or I breathe the wrong way. What we have can quickly go to shit and I...I don't wanna lose you." He admits softly, tracing the lines in the wooden table so he doesn't look at you. He had Tess, but you want more, you want a connection. Something that he had resisted with Tess, giving her all of him. Something that he doesn’t think he could do with you. 

“Maria asked me if there was any way I could let another family have my apartment.” You kind of feel like she’s pressing the issue to make Joel make a decision. “But I’m just going to tell her that’s not possible.” You stand up and pick up your plate to clean up.

Joel sighs, standing up to stand behind you. His arms caging you in against the sink and he leans in to softly kiss the nape of your neck. "I want you in my bed every night, I want to wake up holding you. Knowing you're mine. I hate you leavin'." He confesses, "I want you here...just promise me you'll talk to me if you aren't happy. I can't lose you too."

“I don’t want to push you.” You promise, feeling guilty for being upset at him. You twist around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’m happiest when I’m with you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I just-“ you swallow. “We don’t know when the fuck our last day will be and I’d rather spend the rest of them loving you than anything else.”

Joel rubs circles on your hips, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “I know baby, I know. I- I want you here. I do. Will you- can you move in with me?” He asks, needing you to be by his side.

“Are you sure?” You ask seriously. “I can tell Maria to fuck off.” You bite your lip. “I swear this is her telling you to get your ass in gear. Either build faster or make a move with me. I’m not entirely sure which.”

Joel cups your cheek, “I’m sure. I want you here.” He promises, “let’s go get your things today.” He knows you’ll leave the furniture in the apartment so you need your clothes and personal items.

You nod, his hand still cupping your cheek. “If you get annoyed with me, you let me know.” You murmur. “I can spend extra time in the stables.”

He chuckles, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “As long as you come home to ride me.” He smirks, his hand sliding down your form until he’s squeezing your breast. “Now, that I can do.” You promise breathlessly and Joel smirks, “better get started then.” He takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom…soon to become your bedroom too.

****

“Dina’s probably a better patrol partner.” You tease Joel, winking over at the younger girl. “She’s awake.” You know Joel would have liked to go on patrol with Ellie, but he had told them to let her sleep and told Dina to come with you and him. Dina snorts and shrugs. “That’s a positive.” She agrees. You clear your throat as you guide your horse along. “Before we go up to the mines, let’s swing through the company buildings.” You suggest. “There’s some Vaseline in one of the shops. Need some for the horses.”

Joel adjusts his grip on the reins, nodding in agreement. It’s early, the air heavy with a storm, and Joel exhales in a cloud of air that appears in the frigid weather. “Let’s go now. We might need to head back. Storms comin’ in.” Joel observes the heavy clouds gathering.

It’s been four years since you moved in with Joel and Ellie. Four years of falling deeper in love with him and creating a beautiful family out of those that remain. Joel’s nephew is precious and you love spending time with him, easing the ache of not having a child of your own. It’s quiet evenings reading while Joel whittles at the desk in the bedroom. Soft, slow love making when both of you are sore or just need a softer touch of reassurance. It’s been healing for both of you and you trust Joel explicitly, that’s why keeping whatever illness has been nagging you from him has you so uneasy. He would worry, incessantly so, and you don’t want him to do that when it’s probably just a lingering bout of flu that had gone through Jackson a few weeks ago. “Then let’s make this quick.”

Joel watches you as you ride a little ahead with Dina. He’s worried about you. You’ve been trying to hide it but he’s heard you throwing you in the early hours, the exhaustion that seems to seep into your bones when you think no one is looking. He’s worried about you and he decides that later, he will take you to the doctor. He glances around the town, making sure there’s no threats until he nods at you and Dina. “Don’t be long.” He orders, deciding to stay outside to keep watch.

“Call out.” You remind the younger girl, your gun in your hand as you make your way to the pharmacy. You know the will be occupied by the items left behind, the little store hasn’t been ravaged completely, which is why you wanted to stop. It’s a stupid idea, completely stupid, but you need to know. Making your way inside, you stop inside the door, listening for the sounds of infected. Just because the little mine town had been cleared doesn’t mean some might not have wandered in. After a moment you relax, looking around with your flashlight as Dina rushes towards some hair bands than are still hanging up. “We don’t need to be long.” You remind her.

Joel glances around, keeping watch, and he’s reminded of patrols he took with Ellie not long after returning to Jackson. The memories of teaching her to play guitar, helping her work on her aim, even helping her decorate her room. He’s happy you’re in the house, a buffer to help him communicate with a moody teenager who now hates his guts. He never got to that stage with Sarah. She didn’t get to experience the “I hate my dad” stage. Swallowing harshly, he decides to talk to you about how he can reconnect with Ellie.

You stare at the boxes for a moment, wondering what the hell you are doing before you grab several of them. “Fuck it.” You hiss, ripping one open right there in the middle of the store. “Gotta know. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s negative?”

Joel looks up as Dina comes back outside, her backpack full of stuff, and he says your name. Dina looks back at the store. “She said she had to pee.” Dina shrugs and Joel nods, still worried about you but he tries to not hover too much.

You shove them in your pocket, knowing that it will take longer for them to give you an answer than Joel will let you stay here without coming to check on you. You grab the Vaseline and the antibiotic creams that you had actually come for and head back outside. “Sorry.” You chuckle. “Coffee.”

Joel watches you as you get back on your horse and he frowns, noticing the way you frown. You look nauseous. Snow starts to fall and Joel frowns, looking up at the sky. “Let’s head out. We haven’t got a lot of time.”

“Okay.” You are nervous, even though you know that the test will come back negative. Even if you show all the signs for the first time ever, you can’t possibly be pregnant. “It’s getting colder.”

Joel leads the way, worried about you and Dina, and his radio crackles, telling everyone to come back to Jackson or take shelter. “Let’s go.” Joel orders over his shoulder, guiding you and Dina through the town until you come across the empty factory. “Let’s get in here until the storm passes.” He orders, pointing at the doors.

You lead the horses inside and shiver slightly. “Jesus. It’s really starting to come down out there.” You whisper, getting worried about what will happen. “Maybe we should go back to one of the smaller buildings.” You could find a stove and build a fire because it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.

Joel nods, “lemme go check. Stay here.” He orders, pulling his gun from his holster and he nods at Dina who stays on her horse in case something happens. Joel makes his way through the factory to the outside and that’s when he hears the infected. His heart pounds at the sound just as he sees a girl under a clicker. He doesn’t think as he pulls the trigger and he grabs the girl. “Are you bit?” He demands, dragging her through the yard until he’s storming into the factory. “We gotta go!” He shouts, the girl running behind him.

You don’t know what the fuck is happening, one second everything is quiet and the next there is a gunshot and Joel is running back into the building with a strange girl. “Joel?” The sound of infected gets louder and your blood chills, the test in your hand shoved back into your pocket. “Joel!”

“We gotta go!” He orders, heart pounding at the thought of you and Dina being in danger. “You okay, kid?” He asks the young girl who nods and Joel grabs her hand and pushes her up onto the horse. Within moments, the doors burst open and Joel shouts for you to ride.

“Shit!” There’s a fucking horde on your heels, the horses racing as fast as they can, but you aren’t gaining much ground between you and the group of infected that what to tear you apart. “We have to hurry!” You shout, looking over your shoulder at the wave of danger that is creeping closer.

Joel stops for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, and he sees the smoke coming from Jackson. “We gotta go back.” He shouts, ice forming on his facial hair. “There’s no time.” The girl declares, “there’s a lodge. My friends are there.” Joel nods, “are they armed?” He asks and she nods. “Good. We will head there, get prepared, and head to Jackson to help.” He orders, riding up the mountain in the blizzard in the direction the girl points.

You don’t like this. Don’t trust it, although you don’t have much of a choice. Why were these people up on the mountain in the lodge? You don’t have time to question it, the temperature is well below zero and you’re in danger of hypothermia and frostbite if you stay out here.

You soon find the lodge and Dina is shaking uncontrollably as you enter the property. The wind chill is gone once the door is shut and Joel shrugs off his coat and rushes over to you. “Are you okay?” He asks, rubbing your arms after your coat is off.

“J-just c-cold.” You promise, teeth chattering and you barely listen as the girl starts introducing herself. “We- we have to get home.” You tell Joel, not paying her any attention. “The town…” through the window you can see the fires burning and you can’t imagine what is happening down there.

Joel squeezes your shoulders, turning to look at the town. He grips the walkie talkie in his hand. “Jackson. Come in. Jackson.” He growls into the radio and that’s when one of the women grabs Dina and a man grabs you. He immediately reaches for his gun but guns are pressed to your foreheads.

“Joel.” You freeze, breathing shallow. “Shut up!” The man who is holding you hisses, shaking you slightly and you see Joel flinch as he thinks about attacking him. “We don’t have anything.” You promise him. “Just take whatever you want.”

Joel places his gun on the floor, raising his hands, and his heart is pounding. The girl he rescued asks him what they look like and Joel’s eyes flick from you to Dina and back to the girl. “Military.” He says, brow furrowing, “fireflies.”

The medic puts Dina to sleep and approaches you with a needle. “No.” You struggle against the man’s grip, the barrel of the gun pressing into your temple. “You can’t give me that, you can’t give me that!” You shout, terrified that whatever they might give you could hurt the baby. The girl, Abby, snorts. “Scared of needles?” She huffs. “Nooooo!” You squirm away from the needle again. “I’m pregnant!”

Joel feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His eyes widen and they meet yours, seeing the fear in your eyes. There’s nothing he can do. They outnumber him and he doesn’t have his gun. “Leave her alone!” He shouts, his voice desperate as he sees you struggle and he knows you’re telling the truth.

“You’re lying.” Abby spits, but you shake your head. “My jacket pocket.” You stammer. “I took the tests this morning. Please- we didn’t do anything to you. Let us go.”

Abby reaches into your pocket, taking out the tests and Joel feels sick. His eyes flick around the room, desperate to find a way out of this situation. To keep you and Dina safe. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend this is all a nightmare. Abby eyes the tests and the medic of the group looks over her shoulder. “Two lines. She’s pregnant.” Joel’s nostrils flare and tears sting in his eyes when your terrified eyes meet his. “It’s okay, baby.” He tries to reassure you, “it’s okay.”

It’s not hard to figure out who’s baby you are carrying and there’s a grim smile of satisfaction on the girl’s face as she looks from you to him. “He’s a little old to be a daddy.” She chuckles dryly, waving the test around. “But he’s handsome, so good for you.”

Joel’s hands shake a little but he steels himself, jaw clenched as he watches Abby pick up a shotgun. For a moment, he’s worried she’s going to spin around and shoot you but within a blink of an eye, he’s screaming as he lays on the floor. His knee is blown out, and he chokes at the agony that washes over him.

“Joel!” You twist out of the man’s grip and rush over to Joel. “Fuck.” You hiss, seeing how bad the injury is although he’s clamped his lips together to keep from making too much noise. “It’s okay, baby.” Your fingers tremble as you rip at your belt to take it off and use it as a tourniquet. “It’s okay.”

Joel knows he’s going to be killed. The look on the girl’s face. He knows and the worst part is he’s not scared of death but he’s terrified of leaving you alone. Of leaving you pregnant with his child. He wants to fight but that would only get you and Dina killed alongside him. “I love you.” He murmurs, reaching up with a shaking hand to caress your cheek. “Okay. That’s enough.” Abby declares and the man grabs you again, dragging you away, and you start to sob. “Please. Please just let us go. We haven’t done anything.” You beg but Abby chuckles as she kneels down next to your lover. “You haven’t.” She says as she looks at you, “but your boyfriend here has.” She begins her speech about her father and how she was taught to fight with morals. Joel doesn’t listen, his eyes fixed on you as you cry for him.

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already.” Joel snaps, tired of hearing her bitch about how unfair it was that he killed her father. He doesn’t want you to watch, but this bitch apparently wants you to suffer. You choke out a sob when Abby picks up the golf club and comes towards him. “Please, don’t.” You beg softly.

Joel knows she’s going to beat him to death and he hates that this will be your last memory of him. “Close your eyes.” He orders, “close your eyes!” He shouts when you continue to stare and within seconds you squeeze your eyes shut. Abby smirks as she swings the club, hitting him in the head, and he tries to smother his scream but the pain is too intense. The club comes down over and over again on his body until he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His mind is cloudy with pain but he prays you’ve kept your eyes shut.

You don’t keep your eyes closed. Weeping as you watch Joel absorb hit after hit, the golf club snapping in two and Abby switching to punching Joel in the face. The man still has you tight in his grip, and you resent it, unable to help him. “Please.” You whimper through the tears. “He- he’s not that man anymore.” You try to reason with her. “He’s a good man. He saved people, he has saved so many lives. He saved your life.”

Joel can hear you pleading for him, for her to stop, but it sounds like he’s underwater. His body is numb, and he can feel himself drifting, losing the life in his body. When he hears a scream, his heart stops. Ellie. She’s here.

“Stop!” Ellie is wrestled to the ground and you struggle when you see her, trying to break loose again, but he cocks the hammer back on his gun. “I don’t want to kill you.” He hisses quietly, making you sob. “Please stop.” You beg Abby again. “You- you made your point.”

Abby’s chest heaves and the one holding the gun says, “end it. End it now.” Ellie is screaming at Joel to get up. He hears her begging and he wants to stand, wants to fight now that ve knows you’re carrying his child but all he can do is twitch his fingers. Abby picks up the broken club, walking towards Joel. “No. No. No. Nooooo.” You wail and Ellie screams just as Abby stabs the stick into his neck.

Your visions blurs, narrowing until everything goes dark and you crumple in the arms of the guy who had been holding you. “Gonna kill her too.” Abby smirks as she walks towards where he is crouched over you, putting you down on the floor. “No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what we signed up for.”

“She’s pregnant.” One of the women protests and Ellie is shaking, “I’m going to fucking kill you.” She promises with a yell and Abby doesn’t care. “Fine. She lives.” Abby decides as the group gathers their things, leaving the lodge.

You don’t come up until Jesse is kneeling down beside you, checking you. Gasping as you open your eyes and the first thing you see is Joel and Ellie. The young girl laying on top of him, sobbing hysterically and you know that he’s gone. You can’t stand, your entire body aching with sorrow, but you crawl over to them, covering her and him with your own body as you cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ellie.” You know they have been estranged, you’ve lived through the tense silence and the battle of wills. Now, there is no hope for reconciliation.

Ellie is numb as Jesse gets her and Dina up on a horse. He wraps Joel’s body up to take it back to Jackson and tears stream endlessly down your cheeks. No one says a word as you ride back to Jackson. How the tables have turned…Joel is now cargo.

****

Your eyes are red rimmed and burning, but not from the fires that still burn in Jackson. The orange glow flickers through the windows and gives an unnatural light to the darkness. The silence in the room is filled with sorrow, you’re the only one here that isn’t stretched out on a table, covered with a sheet. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, looking down into the bucket to grab the rag and squeeze the excess water. You had insisted that you be the one to do this. Ellie can’t. She’s in the hospital, the parting gift of a kick to the stomach from the group that had killed Joel had punctured a lung. Sedated, and quite frankly, not up to doing this task. You reach for his hand and wipe some of the blood off it gently, as if you are afraid to hurt him. “I didn’t know I could get pregnant.” You promise him. “I didn’t lie, baby, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Tommy walks into the makeshift morgue, finding you with Joel. Where you've been since returning to Jackson. "Sweetheart, you need to sleep." He says softly, "you need to eat something. Not just for you, but for the baby. You know he'd be reprimandin' you for not takin' care of yourself."

Your lips stretch slightly as you look up at him for a moment. Reaching up to touch his hand as it rests on your shoulder. Tommy is a good man, one that you have spent a lot of time with over the past four years since moving in with Joel. “He knew.” You tell him, aware that Jesse has told Tommy and Maria about your condition when you got back to Jackson. “I told him- before he-“ you pause, blinking back new tears. “Hopefully he didn’t hate me for it.”

Tommy shakes his head, “he never would’ve hated you. He loved you. Never thought I’d see him be in love again but you made him so happy. If anything, if I know my brother, he hated leavin’ you pregnant without him.” Tommy sighs, “but you have us. Me and Maria and - and Ellie. She had to be sedated again but she will wake up soon.”

Your chin wobbles slightly. “He’s with Sarah now.” You murmur, standing as you put the rag down on the table beside Joel’s body. “I’ll give you a minute with him.” You know that Tommy’s bond with Joel ran deep and he will miss his older brother. You stop for a moment. “I hate them.” You tell him quietly. “I want them all to die. Every single one of them. As painfully as possible.”

Tommy nods, knowing how you feel, and he wants that too but he has to think about everyone in Jackson and not just his feelings and desire for revenge. “Go get something to eat.” He reminds you, squeezing your hand, and you nod, making your way out of the room with tears in your eyes.

****

You aren’t dumb, you know Ellie is leaving tonight. Dina just left and you stroke your growing stomach as you reach for the box that you have kept. There’s an air of discontent in town, a grumbling under the normally positive sounds of rebuilding. Even though the council had voted, more people than you imagined had spoken to you about their sorrow for Joel’s passing. You knew that it had been a long shot, but you had hoped that they would feel your need for vengeance. Walking out to the garage, you tap on the door quietly. “Ellie, it’s me. Open the door.”

Ellie's eyes widen but she knows that she can't hide from you. She sighs, opening the door to the garage, "you can't stop me and I don't need a lecture." She spits out before you can say a word but she watches your eyes trail over the guns and ammo spread out over the floor.

You whistle, taking it all in before you look at her again. Her jaw is set, stubborn. So much more like Joel than she would probably ever admit. “You’re missing something.” You tell her, making her immediately frown and look around. “What? What am I missing?” She demands, making you smile as you hold out the box in your hand. “This.” You tell her. “You kill that bitch with this.”

Ellie opens the box, eyes widening at the sight of Joel's gun. She swallows, lifting her gaze to yours, and she nods. "I'm gonna kill her. For us." She promises, her hand softly landing on your bump. "Dina is coming with me." She confesses and you smile, having seen what neither of them have realized yet a long time ago. "Good. You will come back...you gotta meet your sibling." You say, placing your hand over hers. She nods, "I'll be back. Gotta see if the baby looks like you or if they are unlucky, Joel." She teases, offering you a soft smile.

“I’m going to stay here.” You promise her. “This house will always be your home. You will always have space here.” You haven’t been able to get rid of anything of Joel’s, even his woodworking projects look like he will walk in at any moment and pick them back up. It’s been three months since that horrible day and you still dream about it. You don’t know if you will ever not; but you’ve taken care of yourself. For Joel and the baby. Because he wouldn’t want you to just curl up and waste away. Even Gail had offered her services to you, none of usual bitter sarcasm in her words. “Always.” 

Ellie smiles at you and sets the gun down on her desk before she wraps her arms around you, gentle to be mindful of your bump. "He really loved you, ya know?" She murmurs, "so do I. You're like the mom I never had." She confesses, "I'll be back. I am gonna kill that bitch and those assholes and I'll be back." She promises softly.

You hug her and press a kiss to the top of her head. “He loved you too.” Ellie had finally told you why her and Joel had been estranged at the end. You had understood both positions and why they had been at odds. “With every fiber of his being.” You pull back and look at her. “He would be proud of you.”

Ellie nods and steps back when you say, "be safe, El." You order and she snorts, "always am." You playfully roll your eyes and rub your bump. "I'll see you when you return." You promise and Ellie nods, watching you go. She's leaving at three and you'll be asleep by then but she will come back and tell you she got revenge for all of you.

**** 

“Oh, you are hungry, aren’t you?“ You coo, looking down at the baby that is greedily gulping down milk at your breast. “That’s it, baby boy, you eat.” Your son, named after your lover, was born just a month ago. Healthy and perfect, you wish that Joel was here to see him. “You want to see your daddy?”

You carry the baby over to the only photo you have of Joel. A Polaroid he took with Ellie, and you pick the frame up to show your son. “There’s your daddy. He’s watching over you, you know? From heaven. He never thought he’d end up there but I just know he is. He was a good man who did bad things because he had. He’s up there now, watching over us.” You murmur and the baby coos after pulling away from your nipple, eyes unfocused as you hold the frame towards his face. “I’ll see him again one day. When I’m older and you can survive in this world without me. You’ll be a fighter, just like your daddy. Another Joel Miller for the world to see.” You coo and the baby closes his eyes as he falls asleep in your arms. You set the frame down and cradle him, cooing softly, unaware that Joel is watching you, Sarah standing beside him, while they oversee the ones they left behind.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒻 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: The TKATB men have never met anyone like you—the calmest person they’ve ever encountered. No big deal. Your RBF makes it impossible to get a reaction, and they’re all baffled. 

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

It’s honestly kind of impressive how you can make them work for every ounce of emotion. But they’ll admit—it’s also kind of refreshing. Your calm presence is like a buffer from the madness they’re used to, and they kind of love it… even if they’d never admit it out loud.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The Savior Who Can’t Save You from Chill

You don’t flinch. Ever.

