#and also it would be v funny to think that after a weekend of them absolutely going to town crystal comes back to the agency | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsharleystuff · 1 year

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↳ II. 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘋

Read part one here.

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Joel Miller x afab!fem reader (no outbreak au).

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (once again, I’m sorry)

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after your steamy encounter with Joel during your homecoming party, things between you have been stagnant. Although, fate seems to be on your side when both Sarah and your dad have to leave town for a short while.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), sex, p in v sex, Joel hits it from behind, blowjobs, some teasing, a bit of spanking, pet names (darling, sweetheart, honey), unprotected sex (pls do not attempt), cum eating, taking nsfw photos, Joel tries to be dom but fails, age gap (reader is twenty four, Joel is late forties), reader is kind of a brat, fluff and feelings (yes, this is a warning), alcohol consumption, brief mention of family death. Barely edited, sorryyy. No use of y/n.

—A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone but I suggest reading the previous part for a better understanding. Btw, there’s a couple of Easter eggs from the game in this! Also— I tried making a moodboard and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ll probably stick to gifs in the future, lol.

“I like Indiana Jones," you babble, taking a sip from your coffee without looking at anyone in specific. "I was twelve and in love with Harrison Ford..."

"Okay, so that's one movie we're definitely not going to watch." Sarah chimes in, lazily chewing on her scrambled eggs. "How do you feel about Robert Pattinson?"

"That depends," you reply, moving your head side to side in a contemplative manner, "are we talking twilight or Harry Potter?"

You hear your dad snort on the other side of the table and see Joel chuckling beside him. Sarah crosses both arms over her chest and raises a brow at them. “What's so funny?"

"Nothing," your dad clears his throat and side-eyes his friend. "Just thought you two were a bit old for those crappy vampire movies. Maybe watch-"

"Forgive me, but I don't think it's a good idea to take recommendations from either of you," you cut him off, leaning back on your chair. "You're both obsessed with die hard, think The Godfather is incredibly complex and in your spare time watch construction programs. We'll be fine on our own."

"Touché..."

It's been three weeks since your homecoming party, and ever since then it has become a habit to have breakfast together every weekend. Today, Saturday, it was the Miller's turn to cook, which consequently had you and your father sitting at their table. As of now, you and Sarah were discussing your movie night, which had to be postponed due to her road-trip to San Antonio— apparently, she and her friend Ellie were going to visit some college campuses there.

It's also been three weeks since that little, hot encounter you and Joel had in your kitchen. And, contrary to your better judgement, both of you were more than eager to spend some extra time alone. Things since then had been uneasy, specially when being surrounded by others; always worried that someone might notice those stolen looks you'd share or sense the palpable tension that rose when you would stand too close to each other.

You try not to think about it. Except when you do. A swirl of memories would come flooding your mind in the most inappropriate moments, creating that heat that made you remember exactly how his fingers felt inside you, his tongue between your folds, the sloppy kisses and that feral, hungry look in his eyes while eating you out, touching you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"How about pride and prejudice?" the girl wonders, standing up to clean her dishes and snapping you back to reality.

"Shit, I love period dramas!" your dad shoots you a reproachful glare at your language, but you chose to ignore it. "As a matter of fact, most of my designs are inspired by the Victorian and regency eras."

"Oh, yeah," Sarah recalls, "I remember I read about it in one of your blogs. Dad showed it to me, by the way..." Joel clears his throat loudly, making her giggle.

Although she had mentioned it before, it was still kind of weird that he acknowledged your work. At first you thought it was merely because he wanted to connect with you somehow, but lately he'd been asking if he could see your new sketches and would let you borrow some old magazines he had around the house. Your best friend, Sophie, mentioned he might've been trying to show his interest in you subconsciously. And she was that one psychic friend who believed in zodiac signs and angel numbers, so you decided to believe her.

In that moment, your dad receives an incoming call on his cellphone; he excuses himself and heads to the living room. Your eyes lock with Joel's, and the fact that he was uninhibitedly staring back at you drew a smug smile on your face.

"Are you interested in fashion, Mr. Miller?" he sulks out a dry 'no', but you could see him fidget with his watch nervously. "Pity. I thought maybe you could model some of my male designs."

Sarah genuinely cracks up at your comment, slapping one hand on the table. "You want dad to pose for you? Seriously?"

"Why not? I brought my Polaroid camera, I can get some very nice shots." You were partially joking, but deep down you just wanted to see how he'd react.

"I mean, I know dad's got his charm with women, or so they keep saying-"

"No way anyone says that," he rambles.

"But the idea of him modeling is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

The fact was that you didn't want to take pictures of him so anyone else could see them. You wanted them exclusively for yourself. A couple of naughty Polaroids to keep around for whenever you were aching for him —which has been nearly every fucking night since your arrival—.

"It was a silly idea," you finally agree, shrugging. Joel stands to take his things to the sink. "Do you really have to leave for the weekend? You're like, my only friend here."

"Uh, about that..." she leans in towards you and you can practically smell a scheme on her. "Would you be mad if I gave your number to someone?"

You can quite literally feel the man standing behind you tense up. "Huh?"

"Yeah, like... To a guy." She moves in her place, but there's still no answer from you. "He's my English teacher. His name is Will and he's super smart, young, really funny and very handsome, I might add. I believe he can be your new male model." Sarah adds that last bit with a grin.

When you turn your head to see Joel, there was a deep scowl etching on his face, his body remaining still as a stone.

"I don't know... As friends, maybe." You weren't sure why, but the idea of meeting anyone new didn't really sound appealing.

She opened her mouth to say something but before she could actually do so, your dad walked in again. He appeared upset, gesturing nonsense and muttering impassively.

"What's wrong?" your tone comes out concerned.

"I have a meeting in Boston," he sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder apologetically. "Apparently it's urgent and I have to catch the next flight if I want to be there by nightfall."

"Oh, don't worry," you smile at him warmly. "I understand. Besides, I'm an adult. I can manage a weekend by myself."

He nods, still seemingly aloof. "I know but- I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

And of course you wanted that too, but saying it out loud could literally bring him to quit his job. He was always very extreme when it came down to you.

"What time d’you leave?" his friend asks him.

"Half past four. Why?"

"I can drop Sarah off at Ellie's and then drive you to the airport, if you'd like." Such a caring friend, Joel Miller. So selfless. Helping your dad out, attending his daughter's every special need...

"Yeah, thanks a lot, man. Take care of my little girl while I'm away."

You see his eyes gleam with a mix of unknown emotions, "Will do."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The last few days had been no less than torment for Joel. Each moment that went by in which he didn't get a chance to be near you had him losing his mind. Badly. And it wasn't necessarily a physical thing— not always, at least.

Every morning, he would wake up and go to work, knowing for certain that when he comes back home he'll find you hanging around with Sarah or sitting out on your porch with a sketching notebook on your lap.

He liked to guess what you'd be doing.

Would you be playing board games with his daughter? Watching a movie or baking desserts? Maybe you were thrift shopping with your dad or simply going to the mall. And later on, when he finally gets to see you again, you'd tell him all about it.

Joel also liked to imagine what kind of clothes you'd be wearing. One thing he noticed is that you never stick to one particular style or aesthetic. One day you could be wearing pastel sundresses with ribbons in your hair; the next one could be long, black skirts paired with basic tank tops and multiple necklaces, or even something more extravagant, depending on your mood.

Seeing you was an experience— one that he could never get tired of. It's like every time he sets his eyes on you there's a certain color palette that changes constantly, or the feeling of gathering all your favorite songs into one playlist and then hitting the shuffle button. He never knows what to expect. Hence why he had given up on trying to relate you to the silly things around; like seasons, animals, artists or foods. Instead, he started associating you with feelings.

You were creative, unique and incredibly fearless. In a way, you made him feel uneasy, excited, thrilled, confident and many more emotions at the same time. If he had to describe you in one word, he'd say evoking.

Oh, how you pestered his brain.

He hated how much he thought about you, and how little guilt he felt from it.

Right now he was sitting on the drivers seat of his truck, waiting at the airport's parking lot. You asked him if you could walk your dad to his corresponding gate and he agreed. The downside: it had started to rain, probably not too bad for your dad's flight to be delayed but enough for your clothes to get soaked on your way back.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you muttered, shutting the passenger's door behind you. “The seats are gonna get all wet..."

"Here," Joel takes off his jacket to place it over your shoulders.

It feels warm and it smells like him, "Thanks."

He starts the car without saying anything else, keeping his eyes glued to the road. You, on the other hand, could not stop staring at him. Now that no one else was around, there was no shame in admiring his side profile, the way his muscles flexed and his hands grasped the wheel. There was something inherently attractive about men driving, but- Jesus... This image had your mind roaming around dark places.

Suddenly, realization sinks in— you're alone.

Alone with him.

"I, uh..." he taps the wheel with his thumb, still avoiding your gaze. "I wanted to take you out for dinner. The weather kinda ruined it."

The corners of your mouth hitch up in a silly smile. "Too bad. I really didn't want to be alone tonight."

Joel hums, appearing somewhat distraught. In reality, he was fighting for his life. The clothes you chose to wear today were not fitted for the rain; denim mini-skirt, high pair of boots and a white top that complimented your upper body. He tried not to look at the raindrops rolling down your thighs or note how transparent your shirt has become, forcing himself to stare at your hands and the many rings that decorated your fingers, seeing there the one he gifted you.

"How about you come over to my place?" you suggest, trying to catch his attention. "I'll need a shower and a change of clothes but... Maybe we can do something afterwards."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, still avoiding your gaze, "Like what?"

This time your voice goes lower, a smirk spreads across your face and something in your eyes flickers; a darker, sensual spark.

"Oh, you know..." your hand carefully comes to rest on his knee. His thigh tenses but he doesn't say or do anything to push you away. "Whatever you want."

He swallows hard, feeling the pads of your fingers run circles on his leg, your nails mildly scratching over the jeans in a way that raises goosebumps on his skin and eases his nerves.

"I've got a better idea," he says, keeping his tone calm —barely—. "Why don't you come to my house instead?"

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Sure, but- what about my clothes?"

And then he smiles cockily, as if this had been his plan all along, "Wear mine."

Well, there was absolutely no way you were going to turn him down. With a bit more boldness, you slide your hand a few inches up his inner thigh, still rubbing soothing patterns. His jaw clenched, but remained silent and apparently unbothered.

"Joel?" his name rolled off your tongue sweetly, in a way only you knew how to. He uttered a 'hm?' in retort. "Did you miss me?"

"I've seen you nearly every day," he answers playfully.

You laugh, stopping your movements and simply resting your palm there. "So... No?"

"Didn't say that, darlin'." The truck suddenly stops at a red light as he exhales heavily, giving in to you at last. "But I'll let you guess."

A push and pull game, like a cat chasing a mouse. Your smirk widens. "I don't think so. Not as much as I have."

His eyes scan your body from head to toe, the way you sit with your legs slightly parted, back laying flat against the seat and face turned towards him with heated cheeks and low gaze. Unexpectedly, your hand draws back from his lap as you start looking through your purse and a frown forms on his face, baffled by the loss of contact.

"Which is why..." you take the Polaroid camera out and see a whole shift in his eyes, like he's about to burst in laughter. "I brought this."

"No," despite his categorical denial, you still held the object up.

"You have a green light," he curses under his breath and you hold back a chuckle. "Just let me have one, please."

He sighs in defeat, "Why'd you want that?"

The rain had started to settle down but the air was still pretty cold, all that could be heard besides your own voices being the drops that crashed against the car.

"Cause you're handsome," he rolls his eyes sarcastically. "And I like you."

Hell, you were always so straightforward. It made his heart jump inside his chest, wondering if it was gonna burst out.

"You won't like me as much once you meet that Will dude," Joel prattles through gritted teeth, remembering his daughter's suggestion from earlier.

"The guy Sarah mentioned?" your brows furrow subtly. "Why? What's up with him?"

He yanks his head to the side, glancing over at you for a second, "Nothin'. Just thinkin' out loud." In spite of your puzzled expression, he decides to grant your wish. "I'll let ya' take it. But only if I get one in return."

Your lips purse in a smile, "As many as you like, Miller."

He doesn't say anything in response, but his grin doesn’t fade either and you managed to capture it on paper. The image slowly started to become visible and your first thought was how well it captured the whole 'Joel Miller' essence. It was a simple photo of him driving with one hand on the wheel and the other arm thrown lazily over the backseat. That denim shirt hugged his arms exquisitely, the rolled-up sleeves adding to his appeal. He was looking at you when it was taken, so you could see more than half his face— and the way he was grinning, you couldn't help but think he appeared so much younger when he did that. The entire thing felt so much like him: snuggly, blue, genuine and you absolutely loved it.

"There," you show it to him as he started to pull over. "Isn't it nice?"

"Just keep it to yourself, aight?" the man grumbles.

"F'course," with a spark of joy, you slide the photo inside your wallet. "Wouldn't want anyone else peeking at that gorgeous smile of yours. That's a treasure of my own."

"Shut up-" he rumbled, turning his face the other way and opening the door, seemingly flustered. And out of all the amazing things you've accomplished in your life, making this rugged looking man blush was probably your greatest pride.

When he helps you out of the car, holding your hand firmly and cleaving to your waist; you wanted nothing more than to kiss him under the pouring rain, wildly and unhinged, just like last time. But this particular spot possibly had too many curious eyes of which you were unaware of. He obviously doesn't need to guide you through his house, since you already know nearly every corner of it, except for one. His bedroom. And apparently, that's the precise location he's taking you to.

"Please excuse the mess," he says, placing one hand on the door handle, "I haven't had a woman in here for ages, so I'm afraid I probably won't live up to your expectations."

"Joel," you snort, "it's been a decade and a half since you last dated anyone. Trust me, my expectations are pretty low."

He scowls, squinting both eyes. "You didn't have to say it like that..."

It's honestly better than you thought. His bed is nicely done, brown bedsheets striking as warm and welcoming; the walls were painted a pretty, light shade of blue that matched the grayish curtains on the left. The drawers in front of his windows had a bunch of stuff scattered on top of them: a CD player along with a few music discs, some papers, a cap and a pair of reading glasses, batteries, one screwdriver and a framed picture of him and Sarah at the beach. Meanwhile, the nightstand simply had one lamp and an alarm-clock on it. Over the bed's headboard were one poster of a music festival, the image of a landscape and an advert of what you guessed must've been a club, that read 'tacos and beer" on it. The door to the bathroom was on the right.

Messy, yet tidy at the same time. Very Joel-like.

"No way..." you murmur, eyeing the guitar beside his bed. "All this time I thought it was a myth."

"What?" he asks from behind you.

"Dad told me you used to serenade girls back in college and that you wanted to become a singer." A giggle escapes your lips, unable to contain it. "I remember saying he was surely making it up, but..."

"I didn't- I mean..." he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and feeling his chest swell with your laughter. "Oh, shut up!"

"Make me." The lingering, mischievous smile on your face made his heart pound and blood rush. "Come on, Miller. Shut me up, I dare you."

His eyes darken, but you don't falter for a second. He doesn't move a muscle, solely watching as you took off his jacket and threw it to the bed.

"You dare me?" his voice goes drops an octave, following your every move closely. "That's rather bold of you, sweetheart."

"Mhm," without breaking eye contact, you start taking off your boots. "And yet you're doing nothing about it."

Joel starts walking towards you slowly, holding your gaze intently. Your hair was damp and your clothes were still wet; it didn't really matter that the air was chilly cause you still felt warm all over. He soon invades your space, cupping your chin in his big hand and lifting your head upwards.

"Well, you're awfully quiet now, aren't ya'?" his hot breath fanned across your cheeks, the gap between your faces being basically invisible.

"I'm just waiting for you to start singing some random song by Alabama or Johnny Cash," you scoff. "Like a good ol' Texan ma-"

He doesn't let you finish the sentence, abruptly crashing his lips into your own. Joel isn't delicate about it and the fervor with which he kisses you makes your body stumble a few steps backwards. Your shoulders hit the wall and he pins you against it as your mouths find a way to mold perfectly, at a much nicer pace than last time. You throw your hands around his neck and let your fingers tangle in the curls around his nape, tasting the fresh mint on his lips. His hands rest on your hips, chests pressed together as the temperature kept rising with each second that went on.

You part your lips in order to grant him deeper access, feeling his tongue slide past your teeth and meeting your own in an ardent, heated way. It was perfect, until he broke apart, looking down at you with an asserted confidence.

"You really know nothing 'bout country music," he says in between shaky breaths, beaming. "S'that what you wanted?"

"Yes," you manage to say.

"Then say 'thank you'," Joel indicates petulantly, stroking your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Go on, don't be such a brat."

You blink twice, your brain still buzzing with the sensation of mouth on you, barely capable of processing anything else. "But I want more..."

"You'll take what I give you."

Shit, when he said it like that- "Thank you."

"That's my girl," he straightened his back, opening the door next to you. "Now, get your pretty ass in the shower before you catch a cold, 'kay?" You roll your eyes and hear him chuckle. "There's clean towers under the sink. You can take some clothes from my drawers, or Sarah's if you feel like it. I don't think she'll mind."

"Understood." He can tell you're annoyed, which he finds funny.