That’s the first thing Crowe noticed. Not when the fire alarm went off. Not when Brittany tripped and spilled her entire iced mocha down your shirt. Not even when Geo elbowed you in the face while pushing Deryl back from eating his lunch. 

Crowe made Deryl and Geo to at least sorry. You just blinked—slow, tired—and mumbled something like, “It’s fine.” And it bothers him.

Not because you’re rude. You’re not. You’re polite enough. Just… chill. Like emotionally bulletproof. And Crowe? Crowe’s used to people being a little shaky around him—he’s Crowe. 

The prince is used to people reacting to him.

A smile, a blush, a flustered stammer when he offers to carry a book or holds the door. It’s not about ego—at least, he tells himself it’s not. It’s just the natural rhythm of things. Crowe moves with practiced ease, a calm kind of charisma that draws people in without ever asking for it. He doesn’t push, doesn’t brag. He just is—that rare mix of reliable and graceful, a warm presence in a chaotic world.

So when you walk through the door he’s holding open—without so much as a glance, much less a thank-you—he freezes. Literally stands there, hand still on the metal handle, blinking at the spot where you just were like someone paused his internal monologue. You don’t even slow your pace. 

You just keep walking, headphones in, expression unreadable. 

Like he’s the background and not the highlight. 

He tries to brush it off. Maybe you didn’t notice him. Maybe you were late for class. Maybe—No. He watches people. He reads people. And you?

You’re a blank page.

The next morning is crisp—fall air slipping into campus with the kind of bite that turns breath to fog. Crowe finds you sitting on the edge of the outdoor fountain, legs crossed, absorbed in whatever cryptic thing is on your phone. Your sleeves are short, your fingers look cold, and the sunlight’s making your hair glow like it was painted there.

He walks up casually, jacket folded over one arm, pretending he hadn’t planned this down to the exact minute. “Cold?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, tone easy, eyes warm.

You glance at him, then at your own arms. One blink. Then two. “Nope.”

He stands there for a second, stunned by the sheer finality of the answer. No one has ever said no to him—to his kindness, beauty. No awkward fidgeting. No grateful smile. Just… denial and calm. “Right. Yeah. Just, uh…” He shifts on his heels, scratches the back of his neck. “Thought I’d ask.”

You nod and return to your phone, not unkind—just done with the interaction.

He walks away with the jacket still in hand and the gnawing suspicion that you’ve just bested him in a game he didn’t know he was playing.

A few days later, he sees you in the student café. Alone, as usual, tucked into the corner by the window, notebook open, pen tapping a steady rhythm that somehow keeps people away. He buys an extra muffin. Your favorite—your choice, the fancy one with the crumb topping. He knows you like it because he saw you buy it once. 

‘Okay, maybe he noticed what time you usually get it, too. Shut up.’

“Hey,” he says, setting it gently on your table. “Messed up my order. Want it?”

You glance at the muffin. Then at him. Your stare is so flat it makes him briefly forget every word he’s ever known.

“You messed up your order?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. “…No. I—yes. Yes, I did.”

You take it. Say, “Thanks.” No sarcasm, no side-eye. Just… neutral. You don’t smile. You don’t even blink like you’re amused. You just go back to your notes.

He walks away smiling anyway—because you took it. That’s progress, right?

He also dramatically dies inside. Just a little.

Few days afterwards, funny enough, you trip down the library stairs.

Crowe sees it happen across the atrium—he’s halfway to the reference desk when you misstep, the heel of your boot catching on the edge of the marble step. Time slows. Your notebook spirals out of your hands. Your bag swings wildly. A rogue water bottle rolls away like it’s been cast out of the narrative entirely.

You hit the ground in a quiet oof, knees first.

He’s already moving. Books left behind, he jogs to you, panic in his eyes and his brain screaming ‘Finally! Something happened!’ 

“You okay?!” he asks, crouching beside you, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he’s afraid touching you might vaporize him.

You sit up calmly. Smooth down your clothes. Reach for the water bottle without flinching. “Yeah,” you say.

He blinks. “You sure? You kind of went airborne.”

You shrug. “Yup.”

He stares at you, speechless. There’s a faint red mark on your knee and you’re brushing it off like a leaf fell on you. “…Okay,” he finally mutters, watching you stand like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t just face-planted in front of a fully stocked vending machine and half the second-year students.

You walk off with the same quiet grace you always have. 

Crowe stands there a little longer than he should, holding your notebook because you forgot it. Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you wanted him to follow.

He hands it back to you in the hallway twenty minutes later. 

You thank him with a slow blink. Nothing more.

That night, he’s flat on his back in bed, one arm over his forehead, staring up at the ceiling like it has the answers he needs.

“What are you?” he whispers, completely serious.

There’s no follow-up. No resolution. Just silence, and the distant sound of a campus raccoon raiding the trash cans below his window. 

He doesn’t know why he cares so much. But he does.

You’re unreadable. Unshakeable. Like a test with no key. A poem with no ending. Everyone else clings to him like a lighthouse, but you? You are the storm. Controlled. Contained. A force all your own.

And the worst part?

He kind of wants to stand in the rain a little longer.

The next day, you're on the quad. Legs crossed in the grass. Back to a tree. Book in hand. One headphone in, the universal signal for do not engage unless you're bleeding out or on fire.

Naturally, Crowe takes this as a personal invitation.

You hear his steps before you see him—those calculated, almost-too-casual footfalls of someone pretending they’re not rehearsing what to say. He halts a few feet away, and for a second, just... looms.

You don’t look up. Yet.

He shoves his hands in pants pockets, scuffs his dress shoes against the grass like a boy with a crush, and clears his throat. “You’re really hard to read, you know that?”

You glance up from the page, face blank. Not annoyed, not curious. Just blank like always. “Thanks.”

His brows knit. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

You nod once, slow and deliberate. “Still sounds like one.”

Crowe’s mouth opens—closes—then opens again like his brain’s buffering. Poor thing. Still booting up. Finally, with all the drama of a Shakespearean side character, he exhales and drops beside you in the grass without being invited. Arms crossed. Shoulders tight. Like sitting near you is some kind of emotional workout. Such dramaticness. You can practically hear the mental soundtrack playing behind those eyes.

“So here’s the thing,” he begins, clearly rehearsed. “I’m usually pretty good with people. Not in, like, a manipulative way—well, okay, sometimes, but only with people who deserve it. Our frined group, mostly. But I get people. I can tell when they’re lying, or stressed, or hiding something.”

You don’t look up from your book, but one eyebrow rises like a drawbridge.

Encouraged, he keeps going. “But you? You’re just... I don’t know. Blank. Stoic. Like a final boss I don’t have the right weapon for. I’ve tried friendliness, food, mild acts of chivalry—”

“Your jacket smelled like blueberry cologne,” you say, suddenly and flatly.

Crowe freezes. “...What?”

You finally look up. Deadpan. “That’s what you offered. When you asked if I was cold. It smelled like you.”

“Oh.” His voice cracks. “You... noticed that?”

You blink. “You’re not exactly subtle. You hovered like a fruit-scented ghost.”

He looks like you shot him through the heart with a Nerf gun laced with pheromones. “I—I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Mhm.” You close your book slowly, deliberately. “It’s sweet. Really.”

Then, almost too casual, you add, “Though I wasn’t sure if smelling like you all day was part of the offer.”

Crowe chokes on absolutely nothing. His ears go pink. “W-what?! I mean—only if you want to smell like me. Not that—I mean—if that’s a bad thing, you don’t have to, obviously, I just—”

You reach over and tap his cheek. Not a slap. Not even a pat. Just... tap. Enough to fluster. Enough to win. He goes still like prey spotting a predator with killer eyeliner and a book collection.

“You’re cute when you malfunction,” you say simply, standing. “Anyway. Class.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, step over his legs like he’s just part of the scenery now, and pause only once, glancing down with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes.

“Oh. And Crowe?”

He blinks up at you, dazed.

“If I ever want your jacket again…” You let the silence draw long. Too long. Then: “...I’ll let you spritz it first.”

And with that, you walk off like you didn’t just fry every circuit in his brain.

Behind you, Crowe is still sitting in the grass, blinking at the space you left behind, probably questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

And for now? That’s enough.

I genuinely had no idea where I was going with Crowe’s part—but it accidentally became hilarious. He was supposed to have you wrapped around his finger, and somehow he ended up being the one simping. Iconic reversal, really.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The Poor Emo didn’t know what to do with you.

Sol remembers the first time he saw you in art class like it was a dream that never ended. You were already there when he walked in—seated in the back corner, half-hidden by your sketchpad and an expression so unbothered it might’ve been carved from marble.

It was as if you’d always existed in that exact spot, like some cryptid of academia, and he had just stumbled into your domain. His brushes clattered to the floor the second he saw you.

"Cool, cool," he muttered under his breath, "starting strong."

You didn’t even glance up.

He didn’t flinch when he knelt to retrieve his things, and he promptly slammed his forehead into the underside of the table with a loud thunk.

Didn’t blink when he whispered a pained “Ow. I meant to do that.”

And when he finally slid into the empty seat beside you, limbs too long and heart already sprinting, you barely tilted your head.

“...Hey,” he tried, voice cracking. “I’m Sol. Short for Soulmate, probably.”

You gave him a slow blink, as if rebooting.

He laughed nervously. “Kidding. It’s just Sol. Though, I mean—who knows what the future holds, right?”

You said nothing. Instead, you turned a page in your sketchbook with surgical precision and kept drawing. Like he was background noise. Like he was the weird one for assuming the laws of social interaction applied here.

Sol, naturally, took that as encouragement.

He tried to charm you the only way he knew how—through relentless talking and spiraling oversharing. Romantic poets, brushstroke theory, historical anecdotes, the emotional symbolism of color palettes—anything and everything to fill the void.

“So, uh—fun fact—did you know Lord Byron kept a pet bear in college because dogs weren’t allowed?”

You looked up for half a second. “That’s illegal.”

“I know, right? It’s also... kinda iconic.”

You returned to your sketch like nothing happened. He kept going.

“Anyway, I was thinking... blue tones are, like, emotionally repressive, but not in a bad way? Like melancholy chic. Y’know? No? Okay. That’s fine. Totally fine. Normal people definitely rehearse conversations in their heads and still crash them in real time.”

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t scoff. You just nodded once—slowly, deliberately—as if approving a particularly decent worm trying its best to be a butterfly.

Sol nearly combusted.

At first, he thought you hated him. Genuinely. You didn’t play along, didn’t mirror his awkward charm, didn’t even glance at him unless it was absolutely necessary.

But then he noticed. You didn’t leave.

You let him sit there, let him talk, let him trip over every thought and still never pushed him away. It wasn't indifference—it was something else. Something slower. He caught you looking once. Just once. Your gaze flicked over him like a scalpel, sharp and calculating. 

You weren’t ignoring him. You were... assessing him.

And that terrified him. And thrilled him.

Because for someone like Sol—messy, frantic, stitched together with caffeine and nerves—you were gravity. You were the calm his chaos gravitated toward. A steady, unmovable center that refused to be shaken.

Which made you dangerous.

And Sol? Sol loved dangerous.

At first, he thought you hated him. Genuinely. You didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t meet his red-orange eyes, didn’t play along with his awkward charm. But you also didn’t leave. And that confused him more than anything.

Because eventually he noticed: your calm wasn't cold. It was steady. You were steady. Unbothered. A lighthouse in the middle of whatever storm he happened to be caught in. And for someone like Sol—messy, frantic, soft-hearted and always bleeding ink—that steadiness became addictive.

It wasn't long before the little things started to gnaw at him, quietly, persistently. The way you never seemed to notice how he always positioned himself near you, how his eyes would linger just a little too long on the curve of your jaw or the delicate way your fingers worked the charcoal. The way you would retreat into your own world, perfectly content in your silence, while his thoughts spun in circles around you.

The worst part? He wanted you to notice him. 

To acknowledge him. To demand more of him than the fragmented attention he gave everyone else. But you never did. And it made him want you more.

He didn’t want to spook you. No, he couldn’t. You were... perfect in your distance. But the more he watched, the more he needed to know what made you tick. What would break that serene surface. The more you ignored him, the more desperate he became to make you see him. To make you need him, even if it was only for a second.

At first, he just followed you.

Secretly, of course. It wasn’t stalking—he told himself. It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t lurking in shadows with binoculars and a notebook (not yet anyway). It was more like… research. Observation. Field study. Like watching a rare animal in the wild—beautiful, elusive, unknowable.

Sol liked the idea that you existed beyond the confines of art class. That you had habits. Routines. Favorite vending machines and preferred park benches. He liked that you always ordered the same thing from the café but never stayed long. That you read with your headphones in but never played music loud enough for anyone to hear. He liked that you existed without explanation.

And when he saw you outside of class, his heart stuttered like a broken metronome. It wasn’t on purpose, not really. You just happened to be there. The bookstore near the station. The flower shop on 9th. The rooftop of the humanities building that was technically off-limits—technically.

If he ended up at the same places too often? Coincidence. If he lingered longer after you left, just to breathe the same air a few more seconds? Sentimentalism. If he started learning your routes by memory and adjusting his own schedule accordingly? Efficiency. Obviously.

It wasn’t stalking if the universe kept putting you in his path, right?

Funny enough, you never confronted him. Never called him out. You just... let it happen. Like the background hum of a streetlight—acknowledged but ignored. He’d sit a few seats behind you on the train. Enter the café ten minutes after you. Browse the same shelves, always three paces behind. Watching you exist in your natural, quiet way, all controlled expressions and slow blinks.

You didn’t hide yourself, but you didn’t invite him either. 

You just… let him orbit. And for a while, that was enough.

Until one day, when you sat at your usual café table, bathed in the golden light of a late afternoon, sipping your overpriced tea and flipping pages like time didn’t exist—you spoke.

Without looking up. Without pausing your reading. 

Just a casual, flat, clinical: “Are you following me?”

Sol’s soul left his body. 

He short-circuited so hard he nearly dropped the biscotti he had dramatically not ordered because you didn’t order food either. Panic. Internal screaming. A brief debate about faking his own death and moving to another continent.

But then—then—you looked at him. Really looked at him.

And it was worse than if you’d glared. Because you weren’t angry. Or surprised. Or even remotely scared. You were just… curious. Calm. Like someone noticing the weather had shifted. Your eyes, unreadable as always, flicked over him like you were mentally cataloging a strange insect that had landed on your table. 

Not threatening. Not interesting. Just there.

He swallowed. Hard.

And Sol smiled. That awkward, nervous sort of grin people wear when they’ve already been caught but want to pretend they haven’t.

“Wh—what? Me? Following? No. Nooo. I mean… maybe. In a very casual, non-criminal way. Like a—like a background character! Like a pigeon! Not a creepy pigeon. A chill pigeon. You know?”

You didn’t even flinch. Just turned the page of your book with a slow, deliberate grace and sipped your tea like he was nothing more than background noise.

“Well,” you said without looking at him, voice as flat and unaffected as ever, “as long as you don’t kidnap me, I don’t care.”

Sol blinked. The world stilled.

You never looked back at him again.

And that—that—was the moment he truly lost it. Fell for you in a way that was all-consuming. Rabid.

You knew. You always knew.

And you let him follow anyway.

The first time you invited Sol over, it wasn’t a declaration—it wasn’t even an event. It was casual. Offhand. “I’ve got some books you might like. Come by. Bring tea.” You didn’t ask. You instructed. And of course, he came. Eager. Polished. Carrying your favorite tea—of course he knew what it was. He knew everything.

You greeted him like he was just another parcel at your door. Unwrapping nothing. Revealing nothing. Your apartment was neat, quiet. Like you. Sparse color. Dim lighting. Shadows where light should be. He liked it. Too much.

He sat on the floor beside your low table, sketchbook on his knee, eyes flicking to you over the edge of his pencil. You read, as always—expression unreadable, fingers trailing over pages as though the words whispered only for you.

He wanted to interrupt it.

He wanted to destroy the calm you wore like armor. Wanted to know if you'd tremble. If you'd crack. If you'd shatter the way he had.  But you didn’t.

You stayed composed. Mute. Unbothered by his fidgeting, his glances, the way his leg bounced and his pupils tracked your every move.

You were halfway through unpacking the books when the buzzer went off.

“Food’s here,” you said, glancing at the intercom, voice devoid of urgency.

Sol looked up from his spot on the floor, sketchbook balanced on his knee. “Want me to get it?”

You shook your head, already moving toward the door. “Nah. Just make the tea, will you? The kettle’s already hot.”

He nodded a little too quickly. “Of course.”

And you were gone.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the atmosphere shifted. He stood slowly, eyes scanning the room before drifting toward the kitchen.

Your favorite blend sat prepped beside the stove—chamomile and lavender, faintly sweet, soothing. 

The kind of flavor you described once as "a bedtime story in a cup."

He liked that. He remembered everything.

As steam curled from the pot, Sol reached into his coat pocket.

A small pill. Clear. Colorless. Nearly tasteless, from what he’d read. Not dangerous in small doses—just enough to make you drowsy. Vulnerable. Pliable.

He didn’t think you’d notice.

You never really seemed to notice anything when it came to him. And that was the problem. So maybe… maybe that’s when he decided. When the tea had steeped enough, he poured it into two identical tea cups. No patterns, no labels—just plain white porcelain. Clean. Deceptive. He added the drops carefully. Stirred it into your cup. The one he set on the right side of the tray. 

A gentle burn of guilt flickered in his chest. But it was drowned out by something stronger. Desperation. Longing. The unbearable weight of wanting to be seen by you.

Really seen.

By the time you returned, balancing a brown takeout bag and two sets of chopsticks, he was already setting the cups down on the coffee table with practiced ease.

“Perfect timing,” he said, too brightly.

You set the food down without comment and moved to sit across from him again. He handed you the right cup. Your fingers brushed the ceramic. Held it, warm and fragrant in your hands. 

Then your gaze lifted—sharp, steady—and settled on him.

“Can you grab the sugar?” you asked. Calm. Flat. Polite.

His heart skipped. “Yeah. Sure,” he said, standing immediately. Maybe too quickly. Anything for you. Always. He turned his back.

And that was all it took.

With a quiet grace, you reached out. Switched the cups. Left no trace.

By the time Sol returned, humming to himself with the sugar container in hand, your expression hadn’t changed.

You waited until he’d settled in again. Until he reached for his cup. Then, almost imperceptibly, you smiled. Just a fraction. The kind of smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. The kind that made people nervous, but never sure why.

Sol didn’t notice. Not yet.

He raised the cup to his lips with a soft, content sigh.

And you watched him drink. Watched the trap close. Quiet. Patient. Pleased.

When Sol stirred, the world was soft edges and slow motion. His body refused to move properly—his muscles limp, joints heavy, vision slightly blurred. The warmth beneath him was too much, like he was wrapped in a blanket of heat and confusion. A strange fog clung to his thoughts. 

Then he noticed it. The weight. The presence.

You were on top of him.

Straddled across his lap, your posture impeccable, knees pressed firmly into the rug on either side of his hips. Hands folded loosely in your lap like you were meditating. Poised. Balanced. At peace.

You weren’t holding him down. You weren’t holding anything.

You didn’t need to.

He blinked, trying to clear the haze from his mind, but you were already watching him. Quiet. Unmoving. Eyes sharp, yet unreadable.

“You tried to drug me,” you said, like someone pointing out a slight crack in the ceiling. No judgment. No emotion. Just fact.

Sol's lips parted. His tongue was thick, uncooperative. “I—I didn’t mean— That is, I just thought—” His words stumbled over each other, messy and frantic, so at odds with the stillness in your gaze.

You tilted your head, studying him. Like a curious observer watching a small, clumsy animal. “Shh,” you said. Calm. Not unkind. “Don’t ruin it with excuses.”

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat catching like a rock.

You leaned forward just slightly—close enough that your perfume ghosted over his skin. Layered over something far more sinister. “Poor thing,” you murmured, voice so low it barely touched the air. “Didn’t think I’d notice?”

Sol tried again, slower this time. “I just wanted… I didn’t think it would hurt you. I swear—”

“I know,” you said simply. Your fingers brushed over his collar, then his cheek. So gentle it almost felt affectionate. Almost.

“But you still made a choice,” you continued. “So now I’m making mine.”

Your smile came slowly. Soft. Serene. The kind that made his blood turn to static. “I’m just getting my lick back, Sol.”

His breath hitched as your fingertips traced the curve of his jaw, as if testing the edges of what he feared... or maybe craved.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you asked, voice almost dreamy. “To be close. To be vulnerable. To be mine.”

And he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could only watch as you leaned in again, the world shrinking until it was just you and him and the unbearable calm in your voice.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you whispered, brushing your lips—not against his—but to the shell of his ear. “Otherwise I’d be far less polite about all this.”

You pulled back, still smiling.

Sol didn’t know whether to beg for forgiveness or thank you.

But you just sat there. Composed. In control. Right where you wanted to be. Right where he had wanted you. And he finally understood the difference between possession and surrender.

You weren’t his. But he was already yours.

I’m sorry, I just love bullying Sol like the tragic man he is. Can’t help it~

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Oh my, the archer respected you right away. That alone was rare.

Understand, Geo was used to attention. Unwanted, exhausting, meaningless attention. People asked him out the way someone might bid on a luxury item they didn’t understand—coveting the surface, clueless about the weight beneath it.

Women giggled in hallways, brushing too close. Men winked with performative bravado. Some were subtle, some were bold, but they all had the same shallow hunger in their eyes. Then eveyone else is mixed between.

They liked his face. His body. His money. His aim.

Not one of them knew him.

He despised it. The fakeness of it. The repetition. It was all noise—loud, grating, and hollow. So when Crowe called him over one day between training sessions, saying, “Geo, come meet someone,” he braced for it. Another admirer. Another forced smile. Another waste of time.

You stood beside Crowe, arms loose at your sides, expression unreadable. Calm. Still.

Geo sized you up immediately. Pretty, sure—but too composed. Too… unaffected. You didn’t look impressed. Or nervous. You didn’t even blink when his gaze met yours.  Crowe said your name. You didn’t offer a hand. You just looked at him. Right at him. And held the stare. Then few seconds passed. Then another.

Geo’s jaw flexed, something twitching behind his eye. He tried to decipher your expression, but there was nothing to grab onto. Not curiosity. Not admiration. Not even intimidation. Just silence. And it unnerved him. 

No one ever looked at him like that—not without wanting something.

He scoffed, soft and sharp, looking away as if dismissing you. But his neck was warm. His ears burned. He hadn’t meant to look away first. 

Something about the way your eyes tracked him made his skin feel too tight. He didn’t like it. He did. And later—much later—he would admit to himself that was the moment everything shifted. 

Because you didn’t want him.

You didn’t fear him. You didn’t need him. You saw him.

And for someone like Geo—guarded, solitary, used to being worshipped or avoided—being seen was far more dangerous. And far more addictive.

It started small.

Inconspicuous, even. Geo didn’t linger. Geo never lingered.

He was the type to enter a room with intention, finish his task, and leave before anyone could start a conversation. Precision wasn’t just part of his archery; it was baked into how he lived. Efficient. Unbothered. Remote. Until you.

It wasn’t conscious, not at first. Just… a coincidence. You were always sitting in that same spot in the library—top floor, back left corner, beneath the wide window that filtered in light shine across your notes. Head down, earbuds in, eyes glazed.

Studying, probably. Or maybe somewhere far away inside your mind.

He didn’t mean to stop. Didn’t mean to sit at the table across from you. Or choose the one chair that let him steal glances between pages of his book. But something about the stillness around you... it was magnetic. Anchoring.

So he stayed. 

And then he did it again the next day. And the next.

Eventually, it became a habit. Geo would finish training, towel off the sweat, toss his bag over his shoulder—and without fail, his feet would carry him to you. Even if just for ten minutes. Even if he only got to watch you scribble something he’d never ask about.

He told himself he liked the silence. That it helped him focus.

But the truth? He liked you in the silence. The way you didn’t flinch when he sat down. The way your body didn’t shift away like most did. You didn’t shrink, didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to fill the void between you. You just let it be.

That was dangerous. Addictive. Peaceful.

And infuriating.

Because then he started noticing things. Stupid things.

Like how you always twisted the end of your hair when you were stuck. Or how you would space out so intensely that you once walked directly into a vending machine and apologized to it under your breath.

You bumped into desks. Into door frames. Into people.

It drove Geo insane.

You moved through life like your body was a vessel and your mind existed somewhere else entirely. It was careless. Vulnerable. A target. He hated that. Hated the way it made his pulse spike. So, naturally, he started walking near you more often. Not that you noticed—your earbuds were usually in, your gaze faraway—but his presence was always there.

One step behind.

He caught your elbow once when you tripped on a stair.

“Careful,” he muttered, more irritated than concerned. “There’s gravity here.”

You just blinked up at him, calm as ever. “Is there?” What.

He didn’t let go immediately. Crowe noticed it long before Geo even began to suspect anything was wrong. At first, he found it hilarious. Geo? Following someone around like a stray cat? That was new. The same Geo who scoffed at relationships, rolled his eyes at gossip, and couldn’t care less about anyone unless they were useful in a fight or debate?

That Geo was now orbiting someone like a moon pulled out of alignment.

It was cute. Weirdly so.

But the humor faded fast. Because the more Crowe watched, the more it stopped looking like a crush and started looking like a problem. Geo’s eyes didn’t just glance your way anymore. They locked. Tracked. Focused with a strange intensity that made Crowe’s instincts bristle. Not necessarily dangerous—just… alert. Hyper-aware. 

Like Geo was cataloging every movement, every interaction, every person who dared get too close.

And then there was the way his jaw tightened when your name came up in conversation. Or how his hand twitched—barely, but noticeably—when someone else laughed a little too loud in your direction. Like he was waiting for a reason to react. For someone to slip up.

That was when Crowe decided to poke the wolf.

“You know you’re acting weird, right?” he said casually one day after class, swinging his bag over one shoulder. “Like. Weird weird. Not your usual 'grumpy hermit' thing. This is new.”

Geo didn’t even glance at him. He was crouched on the bench, methodically tying the laces on his shoes.“No, I’m not.”

Crowe snorted. “Uhh, you nearly bit Deryl’s head off for being near them.”

Geo rose slowly, controlled, like a storm carefully leashing itself. “He nearly knocked them over.”

“He was trying to say hi,” Crowe said, squinting at him. “And he didn’t even touch them. Like, at all.”

Geo didn’t reply. Didn’t need to.

The silence said plenty.

Crowe’s grin spread slowly, wicked and knowing. “So. You like them.”

Geo froze, just for a second. His neck snap over to Crowe and voice was flat, expression unreadable. “I don’t like anyone.”

“That’s what makes this even better,” Crowe said, unable to contain his amusement. “They’ve got you spiraling and you don’t even know what to do with it.”

Geo turned his back, brushing past him with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for people who wasted his time. 

But Crowe wasn’t fooled. Not even a little.

Because just before he walked away, he caught it—the faint flush blooming at the tips of Geo’s ears, stark and obvious against his pale skin. 

The worst part for Geo wasn’t the pull. He was used to craving things he couldn’t have—control, stillness, clarity. No, the worst part was the ambiguity.

You were an enigma wrapped in casual disinterest.

You didn’t flirt. Didn’t fawn. You didn’t even acknowledge him half the time beyond the most basic courtesy. Your resting face didn’t help, either—expression calm, eyes detached, a soft fog of disinterest hanging around you like armor. Mysterious. Unreadable. Infuriating.

Geo hated not knowing where he stood.

Were you amused? Bored? Annoyed?Did you even see him, or was he just background noise in your day? He found himself replaying your replies, your glances—every small, forgettable exchange, searching for meaning where there might be none.

Did you like what he said about black cats? Did you roll your eyes when he walked away, or did you watch him leave? Did you think about him when he wasn’t there?

He hated how much he wanted to know.

Because Geo didn’t do feelings. He didn’t do longing. But with you?

He was starting to feel like he might drown in it.

Like, funny thing was—Geo wasn’t much of a talker. Not when it didn’t serve a purpose. Silence was usually his shield, his comfort.

But lately? He’d started talking more—like the dumbest shit to juat to see what you was gonna say about it. Nothing strategy or academics or anything remotely useful. Just... pointless things. Nervous things. Words spilled out not because they mattered, but because you did. And he was trying—fumbling, really—to get past the fortress you kept around your thoughts.

“You ever notice how people walk faster in the rain, even if it’s barely drizzling?”

You didn’t look up from your notebook. “Probably evolutionary instinct.”

He blinked. “...Right. I guess that makes sense.” It didn’t.

But he’d take it. Another time: “Do you think red ink makes teachers angrier?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. It bleeds more.”

He nodded slowly, even though the comment made his brain short-circuit a little. What the fuckk is he asking you? Bleeds more? He didn’t ask. He kind of didn’t want to know. And his personal favorite, said too quickly, too quietly: “Was I annoying just now?”

This time you looked at him. Neutral. Calm. Unblinking. “No. You’re fine.”

That did something to him. Something he didn’t want to name. 

You never gave him more than you had to. No fluff. No fake smiles. But never less, either. Just enough. Just barelyenough to keep him coming back like a moth to a flame that might not want him. 

“Keep talking, please.”

Three words. He spiraled over them for a week. 

See, Geo didn’t do spiraling. He did logic. Discipline. Controlled environments. A life outlined in clean margins. He liked structure. He liked precision. He liked potted plants—orderly things in orderly containers. They lined his dorm windowsill like little green sentinels, trimmed and watered to perfection.

He liked the haunting calm of Japanese opera humming low through his headphones as he read over tactical reports or fine-tuned his form. He liked watching old shadow puppet performances on mute, the flickering silhouettes clean and exact, silent and sharp like the arrows in his quiver.

He liked peace.

But you?

You were none of those things. You unsettled him.

He didn’t know how to contain you in a sentence, a system, a pot.

And ever since that day—those three words—you began to echo in the quiet parts of his mind, uninvited and unrelenting. 

He’d hear your voice while practicing archery, in the stillness before the release. Soft. Measured. Your tone settled behind his ribs like a smooth stone—cool, balanced, a weight that grounded and unsettled him all at once. He became addicted to that calm you carried like a second skin.

To the subtle way you dissected the world without urgency, like nothing could touch you. The way you never reached for him, yet never pushed him away either.

And when you did break that quiet mask?

When your lips curled into a faint smirk that felt like a secret being let slip— When you laughed, once, just once, at something ridiculous he’d said about vending machines or Crowe’s lack of subtlety or Sol’s refusal to sleep indoors like a normal person—

It ruined him.

He replayed it in his head like a crime scene. Where had it come from? What variable had changed? Was it the way he tilted his head? The exact phrasing? The timing? Could he reconstruct it? Could he make it happen again?

He didn’t tell anyone. 

Not Daryl, who would tease. Not even Crowe, who might see too much too quickly and laugh like it was some thrilling scandal. Because the truth was ugly. Brutal. Simple. Geo didn’t just want your silence anymore.

He wanted your secrets. Your thoughts. Your time.

He wanted to sit so close the silence became yours together. He wanted to take up your focus and hold it hostage. He wanted to know how your mind worked the same way he studied arrow velocity and wind resistance—perfectly.

Geo wanted you.

Not in the loud, possessive way others chased things. No. He wanted you quietly—in that same private, reverent way you gave yourself to the world. Careful. Restrained. Deliberate. Like a rare artifact locked behind glass.

So when he invited you out one night, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t broadcast. Not even Crowe knew—not that Geo would’ve tolerated his commentary anyway. It was a simple text. Blunt, brief.

Geo: Come with me tonight. Dress nice.

That was it.

No time. No place. No explanation. Just enough to be intriguing. Just enough to make you pause. He didn’t call it a date. Of course he didn’t. 

But he also wore a tailored jacket. Charcoal black, sharp-cut, the collar slightly popped like he didn’t mean for it to be perfect—but it was. He’d tied his hair back, neat and minimal, not a strand out of place. His usual scowl had softened into something unreadable.

You’d stared for a second longer than you meant to. He didn’t comment.

And still—you couldn’t tell if it was a date.

He’d met you at the corner of campus, where the streetlights flickered like tired fireflies and the buildings loomed like sleeping giants. He didn’t offer an arm. He didn’t hold your hand. He didn’t try to impress you with flashy words or flattery.

Instead, he walked beside you, kept you inner part of the sidewalk, not in front or behind, just with you. Matching your pace. Occasionally watching your expression when you weren’t looking.

He took you to an fancy japanese rooftop restauranrt, tucked above a quiet alley, hidden between a used bookstore and a forgotten tailor’s shop. No signs. No crowd. Just a view of the city at night, stretched out like ink and gold under the stars.

Soft lanterns swayed above the terrace. Warm tea was already waiting—he’d ordered your favorite without asking. A delicate dish of fruit and sweets sat between you, untouched for the first ten minutes because neither of you moved to break the stillness.

He didn’t say much at first. Just sat there.

Watching the skyline. Listening to the quiet.

You looked at him. He was watching the reflection of candlelight flicker in your eyes like he was studying the shape of a constellation.

He finally spoke. "You like places like this, right?"

You didn’t respond right away. You were still trying to name whatever this was—whatever this night had become. The silence hung between you, but not like a weight. With Geo, it never was. It was just... present. 

Like fog rolling through the brain. Your mind, meanwhile, was lost.

‘Was this a date? Or just an oddly elegant detour?’

Still staring out over the rooftop railing, you let the city lights flicker against your skin a moment longer before murmuring, “Yeah. I do.”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw it—the tiniest shift in his posture. The corner of his mouth curled upward, barely. Not a smile, not exactly. More like a fleeting trace of relief that never made it all the way to his eyes.

Soon afterwards, through the winding streets, the silence followed like an old companion. Not awkward. Just... comfortable. Familiar. Geo mentioed of driving you back to your place, so you and him were walking back to his car, it was short walk however it felt long.

You walked beside him in step. Always in step.

Geo moved like he choreographed his whole life. Every step nice. Hands in his pockets, posture too perfect, like even his slouch was planned. His coat flared slightly behind him, catching wind every now and then, a reminder of how damn dramatic he looked against the streetlights.

You glanced sideways, smirking. “You always this extra when going outside? Rooftop café, city view, candlelight? The only thing missing was a violinist….”

He kept his eyes forward, but his brow twitched—barely. 

You’d caught him.

“It wasn’t a date.”

You tilted your head, playful. “Didn’t say it was.”

There it was. The silence again. 

Tighter this time, stretched like elastic between you.

Without breaking stride, you leaned in and bumped your elbow into his ribs. Just enough to annoy. “But if it was, that jacket makes sense now. You looked like you were gonna propose. Or sword fight a man at dawn for my honor.”

“I liked the jacket,” he replied, flat and unimpressed, like he was reading from a cue card.

You whistled low. “I liked it too. Didn’t know you owned fancy clothes.”

That earned you a sideways glare—sharper than the last, but still not a full reaction. You pressed in anyway. “I mean, no offense, Geo, but you dress like a confused colorful grunge most days. You wore a purple hoodie last week. With fishnet tights. Under skinny jeans. With dress shoes. Like what the hell is your aesthetic? Sexy haunted thrift store?”

He actually scoffed this time. His mouth twitched again, fighting something. Probably the urge to shove you into traffic. Probably also trying not to laugh.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, voice dry as winter air.

“Only a little,” you said, grinning now, riding the high of his mild irritation.

You walked backward for a few steps, facing him with your hands tucked behind your back, head tilted like you were studying a painting in a gallery. “Be honest—were you gonna kiss me if I leaned in tonight?”

Geo didn’t miss a secoud in his stride, but the set of his shoulders betrayed him—they tensed, just enough for you to notice. “No.”

Your grin stretched, slow and wide. “Are you lying?”

“No.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” he said again, but this time the word dragged out like it didn’t want to exist. Strained. Delayed. Like his mouth and brain were syncing on dial-up.

That did it—you burst out laughing. Not a small laugh. Not one you tried to hide. A full, loud, unapologetic laugh that echoed down the quiet street like a spark caught in wind.

Geo muttered something under his breath, barely audible.

“What was that?” you asked, gleefully stepping back into stride beside him.

“I said—” he exhaled like it physically pained him to say it aloud, “—you must know, deep in that ridiculous brain of yours, I don’t do that.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes before looking back at him. “Geo, love, I do know that. But it’s so much fun watching you glitch.”

“I don’t glitch.”

“Oh, you glitched. So hard. When I mentioned kissing you, I saw the lag. It was glorious.”

He rolled his eyes, and you could practically hear the disdain layered in it. “It’s not the idea of kissing. It’s you making it a joke.”

You sidled closer, still wearing that faux-pout. 

“Aw, so you have thought about it?”

His gaze flicked away like a reflex. “You’re unbearable.”

“And you secretly love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he muttered.

You bumped your shoulder against his, light and warm. “That’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away, either.

Instead, your hands brushed again, like they had been doing on and off all night. This time, instead of letting it pass, you turned your palm and slipped your fingers through his—casual, but not careless. The contact was feather-light at first, like you were giving him the choice to pull away.

He didn’t.

His hand stayed in yours, fingers tense at first, then slowly easing. The contact was simple. Small. But it shifted something in the air between you—gentler now. Still charged, still chaotic, but quieter. Softer. More certain.

You walked the rest of the path like that—side by side, your fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world. The teasing faded, but the quiet wasn’t empty. It was warm, like the last bit of sunlight before dusk slips away. It hummed with everything you didn’t say aloud, but both of you felt anyway.

Geo’s hand was steady in yours, but there was a slight tremble you didn’t miss. And when you glanced sideways, you caught it—just the faintest hint of color blooming across his cheeks, high and soft and so very real. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

But from you.

He wasn’t flustered because of the idea of love or attraction in the usual way. That wasn’t how he operated, and you knew that—respected it like sacred ground. He wasn’t the type to fall headfirst. He was cautious, calculated. Guarded.

But somehow, you’d still gotten in.

Not by breaking down his walls, but by curling up inside the quiet spaces he never thought to defend. You didn’t just sneak past his boundaries—you rewrote the map. You made your way into his world, not like an invader, but like a constant. A presence he hadn’t realized he’d always needed.

Maybe he wouldn’t ever whisper flowery confessions or write you sonnets on rainy nights. Maybe he’d never be the one to make grand romantic gestures or say the words the way others did.

But he showed it—every time he didn’t pull away. Every time he stood a little closer. Every time he let you tease him and didn’t push back too hard.

He wanted you.

Wholly. Constantly. Quietly.

The drive back to your place was quiet. Not awkward, not tense—just quiet in that strange, comforting way that happens when two people understand each other without needing to speak.

Geo slowed the car to a stop in front of their place, the low hum of the engine giving way to a silence that settled gently between them. He turned the keys in the ignition and sat there for a beat, staring out through the windshield like he could stall the inevitable.

But routine still mattered to him. Predictability. He slipped out of the driver’s seat and circled around, already reaching for the passenger side door before he could think too much about it.

Of course he was going to open the door for them. He always did.

But this time, as he opened it and extended a hand to help you up, as he took your hand in his—soft fingers curling around his—and let him pull them to their feet. No hesitation. No witty remark. Just that quiet confidence they always wore like armor.

But instead of stepping away or offering a breezy goodbye, you leaned forward and wrapped their arms around him. A real hug. No half-hearted pat on the back, no joking squeeze to keep things light. This one was full-bodied, firm, and warm in a way that caught him entirely off guard.

Your head rested briefly against him, and he could feel your breath—slow, steady, purposeful—like you were grounding themselves in him. Or maybe grounding him in them. He didn’t know anymore.

Geo froze.

His hands hovered in the air for a moment, unsure—almost trembling with hesitation—before he gave in and returned the embrace. Not because he understood it. Not because he was used to this kind of closeness. But because it felt like the most natural thing in the world to hold them like that, like something in him recognized this moment long before it arrived.

You held him a second longer than necessary, then slowly stepped back, just enough to meet his gaze. No teasing glint in their eye, no smirk tugging at their lips. Just softness. Calm. Like this, too, was inevitable.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You said, voice low and certain. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a promise. It was a fact. And then, before he could respond, you turned and made their way up the steps toward their door, disappearing into the quiet night with that same effortless grace they always carried—like they hadn’t just slipped something heavy and permanent into his chest.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

Because Geo was still standing there with the door open, arms slack at his sides, heart thudding like he’d just been thrown into a storm he didn’t see coming.

The night was quiet again.

But now, it pressed in around him—heavy, echoing.

Because what made it worse wasn’t the hug.

It was how real it was. How unguarded. How much it meant even though they hadn’t said a single word about it. You didn’t need to wreck him with sharp words or chaotic antics. Not anymore. 

You could destroy him just by caring, calm. Just by being you.

And you had.

He’d never say it out loud—not even to himself. But standing there alone in the hush they left behind, he knew, clear as day:

You wrecked him. Every. Damn. Time.

I love writing about my man. Maybe it sounds a little too good to be true sometimes—but that’s the beauty of it. He lives the way I imagine him.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Ohhh wow. Baby boy absolutely lost on your calmness.

Hyugo was a creature of energy—buzzing, bouncing, chaotic in a way that could light up an entire hallway. It was his language. His method. The very way he connected to the world: by making people react. Laughter, blushing, a rolled eye, even a scoff—he craved it all. So when he first crossed paths with you, arms crossed, expression unreadable, voice like calm rain on a tin roof? He short-circuited.

You weren’t shy. Just neutral. Calculated. Like you were perpetually observing, choosing your responses on a need-to-use basis. When he grinned and asked, “Hey, what’s your favorite snack?” and you said, “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” in that flat, knowing tone? He blinked. Then paused. Then whispered under his breath, “Okay… wait, what?” It was like trying to flirt with a locked vault that somehow slid him his own reflection back in response.