"Don't be mad at me, angel." Joel tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. "Promise I'll make it up to you."

You nod distractedly, lost in the cocky spark on his eyes. "I'm not mad. Just hoping you fuck me real good if you're making me wait for it."

Your words almost make him choke on his own saliva. "Sweetheart, you're making it real hard for me to be a gentleman."

It makes your ego boost, in a sense. "I'll be quick. Can you get something for dinner, though? I'm starving."

"Shit, darlin', pick a struggle," he mocks as you enter the bathroom, "are you horny or hungry?"

"Oh, you jerk!"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

6:15 pm.

You take a quick glance at Joel's alarm clock once you come out of the shower. It's been little more than an hour since your dad's plane took off. You hope the rain hadn’t made his flight any difficult, cause the weather turned out to be quite a blessing for you.

The cozy feeling of a nice, warm shower after being soaked under the rain was starting to settle in your bones, making your limbs relax. Then you realize, you smell like Joel. The scent of his soap, his shampoo, even his laundry detergent, is all over you. It's intoxicating in the most fantastic way possible, making your insides burn with a thrill of excitement. You took one on his flannels, —dark green with red stripes— and decided to wear it without anything besides your underwear. It was pretty big anyway, and covered just the necessary areas.

You slid your socks back on when all of the sudden you hear the faint sound of music from the floor beneath. Curious, you walk towards the noise, finding out Joel was in the kitchen, crouched down in front of the opened fridge. The CD player that you saw earlier on his room was now on the table, playing a melody that you recognized almost immediately.

"I like this song," you say, leaning against the wall. "That's Billy Idol, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he recalls, taking out a medium sized plastic box from the fridge. "Tommy made that mix. There's plenty of hits from past decades. I think you'll enjoy it."

The man finally turns around to face you and his face fails to hide his surprise. The way his prying eyes sweep your body in detail, taking his time particularly on your bare thighs, almost made you feel self-conscious if it weren't for that shadow of desire that crossed his eyes and the way his nostrils flared from a contained breath.

"How is he, by the way?" you ask, still on the subject. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Who?" he clearly forgot what he had just said.

"Your brother," you call to mind, "how is he?"

Joel sets the box down on the table and drifts his gaze back to your face. "Fine, I guess. Last time we spoke he said he'd go to Dallas." He takes two glasses from the pantry and what it looks like a bottle of wine. "I-uh... There isn't any real food in here besides those strawberries and chocolates that this guy brought for Sarah. Should I order something?"

You shake your head and walk over to him, "This will do. Won't she get mad if we eat them, though?"

"Don't think so," he replies, pouring the red liquid into the glasses. "I'll blame you if she does."

"Oh, okay-" you cock an eyebrow at him and hold back a giggle. "Thought you didn't like wine."

"It's a fancy drink," he explains, "s'only for special occasions."

"Oh?" you take a sip from it, eyes boring into his. "And what's tonight's?"

Joel smiles conceitedly, jutting his chin out. "I've got you all to myself."

You snort, feeling the heat soar across your cheeks. He takes the snack box and with a sly gesture asks you to follow him into the living room, the melodic sound of the eighties tune turning to background noise as you do. The only lights on are the ones in the kitchen and the lamps beside the couch, shining a perfect light on his features.

"Come here," he calls, the leather squealing under his weight when he sat down. You set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the tv, going to sit next to him. "No, sweetheart," he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him. "I meant here."

His legs part slightly, making room for you to sit on his lap. Your smile broadened toward a soft chuckle, settling yourself on his thigh. Joel immediately gets his hands on you, one on your lower back and the other merely resting on your upper leg.

"So, who's this mystery man that's been giving gifts to your darling daughter?" he scoffs in response, reaching for a chocolate from the box.

"Honestly? No fuckin' clue." You hum in surprise, drinking from your wine. "She never involves with them, thank god, and once they meet me they never come by again."

"I see,” you muse, “you're the overprotective type," you bite on a strawberry next.

"I wouldn't say it like that..." he sees the sarcastic glimpse on your expression and holds back laughter. "It's a dad reflex, I can't control it."

"Right, sounds convincing."

You stretch your arm behind the couch, setting your elbow and laying the side of your face on your palm. His face is very close to yours but all you do is simply stare at each other; Joel's big brown eyes glimmer with infatuation. “Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?" he asks lowly. "Somethin' more serious."

You wince in confusion, but still nod, "Sure."

He inhales sharply, taking a couple of seconds to actually say what he meant to. “Why are you here?" your frown deepens at his words. "I mean- Texas. I know you said you wanted to make up for the lost time with your old man, but... I feel like there's something else you're not saying."

It takes a minute for you to really sink in on his question. You nearly gulp down the alcohol before setting the glass down, avoiding his ardent gaze.

"Honestly?" you sigh, "There's so much to unpack that I don't even know where to start."

"Try." Although he didn't sound harsh, the effort he was asking you to put in wasn't something of your liking.

"Well, first of all," you meditate, clearing your throat, "the city didn't feel like home since my mom passed. It made me realize how much I missed here." He nods comprehensively, caressing the exposed skin of your thigh in a reassuring manner. "And then there's this- fear. Yeah, I guess it is fear... I've managed to accomplish so much in such short time that it actually fucking scares me to go any further and see that-" you stop, sighing and shaking your head. "That I've reached my limit."

For a moment, there's just silence floating between you, all that could be heard were the rain and a song by tears for fears.

"Darlin', look at me," he asks softly but you can't bring yourself to do it, embarrassed by your confession. "Please, let me see those pretty eyes of yours."

And it's practically impossible for you to deny him anything. Specially when he asks so nicely, when his hand grabs the side of your face so gently— you give in, just like that.

"You're afraid to succeed because you don't know what to do with yourself afterwards. Is that it?" You nod faintly. "Can I speak frankly?"

"I have a feeling you will anyway-"

"Yeah. A bit of tough love, but you need’a hear it." Joel strokes your cheek sweetly and you get shivers from the affection in the action. "Sweetheart, I know what you're going through. Shit feels like it's either moving too fast or not moving at all. And I know how scary that is. Trust me, there's still plenty of time for you."

You square your eyes to his, "Sure, bet you were frightened when you were twenty four."

"Terrified," he spoke truthfully. "Everyone I knew was getting married, moving out or working their asses off."

"And you?" he grunts, taking a strawberry from the box. "What were you doing?" Joel eats the fruit patiently, simply staring at you silently. "Come ooon, don't play hard to get."

"Gotta promise you won't laugh."

It's a tricky business for someone who makes fun of everything, and yet you simply reply: "I swear."

"Fine," he rasps out in fake annoyance. "I used to make my own guitars and- sell 'em sometimes. I'd also teach guitar lessons and horseback riding."

Your eyes widen in surprise and something flutters in your stomach. "Shit, that's actually pretty cool!"

He groans, rolling his eyes at the same time, "I told you not to make fun of me."

"No, no- I mean it." You shuffle on his lap, resting a hand on his chest. "And you sound passionate about it... Why'd you stop?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, tightening his grip on your waist. "It went well for a couple years but I eventually had to get something more solid. More so after Sarah was born." He takes a deep breath in, the smell of his own shampoo on your hair hitting his nostrils and catching him off-guard.

"You should teach me," you suggest with a smug grin. "I always wanted to learn."

"What, guitar or horseback riding?" he wonders, suddenly nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

"Guitar. I'm pretty good at riding, if you must know." You feel him chuckle against your body, his facial hair scratching your sensitive skin.

"We'll see 'bout that," his voice comes out husky as he starts kissing along your jawline.

Joel's common sense jumped out the window long ago, but the string of self control that kept him sane all this time couldn't bear the weight of you wriggling on top of him, semi-naked and with his scent all over you. Something primal took over him, a glimpse of possessiveness that he didn't believe himself capable of feeling towards you specifically. He wanted you to wear that flannel around town so people would look at you and know who it belonged to; whose bed you've been visiting. He wanted you to smell of his cologne so other men would know that you weren't free for them.

Your fingers run through his soft curls, messing his hair while he grabs the back of your thighs and manhandles you onto straddling his lap. He nips and licks over all your vulnerable areas, making your breathing start to labour. How could he possibly know this well the easiest ways to have you so desperate this quick? Leaning into his touch, yearning for him even with the smallest action? He wasn't aware of the answer himself, he just knew.

Joel instinctively throws his head back when you tug at his hair and seize the opportunity to duck down and lay a sweet kiss on his forehead. His hands coast up your thighs, splaying his fingers on your ass to squeeze the flesh. You hold back a giggle, kissing the curve of his nose before catching his soft, soft lips on yours.

He slides an arm around your waist, pressing his palm between your shoulder blades to keep you as close as possible. You feel your nipples harden when his tongue ran along your bottom lip— tauntingly slow, until you allowed him full access to your mouth, letting him taste the sweet mixture of wine and strawberries on your tongue. But his vehemence didn't make you any less eager, kissing him back with just as much passion and vigor, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and mildly pulling at it with minor strength.

The action ignites a fire within him, seeing you on top, feeling your fingers roam around his cheekbones and along his jawline like you knew just how much fucking power you had over him... It was a new sensation, a new kind of desire he didn't recognize at first.

Joel's lips were swollen and his own excitement was starting to feel evident underneath you, which created a blunt ache between your legs. He usually appeared so big and mean, with those broad shoulders and permanent scowl on his face. Now, though... He seemed like he'd let you do just about anything with him, to him— it didn't really matter as long as you kept staring at him like that; through heavy lids, eyes sparkling with a profound, desperate need that spoke without words, saying 'only you get to see this side of me'.

You start grinding your hips against his, rubbing your clothed core above his growing boner in small, calculated circles as you shore yourself up with a hand to his chest. He merely admired you from his position, letting you have your way with him; all the while his gaze reflected patience, like he could take over the situation any second but enjoyed watching you lead.

"Joel," you call his name, leaning forward to kiss his chin, moving your lips all the way down his throat and feeling the nice scratch of his beard. Your hands grab the collar of his shirt as you come up to whisper in his ear: "Stay still."

Panting, he narrows his eyes in confusion, "What?" Though you don't give him enough time to figure out your words, getting back on your feet and parting his legs further with a light thump of your knee.

He observes your every move quietly, amused by your confidence and determination when you drop to your knees in front of him. Joel's cocky expression doesn't sway, not even when you drag your nails across his inner thigh, inching closer towards his very visible hard on. However, his body betrays him, selling a whole different story. His muscles tense, his jaw clenches and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Stop being such a fucking tease," he hissed, refusing to place his hands on you.

"Or what?" you drawl, coming to rest your palm on his crotch. A simple, feathery touch that made his pulse accelerate.

"You'll regret it," he warns grimly.

"S'that so?" you start to unbuckle his belt, way too slow for his liking, tugging down the zipper of his jeans. "I think I can handle it."

He smirked, his hand slithers to the back of your scalp and forces you to lock eyes with him. "Don't test your luck, sweetheart."

You pout mockingly, doing exactly the opposite of what he was saying while dragging down the fabric just enough to free his cock. Your new found courage falters for a second, finally seeing him in all his size and girth. He was, by all means, a big one, the amount of precome oozing on the tip telling you just how much he loved being teased, despite whatever words came out of his mouth. The mere sight of it sent a new heated wave of slick between your thighs.

Joel mimicked your expression scornfully, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone, "Too big for ya'?"

"None of that," you wrap your hand around the base, not really applying any pressure; though the sole warmth of your touch was enough to give him goosebumps, "we'll make it fit."

"That's my girl."

With a chuckle, you lower your head to kiss the inside of his thigh, the pads of your fingers softly grazing the veins on his length. His whole body shudders, leaking onto your hand and letting out a subtle gasp as you spread kisses all along his shaft. Your eyes peer into his soul when you gently place your lips to the slit, tasting the salty precome as he calls your name in what resembles a desperate plea. In a swift move, you finally take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and deciding to put an end to his suffering. He mutters a gruff 'fuck' when you attempt to take him farther, pumping what you couldn't yet fit and snaking your free hand under the hem of his denim shirt to caress the soft skin of his belly.

"Shit, darlin'-" you feel the heaviness of his palm simply resting on the back of your head, not pushing or forcing you in any way, but allowing you to adapt to his size. "The only way to get ya' to stop talking is with a mouth full of cock, ain't it?"

You hum in response and the sensation is completely enrapturing for Joel, his callused fingers tangle in your hair to ground him as he releases a shaky breath. It's a huge challenge to focus on anything else but him; your mind whirring with a familiar dizziness while you bob your head up and down his shaft, intoxicated by the taste of him, the smell of him and every sound that escapes his lips, making your clit throb with need and your arousal pool in your panties, uncomfortably sticking to your skin.

For Joel, it's overwhelming.

He's never really been the noisy type during sex but heck— you were doing it for him. He's a panting mess above you, his hips buck ever so slightly in tandem with your mouth, trying not to lose it entirely. Your spit drools down his dick and the way your dark, dilated pupils sparkle with lust as you hollow your cheeks around him pulls a groan deep from his throat.

"That's it, you can take it," he coaxes when your nose nudges his pubic bone, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. "Good fuckin' girl, just like that..."

Enticed with the praise, you keep repeating the motion, sliding one hand to hold his hipbone for support and feeling his burning skin under your touch whilst the other plays with his balls to aid his pleasure. The obscene slick sounds mix in the air with his hoarse cursing, the rain and the faint music of kings of leon, sex on fire.

He looks so good from this angle, chest rising and falling with heavy, irregular breaths, head thrown back and both hands on you, keeping you angled for his cock. Drops of precum roll on your tongue as you keep changing the pace at which your head moves, tears welling in your eyes and jaw going slack. Shit, you're aching for him so bad that the only thing you can think of to relieve the need is squeeze your thighs together in order to create some friction. And it works, the action eliciting a moan from you that makes him fucking whimper your name.

"Bet your cunt's drippin' just from sucking my dick," he muffles a laugh that turns halfway into a sigh when you pay special attention to the ruddy, sensitive tip. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

You can tell he is by the way his cock twitches in your mouth; his spine straightens at the heat gathering between his legs and he tries to pull you off against your will, uttering a warning that you chose to ignore. Joel's lips part in a throaty groan when he reaches his high, feeling the outline of your fingers digging harshly on his hip, your hand rubbing his length and your tongue lapping at his slit, taking in every single drop of his release until he's spent, right before pressing a soft kiss to it that makes him shiver. And hell— contrary to others, he tasted good; warm and thick, coating your senses.

His heart beats aggressively against his ribs and he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to get back on your feet while resting your hands on his waist. Although his eyes are barely open, he can quite literally feel your smile when you chastely kiss his lips. He chuckles breathlessly as you sit beside him, tugging himself back in his pants.

"We're not done yet," he says, grabbing the back of your knee and promptly engulfing your leg around his waist, maneuvering your body so that your back rests against the couch and he's crouched down, caged in the middle of your thighs. "I said I'd make it up to you and I will."

"Well, you've certainly got some stamina in you, old man," you poke fun at him, raising a hand to move those rebellious curls away from his eyes.

Joel smiles, caressing your cheek affectionately. "Always got somethin' to say, don't ya'?"

"Oh, Mr. Miller," you coo, enveloping your arms around his neck, "we both know just how much you love to hear me talk."

"Mhm," he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, "yes, I reckon you're right."

His big hand covers nearly half of your face as he holds you still, crashing your lips together. He kisses you deeply, vigorously, in a way that makes you wonder if you could possibly drown in a person's essence. His other palm slides between your bodies to start undoing the buttons of the flannel —his flannel— you were wearing. You can't help but whine when he draws back, watching you from above.

"Joel-" blood rushes through your ears and can feel your cheeks warm up as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers coasting down your throat and to the valley of your breasts, licking his lips when he sees your hardened nipples.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he speaks freely, without holding back emotion, and it makes your heart skip a beat. "Such a sweet, sweet girl I can't get enough of."

"Then take a picture," you purr, "it'll last longer."

He stares at you through a measuring squint, a lighthearted smile forming on his face. "Since you insist." It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, until you finally recall that there's actually a camera inside your purse; one that he reaches for. "If I remember correctly... You said I could take as many as I like."

You lightly squeeze his waist with your thighs, feeling your whole body burn with anticipation. "I did say that..."

"Let's just pray your dad won't find these hanging around," he ponders, turning your face slightly to the side. "He'll have my head."

"And that would be terrible..."

He takes the Polaroid with one hand, the other coming to grope your breast as he backs off for a better angle, ultimately deciding to wrap his fingers loosely around your neck instead, purely holding you there. You glance at the lens, making your best "fuck me" eyes added to a cheeky smile, hearing him curse under his breath prior to snapping the picture.

"You've got the prettiest fucking tits I've even seen, sweetheart," he snarls, laying a palm flat over your lower abdomen while he waited for the photo.

"Has anyone ever told you you've got such a marvelous way with words?" he suppressed a laugh, safeguarding the picture on the back pocket of his jeans.

"Just a few women." Before you can even begin to act annoyed, he sets the camera aside and leans down to kiss your collarbones, the pad of his thumb kneading circles around your sensitive nipple. "Look at you, honey," he murmurs, "you're so easy to please... Or is it just because of me?"