He should’ve been discouraged. Should’ve moved on. But instead, Hyugo got invested. You became his favorite puzzle. He started sending you cursed memes at 2 AM, just to see if you’d crack. 

You didn’t. 

You just left him on read—sometimes with the read receipt turned on, like a passive-aggressive mic drop. He’d find you sitting on the campus quad, peaceful and still like a perfectly trimmed bonsai, and he’d throw himself dramatically across the grass beside you with a whisper of, “Miss me?”

You never even turned your head. Just dropped his forgotten homework back into his open bag and said, “It’s due in two hours.” Somehow, you always treated him like he was your responsibility—like someone had to keep track of the hurricane that was Hyugo, and you had simply accepted the task with quiet resignation. Not because you were emotionally attached (though you were), but because he couldn’t be trusted to function like a human being without guidance.

What made it worse—what really got to him—was that you kept up with him. Effortlessly. While he was skipping class to “help the janitor with roof maintenance” (translation: napping on the forbidden rooftop), you were the one sending text reminders like clockwork.

“Assignment due by midnight. I shared the answers. You’re welcome.”

“You left your bookbag at my place. Again.”

“Drink water. I know you didn’t.”

It was enough to make him melt. But in classic Hyugo fashion, he didn’t let up. He kept trying—because your rare, deadpan one-liners? The way you occasionally tapped his arm or looked up just long enough to meet his eyes? It fueled him for weeks.

Of course, Sol couldn’t help but comment on it. One afternoon, as Hyugo dramatically flailed behind you in the walking on camups—arms full of chaotic gestures and failed attempts at catching your attention—Sol leaned against a locker with a smirk. “You know,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded with judgment, “you look real desperate right now.”

Hyugo didn’t even break stride. 

“Says the guy who’s been rearranging his bangs for twenty minutes because his crush might walk past the art room.”

Sol blinked.

Hyugo continued, casually tossing a wink over his shoulder, “At least I know mine. And they actually talks to me.” Then he turned back around and whispered, “Even if it’s just to tell me I missed another deadline.” He sighed to himself.

It was late afternoon when Hyugo found you again—alone on the third-floor balcony of the library, tucked where the sunlight couldn’t quite reach. You were reading, as always. One leg crossed over the other, expression unreadable, as if the world outside the page didn’t exist.

He leaned against the railing next to you, unusually quiet.

No dramatic entrance. No exaggerated greeting. Just silence.

You noticed, of course. But you didn’t look up, not yet. You knew his patterns, the rhythm of his noise. This quiet? It was... off.

“I’m going to get that new ‘Devil Storm Re:Slash’ game tomorrow,” he said finally, fingers drumming the metal rail. “The deluxe one. The one with the exclusive artbook and the collector’s pins and—whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, the sound neutral. Polite. Expectant.

He hesitated, then turned to face you more fully. “I, uh... I wanna be first in line. Like, I’m talking ‘wait-outside-the-store-all-night’ first.”

Your eyes lifted from the page, slow and deliberate. “And?”

Hyugo shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck. “And... I want you to come with me.”

A pause. Not because you were thinking.

Just because you knew he wanted a pause. He wanted something from you. Something more than the usual routine.

Finally, you said, “Okay.”

He blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I said okay.”

“You mean like… okay okay? As in—you’ll actually come with me? No emotional hostage situation? No guilt-tripping me into finishing homework first?”

You closed your book. “You want me to come. I’ll come.”

The simplicity of your agreement hit him harder than he expected. No sarcasm. No negotiation. No teasing deflection. Just yes.

Hyugo stared at you, his smile faltering for the first time that day. And it was then he admitted—mostly to himself—that he wasn’t just chasing your reactions because they were rare. He was chasing them because he needed them. Because they made him feel real. Grounded. Seen. And he had spent so long being loud, obnoxious, energetic—hoping someone would respond, even just a little.

“…Why’d you say yes so fast?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, like it wasn’t a real question.

You looked at him, calm and steady. “Because you asked like you meant it.”

That silenced him.

No quip. No dramatic hand wave. Just Hyugo, heart stuttering in a chest full of noise, wondering how you always knew exactly when to be quiet—and when to say the exact thing he wasn’t ready to hear.

“…Cool,” he muttered after a beat. “Cool cool cool. I mean. You’ll regret it. I’m bringing snacks. And my anime playlist. You’re gonna suffer.”

You stood and grabbed your bag. “I’ll survive. You should finish your Art project tonight.”

“Ugh. You suck.”

You shrugged. “You’d miss the deadline otherwise.”

He watched you walk away with your usual grace, untouchable as always—but somehow, that one word, okay, kept echoing in his chest louder than all the times you ignored his memes combined.

And Hyugo, for once, didn’t feel like a joke. He felt chosen.

The next morning, 3:47 AM sharp, you and Hyugo stood outside the grimy, fluorescent-lit game store at the edge of town.

Hyugo looked like he belonged in a disaster documentary—blanket around his shoulders like a cape, hood up over messy hair, clutching a thermos of coffee with the intensity of a man on the brink. His breath fogged in the air as he bounced on his heels, eyes sparkling with sleep-deprived determination.

“We are making history right now,” he declared, voice a little too loud for the ghost-town hour.

You glanced at him, hands in your coat pockets, utterly unbothered. “There’s literally one guy ahead of us. History is generous.”

“That’s Greg. Greg doesn’t count. He lives here.”

Sure enough, Greg—early 40s, heavy parka, portable chair, expression like a man who had seen things—gave a solemn nod from his post at the door. He did look like a part of the building.

Hyugo leaned closer to you, whispering like it was a covert op. “He told me once he camped out for ‘Call of Duty: Geriatric Ops.’ Said it was worth the frostbite.”

You raised a brow. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Time passed in strange, slow intervals. Hyugo talked enough for both of you. Animated. Rambling. Telling you the entireplot of the last three Devil Storm games, complete with sound effects and voice impressions.

“And then this demon prince guy, right—he sacrifices his arm for a cursed scythe, but plot twist, the arm was already cursed so now he’s double cursed, and his childhood best friend—who's secretly the reincarnation of the goddess of violence—is like, ‘Noooo, you idiot!’ and then boom! Emotional trauma and boss fight.”

You blinked. “How many hours did you play this?”

“More than I studied last semester.” Not shocking.

He offered you some snacks from his backpack—Takis, sour candy, a suspiciously melted granola bar. You declined all of it. And yet… somewhere between his fourth dramatic retelling and his brief existential crisis about Greg being closer to the door than him, you reached into your own coat and pulled out a thermos of hot chocolate.

You handed it to him wordlessly.

He stared at it like you'd just given him a family heirloom. “For me?”

“No, for Greg.”

He held it to his chest like it was sacred. “I’m going to marry you.”

Your smirk was enough to make him choke on air.

By the time the doors finally opened—at exactly 8:00 AM sharp—Hyugo was vibrating with so much energy he nearly knocked over a cardboard standee of the game’s main character. Greg gave you both a solemn salute as you entered.

Hyugo was the first to grab the deluxe box. You were second. He held it up like a trophy, grinning at you like a kid who won a goldfish at a fair.

“You know,” he said, eyes bright, “most people would’ve told me to shut up five hours ago. But you? You just stood there. Kept me warm by sheer vibe.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

And he laughed. Loud, unfiltered, the kind that echoed through the store. As the adrenaline of the game release wore off and morning light finally began to bleed across the sky in soft, grey-blue streaks, Hyugo turned to you, game case tucked under his arm like sacred treasure.

“Alright,” he said, stretching his arms above his head with a dramatic yawn. “Now we celebrate. And by celebrate, I mean greasy food and a dangerous amount of syrup.”

You gave him a nod of approval. “You’ve earned it. Somehow.”

“Somehow? I braved hypothermia, public embarrassment, and Greg’s war flashbacks. That deserves at least three waffles.”

The two of you started walking, the quiet of the early hour wrapping around you like a blanket. It would’ve been peaceful—until the clouds that had been gently looming all morning decided to unleash a sudden downpour. No warning, no sprinkle, just a full-on sky tantrum.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Hyugo yelped as the rain hit, both of you instinctively bolting toward the nearest shelter—a lonely, flickering bus stop with a crooked bench and questionable graffiti.

You ducked under the cover, brushing water off your sleeves. Hyugo, on the other hand, looked like a wet cat. His hair clung to his forehead, hoodie soaked, shoes squeaking as he flopped dramatically onto the bench.

“This is what I get for tempting fate,” he muttered. “She’s a cruel mistress. Just like my ex.”

“What,” you said.

“Exactly. And yet, she still haunts me.”

That got a small, involuntary snort from you. Barely audible. 

He heard it.

His eyes snapped toward you. “Was that… was that a laugh? Did I just unlock something?”

You exhaled slowly, amused despite yourself. “Maybe.”

“Oh my god, I need to write this down. Note to self: rain plus fake ex equals minor chuckle.”

You shook your head, a real smile pulling at the corners of your mouth now. He was ridiculous. Loud, chaotic, over-the-top—and yet, never annoying. Never too much. Always just enough.

Then he hit you with another one. Eyes wide, faux-serious: “What if we die here? What if the bus stop is haunted? What if Greg follows us and demands tribute?”

And that was it.

You laughed. A soft, quiet thing at first—but then it grew, warm and unexpected, spilling from your chest like something you hadn’t meant to let out. Not the sarcastic chuckles he was used to, not the exasperated sighs. 

A real laugh.

Hyugo’s own breath caught. His mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on you like he was seeing something rare and holy. “…Whoa,” he whispered. “That’s what you sound like?”

You tilted your head, a little teasing. “Disappointed?”

He shook his head slowly, as if afraid he’d miss a moment of it. “No! That’s going in my top five core memories. Alongside the time I saw a seagull steal a slice of pizza.”

You stepped toward him, still smiling, and reached out—cupping his damp cheeks gently in your hands. His skin was cold from the rain, but his eyes were warm, brighter than ever.

“Thank you,” you said, quiet but sincere. “I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

Hyugo didn’t speak at first. He was too busy blinking like an idiot, the faintest shade of pink dusting his cheeks. Then he smirked, just barely.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured. “But now you’re in trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because now I know how to win.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands stayed where they were. And he leaned in ever so slightly, like even if the rain kept falling, this—this moment under a sad, flickering bus stop—was already the best part of his day.

Yeah. You didn’t always give him what he wanted.

But when you did? It was everything.

That calm authority? It wasn’t cold. It was dangerously caring. And when you did finally touch his arm, gently reminding him to study? He short-circuited so hard he nearly walked into a vending machine.

You weren’t just his crush. You were his grounding wire.

And he didn’t stand a chance.

Ngl this was cute as hell to write, love Hyugo

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat

construction worker!rafe spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and is always showing up to the small cafe shy!reader works at all sweaty and white shirt dirtied...

c/w: rafe being flirty, her having the biggest crush on him, suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1k

hope you enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

Every time the golden bell above the door of the coffee shop dings and Rafe’s eyes settle on her soft form, the edges of his mouth tilt up— offering her a lazy grin as he asks what baked good she’d recommend for him to try that day.  

His visits have become something she begins to look forward to, him asking about her day with his raspy voice and big biceps bulging as he leans against the counter; always managing to drag a nervous giggle out of her. She feels like a Pavlov’s dog, her brain tingling and mind buzzing like a bee when the clock ticks away and the time he usually walks through the mustard yellow door approaches.   

And he thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, especially when she smiles at him all bashful, trying to hide the way her eyes round out and her breath gets caught in her throat whenever he leans closer to her; asking what she’s doing after her shift with a slow drawl.  

And while she’s busy answering, he lifts his thumb to her cheek to swipe away a smudge of flour dusted over the skin there, lingering for a second too long. “Messy girl,” he’d murmur, purposefully trying to make her blush, taunting her.   

Slowly but surely, his visits become the best part of her day when she realizes she’s beginning to harbor fond, gooey feelings towards the slightly older guy who makes a show of loudly humming in satisfaction when he bites into a raspberry chocolate muffin she’s baked, honey dripping from his tongue when he showers her in compliments.   

And he seems to be pleased when she diverts her jittery eyes from his gaze and tries to busy herself with swiping a rag over a spot on the countertop (for the fourth time already), sneaking glances at him indulging in the confectioneries she’s practically forcing him to taste test now because whenever she tries a new recipe, she always wants him to be the first one to try it. And he’s not complaining.   

When he finds out she walks home by herself, even late at night, there’s no other option for him but to insist on driving her home because he doesn’t like the idea of such a pretty girl walking alone in the dark, doesn’t like it at all.   

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t wanna be a bother, m’fine,” she denies him immediately, to which he merely furrows his brows; telling her it wouldn’t be a bother at all since he can often work quite late as well— practically demanding to know what time she gets off that night. And she has no choice but to hesitantly reply, his stern tone almost compelling her to give into his every wish.   

It becomes a routine for them; him waiting for her to finish up cleaning and her mumbling out a soft thank you when he holds the door of his truck open with his palm on the small of her back guiding her inside. Whenever he teases her about being his little passenger princess, she practically melts into a puddle on the seat; trying to hide her flustered face from him, but failing miserably.  

And no matter how many times he’s driven her home, she still feels rather overwhelmed in the small space of his car, a plum tinge heating up her face whenever she feels his eyes on her, catching her staring at his big hands. She doesn’t know why he’s allowed to have such alluring details in the first place; a singular gold ring adorning his index finger and his strawberry lips so inviting.  

Therefore, it’s not really her fault when her mind gets lost in a haze and her brain turns foggy when she notices how his strong arms flex whenever he turns the steering wheel while his thumb taps against the leather. Or when his blunt fingernails scratch at the slight stubble on his face and she wonders how it would feel on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs or— 

“You, uh, you good, sweetheart?” Rafe asks and she blinks, realizing he’s asked her a question. A question her dazed cerebrum has no recollection of.   

“Sorry?” her face burns with embarrassment.  

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “What’s on your mind, hm?”   

“Oh, um— nothing, just, uh, tired and…stuff,” she attempts to sound convincing.  

However, his grin only widens. “Yeah? So, you, uh, you tellin’ me you weren’t just checkin’ me out?” his tone turns into something patronizing.   

“What? I— no, no I was just—”  

“Relax, m’just fuckin’ with you,” but there’s a mocking glint in his eyes that indicates she’s not being very subtle. 

“Asked if you were hungry?” he flits his eyes to hers once more.  

“Uh...yeah, sure. Don’t even remember how long it’s been since I ate lunch to be honest,” she starts to ramble, trying to ignore the murky thoughts trying to breach the surface.   

“Why don’t you, uh, come over to my place then ‘n I could make you somethin? Jus sayin’...I’m a great cook. Feels unfair that you’re always the one fillin’ up my belly,” he says as his mind starts to concoct a few other ways he could fill up her belly, willing to bet that she’d let him.   

After all, he’s not an idiot. He sees the way her moony eyes travel down his features whenever she thinks he’s not paying attention— thinks it’s absolutely adorable how sheepish she gets about it. However, he’s hesitant about the right way to approach it, not wanting to scare the shy little thing away.  

Therefore, he opts to warm her up with a homemade meal, and afterwards let her have a sweet treat; fuck her dumb until tears trickle down her cheeks and she’s a whimpering mess. He knows he could make her feel so good, wants to show her just how much she’s missing— wants to make her beg for it and wants to be a little mean about it, but most of all just wants to make her his. 

“Um…okay,” she agrees with a nod of her head because how is she supposed to deny him of anything when he’s looking at her with those eyes that resemble dulcet water puddles? 

[mari-positas]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[nervoussagittarius]

matt sturniolo and y/n being cute for 6 minutes straight

matt sturniolo x reader

summary: a compilation of cute moments between matt and his girlfriend, caught on camera

warnings: none

☼ you and the triplets had decided to take a trip to hawaii for a week vacation. the boys were vlogging for their channel in the airport when nick panned over to you and matt sitting side by side sharing a pair of headphones.

“matt how do you feel about going back to hawaii?” nick asked. as matt seaming didn’t hear what he said, you squeezed his hand you were holding pausing the music that was playing for you two.

you were about to slip your had out of matt’s when he grabbed it again using his other hand to pull your chair closer to his. “we’re very excited nick, aren’t we baby.” he said glancing between you and the camera

“i’m excited to eat really good food and be really tan”

“and i’m excited to see y/n in a bikini” matt replied as you jokingly slapped his chest.

matt looked at you again as he began to smother your face in kisses and you giggled.

“and that’s enough of those two” nick said turning to chris instead.

☼ you had just fallen asleep when the boys started filming for their new wednesday video. you had come over to hangout with matt. deciding you didn’t want to run to the grocery store with them, you quickly found comfort in matt’s bed.

“chris, can you read off the recipe?” nick asked, trying to find measuring spoons. the triplets were filming another cooking video for this week, and they didn’t have the best track record with making things the right way.

“nick, i don’t know what the fuck any of this means. why can’t you just read it and i’ll measure?”

“matt what are you doing? why aren’t you mixing the ingredients?” nick asked. he was starting to feel annoyed at the idea of making these muffins from scratch.

“can’t we just ask y/n for help? she’s good at this kind of stuff” chris explained trying to get his brothers attention. “fine chris just go get her”

chris walked into matt’s room, and seeing you asleep he thought nothing of it and woke you. “y/n, we need help baking for our video.” he then walked out assuming you would follow.

you quickly woke up throwing on one of matt’s hoodies and made your way to the kitchen. nick was the first to notice you and how you looked slightly lethargic from not being fully awake yet. “chris did you wake her up or something? why would you do that?” this caught matt’s attention and he quickly took in your current state.

“chris!” matt slightly exclaimed. he turned to you and walked you both to what he thought was out of the camera frame. he quickly pulled you into a hug “i didn’t know you were sleeping otherwise i would’ve never let him bother you. are you okay being in the video quick… cause if not you can go back to sleep. i’m really sorry for waking you”

“no no. chris didn’t know. it’s okay matt, i don’t mind” matt then grabbed your his hoodie pocket pulling you over to the table. nick went on to explain what the boys had done so far and asked if you could be there to double check their work. matt kept a comforting hand on your back as he stood beside you, and he kissed your head occasionally as you scolded chris on the messed up measurements he was adding.

☼ matt was doing a quick stream when you arrived at the boy’s house. you just got off work and all you wanted was to see matt and tell him you loved him.

silently you walked into matt’s room trying not to disturb him as you walked over. “hi baby! how was your day?” matt said pushing one side of his headset off his ear.

streaming would never stop him from giving you all the attending in the world. he loved showing you off. he pulled you over to his desk. “look guys, y/n just got here. look at how pretty she looks.” he gave you the biggest hug pulling you up into him. he gave you as kiss not caring that the chat was going wild over how cute you two were.

“can i sit with you?” you brushed a piece of hair out of his eyes. without hesitating he sat the two of you down on his desk chair. you guys talked with the chat for a little bit before matt grabbed his controller going back to the game he was playing.

you sat there contently stealing little glances at him, which didn't go unnoticed by the fans.

☼ nick was having one of his moments where he was very active on snapchat. he was answer everyones questions when all of a sudden, unbeknown to nick, you and matt were caught cuddling in the back of one of his pictures.

his messages were soon flooded with comments about the two of you and how cute you were.

nick shortly became disgusted with all the girls making comments on you and his brother. he passed his phone over to you to make a statement on the situation.

"hi guys, y/n here. nick gave me his phone to talk to you all. yes, matt is here, and yes we are cuddling." you began to giggle at how insane you felt. matt lifted his head from your chest at the movement, giving a shut eye smile to the camera.

chats started coming in specifically directed to you this time. you tried to answer as many as you could, but most were just saying how they love you and how matt always looks so "babygirl" when he's you're together.

you loved how accepting the boys fans were of your relationship. you started a new video focusing on matt's sleeping face resting on you. "please everyone, let's take a minute and look at how cutie patootie matt is. he's just so kissable and squeezable"

"okay give me my phone back. i'm officially disgusted."

"bye guys!" matt said opening one eye to look at the camera and wave.

☼ you and matt had decided to have a little date night while nick and chris went out with some of your friends. you guys hadn't had much time alone in the past couple of weeks so this was a nice change of pace.

the night started out simple. the two of you had a picnic at the beach and then you ended up stargazing out of matt's car. as both of you made your way back to the triplets house you thought it would be a good idea to bake some cookies and watch a movie for the rest of the night.

while you two were baking, you were unaware that nick and chris were on their way back with tara and jake. music was softly playing as you set the tray of cookies into the oven.

"dance with me." matt stated, grabbing your hand to spin you around. you let out a laugh as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

coming up to the front door, tara was vlogging the group upon arrival. chris unlocked the front door as they all entered. the music could be heard from the front stairs.

"should we try to scare them?"