You're panting, your back arching in response to his constant ministrations, every inch of your skin blushing under his attention. "I think it's-" you're cut off by the sudden need to swallow when he sucks a mark on the vulnerable skin between your breasts, "you."

His body vibrates with a laugh and you feel his hand palm your clothed sex, dragging his tongue over your delicate nipple, gently nibbling at it. You screw your eyes shut and let a single, fluttery moan slide past your lips when his thumb nudges your clit.

"So wet just from giving head?" Joel shakes his head in fake disapproval. "Who knew you were such a horny little thing?"

You are holding onto his bicep for dear life, fearing you might collapse into oblivion if you part from his body. His index glides across your slit over the drenched cotton fabric, making you squirm beneath him.

"You- you tasted good," you babble, mind all over the place.

"Yeah?" his chest swells with pride, "you should taste yourself, angel," his mouth travels across your abdomen, "sweetest thing I've ever had."

It's pointless trying to conjure a response, you're simply too far gone by now. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your thighs, flattening his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You whimper, running your fingers through his locks and bucking your hips to meet his face.

"Please," you blurt out, "Joel, please..."

"What, sweetheart?" he asks, moving the underwear aside to directly touch your clit, fondling it as he watched your slick coat his fingers. "What do you want?" But you can't conceive an answer, all that could come out of your mouth were those pathetic, desperate moans. "Use your words."

With his free hand he plays with your nipple, grabbing your breast with his entire hand. "I want you."

He tauntingly moves his fingers around your seam, refusing to go any further. "Say it again."

"I want you, Joel."

Cocky bastard.

He licks his fingers clean and starts getting off the couch, leaving you with a confused, dumbfounded expression that nearly makes him crack up.

"You didn't really believe I'd be fucking you on the couch, did ya'?" he teases, but all you can muster up is a barely audible 'oh'. "Come on, let's take this to my room. And don't forget to bring that camera of yours."

Mind still dazing, you obey his instructions, following him silently upstairs as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. For a second, he glances back at you, gifting a soft, reassuring grin before extending his arm to grab your fingers, holding your hand in a pure, intimate touch.

And just for that moment, you forget that he's actually your dad's oldest friend, that he's Sarah's father or any other thought of the sort. He's just Joel. Joel Miller, the only man that has managed to make you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, or that made you blush with merely a few compliments.

"Ask me to kiss you," he urges, taking the camera from your hands and carefully placing it on his bedside table, his eyesight fixed on you.

"Kiss me," you don't ask, you downright beg.

He does, though it's not like the previous times. He's tender, almost languid about it. His hands are on your bare hips while yours cup his cheeks; Joel's fingers reach to remove the flannel from your shoulders and moves his lips to the newly exposed skin, murmuring constant admirations. You feel your lungs clench and a tingly sensation on your lower belly.

"I'll take care of you, darlin'." You let the shirt slide down your arms and fall to the floor. "Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on by fooling around with those stupid boys." His words go straight to your core as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his bed. "Take them off," he gestures to the last piece of clothing on your body.

You compel to his wish, stripping under his prying eyes while he lazily gets rid of his boots. His lips twitch in a smile when he sees the glistening mess he's made of you, promptly dragging you on top of him. Your hands lay flat on his exposed chest shortly before he switches positions, readjusting you on the middle of the bed.

"Joel, please just-" you whine when he keeps playing with your entrance, stretching you with his fingers. Your skin scorches with desire, knees weak from the growing heat on your lower body.

"Stop nagging, sweetheart," he grits through his own lust, his gaze impossibly dark. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Joel, I'm too worked up, I-" you gasp when he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that particular spot that made your toes curl. "Fuck..."

"Come on, baby." He ducks down to kiss the skin behind your ear and his beard tickles nicely. "It's just the two of us now, feel free to be as loud as you need to."

His pants are undone and hanging loosely on his hips, the image being so blatantly erotic that only managed to get you more aroused as you fumble to get rid of his shirt. He chuckles at your eagerness, shrugging it out of the way and haphazardly kicking off his jeans and underwear altogether, discarding them on the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You take a second to revel on his naked figure, his tanned skin, broad shoulders and sturdy chest, the marked collarbones and every noticeable mole. His hair is messy from your fingers, a thin layer of sweat sticks some curls to his temples as his wild, hungry eyes bask in the view of your sopping pussy when he parts your shaky legs further. But the moment of appreciation is brief, both of you being edged and spurred on.

He maneuvers a hand to your lower back and aligns your hips with his, watching the way your hole drips for him, wetting his bedsheets. You're a panting mess beneath him, lightly scratching his shoulder-blades and biting on your bottom lip, looking up at him doe-eyed and all splayed out for him to take. Joel wants to tell you just how badly he's longed for this— how he's been yearning to have you so achingly bad. But right now, feelings overrun his thoughts, especially after hearing his name spilling from your lips, begging for him to take you.

"Relax, darlin'." Joel teases your slit with the head of his cock, rubbing it along your sex and coating it with your slick. Your head tilts backwards, dipping on his pillows, small whines keep spilling from your mouth. "I won't go easy on you."

"Great, cause I don't want you to-" your slurred words get muffled by the sudden feeling of intrusion as he finally buries himself in your cunt, letting out a filthy, guttural groan.

You close your eyes, feeling lightheaded and staggered from the way he was filling you up so nicely, the stretch being a tad painful at first, but the kind of pain that could only ever feel good. Then your whole body quivers from head to toe.

"That's it, you can take it," he mutters, peppering kisses to your chin and collarbones as he bottoms out. "Fuck, you feel divine-" The tight, warm grip you welcome him with resembles nothing he's ever had before. This is new, this is you.

You bear down on his cock, enveloping your legs around his waist and lifting your hips to encourage him. He holds you down with a firm grip around your neck, starting to set a pace with his hips as he draws out and then back in slowly, roughly, making your back arch. Your erect nipples brush against his strong chest and create a delightful friction that has you moaning louder than you could've expected. You're amazed by the way he thrusts into you, somehow mindful to hit every right spot inside you —needless to say that it was something that others could hardly manage before—, his pubic hair tickles the skin below your belly button, sending shivers down your spine that prompt you to drag your nails down his back.

"Look," he indicates, despite your inability to even think straight. "Look," he repeats harshly, using the hand that was on your hips to tilt your head downwards, forcing you to stare at where your bodies connected. It was obscene, the wet noises of your pussy and skin clapping against skin sounding purely pornographic. "Look at the mess you're making."

"Joel, I-" you can't form sentences properly, all your attention being focused on how good he's making you feel. "I'm so close, for god's sake..."

"Lemme help with that," he speaks breathlessly, pining your leg over the crook of his elbow to make his thrusts deeper, more precise. You cry out in bliss, feeling the heat expanding from your stomach to your legs. "Yeah, you're close, I can fuckin' feel it- fuck..."

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his dick just right. He knows he's in too deep when you call out his name like it's the only word you can remember, when he wallows in the glorious view of your pretty face contorted in pleasure. He looses the grip on your neck and strokes your lower lip with his thumb, prodding you to keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. It's electrifying, a feverish kind of sensation that gratifies every nerve on your body.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, overcame by the intense feeling of euphoria that your body was providing. You realize in that moment that the reason why Joel could fill that void so easily was because he kept prioritizing you above him. Your pleasure was his, too.

"Jesus Christ, Joel-" you mewl when he abruptly pulls out, “… Worth the wait.”

He laughs shakily, kissing your lips shortly. "Turn around, sweetheart. I want to fuck you from behind."

With a buzzing dizziness, you follow his instruction. God, right now you'd do just about anything if he asked you to. You notice movement from his part and patiently wait with your butt up in the air for him to stuff you again; instead, you hear the familiar clicking sound of the Polaroid camera.

"You fucker," you chuckle, "did you just take a picture of my ass?"

"Couldn't help myself," he groans, caressing the soft flesh before lightly slapping it. "You look too damn gorgeous." The hit on your skin burns nicely and you can't hold back the gasp that escapes your lips.

"Shit- do that again..."

You can practically hear his smile when he talks, "You into that?" he repeats the action with a little more force and the pain sends a shock of pure pleasure between your legs, your own fluids dripping down your thighs. "F'course you are, I should've guessed with that attitude of yours."

He plays with your swollen pussy, enjoying your tiny moans and the way your legs tremble as you fist the sheets underneath you, burying your face on his pillow when he spanks you again— this time so hard that it probably left a mark. But before the sting washes away he takes the opportunity to enter you in one swift move, holding your hips steady and trailing his fingers along your spine.

"That's my sweet girl," he praises a midst, starting to grind his cock inside you. "Taking me like you were made for it."

This is way more intense, the angle allowing him to hit deeper, harsher. His gruff moans become more frequent as he speeds up his pace, letting you know just how good you were making him feel. The sensation was purely fantastic, melting every thought away and just leaving Joel Miller to fill you in every sense of the word. His hands are never still, roaming your responsive areas, caressing the most sensitive and always taking care of your aching clit.

You might cry from the overwhelming ecstasy— the way his tip constantly hits the depths of your cunt with each relentless thrust has you seeing stars. Joel gets a thrill from the way you can't seem to get enough of him either, throwing your hips back to meet his unwavering pace, clawing at the pillows and moaning helplessly, pushing him close to his climax.

"Joel, it's too much..." you mumble. "Please, I can't-"

He hunches over you, kissing your nape to ease the overpowering sensations, "Yes, you can. You're a big girl, you can take it." And then your vision goes blurry, all you're able to hear being his disjointed, lewd moans; all you can feel is his hard, hot body flushed to yours, his cock twitching inside you and the wetness of your own body. "That's it, give me another one, baby- fuuuck..."

The buildup is so strong you nearly collapse, feeling yourself tremble as he chases his orgasm, fucking you through yours. His fingers reach your bundle of nerves and apply barely any pressure, which has you coming undone in seconds, absolutely soaking his dick and the sheets beneath you, chanting his name like a prayer. A string of curses falls from his lips as he pulls out and quickly manhandles your fucked out self to lay on your back. He exhales sharply through his nose, spilling his load all over your stomach without even touching himself.

You both stay there for a while, catching your breath and looking intently at each other’s eyes before he rolls over, going limp beside you. You stare blankly at de ceiling, suddenly feeling aggressively aware of your sticky skin covered in sweat and cum, the numbness on your lower body that will surely feel sore in the morning and all the marks he's left dispersed on you. You feel satisfied, fulfilled even. Joy bubbles up your chest and comes out in form of a giggle, one you're unable to hold back.

"What?" he asks, turning his face towards you with a half-smile.

"I don't know, I just..." you shake your head, still laughing. "I don't know."

He chortles in disbelief, holding out a hand to take some tissues from the bedside drawer and going to swipe his mess off your tummy and inner thighs. "Shit, I think I might’ve just fucked the sense out of ya'."

Joel sets himself between your parted legs, laying the weight of his upper body on top of you, resting his chin on your chest, eyes boring into yours. He looks so young like this, despite the greying hair and the small wrinkles, his beautiful brown orbs sparkle ever so brightly under your attentive gaze.

"What will your dad say when he returns and finds out his only daughter has completely lost her mind?" he jokes, cradling you in his big arms.

"Come on," you roll your eyes playfully, "we both know that if I had been in my right mind since the beginning, I probably wouldn't be in your bed right now." He doesn't reply, but his smile doesn't fade either. Joel nuzzles his face on the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse zone briefly before closing his eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, softly massaging his scalp in utter silence.

The wind was howling outside, rustling the tree branches, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. You can feel Joel's heart beating against your ribs, his deep breaths fanning across your shoulder and his unique scent all around you, on you. In spite of the cold air, your naked bodies are warm enough to stay comfortably in this position, at least for a while— however, there's something deep inside you that doesn't want this moment to end.

"Hey," you call him lowly and he hums in response, "can we order pizza?"

He nods faintly, "Anything you want, honey."

Anything.

If only.

"I'll call," you say. "Any specific requests?"

"As long as there isn't any pineapple on it, we're fine." You glance down at him, almost appalled.

"You don't like pineapple on pizza?"

"No. That's disgusting, come on."

"Oh, grow up!" he opens his mouth to retort, but when he sees your dismayed expression he can merely bark a laugh that you get infected with.

"Order whatever you want," he whispers in your ear. "But you'll have to promise something."

"What's that?" you raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Say you'll stay," he murmurs, slightly hesitant. "Stay here and spend the night with me."

The proposal takes you by surprise, so much that you actually stopped breathing. You ponder wether if you could or you should; because, at the end, what would a night really mean? What could possibly change?

Nothing, right?

Besides, no one had to know.

(...)

A few moments later you're downstairs looking for your phone, wearing nothing other than his green flannel. Joel decided to take a shower while you ordered the food and you chose to walk around the house, paying attention to the little details you hadn't quite noticed before.

Now that you see it, there are plenty of horse images here and there. Very Texan of Joel, you can't deny. Lots of pictures of Sarah growing up, some of him and Tommy and a good deal with your dad. None of his ex-wife. In fact, there's no proof that she even existed. You decide not too think too hard about it, since it was none of your business after all.

You pour yourself a glass of water and wander your eyes across the amount of pills he usually takes. Anxiety pills, painkillers, vitamins. What could possibly be troubling this middle-aged man so bad? Again, you decide to turn a blind eye and simply pick up the phone, expecting a message from your dad to tell you he arrived in Boston well and safe. Instead, you find that your direct messages in social media have new requests. Curious, you open them to see what the fuzz was about.

Hi!

This is Will

I don't know if Sarah mentioned me...

I'm her English teacher, haha

I hope you don't find this creepy, your profile popped up in my 'people you may know' section and since Sarah said she wanted to introduce us, I thought I might just say hi 😉

Honestly, with everything that went down you had nearly forgotten about Sarah's 'you should hang out with people your age' speech. And now that you were stalking his profile, he appeared to be maybe a couple years older than you— handsome in a boyish, intelectual way, if that made sense. Apparently, he studied in New York too, and lived in Queens.

Hi!

Yeah, I reckon she did

What's up, Queens? :)

You don't really expect a reply, not giving much thought to anything in the moment. Though, an involuntary smile twitches your lips when there's a quick message that reads "Not much, Brooklyn" and the writing bubble underneath.

After all, having a friend in Austin wouldn't hurt.

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #the last of us au #smut

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buzzcutlip · 15 days

Text

Cracks and Gaps - The Waterfall (part II) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 6573 words

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother’s restaurant. As an editor, you can’t miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy. part I The Worst Day

A/N: The angst continues and morphs. This part is full of fashion, understanding and soft words. Thank you Amy @foreveraimingtowardsthesky and E @butchcarmy for giving me the confidence to write and to publish this :) (Also reader is reffered to as someone who blushes, in case you would like to know this ahead of deciding to read the story)

THE WATERFALL

You want so badly to forget the fight, but instead, you keep replaying it in your head over and over, until it feels like a movie you saw on TV or in a cinema. Like it wasn't really you Carmen was shouting at. You try to comfort yourself by imagining what you should have done in that moment—anything but nothing, like you actually did. But at least you stood up for yourself. That’s somehow comforting.

The way forward is to go—to leave. To remove yourself from the situation and find a new environment that has nothing to do with what happened. For the weekend, you take a long-postponed trip to Seattle. People envy you for traveling to fancy places for work, but to you, it’s just that—work. This time, though, you’re unusually eager to get on the plane to another state. Nothing in Washington is going to remind you of Carmen Berzatto, you hope. The plan is to try a luxury wellness retreat for women in tech and business at Salish Lodge by Snoqualmie Falls. You’re not in tech or business, but the place paid the magazine to review the program, so you couldn’t really say no. There’s a "pillow menu for the best night’s rest" and a "Canna-bliss CBD natural ritual" option, so you’re not complaining. To escape the busy networking event on Saturday, you sneak out and walk to the top of the falls, take a deep inhale—just as you practiced during that morning's yoga class—and shout into the void, letting the roar of the water swallow it all.

There’s so much pent-up energy in you that you start to worry you’re scaring all the Zen businesswomen around you. During a workshop, you realize that most of them are your age, or even younger. They have careers, partners, and some even have kids. It sucks, being reminded of what society expects from you when you’re thirty.

When you get back on Tuesday, the office clerk tells you that someone was looking for you on Monday. Not thinking much of it, you sit down at your desk to start working on your piece about the trip. It’s scorching outside—concrete city in July is unforgiving—and you’re grateful for the office's functioning AC.

The next time you check the clock, it’s already noon. You stand up to stretch and grab the empty mug on your desk. It was a silly gift from your parents when you first got this job—white with a black handle and a funny picture of a green pickle with a face that says "It’s kinda a big dill." As foolish as it sounds, drinking coffee from this mug always makes you smile.

As soon as you step out of your office, Dasha, the desk clerk, waves you over. Even sitting, she’s tall, her head and upper body towering proudly over the counter. She always wears amazing glasses.

“I love your glasses,” you say, complimenting her tortoiseshell frames.

“Thanks,” Dasha smiles. “You have a visitor. I was just about to call your desk.”

The blood in your veins seems to stop. You turn your head toward the guest sofa by the elevators. There’s no doubt who the visitor is.

“He said his name was Caramel—Carmel? Sorry!” Dasha fumbles with the name, blushing and nervously fiddling with her pen. “I should’ve written it down!”

Of course, it’s Carmen.

“You’re fine,” you assure her with a quick smile. Taking a very, very deep breath, you ask sweetly, “Could you send Caramel to meeting room three?”

‘I’m so Zen,’ you tell yourself as you walk to the kitchen, giving Dasha and Carmen a few minutes. If you’re going to meet him, it’s going to be on your terms, you decide standing by the fridge. Or, hiding by the fridge?

Wearing a summery yet elegant dress, heeled clogs, and your hair up, you look nothing like you ever did at The Bear. You’re pleased to discover, just before opening the door to meeting room three, that the tight feeling in your stomach isn’t just nerves—it’s also a bit of excitement and confidence.

The frosted glass door closes behind you, and you watch as Carmen’s eyes land on you. He’s already seated in one of the uncomfortable white plastic chairs, and now he’s looking at you. His gaze drops to your legs, where the frilled hem of your dress stops just above your knees, then to the mug you’re still holding, though it’s empty.

“Hey,” he greets you, shifting as if he might stand up. You sit across from him, setting the mug on the table.

“Hi,” you reply, curious about what he’s going to say. You’re fairly sure he’s here to apologize, probably sent by Natalie and Sydney—maybe even Richie—to make things right. You had texted Natalie to say you needed to focus on your "real" job as an excuse to avoid going back to the restaurant. Now, you wish you had told her the truth.

“I brought you something,” Carmen says, awkwardly pulling out a paper bag. “Thought you might be hungry.” He hesitates, then adds, “It’s smoked mozzarella mezzelune.” When you don’t make a move to take it, he places the bag back in his lap.

Leaning back in your chair, you fight the urge to cross your arms. You probably feel as out of place as he does right now—but you’re not about to let him see that.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” he says, glancing nervously around the room. “I just wanted to bring the food.”

You blink a few times, wanting to make him even more uncomfortable. “You could’ve left it at reception,” you say calmly.

Carmen rubs a hand over his face and purses his lips. “About before—the recipe. It was all bullshit.”

You grimace. That doesn’t sound like an apology. You're starting to lose faith that Carmen is even capable of one. Disappointed and at a loss for words, you scoff, and Carmen’s eyes dart back to yours. He looks almost offended, which really pisses you off.

“Bullshit,” you repeat, your voice steady. “I’m not interested in this, Carmen,” you say, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go to hell with your food.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the paper bag. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible at what? Apologizing? Well, it’s past time you learned.”

The urge to shout at him is strong. You want him to feel as humiliated as you did. But you won’t. He spent his whole life in an environment where people yelled for different reasons—or no reason at all. That’s not your style.

Not expecting anything else from him, you push your chair back, the screeching noise cutting through the tense moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Carmen suddenly stands as well, his chair scraping even louder, your heart jumps. You gasp, nearly sick from the fright.

“I—I also came to tell you that I’ll do it,” he stammers. “I’ll do the interview.”

You study him for a moment. Is he serious?

“This isn’t what I want, Carmen,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your wrist. “Why now?”

“I talked to Syd and the crew. It’s the right thing to do. Right for the restaurant.”

He’s sincere, as far as you can tell. His eyes look huge, and that tortured artist look is back. A martyr. How much does he enjoy playing that role?

“Please, don’t ruin my Zen,” you say quietly, not wanting to return to how you felt a few days ago.

“I’m not interested anymore,” you add, praying Rob won’t find out and fire you. “Dasha will see you out. Or you can take the elevator.” The condescension in your voice is clear, but you’re not sure if Carmen even notices.

—

For the next two days, you decide to work from home and mope. Calling Becky isn’t an option because she would probably go talk to Natalie and tell her everything. The feelings of anger and humiliation are mixing within you, and you don’t know which one makes you more miserable.

When you get back to work, Rob calls you over to his office. Shit, you think.

You walk in with a smile and confidence—fake it till you make it. The usual clutter of papers and magazines is still there, but Rob himself seems unusually animated, almost buzzing with excitement. He waves you in, barely able to contain a grin. “Take a seat,” he says, his tone a little too eager.

You sit down cautiously, trying to gauge what's coming. Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and you can see he’s practically bursting to share something. “So, I got a call this morning,” he starts, and you immediately feel a sense of dread creeping in. “It was from Natalie, the manager over at The Bear.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay composed. You nod, prompting him to continue. “She told me that Carmen Berzatto—yes, that Carmen—wants to do the interview and a photoshoot,” Rob says.

“A—a photoshoot?” you stammer. “Is this the same Carmen Berzatto?” God, you couldn’t imagine Carmen wanting to be a center of attention like that. He would probably die right on the spot.

Rob ignores your snarky remark—as he often does—leaning even closer, his excitement palpable. “And get this—he specifically requested that you be the one to do it.”

He pauses, waiting for your reaction, clearly expecting you to share in his enthusiasm. But all you feel is a mix of shock and apprehension. “Rob, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, too caught up in the moment.

“I mean, this is huge!” he exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair. “The Bear is blowing up, and an exclusive like this could improve all the important numbers for us. And he wants you—he’s insisting on it! Do you have any idea how big this could be for your career?”

You do, of course. An exclusive interview with Carmen could put you on the map in a major way. But all you can think about is that last encounter in the meeting room, the awkwardness, the unresolved tension, and the anger laced in bitterness you thought you had finally let go of. Rob notices your hesitation and softens his tone, though his excitement is still simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I know there’s some history here,” he says, a bit more gently. “But this is a massive opportunity. And honestly, if Carmen wants you specifically, there’s something there. He’s not the type to just pick someone randomly, right?”

You shake your head and swallow hard, your mind racing. The offer is tempting, the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around often. But it also means facing Carmen again, reopening wounds you thought were starting to heal but ignoring the issue—the healthy way, you think bitterly. But also, you would need to contact Nat and Sydney again about your place in The Bear, which you’ve been putting on hold for a long time now, in internet terms.

Rob senses your inner turmoil and leans back, giving you some space. “I’m not going to pressure you, but I really think you should consider it. We could make this the cover story. It’s that big.”

The room is silent for a moment as Rob waits for your response, his eagerness practically vibrating off him. You’re absolutely sure that if you don’t agree to this project, Rob will ask another editor, or even hire a freelancer. As much as you want to be offended a bit longer, letting it simmer inside you, you also want to do this with The Bear staff. As Natalie must know—this is all her doing, after all, you suppose—the visibility for the restaurant is going to be huge.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Then, you make your decision. “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Rob’s face lights up instantly. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, practically beaming. “I knew you’d come through. This is going to be incredible, I can feel it.”

His enthusiasm reassures you, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel excited, too.

Rob starts rattling off details, already planning how to make this the magazine’s biggest feature yet. “We’ll do a full spread—interview, photoshoot, the works. We can even tie it into some of the broader trends in the culinary world. This could be huge!”

You nod, letting his words wash over you, but part of your mind is still focused on the impending meeting with Carmen. You pretty much sent him to hell. How will you handle this?

“Let’s get the ball rolling,” Rob says, snapping you back to the present. “I’ll coordinate with Natalie to set up the interview. We’ll get the photographer involved, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Thanks, Rob,” you say, managing a small smile, not mentioning that you will get in touch with Natalie too. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the hype.”

“I have no doubt,” Rob replies confidently. “This is going to be something special.”

As you walk out of his office, the reality of what you just agreed to starts to settle in. You’re going to see Carmen again, face to face, in a setting that’s as personal as it is professional. It’s also a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle it—and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

The nerves are still there, but so is a newfound resolve. This is your story to tell, and you’re ready to own it.

---

Naturally, you had to tone down your emotions in Rob’s office, as he didn’t know anything about your work you had done for The Bear or the situation with the chef himself. The need to show off your professional skills, both to Rob and Carmen, won. Natalie nearly pisses herself—her words, not yours!—when you confirm the news over the phone. She shares with you that it actually was Carmen’s idea to do the interview, supported by Sydney and Richie and Tina and everyone. The shoot not so much, but he’s gonna do it too, she says, and you can hear the mischievous smile in her voice.

The photoshoot is set to happen in a studio your magazine usually uses for smaller productions, as it’s only Carmen you need to get. Rob informed you that he had sent a photographer to The Bear earlier, so the photos from the place, as well as photos of the team, are already done. You know this from Natalie and Sydney already, who thanked you probably more than a million times for “arranging this,” but in front of Rob, you play guileless.

It’s awfully quiet in the room when you enter, the swinging door swooshing quietly behind you. No wonder. The shoot had to be planned on Sunday—the only day Carmen’s not at work, which has been met with not very enthusiastic responses. There’s no music playing, which is very unusual.

The studio has high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light. It obviously used to be a factory, now rebuilt into a fancy, modern building with that historic edge. You’ve been here a couple of times before.

You spot the photographer, Elena, adjusting her equipment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles at you and you give each other a quick hug. With a shoot this small, there’s no one doing production, as you’re using the magazine’s regular talents. As much as you want to stall, you know that Carmen must be sitting on the make-up chair, very probably freaking out. It’s a bit unpleasant, but the fact that he’s more uncomfortable than you here makes you feel better, helps you calm your nerves down. The situation is similar to the one in the office a few weeks back, and you realize it’s more your confidence than maliciousness.

Your steps echo as you walk around the corner to the make-up and hair spot by one of the big windows. Carmen’s just getting up from the high chair, his posture screaming uneasiness.

“Hi Margot,” you say to the make-up artist with a piercing in her eyebrow. She’s younger than you, so you get why she thinks that the 00’s are so cool, since that’s probably when she was born.

Then the spotlight is on Carmen and you, and it takes you both to the moment when you approached him outside of The Bear months ago.

Carmen stares at you without blinking, probably relieved to see a familiar face, and also terrified, because it’s you. It’s crystal clear he doesn’t know what is appropriate for him to do in this setting.

Deciding quickly, you move towards him, giving him a similar hug as to Elena—quick, light, and impersonal. When you feel his palm press against your lower back fleetingly, the touch immediately makes you shiver, unfortunately not completely in a bad way, but you don’t have the time to ponder.

“I’ve just fixed his hair a bit and covered some bits here and there,” Margot explains, already cleaning her brushes. You notice immediately that Carmen’s curls are more defined and softer looking. He also appears less tired, but that’s surely due to Margo’s concealer magic.

“Thank you, Margo, that’s perfect,” you say as Carmen stands unmoving.

“Carmen just needs to moisturize more,” she adds cheekily, giving Carmen a wink over her shoulder.

You suppress a laugh. You’re absolutely sure Carmen has no idea what moisturizing or face cream means. He’s as lost here as you had been in the Bear's kitchen.

“Uhm—” Carmen makes an unsure noise, his hand reaching up to his hair, but Margo interrupts him:

“No touching!” she says hurriedly. “Not until the end of the shoot.”

You laugh for real now.

“How is it looking, guys?” Elena calls from the other side of the studio, checking on you.

“We’re fine. Carmen’s about to get changed, so you can get ready, El.”

You turn back to Carmen, who’s checking the studio with a mix of hesitance and curiosity. He’s dressed in light blue denim—unusual—and a gray jumper you’ve seen on him before.

“I’ll help,” you assure him. As the stylist is absent, you promised Rob that you would give a hand on the shoot. Besides, some selected garments are meant to be ready, plus you know they had asked Carmen to bring some of his stuff. “Follow me.”

Disappearing behind a screen that creates a changing space with clothes and steamers, you come properly face to face.

“Hey,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Your voice remains steady despite the slight flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he replies, offering a small, almost uncertain smile. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. “This is… different.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gesturing to the setup around you. “But it’s all about making you look good.”

Carmen chuckles softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “No pressure, right?”

You smile, unable to play the Ice Queen anymore, and for a moment, the awkwardness between you dissipates. “Let’s get started.”

Carmen glances at you, seemingly reassured by your calm demeanor, even if he’s out of his element. You walk over to the clothes neatly hung on a rack. Immediately, you spot the cool embroidered Bode jackets, simple Carhartt pieces, more tailored Ami Paris clothes. There’s Maharishi and PAM too, probably included by the stylist based on your comment that Carmen likes the workwear style, though they are a bit too colorful.

You tell Carmen a little about every brand, trying to get him out of his head and focus on something else. To give him a taste of the world of magazines, media, and fashion. Similar to what he had done for you in the restaurant—when he was in a mood to talk about his dishes, ideas about combining ingredients, and crafting new flavors.

“What about this?” you suggest, handing him a soft, tan brown Carhartt WIP suede jacket. You know that Carmy knows Carhartt because you’ve seen him in their clothes, and you also know that he’s a big denim head. This garment will also help him not to feel as exposed in front of the camera at the start.

Carmen takes the jacket, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s analyzing every stitch. He slips it on, and you can’t help but note how well it fits him. Natalie nailed the sizes of his clothes perfectly.

You go wait for him at the spot that Elena has set up, Margo already waiting there too, in case any adjustments to the hair are needed during the shoot. When Carmen finally walks over, Elena gives him a reassuring nod as he takes his place in front of the camera, hands in the jacket’s pockets. You watch from the sidelines, a little amused but mostly impressed at how the whole scene has come together. The large windows bathe the room in soft, natural light, casting shadows that play off the industrial vibe of the studio.

Carmen is nervous—anyone can see that—but he stands tall, doing his best to follow Elena’s quiet directions. You watch the laptop screen from the corner of your eye, where all photos appear after Elena presses the shutter, frame after frame. Carmen’s unease is apparent, and for a second you wonder if this really was such a good idea after all.

After another five painful minutes, it’s clear that it’s not getting better. You share a quick look with Elena and say, “Could you put some music on, girls?” Then, turning to Carmen, you add, “I think we can change the outfit now,” you say easily.

You go back to the styling corner, Carmen following you. When you’re both hidden again, you glance at Carmen whose whole body is stiff, discomfort oozing off him.

“This is really not so bad,” you start, but Carmen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would drive Margo mad if she saw it.

“I’m a chef, not… this,” he says, gesturing to the setting. “I’m not supposed to be in front of cameras, doing interviews, pretending like—like I fucking know what I’m doing. This is all bullshit.”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reach him. You’ve seen him under pressure before, but this is different. This isn’t about the restaurant; this is about him feeling out of place, exposed.

“Carmen, you’re right. You’re a chef, and a damn good one,” you say, keeping your tone calm and reassuring. It’s strange to be this way for a person who you’ve only ever seen confident and sure, except for what happened in the office two weeks ago.

“But this is part of it, too,” you carry on, trying to catch Carmen’s eye. “People want to know the person behind the food. They want to see the passion, the creativity. Even the struggle. That’s what makes the Bear special—it’s you.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with doubt. “But what if… what if they see through it? What if they realize I’m just faking it?”

You step closer, close enough to reach out, but you don’t. Instead, you offer him a small, genuine smile. “Then they’ll see that you’re human, just like the rest of us. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect, Carmen.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” you reply gently. “And if you’re not feeling it, we can stop. We don’t have to do this. We could just use the pictures from the Bear.”

Carmen opens his eyes and looks at you, something shifting in his expression. It’s still a mix of fear and doubt, but there’s also a flicker of determination. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm with deadly certainty.

The next moment, “1972” by The Smashing Pumpkins starts playing from the speakers in the studio.

Carmen surprises you by taking the initiative and choosing the clothes by himself. You turn when he starts shedding the jacket. Instead, you hang it back on the rack, needing something to do. When the rustling stops, you face the chef again. He’s wearing a pair of vintage Levi’s and a striped sailor crew neck. He looks good in the dark colors.

“Yeah?” he checks, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah,” you nod, hoping it’s not obvious how much you like what you’re seeing. “Yeah.”

Gathering your courage, you reach to roll the sleeves up, exposing Carmen’s forearms, then move up to straighten the seams on his shoulders. You catch his gaze and this time, there’s a flicker of something—perhaps gratitude, or just recognition that you’re both navigating unfamiliar territory. Not just here, on the set, but also between you. You’re discovering another layer of your relationship, perhaps sensing that at this moment, you have the upper hand.

Carmen's expression softens from that tight apprehension to something more open, more trusting. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then looks down at himself, as if trying to imagine how he’ll appear in front of the camera now.

You step back slightly, giving him space, but also giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The tension between you feels different than before, less about awkwardness and more like a mutual acknowledgment that neither of you has the playbook for this. And yet, you’re figuring it out together.

“Here,” you point Carmen to a big mirror in the corner, and he checks the reflection.

“I think I like it,” he says after a moment, and you give him a thumbs up, the silly gesture completely honest.

Back on set, with the music playing, the atmosphere lightens. Carmen doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in the way he carries himself. He seems more settled in his skin, the dark colors enhancing his quiet confidence. Elena notices the difference immediately; she barely needs to give direction this time. He’s still far from relaxed, but there’s an authenticity in the way he stands, his gaze steady.

The photos start to reflect that subtle transformation, and you feel a tremendous sense of relief as you watch them pop up on the screen. Watching him, you feel an odd sense of pride. This isn’t just about Carmen being in front of the camera; it’s about him facing something that makes him uncomfortable and pushing through it, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this position. If you’re completely honest, you’re surprised that he’s willing to go through with this.