"absolutely! just wait and let me get my camera back out"

as they all piled into the living room quietly, they noticed you two in your own world dancing to some mac miller song. your head rested on matts chest as he swayed to the beat.

"stop it. they're so cute. the girlies are going to die for this footage"

you and matt quickly glanced at the group of four. at the same time the timer went off for the cookies.

"alright enough with the cute coupley-ness. let's see how these cookies turned out"

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

comments:

i love them. i don't know who i want to be more

its so funny how everyone is so in love with them being in love and nick is just grossed out 24/7

i love how y/n is never wearing her own clothes. only matts

they're so in love its not even funny

"i just want to see y/n in a bikini" me too matt. me too

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Career Day arrives, and you definitely have the coolest collection of adults visiting your classroom. Bradley orchestrates a surprise, hoping you don't realize it's just a cover for something even bigger.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were up before your alarm, too excited to stay in bed for a minute longer. When you tried to roll away from Bradley, his knee dug into your butt, and you groaned.

"Morning, Gorgeous," he grunted, arm wrapping around you like a boa constrictor until you were snug up against him again.

"Bradley," you whined, trying to squirm away. "I'm sore from being spanked."

You could hear his soft rumble of laughter as he released you, and you dragged yourself out of the other side of the bed. You weren't sure how you were going to make it through the day like this. You didn't even know if you'd be able to sit down. Still, you couldn't stop the smile that bloomed across your face, and soon Bradley was wearing one to match.

"Maybe we should have saved that for tonight," you whispered, gingerly rubbing your butt as you pulled your most capable looking dress from the closet you now shared with Bradley.

"We can revisit that activity tonight if you'd like." Just when you were about to argue there was no way that was going to happen again just yet, he let his hand slip down to the right side of your butt which went untouched last night. He gave you a little squeeze and whispered, "I'll get breakfast ready. I want you one hundred percent ready to go for Career Day, Baby."

The way he strutted around the house naked was highly distracting, but you had so much to do. You wanted to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect, and you wanted to get to your classroom early. So you got started, and at some point when you were in the bathroom, Bradley must have put his flight suit on. He was wearing it when he knocked on the door, and you told him to come in while you rooted around under the sink, trying to find the lotion you wanted to use.

"What are you doing?" he asked, panic lacing his voice as you glanced up at him.

"Looking for my lotion. The stuff in the blue bottle." You turned back to your task, and a second later, Bradley was in front of you, snatching up the exact thing you were looking for.

"This it?" he asked anxiously, nudging the cabinet closed with his knee as he handed it to you.

"Thanks," you muttered, wondering why he was acting strange as you smoothed the lotion all over your hands and arms.

"Let's eat breakfast before you're late for your big day."

You wanted to argue that it was his big day, too. He could do anything for his presentation, and your kids would eat it up. But for you, Career Day was always a chance for the fourth grade teachers to show off who they were able to get in their classroom. Who had the coolest adults. It was ridiculous, but you were still excited about it.

Bradley's idea of breakfast was an enormous bowl of cereal, toast, muffins and a banana. "I don't have time to finish all of this!"

"I'll eat whatever you don't eat," he promised. And he did. You watched him inhale the rest of the food as you double checked that you had everything in your bag, and then the two of you went out to his Bronco with travel mugs of coffee.

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

Bradley was nervous about today. He couldn't pinpoint one reason why, because there were several. First of all, he'd spent so much time in your classroom already, maybe it wasn't the best idea to have him scheduled for last out of all the Career Day participants. The kids were bound to find him stale at some point, and Marty had just scratched the surface of his many talents. He didn't want it to be his fault if things ended on a low note for you today.

Second, he was already hoping and praying that Natasha was going to be able to distract you the way that he wanted. He needed a little bit of help from your students to make this extra special. 

And third, just because he thought his mom's retro ring from the early 1980s was cool didn't mean you would. But that was really the least of his concerns. He wanted you to have it if you agreed to marry him, but he'd buy you something else if you so desired.

"You're so quiet," you mused softly, and Bradley almost forgot he was holding your hand while he drove. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said before clearing his throat. "Just going over what I want to talk to your kids about."

"What are you going to talk about today?"

He smiled and tilted the sun visor a little bit more. "Remember that video I posted on YouTube before I left in December? When I said there would be a quiz? I'm going to quiz them on everything they've learned with me. Stuff from the video and their field trip. Things I talked about in my letters. I'm going to try to stump them."

"I don't think you'll be able to," you said, lacing your fingers with his. "They hang on your every word. Just like I do."

Oh, he wanted you to have an engagement ring on that hand in the worst way. His life had changed so much since your first letter, but he knew pretty early on that he had feelings for you. And he knew as soon as the first date that he would end up here, completely in love with you.

When he pulled into your school parking lot, Bradley drove past all of the empty spots to drop you off at the front doors. "Aren't you coming with me?" you asked him, but he shook his head.

"I don't want to be a distraction for your morning routine. I'll wait out here for Nat and Marty and come inside with everyone else at nine."

"Okay," you replied, but you were looking straight ahead now. "I'm a little nervous."

"Why?" He shifted into park and reached for you.

You sighed against him. "It's ridiculous, but I want my guests to be the coolest ones. The other fourth grade teachers all rolled their eyes at me for even writing to an aviator in the first place."

"Joke's on them. You can't even get rid of me now," Bradley murmured, making you laugh. "You've got Nat and Marty. And one of your kids' parents owns a pizza shop. You're golden, Baby. Coolest fourth grade teacher ever."

You kind of rolled your eyes at him, but you smiled and kissed him before you climbed out. "I'll see you inside."

Bradley had a while to wait for Nat and Marty to arrive, and he considered running to Starbucks for his newest addiction. Instead he grabbed the bag that was tucked underneath his seat and started to sort through all the notes inside. It was a sizable collection now. All of the letters you and your students wrote to him made a stack a few inches thick. Some of the pages were creased and worn, but they would work perfectly for what he had planned.

When Nat tapped on his window, he jolted, sending pages flying.

"Why are you so jumpy?" she asked, opening his door.

"Jesus, Nat. I already told you I was anxious about this!"

She huffed out a breath. "And I already told you that you could put in literally no effort at all, and she would say yes. You could hand her a ring and grunt, 'Marriage?' and she would start planning a wedding."

Bradley laughed as he organized the pages again. "I want it to be special. Butterflies and all that shit. She makes me feel incredible."

His best friend leaned against the door, crossing her arms over her flight suit, and asked, "You still want Marty and I to help with your distraction scheme?"

"I need you to."

"You got it."

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

Your students were on their best behavior. The guests were all excited to be there. Bradley kept smiling at you. Your rear end was still sore, but it turns out there was no reason to be nervous at all. Even the music teacher and school librarian decided to hang out in your classroom for part of the day, because your kids talked it up so much.

Nia's mom, a pediatrician, gave a presentation about keeping your body healthy. Oliver's dad talked about designing skyscrapers and then let the kids build with Lego blocks. Now you were listening to Natasha talk about the challenges of landing a fighter jet on an aircraft carrier, and even the parents were enthralled.

"What do you think would happen if I flew in too low?" she asked, pointing at Jackie who had her hand up.

"You could like miss the deck?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied. "And what if I came in from too high?"

Jayden's hand shot up this time. "You could crash!"

"I could indeed," Nat answered seriously. Five more hands shot up in the air as she talked about velocity, and Marty, who was standing next to you at the back of the room, leaned in closer to you.

"Why are you making me go after Lieutenant Trace?" he whispered as she engaged with the kids.

You smiled at the older man in his khaki shirt and dark pants. "You can hold your own, Marty. Trust me." You knew for a fact he arrived with two tool boxes and some engine parts you couldn't even identify. You were already excited for what that meant. He would be just fine.

Suddenly the room erupted in applause as Natasha finished up, and you made your way up to the front of the classroom. "Thank you so much, Lieutenant Trace. Next we will hear from our favorite mechanic whom we met on our field trip to North Island. Marty needs a few minutes to set up, so in the meantime, Nia's mom is going to share some healthy snacks that we can enjoy."

You were going to go stand with Bradley while your classroom dissolved into the soft hum of conversation, but Nat cornered you first. "I just got a text from Maverick about something so exciting, but I need to run it past you first. Can we talk in the hallway?"

"Uh, sure." 

You looked around the room before deciding on asking Ms. Masters the librarian to help you out. "Would you mind monitoring things for a couple minutes?"

"I'll take care of it," she promised with a nod, and you knew everyone was in good hands as you slipped out into the hallway with your boyfriend's best friend.

"How would you feel about a flyover today?" 

You stared at Natasha, blinking silently at her words. "A flyover?"

"Yeah," she replied casually.

"Like over the school?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, buffing her nails on her flight suit.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

You felt like she was being kind of purposely slow to give details as your mind swirled. "You're talking actual Naval aircrafts?"

"Of course," she said with a grin. "I mean, once again, it would be Hangman and Coyote flying them, but even those two can handle holding a simple formation."

Now you were really excited. "How is this actually happening?" you whispered.

"Bradley and I asked Mav about it the other day," she said with a shrug. "Any chance we can walk out to the parking lot and make sure there's enough room for everyone to stand safely?"

When you tried to peek through the rectangular window in your classroom door, Natasha slid her body in front of it. When you tried to look over her head, she seemed to grow several inches as she went up on her tiptoes. 

"Yeah... we can go look at the parking lot." 

You were wearing your key card on your lanyard, and Ms. Masters could probably keep your class under control for an entire day if you needed her to.

"Well then, let's go."

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

As soon as you walked out of the room with Nat, Bradley jumped to action. It wasn't his intention to steamroll Nia's mom or her packs of apple slices, but he had something important he needed the kids to help him with. Marty was setting up some sort of demonstration with tool boxes on the desks in the front row, but Bradley grabbed the stack of papers he brought with him and cleared his throat.

"Do all of you think you can help your pen pal out with something for a few minutes?" Eyes went wide, backs went straight, and Oliver even saluted him as he started handing out the papers. "I brought all of the letters you kiddos sent me last year when I was deployed. There are a lot of them, and I'm going to use them for something special. A surprise for your teacher."

"What kind of surprise?" Henry asked, crunching through a piece of apple.

"I can't tell you that," Bradley replied with a wink. "It's classified."

"Are you really going to marry our teacher someday?" Violet asked as he handed her three of the handwritten notes.

Bradley froze, unsure how to answer. "If she wants to marry me, then I definitely want to marry her."

"She wants to marry you," Violet said easily. "What are we doing with all of these letters?"

"Paper airplanes," Bradley announced, holding up the last sheet of paper. Even the parents and Marty seemed amused now. "We are folding them up into the best looking paper airplanes we can make within the next six minutes or so. Watch how I fold this one, and then work on as many as you can, okay?"

He folded it up using the top of your desk when he needed to smooth the creases, and then he held it up for everyone to see. "Start folding!"

There was a flurry of activity as he walked around helping, and even the librarian and music teacher were getting involved. Bradley whipped through a few himself before walking around the room with an open trash bag.

"When you're done, drop them in here."

"But what are they for?" Oliver asked, dropping three airplanes into the bag. "Are you going to have airplane races with our teacher?"

"Not exactly. All of you are really doing me a favor here though. I promise."

"Do you love our teacher?" Jayden asked. Bradley thought maybe he should have felt silly admitting it in front of all of the adults, but he did it anyway.

"I absolutely do. I'm going to use the paper planes for a little project to show her just how much, okay?" He got several nods in response as he checked the time. You and Nat left seven minutes ago, and he knew he couldn't hope for much more than that. "Time's up! toss everything into the bag. And you can't tell her about any of this!"

You were smiling when you walked back in with Nat. He thought that things must have gone well for everyone as he tied up the bag. Marty was ready to give his presentation, and the kids all scuttled back to their seats.

Now he had everything he needed to make this the best weekend of his life.

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

Marty looked a little nervous as he started out by greeting everyone and telling them a bit about himself. He told your class that he had a lot of fun the last time he saw everyone on the naval base. You already knew about his decades-long Naval career, and your students already thought he was extremely cool, but he was about to get even cooler.

"I brought three identical intake manifold pieces from jets exactly like the ones that Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Trace fly. Does anyone know how they work?"

Several of your students raised their hands, and you watched as Marty walked around the room with the engine parts and let them answer his questions to the best of their ability before he took over.

"This is fascinating." You turned to your right where Ms. Masters was watching Marty, completely absorbed. "I can't believe you got military clearance to take your class to visit North Island," she whispered.

You were about to tell her that it was really all thanks to Lieutenant Bradshaw when you realized she was perhaps looking at Marty even more than she was paying attention to the engine parts in his rough hands. You cleared your throat softly and said, "You know, meeting Marty was probably the highlight of that whole day. And that includes touring the air traffic control tower."

"Really?" she murmured.

"Mmhmm. He put on a brilliant workshop for us. And he's just the sweetest man. Really takes the time to connect with the kids."

If you knew one thing about Ruby Masters, you knew she loved it when kids got excited about learning something new. And if you knew one thing about women in general, most of them loved a man in uniform. Right now, Marty was absolutely rocking his ensign khakis and his pins, and Ms. Masters stood up a little straighter when he turned your way with a smile on his face.

"Okay, time for some fun," Marty said as he headed back to the front of the classroom. "One manifold has been put together correctly." He held it up in the air once again. "Two are in pieces on these desks. I'm going to take this one apart and put it back together while you watch. Pay close attention, because after that, we're going to have a race."

Your kids looked absolutely delighted, and you had to ask Oliver not to sit on his desk while he watched the demonstration. Even all of the adults in the room were watching intently as Marty worked with a wrench from one of the toolboxes until he finished reassembling everything.

"Pretty simple, right?" he asked. Your kids all nodded and answered yes. "Who thinks they can race me?" You gasped in delight when a few of your students raised their hands. "What if I made it a little easier? What if I was blindfolded?"

"No way," you whispered, meeting Bradley's eyes across the room where he was holding a garbage bag for some reason. "Is he serious?" you whispered.

"He's so serious," Bradley confirmed, and sure enough, Marty pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

"I'll let your teacher pick my opponent," Marty said as he tied the square of fabric so it was covering his eyes.

You needed to pick a child who would be a gracious winner or loser, but you were almost convinced Marty was going to be able to beat any of them. "How about... Jayden."

You set him up next to Marty, making sure he had all of the tools he needed lined up. Then you gave them a countdown and stepped away again. The room erupted in cheers as Jayden puzzled his way through the task. Marty seemed to be moving smoothly, using muscle memory to do something he'd done hundreds of times before.

"Oh," Ms. Masters said. "It seems like Marty is... really good with his hands."

Your lips parted in surprise. "I'm sure he must be," you replied, trying not to squeal as she smiled and covered her face in embarrassment.

It turns out Jayden didn't stand a chance. "Marty wins!" boomed Bradley's voice, and you watched as the older man peeked out from his blindfold with a hesitant little smile on his face.

You were still applauding his effort as you thanked him for joining your classroom today. You were almost overwhelmed by how wonderfully the day seemed to be going. Bradley was your last guest, and then there was the flyover that Nat promised.

"Our last guest really doesn't need an introduction," you said with a laugh.

"Is it Lieutenant Bradshaw?" Oliver asked, ready to climb on top of his desk again as your boyfriend strolled up to stand next to you.

"Yes, of course it's Lieutenant Bradshaw." You smiled at him and said, "Take it away, Lieutenant."

There was a little smirk on his lips as he turned away from you to address your kids. "I know you all learned a lot about aviation this year, but right now, we're going to see just how much. I hope you all remembered that I said I was going to give you a quiz."

"Not a quiz!" complained Jackie, but Bradley held up his hands in mock surrender.

"If you pass, I can promise with one hundred percent certainty that you'll love the prize."

"There's a prize?" Violet asked, perking up.

"A secret prize," Bradley confirmed.

"Alright," Oliver said, still a little skeptical. "Let's do it."

Bradley started calling out questions, letting your students deliberate as a group to come up with an answer, and you leaned against the back wall near where Marty was packing up his toolboxes. 

"That was absolutely fascinating," you heard Ms. Masters tell him softly. "I'm Ruby Masters, the Mira Mesa Elementary librarian."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marty with pink cheeks, wiping his palm on his shirt before shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you," he whispered while Bradley continued to try to stump your kids. "This is the first time I've ever been to a career day."

"Well, you're a natural with the kids," she replied, still holding his hand. "And obviously very smart. I'm kind of new to the topic of aviation, but always interested in learning more."

"Oh. There's an endless amount to learn," he muttered, staring at Ruby like he couldn't look away.

"If you're ever free and feel like it, maybe you could show me how you rebuilt that manifold so quickly?"

Bradley had your kids taking turns writing at the board now, but you couldn't stop eavesdropping as you witnessed Marty go silent. The crash and burn was painful as he just stood there while Ruby finally extracted her hand. You were silently begging Marty to say something. Anything. But the seconds passed, and Ruby took a step away from him toward the door.

"Okay, no worries. It was nice to meet you." She gave you a forced smile as she slipped out into the hallway, and you rounded on Marty who was standing there like someone just stole his favorite toy at recess.

"I don't mean to overstep, so please feel free to tell me to mind my own business," you whispered.

"Uh. Okay?"

"Marty... Ms. Masters is hot and single, and she was flirting with you. She wanted you to ask for her phone number."

His eyes went wide as he gaped at you. "She did? Are you sure?"

You cradled your forehead and groaned softly. "I'm positive. She can't have gone far. The library is out and to the left, and then another left."

He nodded before dashing out of the room, leaving you alone just as Bradley said, "Are you sure you're all still in fourth grade? Or is this a grad school level physics class? You win. I can't even stump you. Come see me or Lieutenant Trace to get ear plugs for the Super Hornet flyover."

Your classroom was probably louder than the jet engine would be.

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

The whole school was buzzing with excitement as everyone emptied out onto the lawn and the parking lot. Something must have happened earlier, because Marty and the school librarian were standing awfully close together in all the chaos. As far as Bradley could recall, he'd never seen that man smile so much before.

"Ear plugs in! And then hands over your ears!" Natasha shouted, giving a safety demonstration. "Do it just how I do it!"

It was almost time. Bradley tried to keep the hand holding and cheek kisses to a minimum, but it was so hard when you were standing right next to him. You looked tired but happy as you put your orange, industrial ear plugs in place. With a dreamy look on your face, you leaned up and kissed him right on the lips, and that familiar roar of an F/A-18 engine approached. 

Bradley put his own earplugs in before the sound of the jet wash hit. You and everyone else stared up at the sky where his colleagues were flying overhead, but he kept his eyes on you. He was in love. He had Carole's ring and the paper planes. He had all of these words that he wanted to say to you, but mostly he wanted to promise that he'd feel the same way about you forever. And he wanted to hear you say the same thing.

As soon as you had your ear plugs out again, you threw your arms around his neck with a huge smile. "Thank you, Bradley."

"For what? I barely did anything."

You laughed and shook your head. "You did everything."

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

I love Career Day. Marty is the man. The oblivious man, but the man nonetheless. And our boy Bradley is ready to go! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 26

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[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: truly awful day in every sense of the word — and then there’s him, spencer reid, armed with a small moral mission to make it at least a little better for you. the question is — will he succeed?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, light cat scratch on reader's face (nothing serious) reader being mad and frustrated at the entire universe (fair enough) mention of their little argument and the overall tension, “what happened to yearning—” ITS RIGHT THERE B* + neck massage xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.2k

𝐚/𝐧: request

That day started with a scratch.

And quite literally.

Somehow, your beloved fluffy muffin tiny bundle firstborn princess dearest kitten daughter managed to land her paws right on your face, leaving behind a souvenir running along your cheekbone. The first pain you felt that day. The second one settled in your neck and shoulders, taking the form of sharp tension — you and your flatmate had a rule of taking turns with the big, comfy bed, which meant that every other night you had to sleep on the couch.

In the morning rush, you didn’t even have time to properly look at the scratch — you simply covered it with a layer of makeup and headed…to the subway station. The car was in the shop, and it was going to stay there for a few more days. A solidly unfortunate start to the day.

Funny how everything that happened next turned into a real rollercoaster of bad luck, with people riding it, throwing their hands up in euphoric excitement and screaming whaaat dooo youuu saaay nooow biiitch!

The barista messing up your order — and on top of that, arguing with you that you must’ve given it wrong. Rushing into work late thanks to that argument. Spilling coffee all over your favourite shirt on the way to the lab. And a whole crowd of people collectively deciding that this was the perfect moment to cut their IQ in half, execute the last of their brain cells, bombard you with a stream of pointless, redundant questions and generally piss you off.

The ones who weren’t pissing you off got caught in the crossfire too. Poor Winchester had already been trying to tiptoe around you all day — bless him for that — but even that didn’t save him from the curse of this particular day.

By the time it finally ended, you made your way back to the apartment…also by public transport. Judging by the smell, the people around you had had a rough day too. A very sweaty one. And they all apparently shared a passionate disdain for that remarkable human invention called deodorant.