Elena seems pleased, giving Carmen a reassuring nod after every few clicks of the camera. When she finally steps back and lowers her lens, you see Carmen visibly exhale, tension easing from his frame.

“That was good,” Elena praises, glancing at the screen. “We’ve got some solid shots here.”

Carmen looks over, seemingly a little surprised, like he wasn’t quite sure it had gone as well as she said. “See?” you say, nudging him gently. “You nailed it.”

Carmen gives you a small, genuine smile this time. “Maybe,” he says, scratching the back of his head, messing up his styled hair.

After the third outfit change, Rob shows up, as planned, alongside the magazine’s publisher. As this had been arranged before the shoot, you hope it doesn’t throw Carmen off balance too much.

Luckily, Carmen slips into his professional chef mode as Rob greets him, calling him “Chef,” and thanking him sincerely for the opportunity. Rob shoots you a happy grin over Carmen’s shoulder.

The final outfit is dark gray tailored wool pants and a simple white tee, similar to what you know as Carmen’s daily uniform—probably why he chose it. You suggest adding a nice leather belt with a silver clasp to complete the look. Elena positions Carmen on a high stool this time, changing angles and perspectives.

For the first time today, Carmen looks truly at ease, despite the additional onlookers. You know Rob is looking for the perfect shot for next month’s cover.

Elena captures a few more shots before lowering her camera. “That’s it! We’re done,” she announces, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Carmen, you did amazing.”

Carmen slides off the stool, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the weight of the shoot lifts. He looks over at you, a small, almost sheepish grin playing at his lips. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Told you. You nailed it.”

Rob joins you and Carmen. “Chef, you were great today,” he says, clapping Carmen on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see the final shots.”

Carmen nods, clearly more comfortable now that the shoot is over. “Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”

Rob turns to you with a grin. “You too. Thanks for making this happen.”

You nod, feeling a bit of pride at how smoothly things turned out. You’re careful not to jinx it—after all, the interview is still looming in the second half of the day, after you’ve had something to eat.

For the interview, you and Carmen sit down in a corner of the studio that’s been set up to look more intimate—two chairs facing each other with a small table in between. Your notebook rests on your lap. Elena is supposed to take a few shots of the formal interview, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. Very nervous.

You did an extensive amount of research and preparation for the article, keeping in mind your personal history with Carmen. He’s not just another personality you’re interviewing. He’s a guy you once knew. A chef at whose restaurant you had worked, or volunteered. These facts leave you feeling like you’re balancing on a thin rope, and you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the interview. In the end, you decide to let Carmen set the tone. He could keep it personal or strictly professional.

“How did you enjoy the shoot?” you ask with a mischievous smile, starting off lightly. You don’t need to check your notes for that.

Carmen smiles, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “It was a new, interesting experience. I’m afraid I wasn’t very good, but I hope you’ll be able to find a couple of decent images.”

“And one excellent for the cover,” you add, careful not to interrupt him.

Out of habit and nervousness, you adjust the recorder on the table between you, making sure it’s on. Then you glance at your notes.

“When we met in Copenhagen ten years ago, you were staging at Noma. How do you look back on those times—when you were at the beginning of your journey but already experiencing the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants?”

It takes a moment before Carmen responds. “I was very young and very lucky. I took every opportunity that came my way, worked hard—harder than most—to learn and grow, and hopefully to stand out.” Carmen’s words are measured, careful. “Noma was my first experience outside the US, and it was intimidating. But also—it’s an incredibly peaceful and inspiring place. I loved every moment there. It also helped that I knew someone familiar in Copenhagen. That definitely made me feel less alone.”

You catch yourself staring, a warm feeling spreading through your chest—liquid heat filling every corner. You imagine this is what drinking Felix Felicis must feel like. You smile, and Carmen returns it with a quick smile of his own.

Clearing your throat, you prepare for the real questions, the ones that have to live up to everyone’s expectations—Rob’s, Carmen’s, and mostly your own. As the interview progresses, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The initial tension has faded, replaced by a sense of collaboration. You’re both here for the same reason: to tell a story that matters.

You ask Carmen about his journey in the culinary world, the chefs he’s worked with, and the chefs he looks up to. You discuss diligence, innovation, and respect. You briefly touch on the topic of Michael and Carmen’s family, letting him decide how much he wants to share.

“You can be more or less fortunate with the starting position you get in life. That’s out of your hands. But the rest is in your hands. There’s no point in thinking about how others might have it easier—it will only paralyze you, trust me. You have to focus on what you can do, what you can change. Take the little you have and turn it into everything you have. Be proud of it. Stand up for yourself. Value yourself, but also others.”

His words are thoughtful, and you can tell he’s reflecting deeply.

There’s a pause, and you realize he’s waiting for your next question. You nod, acknowledging the weight of his words. Carmen answered everything with a mix of humility and passion, offering you—and the audience—glimpses of the person behind the chef: the struggles, the doubts, the relentless drive to succeed.

You glance at your notes, then back at him.

“That’s it. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a glimpse of your life and The Bear’s story with Taste readers,” you say, finishing with a cheeky smirk, hoping Carmen knows you’re sincere.

Carmen chuckles at your tone. “Thank you for having me,” he replies, smiling with that familiar mix of modesty and quiet strength. “It was a pleasure to talk. Hopefully, your readers won’t be too bored.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “I doubt that. If anything, they’ll be more intrigued than ever. You’ve got a story people want to hear—and not just about the food.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "Well, that’s good to hear."

You stand up and reach out to shake his hand, a gesture of thanks and closure. He takes it, his grip firm but gentle. Then Rob approaches with more handshakes and thanks, joined by Mrs. Sullivan—the publisher. You quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb their networking, and head over to thank Elena and Margot, who have already packed up their gear while you were interviewing Carmen.

“You guys are cute together,” Margot teases, winking at you. “I didn’t know you actually knew him knew him.”

You absolutely do blush, and Elena adds, “Totally,” giving you a sly grin. “He IS cute.”

“You should see him in the kitchen,” you grumble, shoving your notebook into your tote bag to hide your flushed face.

Suddenly, Carmen appears next to you, having parted ways with Rob and Mrs. Sullivan, who likely have better things to do on a Sunday. “You did good,” he says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as if offering reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

Your chest warms again with that liquid heat, a mix of pride and gratitude blooming. You offer him one last, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Carmen,” you reply softly.

“Actually,” he begins, looking nervous again, hands on his hips, “I—I wanted to talk to you. If you have time now?”

He glances back at Rob, but the man is nowhere to be seen, already gone. Carmen nods, seeming relieved.

“Lead the way.”

—

The weather’s been sweltering lately, the sun heating up the city’s concrete walls, asphalt roads, and stone pavements until it feels like being in a big kiln. Luckily, the coffee shop has air conditioning, which both Carmen and you welcome. They are offering unusual caffeine drinks—most of them including something fruity and milky. Carmen orders a Coke with ice without checking the menu, and you go for an iced blueberry matcha latte.

“Thank you for—” Carmen says when he’s seated properly, across from you once again.

“Really, that’s enough of the thanks,” you wave him off, but Carmen talks over you, “For respecting that I wanna keep some things private. During the interview.”

“Ah,” you nod slowly. “You know, normally I would send all the questions for authorization first,” you tell him truthfully, stirring your drink with the thin paper straw, mixing the green matcha with the milk froth and the purple syrup. “I wanted to be a bit nasty.”

It’s Carmen’s turn to slowly nod, once. “I see,” he says. “I’m not surprised, honestly.”

You fiddle with the collar of your cotton blouse nervously.

“I appreciate that you had my back today,” Carmen continues. “It means a lot to me, you know?”

Not used to hearing kind words from Carmen, you find it hard to look at him directly, so you keep staring into your drink instead. “I think I do.”

As if sensing your hesitation, Carmen gives you a second before he asks:

“So, you have a thing for clothes, huh? Fashion, I mean.”

“As you do,” you shoot back playfully but honestly.

“I guess I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of it… I really liked some of the clothes today. It was nice to try something new. I’m not very good at new things,” he muses. “I liked the dress you wore in your office the other day. You looked—different,” Carmen adds uncertainly, playing with the napkin under the sweaty glass.

“I don’t wear dresses very often,” you stammer out, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “And in the restaurant, I wanted to be in something that can get dirty. So… not too fancy clothes.”

Carmen notices how caught off guard you are right now.

“I wanted to bring up the topic of what happened at your work,” he explains slowly, hesitantly. “And what happened at The Bear before that… A lot of the aggression comes from my own frustration. And I shouldn’t take it out on other people. Like I said, there’s no excuse for it.”

You squirm in your seat, nervous to talk about the topic out loud for the first time. “It’s hard, Carm. First, you pretend you don’t know me. Then you barely talk to me. Then I feel like we’re actually starting to get along well, but you accuse me of this huge nonsense. All the while, I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t know how to respond to kindness.”

Your eyes fill up with tears, and you have to blink a couple of times to chase them away. You take a deep breath, your chest expanding with it. Carmen’s sitting still on the stool, looking like a schoolboy who had misbehaved during recess.

“Be kind to kind,” you say simply, spreading your hands, your eyebrows raising.

Carmen chuckles, sounding very self-deprecating, scratching his nose. “I’m working on it.”

He might think you’ll let it slide. You won’t. “Promise,” you press, urgent. “Promise me.”

His eyes meet yours, and he says it. “I promise.” Then once more, in a stronger voice: “I promise. And I’m sorry.” And your heart breaks for him because you know he’s never known much kindness.

“Deal.” To keep your hands occupied, you take out your chewing gum, wrapping it in an empty sugar packet. Then you raise your iced latte in a mock toast, taking a first sip of the drink.

“Just... be careful with the 'nasty' part,” Carmen says with a slight grin, breaking the tension. “I don’t think either of us needs more of that.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll try to keep the nastiness in check.”

Carmen smirks, shaking his head as he relaxes back into his chair. “I appreciate that.”

#took me long enough!#cracks and gaps #my fic #my writing #carmy berzatto #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #carmen x reader #carmen x you #carmy x fem!reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzattto #carmen berzatto x you

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months

Note

No ghostface. Mindy invites reader and the whole group to spend the weekend at their family’s cabin in the woods. No mansion cabin, something small. That means your ex, Chad, is also going to be there. Him and Tara spend a lot of time together so you assume they’re a thing and Chad knows that you have a new boyfriend, but you broke up with him a few days before the trip (said another girl’s name in bed or something equally shitty) and Mindy insisted you come so you wouldn’t be sad in your dorm

Request: all weekend. You can’t sleep on the first night so you get up and end up alone with Chad in the kitchen and…things happen

Two longer requests in the same week? Am I back? (I'm trying to get through the requests I got in January first, be patient with me!)

Warnings: 18+, mention of cheating, p + v, public sex (kinda but not really)

—

‘’Out of the way! I really need to pee!’’ Mindy shouted, keys in hands and making a run for the door.

You chuckled at her antics. A part of you was questioning if she actually had to pee or if it was a trick to get away from unloading the car.

Chad unlocked the trunk and you ducked under his arm to grab your bags.

The cabin was nothing fancy like you see in movies. Just a regular family cabin — small and cozy. Mindy said their grandpa built it in the 70s, which explained the retro ambiance. Everything was mismatched, yet went perfectly together.

To avoid any bickering, the sleeping arrangements had been settled before arriving. The cabin had two bedrooms — one of them had two single beds — and a pull-out couch. Mindy and Anika were taking the master bedroom, you and Tara the twins' old bedroom, and Chad got the short stick and had to share the pull-out with Ethan. They were roommates, so it wasn’t weird.

It was already late afternoon when you got to the cabin, so you didn’t have much time for anything other than unpacking before getting started on dinner.

‘’Where’s Chad?’’ Ethan asked, not seeing him in the kitchen.

Mindy, who was chopping potatoes, rolled her eyes. ‘’Probably hiding to get away from helping make dinner. He always does it at home. He mysteriously disappears, then ‘surprise’ he’s back when all the chores are finished.’’

‘’You’re wrong, babe,’’ Anika chimed in, correcting her girlfriend. ‘’He left to get some wood with Tara.’’

Of course he went with Tara.

After dinner, you went to your room to change into pajamas. While looking through your bags, you realized that Jason’s bracelet broke and had fallen from your wrist, mirroring the state of your relationship. In a few weeks, you would have found it funny, but for now it only brought tears to your eyes.

Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry on this trip.

As if she knew, Mindy popped in the doorway. ‘’What’s taking you so long, we’re— Are you crying?’’

You wiped your face, erasing all traces of incriminating tears. ‘’No.’’

‘’Liar.’’ She sat beside you on the bed and pulled you in a hug, knowing all about Jason. ‘’Stop thinking about him and come watch a movie with us. Uncle Randy had the best collection of VHS tapes,’’ Mindy said, trying to get your mind off him. ‘’I’m sure we can find one where the cheating asshole gets his head chopped.’’

A small smile drew on your lips. You couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

You turned over and tried to fall asleep for the fifth time, but it was pointless. All you could think about was Jason and that girl from Phi Iota Mu. Pushing the quilt to the end of the bed, you got up and walked as quietly as you could into the kitchen, trying to not wake anyone.

‘’Can’t sleep either?’’ someone whispered.

Startled, you cursed under your breath. ‘’Are you trying to kill me?’’

Chad laughed. ‘’Can’t handle a little jumpscare?’’ He was leaning against the counter and snacking on the home-made cookies Anika had brought. ‘’Want one?’’

You accepted the cookie, breaking off a piece but not eating it yet. ‘’Why are you awake?’’

‘’Ethan moves a lot when he sleeps,’’ Chad explained, scrunching his face in annoyance. ‘’He kicked my back three times with his knee and elbowed me in the face. I don’t know how I’m gonna put up with him all weekend.’’

You glanced at the couch where Ethan shifted underneath the blanket like a sleeping restless child. ‘’Why didn’t you ask to share with Tara?’’

A frown creased your midnight partner’s face. ‘’Why would I want to share a bed with Tara?’’

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact as you continued to eat your cookie. ‘’I don’t know. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. I assumed that—’’

Chad sighed, interrupting and correcting. ‘’There’s nothing between me and Tara,’’ he said, his eyes on you like he was making a promise. ‘’It’s not like that. We’ve been friends since we were kids — she’s like family.’’

You nodded, continuing eating your cookie in silence in the dim light of the overhead stove light.

Minutes passed, neither you or Chad talking. Surprisingly, your mind didn’t drift where it shouldn’t. It was peaceful.

Until the silence was broken.

‘’I didn’t want to ask while the others were there, but I know something is clouding your mind. We’ve dated long enough for me to know your body language. I’m probably not the person you’d choose to confide in, but if you want to talk, I’m here.’’ Chad’s gaze softened as he looked at you, making sure you knew that he meant it.

When you think of a person to pour your heart to, your ex boyfriend is not the first one in line, but the ache within pushed the words past your lips. ‘’You were right about Jason.’’

Then, tears started flowing.

It didn't take long for Chad to understand.

Without saying a word, he stepped in and pulled you into a hug. It’s been months since he held you like that, yet your bodies still molded perfectly together. You rested your head on his chest, letting the tears flow freely as they wetted his shirt.

‘’I should have listened to you,’’ you cried into his chest, guilt and regret filling you although you weren’t the one who cheated.

You thought Chad’s warning about his teammate’s antics was him being jealous, that he had said this so you wouldn't get with someone else. Maybe a part was, but Jason had a reputation for cheating on his girlfriends. He bragged about his hookups in the locker rooms and at practice all the time.

Chad loosened his hold and lifted your chin, using his thumb to wipe your tears. ‘’Next time I see him, I’ll—’’

‘’Please don’t,’’ you said, teary eyes looking up at him. ‘’It’s gonna draw attention to the situation and I don’t want to become a campus gossip. I just…want to forget him.’’

Although he really wanted to punch right now, he respected your wish. Nothing was said about not giving him a nasty glare at practice on Monday, though.

‘’I can help you with that.’’ Seconds after the words were out, Chad’s eyes widened when he realized how it sounded. ‘’Shit, not— I mean watching movies or going for a walk, not…sex.’’

You could see the embarrassment on his face, truly not meaning to say that.

What if you were interested in this method? What is it that they say again? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

You wouldn’t get with a stranger — Tinder hookups were always disastrous. But Chad didn't sound like a bad idea. He was caring and generous in bed, you always loved how tall he was and how he would manhandle you. He also had a very nice body.

‘’What if that’s what I want?’’ You moved your hand up his chest, your eyes catching Chad’s.

‘’A-are you sure?’’ he asked. He would never take advantage of your vulnerability to satisfy his dick.

You nodded, reached the back of his neck to pull him down to your level. ‘’I’ve never been more sure of something.’’ You ended your sentence with his kiss, bringing his lips over yours.

The next minutes were a mess of kissing and fumbling with clothes while trying to be as quiet as possible. It wasn’t easy when Chad’s thick fingers were pushing in and out of you at a toe-curling pace, but the walls of the cabin were thin and Ethan was still sleeping on the pull-out couch…literally a few feet away.

He bit back a groan when you squeezed his fingers, your arousal covering them as you gripped and mouthed at his shoulder, trying to muffle any sounds. Being quiet during sex was never something you mastered.

‘’I almost forgot how tight you feel,’’ Chad hissed, replacing his fingers with his cock and slowly filling you up.

You crushed your lips together again, your hands exploring his arms, his neck, his back, his shoulders as he began to move his hips, drawing gradually out of you and inching smoothly back in over and again. It was a frustrating pace — and felt more like making love than casual sex —, but fuck it felt good.

Chad truly was a good lay.

Soon enough your legs began to ache from the height difference, but he gripped your thighs to hoist you up. You wrapped them around his waist and the slight change caused Chad’s cock to hit deeper, eliciting a moan from you which you prayed no one heard.

Once Chad came with a choked noise of pleasure, he set you down on the counter and you stood there for a moment, catching your breaths.

‘’What’s the asshole’s name again?’’

You giggled against Chad’s chest, feeling your mixed cum leak from your pussy and onto the counter. ‘’I don’t know… Felix?’’ you said, mistaking Jason’s name on purpose.

—

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All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

#chad meeks martin x reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin imagine #scream #scream 6 #scream imagine

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geralts-yenn · 4 months

Text

Found Family

Modern AU Melot (Tristan & Isolde) x OFC Nina x Mike (Hellraiser)

summary: Mikey needs some love after meeting his parents

warnings: 18+, minors DNI! Polyamory, non-monogamous bisexual relationship, a little angst, problematic family relationship, talk about dick piercings, double blowjob, Anal (m/m), p-i-v sex, all the fluff Mikey deserves

word count: 5,4k

A/N: This has been in my wip folder for an embarrassingly long time. This was meant to happen before A merry happy birthday (yes, it took me THIS long)

Now it's finally done and I hope you like it ❤

My masterlist

Series masterlist

I heard the music before I even entered the building. And as I recognized the sound of Mike's favorite punk rock band, I knew it was coming from our apartment. Frowning, I opened the door. I found him in the bedroom, sitting cross legged on the floor with his head bent over his sketchbook. His hand ran in angry strokes over the paper, and he didn't even notice me until I brushed my hand over his back. Mike jerked away from my touch and looked at me startled. His eyes were wide, but also puffy and red rimmed.

“Hey, my love, are you okay?” The question was ridiculous, I could see that Mike was farther away from okay than I had ever seen him before. But the music was so loud that he wouldn't have heard anyway. And it didn't matter at all because he turned away from me, pulling his hoodie deep into his eyes.

My heart clenched at the sight of him like this. I got up from my crouched position to turn off the damn music. But as soon as there was the possibility to talk to my boyfriend without shouting, he sprang up and stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Mike!” I shouted after him. Yet when I got to the door, he had already left the apartment. I froze in my movements, totally baffled by Mikey’s unusual behavior. When I heard the sound of his motorbike, I ran to the window and saw him, pacing off far too fast. By now, tears were running down my face.

When I got back to the bedroom, my eyes fell onto Mike's sketchbook. Where there were usually funny doodles and portraits that Mike loved to draw, I found creepy monsters, dark figures and angry grimaces. What the hell had happened to the guy that always was so upbeat and unworried? He had always been the one who didn’t seem to be troubled by anything in the world. And it hurt that he didn’t want to share with me whatever got him to feel so bad.

I took my phone and called Mel. He had planned to spend the weekend with his family, but I really needed him now.

“Hey, sunshine!” Mel greeted me and in the background I could hear the laughter of Isa and Tristan, which only made me sob more. Mel immediately sensed that something was off when I didn’t speak.

“What’s wrong, Nina?” He sounded alarmed. I took a deep breath, trying to find some words.

“Mike! I think something happened to him. He was crying in the bedroom and when I tried to talk to him, he ran off. He’s on his bike and he’s not okay. And now I really don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.” I almost didn’t recognize my own shaky voice.

Mel cursed. “Fuck! I should have known! Please wait for me, baby, I’m coming home and then we’ll go search for him. Don’t be scared, we’ll find him, okay? Mikey is going to be okay.”

Mel knowing immediately what was up with Mike had me surprised. I had been away only for two nights. But apparently it was long enough that our whole relationship was in chaos and none of my two boyfriends had talked to me about it. It hurt.

“What is it, you should have known? I don’t understand, Mel!” I asked him, perplexed.

Mel sighed. I heard some rustling, and then I heard him talking to Tristan. “I need to get home, Mikey and Nina need me!” Then his voice was louder again, speaking to me: “Mikey wanted to meet his parents. He had decided that he finally wanted to tell them about us. I should have talked him out of it. Or at least go with him. He said it would be okay, but I… I should have known. Sorry!”

Adding to my concern, I felt anger rising in my chest. “You two should have told me. This is something that we should have done together. Mel, how could you leave him alone with this?”

I heard the engine of Mel’s car coming to life and the changed acoustic as Mel had put me on speakers. “I know, Nina. I’m sorry. Mike was insisting that I should go. I didn’t want to come off as patronizing him. He seemed so sure.” As I listened to him, I realized Mel was just as worried and upset as myself. His voice was breaking more than once. I decided now wasn’t the time for accusations. All three of us needed each other.

“It’s okay, Mel. It’s not anybody’s fault. Just drive home safely. I will try to get Mikey to answer his damn phone in the meantime.”

The hour that it took Mel to get back home, I tried my best to find Mikey. His phone was still sending me straight to his mailbox. I left him messages, but I didn’t expect him to listen to them. Calling his friends didn’t help either. No one had seen him.

I was at the edge of a total breakdown when the door opened and Mel was finally home. As soon as he saw me, he rushed forward and took me in his arms. Sobbing uncontrollably, I buried my face in his chest. Being wrapped in his arms took a little of the pressure from my shoulders. Holding him always felt so damn good. Even when I was scared, or maybe even more so because I was scared.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be fine!” Despite trying to calm me, Mel didn’t appear to be exactly in a better state than myself. His eyes were glossy, and his fingers brushed nervously over my back while he was chewing on his lip.

After catching a breath and holding each other tight for a very needed moment, we started discussing possibilities of what to do next.

That was until the ringing of the doorbell interrupted us. My head shot up hopefully, but the realization that Mikey would have used his key hit me only a second later. Mel got up, pressing a kiss on my hair, and opened the door.

“I need to talk to Michael.” The icy voice immediately gave me goosebumps. Mikey’s mom pushed Mel to the side and stepped into the hallway. When she realized I was blocking her way by standing in the door frame to the living room and not giving in when she tried to move around me, she rolled her eyes. “I know this might be unknown to people like you, but it’s rude to block someone from meeting their son.” The ‘like you’ was dripping with disdain. I opened my mouth, but I just didn’t know what to say. I had never been treated rude like that in my life.

To my relief, Mel stepped to my side and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I admired him for keeping his voice calm and steady. “Mrs. Girardi, Mike isn’t at home. We don’t know where he is right now. The only thing we know is that he was very upset after meeting you and your husband.“

Mike’s mom seemed to be irritated for a brief moment, a hint of concern flashing over her face, before her expression turned back to the stony indifference. “Well, that’s all your fault. Why did you trick Michael into that relationship? Of course, he’s confused. This isn’t healthy. Or normal.“ Her eyes traveled over Mel and me from head to toe. “I really don’t know how you did this. How could he be lured into something like this? Why would he want to be with someone like you? Michael is such an attractive young man. Well, at least he was, until he ruined his skin with that ink. And he is smart. He could be a lawyer, like his father and brother. Have a good wife and kids. Working on the family heritage. But he is such a disappointment. And with you two in his life, we lost our hope to bring him back to reason. How could we explain this situation to friends and business partners? It’s just so humiliating.“

Hearing her talk about Mike in that way broke my heart. Finally, I knew what I had to say to that mean bitch that called herself a mother. “Mikey is a better person than you could ever imagine. He has the biggest heart, and he deserves to be loved exactly the way he is. It’s an utter shame that you don’t realize what a wonderful person your son is. Instead of being ashamed of him, you should be so proud. I am proud to be part of his life. And so is Mel. We love him, and we’ll stay at his side as long as he wants us to be with him. If that is something you can’t accept, it is you who is missing out.“

I was shaking, but I wouldn’t turn my eyes away from Mrs. Girardi. Mel’s grip around my arm tightened as a sign of affirmation, and I was so grateful to be able to lean onto his firm chest.

Mike's mom took in a sharp breath when I had finished my rant. She opened her mouth, and I was already waiting for more hate to come out of it. But instead she snapped it shut, pressing her lips into a thin line, and turned. Her heels clicking on the floor, she stormed off. When she reached the apartment door, she turned her head another time and mustered Mel and me with a cold expression. “You two will be his ruin.” With this, Mrs. Girardi slammed the door shut.

Immediately, Mel pulled me closer into his arms. First I thought he wanted to soothe me, but as my head rested on his chest, and I heard his thundering heart, I realized he needed me to soothe him just as much.

After a minute of silently comforting each other, sharing a few gentle kisses and touches, I pulled away and looked up at Mel. “We need to find him.” Mel nodded and grabbed my helmet and jacket and held them out for me.

“Then let’s go!”

It could have been a nice ride if it weren’t for the circumstances. It was a warm, sunny day. I had my arms wrapped around Mel's waist while he was driving down the ocean road. It reminded me of the first time I had been riding with him, the day I fell in love. But today, the reason for the fluttery feeling in my stomach was entirely different, and not in a pleasant way. I couldn’t think of anything else but Mike. The concern felt like a tight band around my heart.

My tears had stopped falling a while back, but that didn’t mean I was feeling better now. It just meant I was too tired to keep crying. Part of me wanted to get up, get back home and apologize to my girl. I’d been acting like an asshole, leaving her standing in our bedroom without an explanation. But I just couldn’t talk to her at that moment. I needed to be alone. Now I only hoped she would understand. She probably would, she was just the sweetest girl in the world. But that only made me feel worse about hurting her.

My thoughts drifted back to the conversation with my parents. I could still see them, my father looking at me, so blatantly disgusted, my mother shaking her head as if she could argue about how I felt. If it wasn’t that sad, I could almost laugh about it.

This wasn’t anything debatable. I loved them, and no words from my parents could change that. Not that I wanted it to change, ever. Even if it meant losing the last strings attached to my pretentious family.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad at all. They’d been awful to me for years. Ever since I stopped being the perfect son they expected me to be. That person that I never was in the first place. I just hid it well until I turned nineteen. But after I realized I couldn’t be the successful lawyer they wanted me to be, a man who cared more about money and family heritage than about people, everything had changed.

I had to endure so many hours of lectures — Stop being awkward, go back to college, dress properly, get back into circles that fit your social status, yada yada yada. The day I showed up with the first tattoo that couldn’t be hidden underneath my clothes was a highlight. Mother cried for hours about how she couldn't take me to the country club anymore. What a loss.

And yet, even though I didn’t hear anything but criticism whenever I met them, I never managed to cut ties with them. Now it was time to let go. If they couldn’t see me happy, why should I care about them?

Honestly, why was I even sad? Losing them didn't mean much. None of them was anywhere near as important to me as Nina and Mel. These two were the ones that I wanted around me. The ones in my heart. They were all the family I needed in my life.

After a last deep breath, while I was watching the waves crashing onto the shore, I got up. It was time to get back home and take care of the people I love. But as I bent down to grab my helmet, a smile crept over my face. I would always recognize the sound of that engine.

I turned to see Mel parking his bike at the side of the road. Nina practically jumped from her seat and ran towards me. Mel followed close behind. I blinked the new tears away that were forming in the corner of my eyes. Then I finally moved into their direction to close the distance between us.

Two pairs of arms wrapped around me while I couldn’t do anything else but to repeat the same words over and over: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

The kiss was messy and sloppy, three mouths devouring each other. I tasted the salt of my tears and the sweetness of my two lovers. A hand was tangled in my hair, another pressed against my chest. While I gave in to the demanding pressure of lips and tongues on me, relief rushed through my veins. This kiss was all I needed to see that they weren’t mad at me.

My own hands worked their way into their shirts, desperately searching for the warmth and softness of their skin.

Nina was the first to retreat from our clumsy kiss. With wide eyes, she watched Mel and me as we pressed our lips onto each other one last time. Then I locked my eyes with her, my heart skipping a beat as I took in her vulnerable expression.

“Don't you ever scare me like that again, idiot!” she said, her voice shaky. In contrast to her harsh words, her hand ruffling through my hair felt so sweet and affectionate, I could kiss her all over again.

Instead, I started begging for their forgiveness once more, my words stumbling out of my mouth, but Mel grabbed my chin and turned me to look at him.

“Stop it, Mikey. There's nothing you need to apologize for. If anything, I need to say sorry. I shouldn't have let you go alone. I should have been there for you.”

Mel and I exchanged more apologies and affirmations that the other one didn't need to say sorry, until Nina stepped between us, her hands cupping our jaws.

“Can you both please stop it? I’d rather see your cute asses move to your bikes, so we can finally go home and go back to the kissing part.”

Riding home, I felt strangely lost, and it took me a while until I realized I missed Mikey and Nina, even though we had kissed only minutes ago. The need to feel them weighed heavily on my heart. But I was glad that Nina had decided to ride with Mike. He needed her more than I did right now. I wouldn’t have wanted him to feel alone.

When we entered our apartment, I sent them to the bedroom with a slap on their asses before I made my way to the kitchen. Going through the cabinets, I grabbed snacks for us and put them on a tray. I added three mugs with tea bags, and while I was waiting for the kettle, I took out my phone and typed a message.

The immediate answer put a smile on my face. I put the phone away, filled our mugs and went to join them in the bedroom.

“Hey, I’m surprised the two of you are not yet naked and fucking,” I said with a wide smile on my face. Mike and Nina lay on the huge bed, their limbs tangled. I put the tray onto the nightstand and Mike immediately jumped up to grab some pistachios.

Still chewing, he apologized: “Sorry, I’m bad company today, I think I need more cuddles before we can move on to the X-rated stuff.” The puppy eyes he gave me melted my heart.

I dropped on the bed next to them and brushed a few locks from Mikey’s forehead.

“Don’t start apologizing again. Nina and I don’t care. You can take from us whatever you need. Cuddles, talking, fucking… Whatever you ask for, we’re in.”

Nina looked up from her place on Mikey’s chest with a smile, nodding softly.

Mike let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ll take that. Exactly in this order!”

All three of us moved to sit against the headrest, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. We were not close enough. I shook my head. “No, that’s not good.” I exclaimed. “Take off your clothes.”

Mike gave me a raised eyebrow and Nina laughed. “Stop being a horndog, Mel!” she shouted with fake disgust in her voice.

All three of us snickered, but then I explained to them that skin-on-skin contact releases oxytocin and endorphins. That was reason enough for them to spread their clothes all over the floor.

I got rid of my clothes, too and settled against the headrest again. This time, I guided Mike to sit between my thighs and pulled him back to lean on my chest. Nina clung to one of Mike’s thighs like a koala, her head resting on his lap. This was so much better.

My heart clenched when Mike told us about his visit with his parents. He had let them know he was happily in love and they reacted with disgust and hate. I wished I could take the hurt he felt from him. He didn’t deserve any of this. And they undeniably didn’t deserve him.

Mike had stopped talking but his face couldn't hide his pain. I pressed soft kisses on his neck. “You know, family has nothing to do with genes and biology,” I told him. My mind went back to my own experiences. I had never known my biological parents, yet, I was lucky to say I had a wonderful family. And Mike needed to understand that he was part of it, too.

“If they can’t accept who you are, they are not worthy of your love. There are other people who will gladly have you as a part of their life. You are family to Nina and me. And you are family to my mom and my brother. They love you, Mikey!”

Nina wrapped her arms around Mikey’s waist and nodded. “You are also family to my parents, Mike. You know they adore you.”

Mike didn’t answer, but I felt the tension dissolving from his shoulders. Slowly he relaxed against my chest, taking deep breaths.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. One of my hands was playing with Mike’s curls, the other resting on his chest. Nina was brushing slow circles over Mike’s legs. Mike sighed deeply. “Thank you.” he whispered. “I love you two so much.”

With time, our hands and mouths started to explore our bodies, lazy touches and kisses. I had my face buried in the crook of Mike’s neck when I heard the sweet giggles of Nina.

“You're definitely moving on from the cuddling and talking part to the fucking part, down there, Mikey!” she laughed and Mike and I both joined in.

“Hey, that's not my fault,” he answered. “How is he supposed to stay soft when you're playing with my piercing constantly?”

More of our laughter filled the room.

Nina shrugged, her head still on Mike’s hip. “I'm sorry, I just love your pierced dick.”

I let out an amused huff. “She really does. My cock is jealous of all the attention yours always gets. Maybe I should get myself a piercing too.” It wasn’t really a joke. I had thought about it a few times already, but I had never mentioned it to Nina or Mike before.

In answer to my words, Mike and Nina both let out some really sexy noises. Mike looked up at me with a wide grin plastered over his face.

“Oh, I wouldn't be opposed to that. I always wanted to know how it feels on the receiving end.”

A picture flashed through my head: My dick, a metal bar in it, and Mikey’s and Nina’s beautiful faces and mouths in front of it. Damn!

“Hey, Mel, did your cock just twitch in fear or anticipation?” Mikey asked, mischief in his eyes as he watched me.

“Probably both!” I answered honestly, and we all fell back into laughter.