But even though you had a strong urge to just storm into the apartment and throw yourself onto the bed — which, for tonight, finally belonged to you — you hesitated for a second before putting the key in the lock. You and Spencer had…argued. The thing with you two was that you could argue loudly, dramatically, and passionately — about the most ridiculous, pointless topics, like the mother of the main character in a novel you both happened to read one after the other, which, frankly, wasn’t even that rare now that you shared an apartment, space, and therefore, a bookshelf.

But then there were the more serious fights. The quiet ones. The ones that echoed between you for days, even though barely a word had been spoken.

This…was one of those.

You hoped he wasn’t inside. That he got wrapped up in some time-consuming case and wouldn’t come back until you were already asleep. Just…hopefuly not a really hard case for him.

*

Spencer, of course, couldn’t have known about the hesitation happening on the other side of the door. It just so happened that he was waiting for her arrival and had sprung to life at the sound of the key in the lock, rehearsing a general script of the conversation he wanted to have. Above all, he wanted to apologize once more for slipping up to Penelope about their shared secret. Not that it would turn back time, but he felt it was necessary. Or at least it was something he could do to slightly melt the icy wall that had formed between them. He had no other ideas.

Standing in the living room, he froze for a moment, motionless. He heard it — the sound of the door closing with force and the abrupt toss of keys onto the dresser by the door. And that was all it took for him to retreat. Those were not signals indicating any desire for interaction with the person who had recently pissed you off and toward who you still held a grudge or let alone any desire for a genuine conversation.

He spun around in circles like an ant, a bit unsure of what he should do. His flatmate almost immediately went to the bedroom that was hers that day, she didn’t even stop to greet the cat, who was currently doing yoga on the TV cabinet. And that alone was a clear sign that something was wrong. Maybe the whole day was just off.

As he pondered what to do — mainly considering abandoning his apology plans altogether or postponing them to another time — his gaze landed on Marie stretching out her front paws, and he thought about how apologies didn’t have to be a huge, loud gesture with fireworks and a big red bow, they could also unfold more gently, evolving naturally.

He started by finding the TV remote and turning on RuPaul’s Drag Race show he absolutely didn’t understand at all, but knew she liked. He was careful with the volume: not too loud so it wouldn’t seem intrusive, but loud enough for her to hear and catch her attention. Then he went to the kitchen to grab two mugs and start brewing tea. He pretended to be completely focused on the process and acted as if he hadn’t heard her leave the bedroom and appear on the opposite side of the kitchen island, gliding her hand along it as she approached.

He looked up at her only when she was standing directly across, separated by nothing but the sharp edge of the countertop, her eyebrows raised suspiciously. “Watching my show?” she asked.

Spencer shrugged, the nonchalance and innocence in the gesture perhaps a little overdone.

“I’m just making some tea,” he replied calmly, pouring boiling water into the two mugs. “Maybe Marie accidentally stepped on the remote.”

He turned to put the kettle down just as she snorted.

“Definitely,” she commented sarcastically, pausing for a moment. “I don’t recall you ever drinking my tea before.”

“Well, I figured I needed some…” he dragged out the sentence, recalling what kind of tea it was. Lavender. What does lavender do? “Calming down.” Every tea is good for calming down.

She snorted again. Spencer turned back toward her.

“You must really need it if you made two cups right away.”

He parted his lips, staring intently at the mugs as if the second one had just materialized before his eyes.

“I have no idea how that happened. But since it’s here…” he nodded suggestively toward the cup that just happened to be her favorite.

He saw in her gaze that she perfectly understood why he was doing this, but she wasn’t about to just give in and forget how things stood between them. Spencer, however, felt unusually confident in his game, sensing this would soon lead to progress between them. Like it or not, she was already part of his teasing and that always spoke well of their relationship.

But that confidence and ease suddenly left him when he dropped his shoulders in surprise, noticing something odd on her cheek, gently emerging from beneath the hair covering it. Instinctively, unable to stop himself, he reached to brush it aside and reveal the scratch.

“What happened to your cheek?” he asked.

As he could have predicted, she turned her head, dodging his fingers.

“Nothing,” she replied.

Spencer didn’t stop staring, a little too insistently, so she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Marie scratched me when we were sleeping together. Somehow.”

Okay, he was willing to believe that version, but that didn’t mean he intended to drop the subject. Especially not after taking a closer look.

“Your nothing is all swollen,” he remarked.

Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders rising slightly in a dismissive gesture.

“Because it was suffocating under makeup all day, which I only just took off. That’s why it’s swollen now.”

“That’s…not exactly reasonable from a medical point of view.”

“Oh, wow, what an absolute breakthrough,” she snapped at him so unexpectedly that he flinched a little. Her arms dropped to her sides in frustration, there was nothing dismissive about her posture anymore. “I know it’s swollen! And that it’s not exactly reasonable from a medical point of view,” she dropped her voice dramatically, twisting her face to mimic his expression.“But I had to deal with it somehow, because I had to leave the apartment in a rush since my car’s at the mechanic’s and it’ll be there for another week, which means I’m stuck with public transport full of people who apparently don’t believe in basic hygiene!”

Spencer didn’t interrupt that sudden crash out, letting it run its course as he listened to the string of bitter words spilling from her mouth. When she finally finished, a moment of heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of the cat jumping off the cabinet somewhere in the distance.

“I think you should take a shower,” he finally stated, slowly.

Her head recoiled slightly in confusion, followed by a dismissive wave of her hand.

“And on top of that, my flatmate telling me I stink.”

He couldn’t help it — he snorted. Gently.

“What I’m saying is, it helps. Public transport is literally a germ chamber, and that awareness always makes me feel gross for a few hours after I get off. And when I feel gross, everything feels overwhelming and frustrating. So, that’s my heartfelt advice,” he declared, patting his chest chivalrously.He watched her expression carefully, noticing it wasn’t nearly as sharp as before, so he risked adding, “And when you’ve showered, come back here. I’ll take a look at that scratch on your cheek.”

He saw the subtle bite to the inside of her cheek in thought, and how her arms returned to their crossed position over her chest. He expected a slight nod, maybe an enigmatic answer along the lines of we’ll see.

Shaking her head in clear refusal, she surprised him.

“No. Don’t forget we’re still not on good terms and I haven’t forgiven you for spilling to Penelope.”

Spencer pressed his lips together. He held her gaze, unsure what to say, until he realized…she hadn’t moved. She was still standing right there, eyes fixed on him. If they were really on bad terms, for starters, they wouldn’t even be living together.

So, he decided — a little impulsively — that he’d handle this by briefly assuming the role of a dictator. He grabbed the handles of both mugs.

“You’ll come. Otherwise, your tea will go completely cold and I’ll have to pour it out.”

With those words, he sent her one last expectant look before heading to the living room, where the episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race was just wrapping up.

When she actually went to take a shower and the next episode started, Spencer didn’t bother watching. Instead, he gathered the most basic items to disinfect the wound and ease the swelling.

He also put a great deal of effort into keeping his face from betraying any trace of triumph when she returned 15 minutes later with damp hair and dressed in more comfortable clothes.

With exaggerated, fake displeasure on her face — to show just how indifferent she supposedly was to his advice — though even in the way she moved, there was a clear, undeniable hint of relaxation.

She sat down, tucking her heels onto the couch and taking a sip of the still-warm tea. Spencer allowed himself to take advantage of the moment to gently, with literally one finger, brush the damp strands of hair away from her cheek and carefully spray it with disinfectant.

She winced at him accusingly.

“In my opinion, rinsing it under the shower would’ve been enough, it’s a shallow scratch. Marie would never hurt her mom badly, not even by accident. But do what you want, doctor.”

Completely undeterred, Spencer set the spray aside to grab the cold compress meant to reduce the swelling and pressed it against her cheek for a moment — after which her hand took over on its own, holding it in place.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he declared arrogantly, glancing meaningfully at the scratch. “Since this happened…”

She kept her eyes on the TV screen the entire time, but suddenly shot him a brief sideways glance and he could’ve sworn there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.

“It’s all because of the bed swapping. It messes with her little head. She probably thought she was attacking you.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And why would she want to attack me?”

An innocent shrug.

“Possibly because I whispered her a word or two.”

Spencer went quiet for a moment not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he was scanning the living room for a certain small, black creature. And when he finally made eye contact with it, he had to let out a soft pspspsss for the naive little thing to trustingly trot over to him.

The woman pretended not to watch as he picked up Marie (whose body behaved like a loose spring, stretching downward until he settled her comfortably in his arms) but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Her eyes were supposedly glued to the TV but if someone asked what exactly she was watching, she’d stumble over the answer.

“Well hello there,” he whispered to the cat, scratching her behind the ear. “I heard someone here wanted to attack me in my sleep. How do you explain yourself, young lady?”

He glanced at the woman out of the corner of his eye, catching her gaze just as it slipped off his face and landed on Marie. He continued, “You can’t always trust your mom, sometimes she tells pure lies—”

He got smacked over the head with the cold compress.

“Hey, don’t you dare turn my baby against me!”

Beneath all that outrage, there was a solid dose of amusement — and he fully intended to bring it out. He scooted closer to her on the couch, positioning Marie right in front of her. He cleared his throat.

“She’s a little shy to ask herself but she wants to know if you’ve forgiven her. It really was just an accident, and she regrets it. She doesn’t want it to have a bad impact on the two of you.”

He said it under the weight of her stare, fixed directly on his face. Spencer finished speaking, his lips pressing together with a certain awkwardness that was entirely his, not hers. The moment he had to spend sitting in that discomfort was probably his punishment — but the kind that felt so deserved you almost went through it willingly.

Only after a long pause did she roll her eyes, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips.

“Tell her that yes, I forgive her,” she requested, leaning forward slightly to press a kiss to the cat’s head.

But suddenly, she caught his gaze and held it firmly.

“Almost.”

“What do you mean almost?” he asked, a little impulsively.

She took a calm sip of tea.

“Well, there’s one thing you could do to make it fully happen,” she announced mysteriously. Spencer patiently waited for her to tell him what that was. She tilted her head to the side, stretching her neck.

“My neck’s killing me from that couch. My whole shoulders are tense.”

“You want a massage, am I right?”

As much as understanding anything usually came to him — well, euphemistically speaking — slowly, he figured that one out almost immediately, which seemed to surprise even her. She gave him a skeptical look.

“You seem weirdly excited about that idea.”

“That’s because, as it happens, I’m an expert at it.”

She snorted, clearly not buying it. She was probably waiting for him to say he was joking, that he actually knew nothing about massages — but that moment never came. Because Spencer really was an expert at it.

Or well…at the very least, he was very good.

She shook her head in firm denial.

“No, you’re not,” she stated confidently.

Spencer nodded in agreement — but to himself.

“I am. When JJ was pregnant…”

“…you gave her massages?”

“Not her. Will. In the third trimester, she was a little moody and the poor guy kept ending up sleeping on the couch. So yes, as it happens, I can consider myself an expert in this field.”

She snorted with laughter at that little story and took the last sip of her tea, widening her eyes slightly, as if she couldn’t believe she was actually agreeing to this.

“Alright then. Let’s give it a try.”

“Alright then,” he echoed her a little absentmindedly, nodding to himself. But then he quickly pulled himself together and cleared his throat twice for good measure.

“Turn around.”

First, she made sure her hair wasn’t resting on her neck or back before fully complying with the instruction. Meanwhile, Spencer took a deeper breath. Okay — this was a little different from massaging a sleep-deprived Will, who would’ve probably been grateful even if Spencer had treated his neck with a jackhammer and called it the most relaxing experience of his life.

He deliberately hesitated before touching her — forcing himself not to give the impression he was bluffing his way through this.

First, only the tips of his fingers rested just below her ears, followed by his whole hands slowly gliding down. That’s how this process was supposed to start — warming up the skin.

Thankfully, he’d just finished his tea, so his body was naturally warm, especially his hands from holding the mug. That alone had to feel pleasant…but the woman gave no indication whatsoever that it actually did, which sent him spiraling into quiet self-doubt.

He gave that stage all the time it deserved, until his hands started moving along her neck and shoulders with growing confidence and ease. He gave it so much time, in fact, that it earned him a doubtful shake of her head.

“You know what, I’m not sure it’s supposed to—”

She abruptly cut off when his fingers found a spot on her neck where he could clearly feel the tension, pressing into it with practiced precision.

Her entire body shifted under the influence of the breath she drew in and then released as a quiet, involuntary moan of relief.

And although that sound was particularly encouraging when it came to continuing the massage, Spencer paused for a moment, his hands resting gently on both of her shoulders as he leaned over her shoulder to ask,

“So, how’s that forgiveness coming along now?”

She tried to turn her head to look at him, which didn’t work because of the way their bodies were positioned. But if she had managed it, he’d bet anything it would’ve been the most electrifying, impatient glare in the world.

“Keep that up, and then we’ll think about it.”

Spencer smiled—to himself, since she couldn’t see it anyway. He smiled with certainty, because if that small taste had caused such a reaction, he was curious how she’d respond to more.

[devilish-cherry]

higuruma relationship headcanons ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ higuruma x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ my other works

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: wrote these while rotating him gently in my mind like a microwave plate. pls enjoy my higuruma brainrot 🖤

₊⊹. higuruma always appears serious, but the man has absolutely no chill when he misplaces things around your apartment. cue exhausted chaos when he accuses the couch of theft because his reading glasses mysteriously "vanished" again, only for you to point out they're right on top of his head.

₊⊹. he will not let you walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the road. not because he's a chivalrous king. no, he's just "done the math" and "you have better odds of surviving if i take the impact." you told him that's dark. he nodded. "correct."

₊⊹. higuruma often forgets to eat when he's busy with work. the first time you brought him a carefully prepared bento, he looks at you like you're a haunted statue and he's a museum guard wondering how the hell you got out of the glass. "you made this for me?" he murmurs softly, as if you handcrafted an artifact of immense historical importance. his restrained, quiet joy makes your heart burst, even when he quickly tries to regain composure, mumbling, "i suppose i'll owe you a favor."

₊⊹. you found out he sleep talks. not like normal people though. full lawyer monologues. you've been woken more than once by him murmuring things like, "objection... overruled... please don't move the cat." he denies this. you have video. he still denies it.

₊⊹. he once walked into a glass door because he was watching you instead of where he was going. he tried to act like it didn't hurt, but then muttered something about "structural flaws in transparent architecture," while holding an ice pack to his forehead.

₊⊹. higuruma once tried to plan a cute date. his version was a guided tour of the supreme court in tokyo. you tagged along because you love him, but he did whisper, "this is the best day of my life." after seeing an old law book behind glass. you didn't have the heart to laugh.

₊⊹. you once asked what he thinks justice is. he went on a long, brilliant tangent, but then stopped halfway through and softly added, "probably waking up next to you more often."

₊⊹. he acts stoic and low energy in public, but the minute you're home and you so much as look tired, this man is making you tea and folding a blanket over you like you're the last endangered bird on earth. he does it without blinking.

₊⊹. higuruma sends you links to articles like "ten ways to improve sleep quality" at 2 a.m. because he's awake and miserable and wants you to be the opposite. "you should get eight hours," he texts. meanwhile, he's blinking at a spreadsheet like it personally betrayed him.

₊⊹. when he holds your hand in public, it's initially stiff and awkward, almost robotic. but his grip subtly tightens whenever you pass through crowded streets or busy intersections, wordlessly protective and endearingly nervous.

₊⊹. he's so careful with your fingers, like he's afraid you'll shatter. but if you interlace your fingers first? his ears go red. every. single. time.

₊⊹. you once woke up to find him baking muffins. from scratch. at 4 a.m. in complete silence. he said he "needed a productive distraction." you asked if everything was okay. he looked at the batter and said, "emotionally, i relate to the collapsing center of this mix."

₊⊹. on a date, he casually says, "your laugh is admissible evidence that happiness exists." he keeps a straight face while you nearly choke on your ramen.

₊⊹. higuruma doesn't own a gaming console, but when you show him stardew valley, he plays it like it's a legally binding job. he has spreadsheets. he starts referring to your virtual farm animals by name in casual conversation. you've created a monster.

₊⊹. you once walked into the room wearing his shirt. he stared at you. then at the shirt. then back at you. "that's... mine." but he said it like it was a religious experience. never asked for it back.

₊⊹. on his rare days off (which he calls "brief windows of sanity"), you'll find him in the living room dramatically staring at nothing, drinking tea like a war general. you'll curl up beside him and he'll look at you like you're the only real thing he's seen all week. "you're the only good decision i've made this month," he murmurs.

₊⊹. whenever you talk passionately about a niche interest, he listens with intense seriousness, nodding slowly and saying, "this information feels useless, yet now i inexplicably care. interesting."

₊⊹. when higuruma knows you've had a rough day, he quietly brews tea, pushes the steaming mug towards you, and bluntly says, "drink this. it won't fix your problems, but at least you'll be hydrated when confronting them."

₊⊹. when you hold his face to kiss him, he always closes his eyes and exhales like he's being absolved of all his sins. and afterward, he just rests his forehead against yours like he needs a minute to reboot.

₊⊹. higuruma is touch-averse with strangers but turns into cling wrap when it's just you two. if you're sitting together? thighs touching. hands brushing. pinkies linked. it's like his love language is "i have to be in your orbit or i will collapse."

₊⊹. you once called him "babygirl" as a joke and he stared at you for a full seven seconds like you'd violated the geneva convention. but then, later that night, he muttered, "sleep well… babygirl." in the softest, lowest voice known to mankind. you had to walk out the room to laugh without dying.

₊⊹. his version of flirting is dry commentary followed by one (1) very specific compliment that knocks you flat. you'll say something silly and he'll sigh like he's aged 12 years, then go, "... you're the only person i can stand for more than ten minutes."

₊⊹. he never outright says he's jealous, but if someone is flirting with you, higuruma suddenly manifests like an irritated poltergeist. with the driest possible tone, he'll interrupt with something like, "ah, there you are. my apologies for the delay. our appointment is overdue," even though there was definitely no scheduled anything. later, when you call him out, he avoids eye contact, quietly admitting, "you're free to talk to anyone, of course. i simply found that particular situation... inappropriate."

₊⊹. sometimes he gets lost in thought and just sort of... drifts into another dimension while holding a spoon midair. you've had entire conversations while he's mentally tabbed out. when he returns, he'll blink and say, "continue." like you're a podcast he paused.

₊⊹. higuruma once tried to do a cute couple thing and take a photobooth strip with you. he looked confused the whole time and in the final photo, he was blinking. "do i look weird?" he asked. you said no. you're lying. he looks like he just got jumpscared by affection. it's your favorite photo ever.

₊⊹. he doesn't smile often. but when you kiss his cheek out of nowhere? instant, quiet, soft smile. barely there. blink and you'll miss it. but it's real. and you feel like you just unlocked an achievement in a visual novel with 0.2% player success rate.

₊⊹. he once fell asleep on you mid-sentence. fully slumped against your shoulder like a guy who'd been emotionally evicted. the last thing he said before passing out was, "you're the best part of my reality." which, frankly, should've been illegal.

₊⊹. higuruma has seen the ugliest sides of people. but you're the proof he needed that something good still exists in the world. which is why he always watches you like you're a miracle someone left on his doorstep and no one's come to claim yet.

[prettypinkporkchop]

hello

can you write paul x reader

reader is bella older sister

and she is the opposite of bella like she is extroverted and loves fashion and short skirts yk like this vibe (i imagine her like megan fox in jennifer's body) , paul imprinted on her so bad but in the first she wasn't interested in him but than she slowly likes him cuz he always try his best to get her

Heart shaped locket

You stare at Bella as if she is CRAZY! "Shopping? You?" Your eyebrow is raised to the heavens.

Yes, you've already graduated, and you're older than Bella. But let's be real, in this economy, you're staying with your dad, Charlie. Just until you can get on your feet.

Bella laughs and stares off through the kitchen. "Yeah.. yeah I just really have to.. get my mind off of Edward." She sighs.

You roll your eyes. "Bella, how many times do I have to repeat myself? He's ugly. He's weird. And you're still in high school! Let's turn the page, babe." You put a hand on your hip.

She shifts her feet before looking at you sternly. "You've never experienced love."

-----

"Child, can you take this to Billy's? Jake's got mono." You turn from the sink and see your dad on the table, getting ready to leave for work. He's holding a case of beer. "Don't get too close. Me and the man can't hang out until Jake is better." He scratches his beard.

"Okay, dad." You pat his shoulder and grab the case from his hands.

You get in your car and then drive to Billy's house. Gosh, you remember Jake and Bella playing around the mud and pissing you off.

You make it there and knock on the door. You take your top and cover your nose and mouth and then back up a bit.

The door opens, and there stands a smiling Billy. "Kid, you're fine. Uncover your mouth, I'm not sick." He laughs.

You laugh and drop your shirt back on your chest. "If you can't go to the store, then obviously it's serious enough for me to-"

Bella's truck speeds in, parking next to your car. She walks up to you guys. "Where's Jake?" She asks.