Nina’s fingers running up and down my length and Mel’s hardening dick pressing against my lower back did wonders to help me forget. Mel’s hand sneaked up to my neck and, with just enough authority to make me all horny, he turned my face to meet his. His mouth pressed hard against me, his tongue sliding over the seam of my lips, asking for entry. I opened my mouth for him, and Mel instantly devoured me. I let him swallow my surprised gasp when Nina’s tongue brushed over the tip of my throbbing cock.

“Damn, peanuts, you really know how to cheer me up!”

It was a fault to let go of Mel’s mouth, I thought for a second, because my sweet boy took this chance and wriggled free from under me. But then he moved to sit on his heels next to Nina, bending down, his tongue darting out to tease me. Yeah, I judged too quickly, I wasn’t mad anymore about him moving.

Goddamn, I was a mess, swearing and moaning, watching Mel and Nina make out, my dick right in the middle. That was the best kiss I ever got, and my mouth wasn’t even taking part. But who was I to complain? I closed my eyes, let my head fall back, and focused on the incredible feeling of the two wet, warm mouths on me.

“I really can’t blame you,” I heard Mel’s deep voice saying. “This dick is seriously so damn pretty.” They were giggling. Giggling! With my dick right in front of their faces.

“It really is. It’s unfair. How can he have such a terribly handsome face and a cock so beautiful it’s almost a shame to sit on it and hide it?”

I barked out a laugh at Nina’s remark. At the same time this weird praise sent a warm feeling through my chest. Their lips and tongues went back to nip and suck on me. I was getting close, my breath coming in hitches, but it was just never enough to get me over the edge. I needed more. More of their warm bodies pressed against me. More of their own pleasure. More of them.

“I need to feel you both! Please!” I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to hide my needs from them. The realization hit me like a truck. This is where I belonged, where I could be myself and wouldn’t be judged. Whenever I was in their arms, I was home.

“Come here!” Mel was kneeling at the edge of the bed, his thighs spread wide. Before I could even move an inch, his hands wrapped around my legs, and he pulled me down to him. Teasingly slow, his hands brushed along my thighs until they were resting on my knees. Mel pressed them down, opening me wide to him. Nina came back into my view, handing over a bottle of lube to Mel.

“Thank you, babe!” Mel and Nina shared a fierce kiss, Mel’s teeth pulling on her bottom lip when she pulled back again. My heart was racing in my chest in anticipation as I watched them spreading lube over their fingers and Mel’s dick. Another squeeze of the cool liquid ran down my ass crack, and Nina’s fingers guided it into the tight ring of muscle. Then I felt the pad of her finger slowly working me open.

It didn’t take long for her to find the spot that made me lose control. I was moaning, desperately squirming as I tried to fuck myself on her hand. I looked down and saw Mel fisting his cock as he watched us. How could I not totally lose my mind when they played me like this? Nina took pity on me and added a second digit, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Please, I’m ready to take you, Mel. And I need you to take me!” I cupped Nina’s cheek with my hand, looking pleadingly into her eyes. Nina’s fingers slipped out of me, and I winced at the loss.

But it was only seconds until I felt the tip of Mel’s cock pressing against my ass, and I sighed in relief. In the torturous way that Mel enjoyed so much, he leisurely eased into me. He stilled completely when he was buried to the hilt. I was just a second from crying out my frustration when Nina threw a leg over my torso and sat right down onto my dick.

“Fuck!”

She was so soft and tight and warm around my cock. And damn, Nina wasn’t holding back. She fucked me fast and hard.

“Here I was thinking we’re going to make tender love!” Mel snort-laughed, and I swear I felt his dick twitch inside me. He looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You just wanted to make me go insane,” I told him, mirroring the teasing expression. “But I need you to go rogue with me. Fuck me into next week! Or better next month!”

That didn’t need an answer. At least not a verbal one. Mel’s grip on my thighs became more rigid. His hips slammed into me forcefully, and I moaned with every of his brutal thrusts.

Nina bent forward, and her gorgeous tits bounced straight into my face. This must be heaven. I felt I was getting close. But I didn’t want to go there just yet. I needed more of this. I tried to count backwards from 100, but Mel rutting into me with every number I came up with wasn’t helping. Fuck it, I was lost. I planted my feet on the bed and started to pound up into Nina, crashing into Mel with every back stroke. If I go down, I go down with flying colors.

Nina was getting close, too, I felt it. My hand moved to where we were joined, my fingers rubbing over her swollen nub. Yeah that will do the trick. Her mouth fell open, and she was making all those sweet noises that make me so horny. She started to pulse around my dick. Here we go! A few more strokes and then Nina came all over my cock, and she pulled me right with her. I think I cried out some words while I exploded in her, but don’t ask me what it was. My brain is not working right now. There's just this fluffy, warm feeling rushing through my body.

Nina crashed into my chest and her mouth found mine. Nothing better than some post coital kissing.

Mel was bending down, too, to take part in this mid-fuck cuddling. The new angle felt heavenly. I just came, but damn if I didn’t want to keep going with whatever Mel was doing to me here. But it didn’t take him long and he was a goner, too. He pulled out of me and came all over my stomach and Nina’s ass. Panting, he lay down onto my other side and made me the happiest man on earth, thoroughly fucked, one perfect human being in each arm.

A long make-out session later, Nina locked her eyes with me.

“Are you okay?”

I smiled like the idiot I am. “The perfect amount of sticky, sweaty and happy!”

Mel pressed a kiss on my cheek. “That’s what we were going for!” I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and embraced the content sleepiness that took me over.

The sound of the doorbell woke me from a very nice dream, one of the kind where you’re naked and not freaking out.

Mel tapped me on my shoulder. “This is for you,” he said. I frowned, trying to make it make sense. I searched my brain for possible appointments I could have forgotten and came up blank. What doesn’t mean that there isn’t one, I’m really great at forgetting shit. I leaned up on my elbows and shouted as loud as I could: “One moment! Be right there!”

But with one glance at me, Mel shook his head. “Nah, you go take a shower first. I’m not letting her see you like this.” Yeah, now I was even more confused, but he wasn’t wrong. I was in no state to welcome any guest.

Mel pressed a kiss on my cheek, another one on Nina, who was mumbling unintelligible words into the covers next to me. The semi I was sporting grew a little firmer as I watched Mel grabbing some boxers and a shirt. Yeah, time for a shower! A cold one!

I felt a lot more awake when I emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later. The smell of coffee was wafting through the air, luring me into the kitchen. I was still clueless who was at the door for me that early in the morning. Well, at least I guess it’s early, I hadn’t checked, to be honest.

I let out a surprised huff when I saw Catherine sitting at the table. A warm smile formed on my face and I rushed forwards to give her the big hug she deserved. I love Mel’s mom, She’s a queen!

As I pulled back, I changed my face to the apologizing frown everyone around me knew too well. “What did I miss? Sorry, I forgot!”

But Catherine’s smile only widened as she shook her head. “No, darling. You didn’t forget anything. This is a little surprise visit. I thought about taking you out for breakfast.”

I turned my head to Mel and Nina, who were busy with eggs and pans. “Yay, peanuts, put that stuff back into the fridge, we’re going out.”

I took the last sip from my milkshake that had just the perfect disgusting amount of sugar I needed to get through this morning. I had talked about my dysfunctional family for twenty minutes straight, but Catherine didn’t look like she minded. Her eyes never left mine, and she gifted me with more of her warm smiles.

All three of them answered with a laugh. Catherine put her perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder. “No, sweetheart. I want to spend some time just with you.”

“Oh honey! I can’t believe how ignorant they all are.” There was so much empathy in her eyes as she talked to me. “I need you to understand that all this has absolutely nothing to do with you and everything with them. It is not your fault. You are the most precious, compassionate soul. I am so glad that Mel found you. It’s a gift that I get to have you as part of my family. There’s enough love in me for another son, and I’m happy to share it with you.”

I wasn’t embarrassed about the tears that rolled down my cheeks, here in the middle of a coffee shop. It’s not like I could have held them back anyway.

“Thank you, Catherine!” My voice was breaking. “This means a lot to me.”

“You can call me mom, you know. If you want to, of course.”

Another sob escaped me.

“I’d love to. Thank you, mom!”

#mike (hellraiser)#mike (hellraiser) fanfiction #mike (hellraiser) x ofc x melot (Tristan& Isolde AU)#melot fanfic #melot fanfiction #polyamory #polycule #polyam relationship #hearts too big #bi biker boys #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

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universitypenguin · 8 months

Note

Hey Alice :) I know you did something already for Valentine’s Day where Lloyd spoiled princess but I was wondering what if the roles were reversed? Would princess 👑 do anything sweet for Lloyd? As always thank you so much for writing this amazing story 🥹

Thank you so much for this ask! 🥰

I had a lot of fun thinking about what Princess would do for Lloyd on Valentine’s Day if she were the one planning their celebration. I know for a lot of men it feels like a one sided bargain which is something a guy like Lloyd would find incredibly annoying. Of course he loves Princess, so his perspective on the holiday has shifted, but I feel like Princess would want to do something special for him, too.

When I was pondering the dynamics between the characters, I did a lot of thinking about that piece I wrote about Lloyd’s approach to Valentine’s Day. It’s clear that his plan for the day was mainly driven by his need for social validation. Yes, his overall goal was to please Princess, but his actions in the story centered around impressing her social circle and gaining attention. This is quintessential Lloyd Hansen behavior. He’s motivated by a very superficial type of recognition, because that’s all he’s ever known before.

Princess is very aware of this because she understands Lloyd and knows how to read him. That said, by the end of the day she was getting sick of the extravagance and the theatrical, exhibitionistic display it had become. She did appreciate his efforts, but what she really wanted was a personal connection that memorialized their relationship, not ones driven by external validation.

Side bar: The fact that Jenn was the one who realized the disconnect between Lloyd and Princess was so funny to me. Like, if you’ve read the backstory pieces you know Jenn and Lloyd absolutely despise each other. She really proved her devotion to Princess by going to Lloyd in private and re-orientating him in the right direction. It was kind of like watching the Grinch save Christmas. 😂

So, after all this reflection on what Lloyd’s take on Valentine’s Day represented to the characters, I came up with a plan for how Princess would choose to spend the holiday if planning it were up to her.

First, she wouldn’t try to steal Lloyd’s thunder by planning something for the actual date of Valentine’s Day on her own. Knowing how important it is to him to have center stage and step up to prove his worth as a boyfriend to her (and all of their friends and coworkers) she’d sit back and graciously indulge his extravagant public display of affection. Princess would wholeheartedly mask her desire for more intimate gestures in an effort to honor his intentions.

Which is why she would plan her own Valentine’s Day celebration… but in deference to Lloyd, she’d arrange it for the weekend after V-Day.

Her take on the holiday would prioritize their shared interests and revolve around activities they both enjoy, starting with a relaxing morning at the spa and a leisurely brunch. For the afternoon Princess would reserve a cozy spot at one of Lloyd's favorite restaurants for a late lunch, ensuring a quiet, private ambiance for uninterrupted conversation.

As for his gift, Princess would cater to Lloyd's interests, by arranging a golf trip to Myrtle Beach for him and his friends. The rest of their afternoon would be spent wandering through the D.C. botanical gardens, a favorite pastime of Princess’ that Lloyd has also come to appreciate. In the evening they’d go on a romantic sunset catamaran ride down the Potomac River to cap off the day.

The rest of their night unfolds at home. Having spent the day out on the town, Princess would opt for reheating leftovers at home over going out for a fancy dinner. After all, Lloyd’s homemade Coq au Vin from their Valentine’s Day meal is even better the second time around. Then they would cuddle up on the couch with their dinner as Lloyd picks out a movie for them to watch. When he suggests turning the weekend after Valentine’s Day into their own personal holiday, a warmth spreads through Princess’ chest.

For some, it would be devastating if their partners’ approach to celebrating a romantic holiday like Valentine's Day was very different from their own. However, at that moment Princess realizes that she’d never want to spend Valentine’s Day with anyone else. Despite the fact that they have incredibly different perspectives and values - something which could easily drive a wedge between even the strongest of couples - she and Lloyd somehow always come to a unique, peculiar state of equilibrium. They balance each other out, and in the end, that’s the best gift he could ever give her.

#lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen blurb #lloyd hansen ask #lloyd hansen one shot #lloyd x princess #lloyd hansen au #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #the princess and the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer: ask #the princess & the lawyer #chris evans charaters

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chaithetics · 2 years

Text

The Millers Buttercup Chapter Three

Pairing: outbreak/commune! Tommy Miller x F reader, (more in detail mentioned) Joel Miller x F reader

Word count: 4.3K

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, pregnancy loss, angst, smut (P in V intercourse), pregnancy, mentions of injuries (nothing major). Also unedited because I refuse to proofread.

Note: I'm so sorry for how long this took! I was planning to finish writing/post this on Friday night but it's been a really full on weekend! But also I've started writing chapter 1 for a Javier P series!

More importantly, this chapter does deal with a miscarriage so it is pretty serious. If you've gone through this or this chapter upsets you you're more than welcome to message me for a chat/vent and I'm more than happy to help you find local/appropriate support services. Thinking of you all x

P.s if you want to be added to the tag list feel free to comment or message. I hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts :)

Joel was sitting in the living room, watching the two girls interact. While Ellie was defensive with everyone, it was becoming clearer and clearer that she genuinely liked younger children. She was more patient and relaxed with them. Ellie was going through her treasured pun book with Isabel. Joel found it quite amusing, given Isabel’s age there was no way she got essentially any of these jokes but she still laughed as if her life depended on it and she looked up at Ellie expectedly each time Ellie told one.

After not too long, Tommy came back into the living room. He looked over at Ellie and Isabel smiling, then he made his way into the kitchen. Joel stayed, he noticed that Tommy seemed to have a bit more pep in his step. After what felt like an eternity more of bad jokes you finally came back down.

“Mommy! You were right! Ellie is so cool and sooo funny!” Isabel said with a big smile on her face. “I know, she’s super cool.” You said as you came over to sit near them, Ellie’s smile grew more and she blushed at the attention and compliments she was receiving.

“What’s your favourite pun mom?” Isabel asked.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure honey”

“Oh I’ve got a good one Isabel! I wish I could be a doctor like your mama,” Tommy said as he came out of the kitchen with a glass of water “but I just don’t have the patients” he had a growing smirk on as he finished his pun. Isabel giggled at that and you knew that that was a pun she understood, it seemed to have Ellie’s approval as well, and you couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“That’s so bad it’s almost good,” you said looking at Tommy. He chuckled and you could see all the love he had for you and your family in his warm brown eyes, if you’d had a frozen heart you knew it would only take a second of eye contact to thaw it out.

“You love it,” Tommy playfully retorted back as he sat down and drank from his glass. You couldn’t help but watch his throat as he drank but then quickly looked away back to Isabel. Joel noticed this and then watched you, you were sitting next to Isabel stroking her hair, looking at her and Ellie. You were glowing but Joel could see another glow on you, one he recognised, you had a freshly fucked glow about you. Joel felt himself frowning over this, you weren’t his, you were his brother’s, and you had a life with Tommy that was about as close to normal, as before as it could get. Tommy was the one fucking you and you were the mother of Tommy’s child, soon-to-be children. Joel didn’t know if he felt more angry or saddened by this, how everything worked out.

“Alright, buttercup?” Tommy asked as you got up and started to walk towards the kitchen, this pulled Joel out of his mental spiral and both the Millers brothers had their eyes focused on you.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” You said with a smile aimed at Tommy, you squeezed his arm softly as you walked past him. You poured yourself a glass of water and then started to drink it when Joel came into the kitchen. Your eyes locked and you felt taken aback again by his presence. Joel noticed this, for a moment you looked like a deer in headlights, it was almost amusing but Joel couldn’t laugh over it due to the context. He did that to you, and it was not a good thing.

“You know, Tommy never told me about her,” Joel said leaning against the bench doing his best to give you some space but still trying to keep a level of intimacy.

“He tried.” You said softly, taking another sip of water. There was a quick furrow of Joel’s brow but it softened into what you assumed was confusion. “Your contact has been sporadic at best. He tried to bring it up when I was pregnant with her, he said talking to you was difficult. Felt bad and just could never do it.” You said softly, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Was…” Joel started to say, trying to search your face, “Was it-was it my fault then?” Joel asked, you met his gaze and all you could see was sadness. The part of you that was uncomfortable and hurt by his presence just wanted to immediately say yes, not knowing exactly what he meant. As soon as he’d said it you could think of a dozen things that were his fault at the top of your head. But you restrained yourself from that impulse, he seemed too hurt, you’d never seen him with sadness like that and you couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

“Was what your fault, Joel?”

“The miscarriage.” He said quietly.

You felt yourself freeze at that and you searched his eyes to gage what he was saying but you couldn’t help but be flooded with emotions and memories.

************

You were a doctor for FEDRA, and you disagreed with the philosophies but it enabled you to finish your study and to feel like you were contributing to society in some way by working in the field. You weren’t ignorant about the corruption or brutality and it made each day harder to stay. You offered more accessible care after-hours in your home in the QZ, this care was how you became properly acquainted with the Millers.