Billy looks at you and then her. "He's sick." He says.

Bella pushes past him. "Sorry."

Billy turns, calling her name. You grab the end of your hair and awkwardly play with it. Billy sighs and turns back to face you. Then, you hear whistling. You look over and see the Uley gang.

Next thing, Bella is walking over there.

Oh shit.

"BELLA MARIE!" You call out. You step on the wet grass, following her. Your headband starts falling off, and you stop to adjust it. "Damn it." You hiss.

You hear something from the guys, and you look up. Paul is fuming. You are in fear of Bellas safety so you just drop your headband and run over there.

"Y/n! Bella!" Sam says. "Get back." He warns.

You get next to Bella and grab her arm. But, Paul changes into a wolf. He stomps his feet and roars.

You fall back on the ground with Bella. You look at her. "Really?! Why are you always in shit?!"

Jacob runs out and turns as well. The two wolves fight into the woods. You sigh and stand up, adjusting your skirt and shirt.

"Take them to Emily's." Sam says.

"The wolf's out of the bag." Embry says.

----

"Oh, Emily!" You hug her as you and the three others walk inside the house.

She hugs you back, smiling. "Goodness, y/n. You're adorable as always." She giggles.

"Yeah, well, not feeling it. I just saw dudes shift into wolves, so that was interesting." You reply.

Bella walks in.

"Who's this?" Emily asks.

"Bella, my sister." You roll your eyes.

"Oh, you're the vampire girl." She says.

Vampires?!

"Damn, am I in a movie or something?" You groan and sit at the table where Embry and Jared sit.

The guys and Bella start talking, and you sit and listen. It all makes sense. Geez.

Jacob and Paul come inside, and Jacob tells Bella to go outside with him. Paul sits down, apologizes to Bella, and then eats a muffin.

You look over the guy, observing him. He doesn't see you.

"Does it hurt when you shift?" You ask.

He looks up at you and then stops moving. The muffin he grabbed in his hands fell and crumble on the table. You awkwardly stare back. Embry and Jared start laughing.

Sam walks in, snapping Paul out of it. He looks down at the table and then smiles. "Not too bad." He finally responds.

"It sounds like it hurts."

Sam looks over at Paul and then you.

"Yup, poor guy. He's now locked down." Jared says.

"Huh?" You ask.

"Ignore the boys." Emily says in your ear.

---- (The cullens come back - Eclipse)

You wake up, get dressed, and do your makeup. You're sitting in front of your vanity doing your hair when Bella barges in. You turn to the door and look at her. "What?" You ask.

"Paul wants to see you." She says.

"Uh huh." You reply, turning back to your mirror and doing your hair.

"Jacob says he imprinted on you." She continues.

"Really." You don't care.

"Just talk to the guy." Bella says.

"I don't take orders from girls who wear a flannel every day." You eye her outfit from your mirror.

"Y/n, really. The guy's gonna go insane."

"Fine." You sigh. "I'll text Emily and get his number."

And that, you did. You got his number. You messaged him, "y/n." That was it. But he texted back. You haven't read it yet. You're too busy with your friend, Sandra, shopping.

She holds up a pair of shoes. You think for a minute. "You had to think too long. It's a no." She sets them back down.

Your phone in your purse starts buzzing. You frantically get it and see that it's Paul. "Hang on, love." You tell your friend. You answer it. "Hey."

"Hey, y/n! Are you busy?" He asks.

"Yup! Shopping!"

"Oh, okay! I'll catch you another time." He says.

"No, give me the tea. You've got me all curious." You say.

"I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me today?" He sounds shy.

Which is odd, considering you grew up around them because of your dad being friends with Billy and Harry. Fun fact! You used to help change Seth's diapers.

"Uh.." You look over at Sandra, who's smirking.

"Yes. I can. Where?" You ask.

"A date?" He asks.

"No! No date." You giggle.

"Oh uh.." He sounds awkward.

"We'll just hang out at the beach later." You say.

-----

Paul walks closer to you on the sand. "Hey, beautiful." He smiles.

"Hey." You smile back.

As he gets closer, you feel the warmth. Wolf shit. He opens his arms and wraps you up in a hug. You gently put your hands on his waist and softly pat.

"Alright." You pull away and look at him. "I know you imprinted on me, don't worry, I'm keeping my mouth shut like Bella. But just letting you know, I'm not interested. But I'm we can be friends!" You sit on the sand, crossing your legs.

He sits next to you and looks over your face. "Hmm, is there any way I can change your mind?" He touches your cheek. He moves his face close to yours.

You back away and giggle. "No, sir."

He bites his lip and looks out at the water. "You do realize how an imprint bond works, right?"

"Yup. Sam and Jacob have told all of it. So, I'm willing to be around you any time you need." You pat his bare back. The heat shocks your hand as it was just in the cool air.

You guys sit on the sand and talk about life. He's a very good guy! He's been misunderstood as a person by everyone. Deep down, his heart is big. You've told him about your life, and you two seem to favor each other. But a relationship is not where your head is right now.

----

You stumble on the sidewalk of the city, nearly falling because your heel got stuck on a rock. Paul is quick to grab your waist and hold you up. You look up at him, and his eyes look into yours with adoration.

"Thanks." You smile and hold onto his arm to keep yourself from falling.

"You're welcome, beautiful." He replies.

"Get a room." Jared groans.

Kim, who's on the other side of you, elbows him. You've gotten to know Kim, and she's pretty awesome! You both like the same stuff and hang out a bunch! She invited you to this date but told you Paul begged her to ask you to go.

"It's a nice night. Look at the moon!" Kim gasps.

You look up and see it's full and glowing. "Ooh! Perfect time to take selfies." You turn to her.

She smiles and grabs your arm. You two turn around, and she holds up her phone. You two pose in front of the moon and take pictures as it shines beautifully behind you guys.

Paul watches with his arms crossed. He's so mesmerized. You feel his eyes on you, but you're not paying it any attention. Jared touches his shoulder. Paul snaps out of it and looks at him.

----

You are listening to music and applying your face mask when your door opens. You jump up and look to see your dad.

"Oh, hey, dad." You say.

"Hey, child." He walks in the room and stands next to your vanity where you're sitting. He sets something down on the desk.

You look down and see a rose and a jewelery box. You look up at him, and he crosses his arms.

"Paul Lahote sent these." Charlie says.

You don't respond and look back down at the rose and box.

"I remember being in my twenties and being in love. I had that guy energy." He flexes his arm.

You start laughing and look back in the mirror. "Yeah, well, I'm not into him." You reply.

"Still focused on getting into that school?" He asks.

"Yup! Just one more week and I'll get my letter." You smile up at him.

"Well, if I know anything, you're smart and very driven. I'm always proud of you." He taps your vanity desk before walking out of your room.

You sigh and then wipe off your hands. You reach over to the box and open it up. You gasp at the ring and blink your eyes a few times. Your heart flutters at the fact that Paul knew what to pick for you. It's a touch of him and you. You put the ring on your middle finger.

-----

You sit at the restaurant with your group of girls. There's Chapen, who is a skater type girl, Lilly, she's a nerd, Sandra, she's the diva. She was a bitch cheerleader but kept her cool with you and Lilly. Plus, you were well liked in school. Everyone wanted to be like you. Every guy wanted you. You're used to that but never give in to them. All you want is to go to school, get your job, and then move out of your dad's.

"Please, he's so fine." Sandra looks back at the waiter.

Lilly groans and leans her head back. "Sandra, stop."

"No, you want to know fine? Embry Call." Chapen bites her burger and wiggles her eyebrows.

"Mid." You reply.

"Oh, but you've got Lahote pining for you." Sandra bumps her shoulder into yours.

"Y/n! Really?" Lilly sits up with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, that's true." You shrug it off.

"God, he's so hot!" Lilly giggles.

----

You walk into Emily's house with Bella. Harry Clearwater just passed and shits going down with a redhead who wants to eat up your sister.

You notice Seth and Leah have shifted too. They both look good! Seth smiles when he sees you and hugs you.

Leah looks pissed off , and you don't blame her. The whole Sam shit plus losing her dad? Damn.

You walk to the dining table and sit down next to Quil, who you've never even met before!

"So, Quilister." You joke.

"I kind of fuck with that nickname." He nods.

Paul comes up behind you and grabs your shoulders. His hands slide down your arms. One hand stops at your elbow, and the other one moves to your hand with the ring he gave you. He touches your fingers. You instantly get goose bumps, and your face heats up.

He notices and leans down to your ear. "You're beautiful."

You gulp.

The rest of the night was fire! You ended up getting shit faced. You, Kim, Emily, and Billy got drunk drunk. Bella and Jacob left after the fire and you don't really care where they went lol.

You slump back on the couch and close your eyes, spinning.

"Y/n, you can stay here tonight if you want." Emily offers.

"No, I'm gonna go to my bed." You smile and then stand up. You're all wobbling.

Paul grabs your waist to help you steady. "I'll drive you." He says.

You press your back into him and look up at his face. "Ya know, I'd let you-", his hand goes over your mouth.

"Alright." He laughs awkwardly and walks you outside.

You sit in your seat and just stare up out of the window. Paul pulls into your house. Your dad is gone at work, and Bella's truck isn't there.

"Is your room upstairs?" Paul asks.

"Yeah, she sure is." You wink at him.

He gets out and pulls you out of your car. You steady yourself and then bend down to take off your shoes.

"They're hurting me." You say.

Paul moves your hands and bends down. "Put your hands on my shoulders." He says.

You do as told, and he takes off your shoes. Then, he lifts you bridal style and goes into the house. He walks you up into your room and gently places you on the bed.

"Paul, don't go." You give him puppy eyes.

"Baby, I have to. I need to protect you. I always will." He touches your cheek.

You rest your face in his hand and then nod your head.

-----

You sit in the bathtub and think about how good Paul was to you last night. You embarrassed yourself, but he was so kind and gentle. You catch yourself looking at the ring on your finger.

Three knocks on the door make you jump. "Yeah?" You call out.

"Hurry up. I have to pack shit to go stay with Alice." You hear Bella call out.

But you know the plan. Her and Edward are staying at the house while everyone else does some shit. Paul has asked you to stay on his land at his house, but you refused.

"Alright, sister. Just a second!" You hurry and finish yourself up and step out. You have a towel wrapped around you and you open the door.

She jumps back and looks at you. "Sorry for interrupting. Are you going to the reservation?" She walks in and grabs her toothbrush and shit.

"Nah." You reply.

"You have to. You're in danger." Bella looks at you.

"Pookie, I stay out of shit unlike you. She wants you, not me." You scoff.

"Well, it'll make me and Paul feel better." She says.

"Fine. I'll go."

----

Paul opens his front door and guides you inside. It's so manly in here. It's clean but like.. manly. It smells like Paul. It's dark with a single lamp on.

"Where do you want your bags?" He asks, holding them up.

"Uhm, the couch." You smile.

He nods his head and gently sets them down on the cushions. "You know you're sleeping in my bed tonight. I'll be out all night. This couch isn't comfortable. I won't let you sleep here." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Nahhhh, I'm good. I brought my pillow and blanket. I'll make due." You smile.

"Whatever you say, princess." He looks at the kitchen and then smiles. "I got your favorite snacks in there and your favorite drinks. Just make yourself at home." He steps closer to you. "And if you need anything, say my name." He says softly.

You nod your head and blush again. Noooo, why does he keep doing this?!

That night on the couch, you were tossing and turning. You couldn't get comfortable and just kept going back on your phone to watch makeup tutorials. But now you're just too tired. You give up and go into Paul's room.

You lay down on his bed and are so shocked at how comfortable and cloudy it is! You lay your head down on a pillow. Oh gosh, it smells like him. But you feel something underneath you. You pull it out and look. It's a silver necklace with a heart locket. You open the locket, and it has your first initial and a 'P'. You turn on your back and clutch it in your hand.

You jump up from a nightmare of being bitten by Miss Redhead. You're breathing hard and then get out of bed. You go into the living room and see a peaceful sleeping Paul. You gently touch his shoulder. "Paul?"

He groans and opens his eyes before sitting up. "Hey, beautiful. You okay?" He looks over you. His eyes stop at your check and you look down. The necklace.

"Yeah, just surprised you're home. I had a nightmare." You sigh.

He smiles and then pulls you on him. He holds you tightly, and it takes you back for a minute. You end up settling on his chest and feel his body on yours. You feel in the moment and close your eyes in feeling of peace and safety.

"I won't be here long. We have to go to battle." He rubs your back.

You look up at his face. "Will you be okay?"

He smiles and nods his head. "I always am. I'm Paul Lahote." He laughs.

Your eyes move from his and to his lips. He notices and starts to lean in. You back away and then stand up. "Sorry, uh." You chuckle.

"Hey, it's okay." His eyes scan you.

----

You sit on his bed, painting your nails, waiting for him to come back. Bella doesn't have her phone, but you know she's in the snow with Edward.

You're nervous as shit! You're starting to realize the more you hang out with Paul and see how sweet he is, you're falling.

You know if he's alive, he promised to be home yesterday or tonight. He didn't come yesterday. You're freaking out. You've been texting and calling Kim and Emily.

You sit back and let your nails dry. You turn on a murder mystery video on his TV. Finally, your phone rings, and you jump up, knocking your nail polish all over the bed. "Fuck!" You answer your phone. "Emily?"

"Everyone is at Billy's. Everyone is safe. Jake got hurt, but stay there, Paul will be there shortly." She says all bubbly.

Your heart skips, and you want to scream of happiness! Paul is okay and coming back. Oh yay, Bella is, too... and Edward.

You clean up all of your nail polish and wipe it down with your nail polish remover. You run to his washer and throw it in there, replacing his blanket with yours. Yeah, it's girly, but it's okay!

The door opens, and you quickly go in there. Paul.

You watch as he smiles at the ground, breathing. "It smells like you and rubbing alcohol." He finally looks up and laughs.

You squeal and jump on him. He holds onto you, chuckling and burying his face in your shoulder. You run your hands through his hair, softly gripping onto it.

"Miss me?" He asks.

"Yes." You breathe out. "Thank you for coming back." You catch yourself saying that, and you blush. He sets you down and looks at you, grabbing your face. "I spilled nail polish on your blanket. It got it off but it's in the washin-"

Paul's lips press on yours, shutting you up. You crumble in his touch and give in, kissing back. One hand grabs your waist, and the other touches the necklace he left for you. His fingers slightly graze on your collarbone. He pulls back, and you don't want him to stop. You grab his neck, pulling him down for more. He grabs your bottom to lift you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you into his bedroom.

[totheblood]

white horse

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer notices a change in you and helps you in his own spencer way

warnings: mostly fluff, grief mentions.

a/n: wrote this short thing to fix my spencer reid obsession! AI AUDIOS in the fic also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 1k

"my heart always wants to run."

Spencer was unfocused.

The hum of the air conditioner in the precinct wasn’t enough to drown out the thousands of thoughts in his head. What he should have been doing was analyzing the geographical profile of the current unsub, maybe even collecting witness statements or completing paperwork, but no. Spencer Reid was unfocused on the case and completely focused on you.

Ever since Hotch presented the case your entire body language had changed. It was like you had folded in on yourself, deflated in a way that made Spencer’s heart crunch. On the flight to LA, you nervously bit at your nails as the team spoke, bouncing ideas off each other, not contributing to the conversation like you usually did. You took a backseat in this case and for the life of him, Spencer couldn’t figure out why.

The minute you joined the BAU you were as elusive as they came. You barely spoke about yourself, never attended group gatherings, and kept conversations strictly professional. Spencer used to brainstorm reasons as to why you were so reserved, but he stopped once he started thinking of ways to get you to like him.

He would bring you the mini muffins from the cafeteria that were always sold out by noon, but you would always politely decline and claim you had just eaten. He would sit next to you on the jet and make small talk to which you replied with one-word answers. He always made an effort to include you in conversations not pertaining to work but you just would not budge. The only time he got a glimpse into the real you was when he made a stupid off-hand joke about Aristotle and you chuckled from your desk. He did his best to ignore the feeling that swelled in his chest. 

Now he was getting a glimpse into your life in a way that he didn’t expect. You were on edge. Something about this case was personal to you. He noticed it in the way you took small gasps every time a new body was found, or how you opted to do paperwork instead of being in the field. As someone who has seen you do a million takedowns with a smile on your face, Spencer knew something was wrong when you opted to stay back. The unsub was kidnapping pairs of sisters, murdering one, and letting the other live. It was gruesome and cruel, and he was accelerating. Spencer should have been doing literally anything to help, but his attention was on you.

“I can feel you staring,” you breathed from your place at the large conference table, not looking up from the paperwork. 

“Oh, uh-” Spencer fumbled as he sat up, “I’m not- I wasn’t really staring, I would say I was observing.”

You put your pen down and looked up at him, eyes squinted as you looked at his face, “Why?”

There was an edge to your voice, like you were already pissed and he was just making it worse. 

“Well, you usually write faster, you have a notch in between your eyebrows like you’re thinking really hard about something, or trying not to. And you, uh, scratch the back of your ear when you’re nervous,” he blurted out, sitting up straighter, “and uh, I wanted to make sure you were… okay,”

His last sentence made you sit up straighter as your whole face softened. You looked down at the papers in front of you then back up at him, “I didn’t realize anyone noticed,” you whispered voice low.

“Well,” he started, getting up and moving to sit down next to you, “you’re one of us… aaand we’re profilers, we kind of notice these things.”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head and looked up at him. His hazel eyes were practically sparkling as he stared at you. If you were being completely honest, it was intimidating. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been,” you squint your eyes, thinking of the word to think of, “distant. I’m just not used to all of this, it’s overwhelming.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said almost instantly, voice soft, “This job is a lot, I don’t blame you. But today… this case,” his voice trailed off.

You took a deep sigh, resting your hands in your hands as you shut your eyes for a minute before you spoke, “My sister… she died. I don’t want to talk about it but, this case reminds me of it. Reminds me of her.”

“I understand,” Spencer hummed, in such a soft voice that it almost instantly soothed you.

“God, it happened so long ago I just don’t understand why I can’t get over it,” you shook your head, rubbing at your face before speaking again, “it’s like every time I remember it, I shut down. It’s like I’m broken or something.”

Spencer paused for a moment, looking you over before speaking, “Did you know that grief can actually alter your brain chemistry? Research has shown that the intense emotions associated with grief can increase levels of cortisol which can impact memory and cognitive function. In fact, there's evidence suggesting that the brain of a grieving person might resemble that of someone with a traumatic brain injury.”

You looked over at him, eyes a little wide as if you were taking in everything he just said. 

“I don’t know if that helps but-” Spencer started but was cut off by the sound of your voice. 

“It helps,” you breathed a laugh, “it really helps, so uh, thanks.” 

“You know, I’m always here if you need someone to talk to-” He spoke before tumbling over his words, “I mean we’re all here if you need someone, not just me but all of us.” 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile which he returned, “Thank you, Spencer,” you looked back at your paper before glancing back at him, “I might take you up on that offer.”

With his cheeks tinged pink, he nodded, picked up his messenger bag and exited the precinct conference room where Derek was stood in the doorway, clapping a hand on his back as he exited, “You’re in deep, pretty boy,” he commented with a laugh. 

“Shut up,” Spencer said under his breath, his cheeks now growing a shade or two darker. 

You had said maybe the most you ever had to him in your entire four months of working there and Spencer left the room blushing. He was for sure in deep.

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i pretty please get a blueberry muffin (part 2) with this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/727381518213857280/not-sure-if-youre-taking-requests-buttttt

thank you!! 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: concussion, vomit mention, maybeee some d/s dynamics? in the soft sense though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ��� 812 words

You’ve forgotten your sandwich again. It stays suspended in the air, halfway between your mouth and your plate, while you stare at the coffee table like there’s a riddle in the scratches on the wood. 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius prompts you. You look over at him, lost, and he nods to your sandwich. “Are you full?” 

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.” 

You take another bite and press your lips together hard as you chew. Sirius worries you might cry again. It’s been on and off tears since they nabbed you from Marlene’s and if your aim was to cut through Sirius’ anger about you going when you shouldn’t have, you’ve done it thoroughly. He feels like he’s being cleaved open with each one that rolls down your cheek. 

“Does the paracetamol feel like it’s working?” Remus asks you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

Remus repositions himself in the arm chair, propping his chin on his hand with a sigh. James stops midway between the bathroom and the sitting room, his hair wet from the shower. 

“Uh oh,” he says. “Are we talking?” 

“We’re talking,” Remus confirms. 

James makes a face but sits down. His knee immediately begins bouncing. 

As ready as Sirius was to tear into you earlier, he feels for you too. You look into your lap as you pull the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers, waiting for someone to start. 

“Dove,” Remus sounds exhausted with this already, “you knew why going to that party was a bad idea for you.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. 

“Then why did you?” 

You’re picking apart the knit of Remus’ sleeve. Sirius takes your hands in his, stopping you. Your eyes linger on them. “It’s Marlene’s birthday,” you say. “She’s my friend.” 

“She is your friend, angel,” James says gently. “Do you think she really would have cared if you’d missed her party if she knew how awful it was for you to be there?” 

You look like you’re chewing the inside of your lip. “It wasn’t awful.” 

“You got sick on the drive home,” Sirius reminds you. Okay, it’s possible he’s still a little angry. “Do you mean to tell me that was the result of you having a good time?” 

He immediately feels like shit when your expression twinges painfully. 

“I know you wanted to be there for Marlene,” Remus cuts in, “and to make her happy, but I don’t think it was worth making yourself miserable.” His voice is calm. Sirius doesn’t know how he does it; Remus was the most upset when they learned you’d gone to the party, but somehow he manages to keep his tone gentle, his expression kind as he talks you through the fallacies in your own reasoning. “You need to be more considerate of yourself, dove.” 

“You are a considerate person,” James says. “We love that about you, sweetheart. You’re kind, and you’re always thinking about everyone else, it’s just that sometimes you think about them too much. Marlene getting to see you at her party, versus you getting the rest you need to keep your concussion from getting worse…” He mimes a scale with his hands, making a face. “It’s not a very fair trade-off, yeah?” 

You nod but don’t speak. Your eyes are on your lap, and when Sirius dips his head to try and see you better, your lips are a harsh, tortured line. He squeezes your hands. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thin. 

Remus makes a soft sound, reaching for you. “Come here, babydove.” 

You join him in his chair and Sirius sees his boyfriend’s worry finally dissipating as he mushes brief, ardent kisses into your hair. James smiles softly. 

“You’re alright,” Remus promises, voice muffled from how his lips are stuck to your head. He rubs up and down your back firmly while you hide your face in his chest. “We just want you to understand. So you don’t do it again.” 

“I know.” Your voice sounds fragmented, and it’s like ice picks through Sirius’ chest. “Sorry, it’s not you guys, I just—” You take a stilted breath. James moves to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair so he can squeeze your shoulder. “I just really don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, I know.” Remus rests his forehead on top of yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you feel like you could be sick again, baby?” Sirius asks. When you shake your head, he stands. “Then let’s go to bed, yeah? Do you feel sufficiently lectured?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake, and though he already suspects it’s from laughter, James’ grin confirms it. 

“Do you want us to keep Remus away from you?” James teases, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Would that make you feel better?” 

“Yes,” you say, while winding your arms around Remus’ waist. 

Remus doesn’t even feign offense. Only cups the back of your head and mushes another kiss into your hair.

[navierae]

Because I Missed You

CHARACTERS: James Potter x Reader Summary: An unexpected reunion with your old friends from Hogwarts causes your once buried feelings for the spectacled boy to resurface unexpectedly. a/n: bye this is my first time writing this long and for James Potter no less BUT WHO WOULDNT AM I RIGHT. anyway i hope you guys enjoy! likes, comments, feedbacks and reblogs are highly appreciated !! wc: 2.3k

“It’s the same old feeling back again, it’s the one they had way back when they were too young to know when love is real.”

“That would be $23.45.”

“Hold on,” I open my wallet to take the exact amount out and hand it over to the cashier, making sure that nothing falls, “Here you go.”

“I received the exact amount.” The cashier says, counting how much I gave before putting it in the register and handing over my receipt, “Come again.”

“Thank you.” I take the paper bag containing my groceries, trying to hide how I was slightly struggling with carrying it, my arm strength was something that I was never proud of, makes me glad that I use a wand for self-defense instead of my fists when need be.

I step out of the grocery store and start my journey back to the small apartment I know a few blocks away. It's been a few years since I graduated from Hogwarts, and a few months since I decided to live amongst the muggles. After that incident during 7th year, I thought it was in my best interest to distance myself from anyone who knows me or could possibly recognize me. Though I still keep in touch with some of them, namely Lily Evans, and to be fair, she's really the only I still talk to that has any relation to the wizarding world.

I make it halfway to my apartment when I spot the cafe I frequent during my free time. I need a break, I think to myself as I feel the dull ache in my arms starting to form from carrying my grocery bags. I push the cafe doors open, the smell of coffee and pastries immediately greeting me, as well as the sound of customers talking. My eyes scan the menu, trying to find something I have yet to order, before settling on the Jasmine tea and blueberry muffin. Turns out I'm not in the mood to try something new today.

I go to stand in line behind a group of men who seem to be my age, they're a bit loud if you ask me. Okay, scratch that, they're loud. A guy with the black hair is laughing loudly, and the brunette is pushing him by the shoulder, and the last guy is just looking away. I sigh, looking to the side, trying not to pay attention to them. Just order, pay, wait for it, eat, and then go ho-

“Y/n?”

What. I look back at the front to see who called me, the black haired guy now facing me, I quickly glance at his whole being before focusing on his face. There's no mistaking it, even after all these years, how can I forget him?

“Sirius?” I ask, eyes wide in shock, I didn't expect to see him here. What was he doing here? Wait, if he's here, then the other two are-

“Prongs, Moony, I told you it's y/n!” Sirius taps both of them on the shoulder with a grin on his face, they both turn around with shocked faces mirroring mine. “It’s so good to see you again, y/n! It's been a while hasn't it?” 

I nod with an unsure smile on my face, “Yeah, it has.” I look over them one by one, to see what had changed since the last time I saw them, which was at least three or four years ago now. Remus, who's smiling at me, and Sirius both hadn't changed much, except for the fact that Sirius’ hair is much longer and Remus sporting some scars that weren't there the last time I saw him.

And James… I turn to James and see him wearing the same glasses he wore back then, and the same boyish grin he gave everyone he would come across. His face had a shocked expression on before our eyes met, it turned into one with an awkward smile as he tried to mask whatever he was feeling at the moment. Disgust and the urge to leave as quickly as possible I assume. 

He opens his mouth to say something when the girl at the counter calls out the next customer, making him turn around along with Remus and Sirius, to give their orders. I stare at their backs, their voices mixing into the background, who would've thought I would run into them here out of all places? 

I focus my attention on them as they finish ordering with James paying and leaving to find a seat first, Sirius and Remus face me with hopeful smiles on their faces. “Are you busy? We were hoping we could catch up for a bit, who knows when we would see each other after this?” Remus asks, nodding his head to the direction where James went, eager to hear my answer. 

…That shouldn't be too bad right? Just a quick catch up then we'll be in our separate ways after this. I nod at them, their smiles growing as they leave to follow James. I step forward and dictate my order while reaching for my wallet, the girl behind the register stops me as I hand over the amount needed. 

“Oh, no need to pay, one of the guys before you offered to pay for whatever you would order.” I furrow my eyebrows before thanking her and walking away to where the boys were seated. “You didn't need to pay for me.” I say as I approached their table, James looks up from their conversation and makes eye contact.

“I know, but I wanted to.” He says smiling, not breaking eye contact, as if daring me to go against him. I stayed silent and stared at him for a few seconds, before saying thanks and sat down at the unoccupied seat. Which was, unfortunately, next to James. The table goes quiet, a somewhat awkward silence falling on us. I busy myself by playing with my fingers under the table and staring at the pattern of the table, when Sirius speaks up.

“So… how have you been y/n? No one has really heard from you since we graduated a few years back.” I look up and see all of them staring at me, the sight taking me back to Hogwarts, where they would be looking at me while listening to me rambling about my day. The only difference was we had grown older, our faces slowly losing our teenage features, being replaced with signs of aging.

I tap my fingers on the tabletop, following the rhythm of the music played by the cafe, wondering where and what to start with. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, deciding to say whatever I think about first.

“I’ve been doing pretty well, you know, with adjusting to living amongst the muggles and living life the way they do.” Smiling, I waited for them to answer after I asked the same question. Sirius says he’s been the lead singer for one of the muggle bands he joined, and that the band had a gig nearby. That explains why they were here in the first place, what were the chances that they would be at this particular cafe out of the numerous other ones that are spread around this town? 

Remus talks about how he became a professor at Hogwarts for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and shared how he would see Severus Snape from time to time and exchange glaring glances at one another. Our conversation was interrupted by our orders getting called to be picked up at the counter. I was about to stand up when a hand was placed on my shoulder, stopping me in place, his hand searing. 

“I’ll get it.” 

He said, smiling at me as he stood up, before walking off. The warmth from his hand had gone cold too quickly, taking it with him, it had only been a few seconds but I was starting to miss it- 

Stop that. Stop that right now. 

My eyes widened as I realized the words that had gone through my mind, that was a highly inappropriate thought about someone, your ex-boyfriend no less. I shake my head and put my focus back on Sirius and Remus in front of me, about to tell Remus to continue his stories while waiting for James to come back, which shouldn’t take him too long. But their eyes were somewhere else, I followed their gaze and saw James talking to a girl our age, well more like the girl was talking to James as he was trying to get our order. We were too far from the counter to hear what it was they were talking about, but judging from how the girl was looking him up and down, I was certain it was flirty remarks disguised as a casual conversation. 

“Ohoho, seems like Prongs has another one trying to get his number, huh Moony? Isn’t she, like, the fifth one today?” Sirius laughs loudly as he swings an arm around Remus’ chair, leaning forward to get a better view of what was happening, the latter just sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t forget to mention that it's only our second day here, and she’s the fifteenth one since yesterday. And I’m pretty sure they all tried to ask him on a date as well.” 

“All tried to ask him on a date”? Did he accept any of those offers? I mean, he doesn’t have a reason to not give one of them a shot, especially if they’re extremely attractive like that girl he’s talking to right now. Makes me wonder how many people asked him out the past few years. Wait, is he even seeing someone right now-

“y/n, stop staring at him so hard, you might burn a hole through him.” I snap out of my train of thought as Sirius taps the space in front of my hand, catching my attention. “You look like how you did when other people asked him out to the yule ball back at hogwarts.” He continued while laughing, my face falling at his comment. Had I been actually…? 

Remus gets startled as he notices the change in my facial expression, he slaps Sirius at his arm while telling him to cut it out, the latter letting out a small yelp at the impact. Remus turns to face me again, slightly hesitating, the next words that came out of his mouth made me grab my things and stand up. 

“But… Do you still like him, y/n?” 

“I’m leaving, it was good to see you guys.” I say as I start heading towards the door, making Remus and Sirius stand up while calling after me. 

Did I actually still like him, even after having no-contact for years? The question remained in my mind as I walked out of the cafe, missing the way James’ expression turned into one of panic when he spotted me going out. Excusing himself from the (one-sided) conversation the girl was having with him and rushing after me, forgetting about the orders. I hear someone yelling out my name, but I pay it no mind, instead opting to yell back. “I have to go, sorry!” 

“y/n, wait a minute!” 

A hand wraps around my wrist, the one that wasn’t carrying anything but my purse, stopping me from going forwards. I turn back and see James panting a bit, his hair ruffled from running, small beads of sweat starting to drip down the sides of his forehead due to the heat of his jacket. We both stopped in the middle of the walkway, no one speaking, the only sounds that can be heard were from around us and his breaths, his hand still keeping me bound to where I stood. 

After catching his breath, he stands up straight, making eye contact with me. “Why’d you leave?” He asks, his eyes searching mine for an answer. I shift and look away, pursing my lips, unsure of what to answer.

“I have things to do.” 

“But your order?”

“I can live without it.” 

Silence falls on us again, my answers rendering him unable to keep the conversation going, and getting the answers that would satisfy his curiosity. I was about to pull my wrist out of his grip, and excuse myself to leave, when he spoke up again.

“I missed you.” I look back at him upon hearing his straight-forward statement. He had missed me? 

“...You did?” He nodded, not missing a beat. Everyday ever since you left he adds. I didn't speak after that,I wasn’t about to let him know that I was the same as him, that there was also never a day that I never thought about him. 

“Can I have your number? So that we can hang out again after this, if you want?” 

“...Alright.” I nod and recite my telephone number, watching as he mouthed the numbers to remember, repeating it two more times. Cute. 

“I can, um, help you with that if you want? It's quite a lot.” He offers to carry some of my groceries, his head gesturing to the paper bags in my other arm. I shake my head, refusing his offer. 

“It’s fine, I can handle it. But, I really have to go now.” I tell him, turning my body away from him, taking my wrist out of his grip in the process. He wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it as he nods his head in understanding. 

“Okay… can we meet each other at this cafe tomorrow then?” He asks.

“I… don’t see why not. Sirius and Remus are also going to be there right?” 

He shakes his head. “No, just the two of us tomorrow.”

I furrow my eyebrows at his answer. Don’t assume things, y/n, ask him why first before you get ahead of yourself.

“Why?”

“Because I missed you.”

[hurtspideyparker]

The team learns about Peter's stress baking fairly quickly after he moves into the tower.

"Why does this place smell like cookies?" Tony asks suspiciously, "Pepper put an end to homemade care packages after that Cap incident."

Steve protests from the dining table. "Hey, that fan seemed totally normal. Y'know in my generation you do not mess with baked goods, that's sacred."

Natasha pats his back comfortingly as she joins the conversation.

"They came from the kid. They're actually pretty good, here."

Nat hands a still-warm cookie to Tony, who bites it curiously.

"Damn, it melts in my mouth like buttery ambrosia and still has a perfect crunch around the edges. Is that a nutty aftertaste?"

"Yes!" Peter yells from the other room, a clatter sounding before his head pokes around the wall, oven mitts still attached to his hands.

"I brown the butter, it really deepens the flavour!"

"Good on you kid. What's the occasion?"

Peter stutters, "uhhhh, no occasion. I just like cookies!"

He disappears around the corner again, and Tony sends a confused glance towards his teammates.

Steve shrugs his shoulders, mouth still full of cookie, and Natasha sends him an arched brow. Tony isn't sure what that means, but feels intimidated enough to exit the room anyway.

* * *

The baking lasts the rest of the week, until Peter comes home yelling, "I aced my calculus midterm!!!" running out of the elevator with a stapled set of papers in his hand.

"So no more baking?" Nat asks neutrally.

"Nope! Woohoo!"

Just like that the kid is gone, jumping down the hall towards his bedroom.

Tony looks at Nat quizzically.

"It was midterm week. He baked 3 dozen cookies, 2 types of muffins, and a cheesecake."

"So he stress bakes?"

"He stress bakes."

* * *

It becomes a "thing" in the tower.

Sam eats toast from freshly baked bread one morning while watching Bruce quiz Peter on his upcoming AP history test. Each slice is cut, toasted, and buttered to perfection by Peter while he explains sectionalism in the 20th century.

* * *

Bucky grates carrots while Peter mixes a bowl of dry ingredients furiously, the boy mumbling to himself non-stop.

"Has he gone insane?" Clint asks from the doorway.

"Spanish oral exam," Bucky replies.

"Ay caramba."

"Tal vez pueda sobornar a mi maestra con glaseado de queso crema..." Peter starts mumbling. (Maybe I can bribe my teacher with cream cheese frosting...)

Bucky and Clint share a concerned look.

Clint approaches the boy, "put down the spatula Pete, let's talk about this."

Peter looks up in alarm.

"In English! Just English!"

* * *

"What's up kid? It's spring break, what could you possibly be stressing about."

Today Tony walks into a full kitchen; Wanda, Natasha, and Pepper are occupying the space while Peter pours something creamy into a metal bowl.

"He's asking MJ out tonight, so he's making cookies and cream ice cream in case it goes wrong." Natasha crosses her arms when she replies to him, eyes focused on Peter's mixing.

"Does ice cream even count as stress baking? The very meaning of 'bake' is to put under heat. But I suppose it does feel wrong to call it cooking."

Peter looks up, his brown eyes large and sad like a baby cow, "I still baked the cookies from scratch."

"Yeah he's a real Nara Smith!" Wanda adds enthusiastically.

"Oookay... I'll pretend I know what that means. And since when do we have an ice cream maker?" Tony points to the fancy hardware out on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, I got that for him. We lacked a lot of the tools for basic baking recipes," Pepper informs him.

Tony ponders how ice cream machines count as a basic baking tool, and decides not to argue with three powerful women and their favourite lovesick teenager.

Peter picks up his bowl and moves it into the freezer, clearing away a couple frozen pizzas and a bag of peas.

"Should I even bother with the cones?" Peter asks with a pout.

"Pete she's gonna say yes! Also if you're wallowing in misery with a tub of ice cream we still want our cones so we can emotionally support you with a crunchy treat," Wanda says with a supportive smile.

The others nod along.

"You're right!" Peter agrees before turning around and grabbing an honest-to-god waffle cone maker, with the cone shaping kit to boot.

"Why..." Tony begins to protest, "y'know what, I don't care. Let me know how it goes kid."

The man is ignored as he moves through the kitchen to grab a banana, the women coaching Peter on his manners, flirting, and first date ideas as he exits the room.

* * *

Thor hums around the delicious treat.

"Mmm. You know young Peter, you could have a shop for your creations. Is there a Stark Industries for baked goods?" Thor asks the young lad, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chews the cookie bar.

"I didn't invent the blondie Thor. I was just trying to explain what it is, a cookie brownie! I did decorate them all by myself though," he says with a satisfied grin.

"Ah yes," Thor lifts up another blondie by the pretzel stick Peter put in the squares, attached with a bit of melted chocolate so they're shaped like Mjolnir, "now you are all worthy of the hammer. Ha! This is funny, I'm sure the others will find your talents equally amusing."

Peter picks up his own mini-Mjolnjr and waves it around, "it is I, son of Odin. Don't worry puny Midgardians, I will protect you with my mighty hammer and beautiful hair!"

Thor laughs thunderously at the impression, clapping.

Bruce walks into the room, enticed by the laughter.

"Ah! My friend, Peter has made edible Mjolnirs so you, too, may be worthy. It's delicious and hilarious. Imagine Banner wielding my hammer, ha! Ridiculous," Thor is all too amused by the situation.

Bruce gives Peter an offended look as Thor continues laughing with himself, the younger just shrugging. Bruce takes one of the treats anyways, pointedly not holding it by the pretzel stick.

"Y'know Pete, have you ever considered opening a bakery? You are quite talented. I think the Avengers alone would keep you in business," Bruce asks politely.

"Well I only like to bake when I'm stressed. That wouldn't be a very stable business model," Peter points out.

"True. Although running a business can be quite stressful, so maybe you'd have a continuous supply?"

"Hm. Efficient and unhealthy," Peter nods like it's the perfect plan.

"Wow you really are Stark's intern."

Thor bursts out into another bout of raucous laughter.

"Imagine Stark wielding my dessert hammer," Thor barely gets the words out, "Stark being worthy-AH HAHA."

Bruce and Peter share a look of wide-eyed alarm before joining in on the laughter.

They all share the moment before Bruce straightens up a bit to ask, "what are you even worried about anyways Peter?"

Peter wipes a tear from his eye, "I forgot to call Aunt May this morning like I always do and she only let me move here if I promised I wouldn't neglect her. So now I'm too scared to check my phone."

"I see," Bruce sympathizes.

"Yeah, baking is good for procrastinating. I pretend I'm being productive while also creating comfort food for after my breakdowns."

* * *

Tony steps into the dining room one afternoon to find Peter slicing apples while Steve sits across from him cutting intricate patterns into pie crust. There is an array of leaves and flowers set out on the flour-sprinkled table.

"So is the ornamentation necessary, or is Cap also developing a delicious self-soothing habit," Tony inquires.

"I was just talking to Peter about pie recipes from the 40s and he asked if I could help make his prettier," Steve smiles up at his companions, "it's actually a lot of fun, I can't say I've ever used food to make art before."

"He's a natural talent Mr. Stark!"

Tony agrees with the quirk of an eyebrow and cheeky sideways nod. He observes for a moment before asking something that's been bothering him recently.

"Pete, I gotta ask. Why baking? You inherited your Aunt's terrible cooking skills, and it's not like you're built for other domestic duties. Your room is a mess. What gives? How are you so... refined?"

Peter pauses his chopping to look up incredulously.

"It's science Mr. Stark. Baking is just chemistry! I'm great at chemistry," he says with a grin.

Tony thinks about it.

"Huh. I guess you're right. So, what has you stressed this time? Girl troubles? You get too good a grade in P.E. and Flash is suspicious? Decathlon competition?" Tony lists off some of his previous turmoils.

He hopes it's the decathalon again, those butter tarts were divine.

"Um. Can I finish my apple filling before I tell you? I'll lose motivation if you start yelling at me..." Peter says with a hopeful smile, strain lying underneath it.

Tony's eyes narrow.

"Okay so I maybe blew up your test tubes when trying to develop fire webs and Dum-E may have covered your entire lab in fire supression foam."

Tony's jaw clenches, "I'm gonna let you stew in fear for a bit longer because apple is my favourite - if this was pumpkin you'd already be squashed - but best believe I'm not done with you yet." Tony slowly takes a deep breath before pointing a finger at Peter. "Never change kid, never change."

Tony leaves, distinctly in the opposite direction of his lab, and Peter goes back to slicing apples, now with a genuine smile on his face.