You don’t remember exactly what moment started it all with Joel, maybe it was the very first second your eyes met, or it was literally when it physically started. You weren’t sure and it felt weird to think about it how things turned out. You’d immediately been charmed by Tommy, it was clear from the get-go that he was both the more outgoing and empathetic of the duo. While both men were attractive, you had thought due to Tommy’s nature he possibly relished more in the attention than Joel did.

You’d fixed numerous wounds for both Joel and Tommy, sometimes it would be joked about that they’d injured themselves just for the sake of justifying paying you a visit. There was a night that Joel had come by himself, it was the first night he’d touched you, you had a feeling that this visit was more of an excuse to visit you than anything else as the injury didn’t seem to bother him.

After you’d finished looking at his arm, he’d grabbed your wrist, it wasn’t painful but it was firm. You met his eyes shocked, and as your eyes met you saw a hunger in the deep brown irises of his. You understood it and you felt it melt the loneliness inside of you, his hand then eased up on your wrist and his fingers started to trace lines on your hand as he watched you. You hadn’t felt anybody look at you like that in so long or had somebody touch your hand like that, you couldn’t help but think how nice it was.

You hadn’t rejected his touch, so Joel moved his hand to rub up the side of your hip and thigh, and his other hand moved to the side of your face, tracing along your jaw. You sighed softly against his touch, at that noise you felt his grip tighten on your hip.

“I want you.” He said in his deep baritone voice, you nodded, feeling speechless at this attention. He pulled you closer, down to him, his hand wasn’t stroking your face but now firmly holding onto the side of your face and his grip on your hip was intense, you were certain there would be bruise marks there soon. He pressed his chapped lips to yours, hungrily, you moaned out against his mouth as you felt yourself starting to fall into his lap. The sound of your moan delighted him and he kissed you fiercely. You couldn’t remember the last time somebody kissed you like that.

You tangled your hands in Joel’s messy hair, being touched like this, with such hunger was warm, it felt fuzzy, almost how a sip of strong alcohol pleasantly burnt your stomach and warmed you up. Joel groaned against your mouth, he was fully hard now and started to undo his jeans.

“Th-the bed is…” you whispered against him as you broke the kiss, he nodded and put his hand on the back of your neck as he kissed you again before standing up. You walked over to the bed with him following, his hand firmly planted on the small of your back. He pulled his jeans and boxers down, hovering over you Joel started to undo your own pants and pulled them and your underwear down. You were already wet, you felt it happen as soon as he’d put his hands on you. You were needy and this contact had further pushed you, he saw the soaked patch in your underwear and smirked, “good girl” he mumbled and then pushed you down onto the bed, you felt your cheeks immediately heat up at his comment and the boldness of what was happening.

He pulled your shirt up as he hovered over you, leaning on his elbows, his hands then moved over your breasts, and you sharply inhaled at the touch. Your nipples perked up and became sensitive, he then teasingly tugged at one which made you gasp out and moan. He groaned softly at the sounds you were making and you felt his hardened cock twitch against you. He then lined his thick head up at your wet entrance, he watched as the head started to push in, lubricated with your arousal. He let out a low moan then his eyes flicked up to watch you, you sharply inhaled as he pressed in and your eyes closed as you let out a soft, melodic moan.

“Don’t close your eyes, I want to watch you,” he said in a firm, commanding voice. You opened your eyes up and moaned out, nodding. He then started to bury more of himself into you and you continued to moan out, gasping as he filled you. “God, you’re so tight…” He breathed out as he stretched you out, feeling you squeeze him, as you began to squirm slightly with each deepening thrust.

“Joel…” You moaned out his name as your hands then dug at his arms, clawing them slightly, you scratched him as he started to increase the pace of his thrusts, finding his rhythm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in further, your eyes rolled back and you let out a loud moan that almost sounded more like a whine. Joel groaned and you felt his cock twitch inside of you at that.

“You feel so good baby,” Joel said, and he meant it. You were a pretty thing he thought and there was no denying that, it was known around the QZ. Tommy knew it and had said it a couple of times and both of the brothers had heard people talk about the pretty doctor or those who seemed a little too eager for medical care hoping that they’d catch you on your shift. Joel wouldn’t say it to you but he did like that it was him who had you sprawled out like this under him and not anyone else, he couldn’t help but admire how good you looked under him and felt around him. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, it had been too long since he’d felt someone.

“Deeper Joel, pl-please? Oh, fuck…” You moaned out as you moved a hand to the side of his face. Joel grunted out, thrusting even deeper into you, making you moan louder. Joel then pressed his mouth to the side of your neck, he grazed his teeth along the skin, then bit down which made you gasp out as he continued to pump in and out of you. The slick of your juices and his thrusting make squelching noises. Joel started to suck on your neck, kissing it and grunting into it. Joel stopped for a moment to gruff out your name and to say he was close in his deep voice. You nodded and tugged on his curls as his thrusts sped up until he cursed out “fuck!” And then you felt his warm load shoot up inside of you.

You moaned out as you felt it, you watched him as he shifted his body weight then gasped out again as you felt him pull out of you. He let out a weary breath as he moved to the other side of the bed, you shifted slightly for him. He didn’t meet your eyes and you started to feel self-conscious, pulling your shirt back down. He just looked up at the ceiling, catching his breath. You studied his face but had no idea what he was feeling and started to feel your mind spiralling. Joel had always been nice to you but this felt cold, you’d had flings and a couple of one-night stands in College before the outbreak, normally there was a conversation and a bit of cuddling afterwards.

You opened your mouth to say something and then Joel got up. You sat up, confused, he didn’t look at you but he started to get dressed again.

“I should head off, night,” he said, briefly looking at you and he noticed the questions written on your face. He then made his way to your door, “uh, goodnight?” You said meekly, he didn’t respond unless him opening the door and leaving counted. Which you guessed it did.

After the door had closed and silence filled your apartment, the moans and squelching from your intimate encounter had disappeared with his presence. In the heat of the moment, you thought this would have fixed the loneliness that you’d been plagued with for years but you just felt emptier. You didn’t think it was possible but you did.

You started to wonder why you’d done this, it started to feel like a silly mistake. You knew Joel was reserved but you didn’t expect him to be this dismissive. You thought about Tommy and his warm smile, he had a warm nature and would flirt with you, you were sure that he was also a flirt with others. You thought about what it would be like to be intimate with him, you were certain that Tommy would not do that but that he’d be affectionate and he’d spoon you afterwards.

You wished he’d held you, at least for a moment after.

Then you felt bad for thinking about Tommy like that minutes after being fucked by his brother.

You cleaned yourself up and tried to head to sleep. You had an earlier shift in the morning that you now weren’t looking forward to.

*********

You’d cursed when seeing the large lovebite on your neck that Joel had left. You hoped you’d be able to spend the day in a turtle neck with your hair down, you usually had it pulled back and you’d have to do so if you needed to change into scrubs.

Your day at work, fortunately, meant that your little neck secret wasn’t exposed to anyone but you did stay longer than you were meant to but you didn’t mind it. You needed the distraction.

As you were walking back from the QZ’s medical centre to your apartment, taking the longer route to delay being alone in your home with your thoughts, you heard a warm, booming voice call your name.

“Hey Tommy,” you said as you turned around, meeting him. He gave you that charming 1000-megawatt smile. You looked into his eyes, they were similar to Joel’s but filled with so much more warmth.

“You’re awfully bundled up buttercup,” he said taking in your more layered than usual getup. You smirked playfully at his use of the pet name he’d quickly gifted you, you were sure he used it on everyone but you’d only heard him call you it so far. “I’m a bit cold today,” you said, it wasn’t the warmest day the QZ had seen so it was only a white lie. Tommy nodded and took his jacket off then placed it around your shoulders.

“Thank you but you don’t need to,”

“‘S okay,” he said flashing you a warm smile, “heading home?” He asked and you nodded. He then offered an arm slightly and you took it gingerly. You felt a little tingle at the feeling of your hand on his firm arm. You had friendly chatter with Tommy, he excitedly spoke to you and for the not long enough moment of him walking you home, you’d forgotten about that empty pit inside of you.

When you’d gotten to your apartment you looked into his gorgeous brown eyes and you felt your cheeks heating up at his act of kindness, it was small but it meant so much to you.

“This is me, as you know,” he nodded, you went to take his jacket off but he shook his head, “no, keep it buttercup. It looks nicer on you anyway.” He said with a cheeky wink, you laughed and thanked him.

As he left, you thought to yourself; Tommy Miller is something else.

************

It had been at least a few months since the first time you and Joel had slept together.

You had abandonment issues and it was clearly showing in your relationship, if that’s what you could call it, with Joel Miller.

Joel hadn’t been happy when he’d seen Tommy’s jacket in your home, and a later time when you had worn it while attending to a genuine injury of Joel’s. He felt possessive over you even though you weren’t exclusive, you were barely anything.

Joel ignored you most of the time and he noticed how you seemed to have a slightly more reserved air about you since that night he’d come over. After a while, Tommy also picked up that something had happened. Joel liked coming along if Tommy ever needed anything, there was something about watching you smile in Tommy’s presence, it was more real and warmer than the emptier, sad look in your eyes whenever they met his. He envied Tommy for getting that from you.

Joel ended up coming over some nights, he always seemed to have frustrations over everything that he needed to fuck out. You turned him away most nights, you didn’t want to feel as empty or as rejected as you did that first night. You started to wonder if you just slept with Joel because there was some comfort in him being emotionally unavailable and because of the loneliness you felt. The nights you did sleep with him tended to be when you were depressed and lonely or had a particularly difficult day at work. He never stayed long but always felt entitled to you. There were a couple of nights in which he stayed a bit longer, he’d lay in the bed and you’d spoon him, burying your face into the back of his neck.

Eventually, you knew you’d truly fucked up, your cycle was late and you’d become dizzy. You wanted to tell yourself it was nothing to worry about and that your cycle just wasn’t perfect because of the stress and living conditions of an apocalypse. But the dizziness was new and you just had an awful gut feeling.

You took a test at work discreetly, it confirmed your fears. You were pregnant with Joel Miller’s child. It felt like the most horrifying thing you could think of. Being pregnant in the apocalypse, let alone with his child. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t have a lot of time but you knew you had some time still.

You became more reserved as a coping mechanism and it was noticeable, everyone picked up on it. Your relationship was becoming stronger with Tommy, you were starting to suspect that his flirting was more genuine than the playful banter you’d initially taken it for. You spent more time with him and you wanted to tell Tommy, it felt like a safer and easier thing to do than telling Joel. Especially with the distance growing between Tommy and Joel, Tommy spoke about Joel’s actions and the haunting violence and you felt yourself becoming more freaked out. Joel was still cold with you and after finding out you were pregnant you hadn’t slept with him, you’d tried to have a conversation with him but he shut you down immediately.

You estimated that you were around 11 weeks pregnant, nearing the end of your first trimester. You had gained a small amount of weight around your stomach but it was mostly unnoticeable. You had cramping in your stomach and felt a little light-headed.

Tommy and Joel were in your apartment, Joel had done something to his wrist again, it seemed minor, fortunately, just a bit of strapping you thought. The cramping got worse and you looked down.

“I’m sorry, I need to go-I need to go to the toilet…” You said as you walked off. You weren’t sure what was going on but it felt miserable, it wasn’t until you got to the bathroom that you then saw the blood. There was too much of it.

You felt your breathing intensify, part of you wanted to scream, you didn’t know what good that would do but it gave you such a fright that you let out a small yell of fright and shock. You felt the warm tears streaming down your face. Both men heard the scream and came over to the bathroom door.

Joel called your name, “are you alright?” You let out a choked sob as you pulled your pants back up then unlocked the door opening it.

“I-I’m bleeding…” you said in between cries with a hand tentatively pressed against your stomach.

“Where?” Joel said searching your face for some injury.

“Down there.” You said quietly. Joel looked at you, thinking this was a dramatic overreaction. “Yeah, I thought they would’ve told you about that in med school, I didn’t think FEDRA was that bad.” Joel said. Tommy glared at him sensing something was off. You wiped at your eyes, the tears were just raining down.

“It’s-it-it’s not a period Joel. It’s a…” You said, your voice was shaky, you tried to make it as level as you could but that was impossible. You searched Joel’s face, wanting some emotion, some sign of empathy. Tommy’s eyes widened he looked at you warmly then glanced at Joel briefly before returning to you “Oh shit, buttercup, I’m-I’m so sorry,” he said and you felt Tommy’s warm arms wrap around you. You breathed him in as you pressed your head into his chest and cried. After a moment you looked up at Joel, there was still nothing on his face.

“Joel…?” You said it felt like a whisper like you didn’t have the power to say anything louder but it was somehow miraculously heard by Joel. “I suppose, that’s fortunate for both of us. Wasn’t meant to be.”

You gasped out at that and Tommy stepped away from you.

“What the fuck Joel?!” Tommy said anger from his brother’s words was evident in his voice and on his face. This was the last straw with his brother. Joel didn’t say anything, he just grunted quietly looking at you briefly then leaving your apartment.

That was it, Joel Miller did not deserve another ounce of your time or kindness you decided.

**********

You remembered that, that tragic walk down memory lane and you were back in the kitchen with Joel. Back in the kitchen of the home you shared with Tommy, that was the only home Isabel had ever known and would be the same for the future bundle of joy you were carrying.

You thought about that night before you answered Joel. Tommy had stayed with you that night, he held you and did his best to soothe and comfort you. You were grieving and regretted giving Joel Miller the time of day that you had in the past.

Tommy and Joel had fallen out, it was very messy, over that and Joel’s growing coldness and inhumane nature in work. After the miscarriage, you and Tommy started to leave the platonic territory and he eventually brought up the Fireflies, the ideology seemed somewhat better, and more optimistic than that of FEDRA. You followed Tommy, being the kind, loving voice of reason to his optimistic, selfless dreams. You’d have followed Tommy anywhere and you still would.

You looked Joel in the eyes, he’d caused you to hurt with his coldness, remarks that you wouldn’t think about and wouldn’t admit to yourself that he said. But he was family, you felt bad for him and you would not enable his suffering over any of this. Nobody deserved to feel guilty, like a pregnancy loss was their fault.

“That wasn’t your fault Joel.” You said matter-of-factly yet softly. You then dared to squeeze his shoulder softly, “pregnancy losses… they happen all the time. So many pregnancies end that way. I think before all of this it was estimated at like a fifth.” He looks at you taking in your gorgeous but sad features, he hated how he always seemed to just depress you, unlike his brother. “It wasn’t either of our faults. Not that.” You said softly, your hand left his shoulder and you finished your drink of water. Then left the kitchen, you needed to go. You needed a break from this again, this time to maybe cry a little rather than sleep you thought.

Taglist: @thesapphirequeen @read4funz

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olath124 · 9 months

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WIP WHENEVER

Thank you @ouroboros-hideout for the tag! It's always super fun to do this kind of stuff!

After a weekend full of Christmas markets I'm quite delirious but I'll try to put the things I am working on in some kind of order.

Ok, the thing I’m doing exactly right now is a drawing of Violet, Misty, and Jackie when they were kids. I've just reached the part where Jackie dies and… so many FEELINGS. So I had to do this!

Here they are… probably I’ll post the finished version tomorrow.

On the artistic side I want to draw chibi Aurore, Aymeric and Jhonny at least. But for them I only have an image in my head so far… The gremlin in my head is also yelling: “What about Jackie, Misty, Viktor and Jago!?!? And your other two Vs (one is not even already made in game xD) ?!?What about them?!?” So… yeah, Ill be drawing them way into next year…

As I said in a previous post I’d like to write something about Hansen and V. So far I've only some crazy thoughts and things in a really colloquial form. This is the only part I’m comfortable showing. Oh, it's probably a bit… I don't know, there’s some psychological/physical torture? Nothing too extreme for now. Their relationship in my head is not romantic at all and it probably never will (but there's absolutely some tension). They are just two assholes who find it funny to mess with each other ❤️.

There are also probably some mistakes and some phrases and words I'll definitively need to change later. I haven't proofread it and I'm too tired to do it now!

And that's when he's behind her back, a tight grip on her throat and the knife resting on her jaw. Probably a quick use of Sandevistan, because it's a matter of seconds. "If it wasn't for you and your friend, Myers would be already dead. You saved her once, why the change of mind?" The answer is simple, even if the thumb resting not so softly on her carotid artery makes her feel every heartbeat in her head. And probably he's feeling that too. And that's without the knife which still hasn't cut her skin but it's just a matter of an infinitesimal amount of pressure. “Two people who helped her are dead despite her promises. Two people are alive and well even if they were actively fucking with you, just because you've promised to let them go. If I have to guess who I need to trust to survive I think I’ll bet on you.” She has rehearsed this part during the wait, so the fear won't paralyze her. “Not mentioning the whole Songbird’s shitshow.”

So, that's it for now!

I'll tag some of you, feel free to do it if you want to!

@theviridianbunny @cyberholic77 @8oo8erry @dustymagpie @aggravateddurian @cybervesna

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #my v #v #Violet #jackie welles #misty #kurt hansen

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cheeriecherrymain · 2 years

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The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 6]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warning: none, I don’t think Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You and Viktor grow closer as you work together - so close that you consider each other friends. On the flipside, you feel like V is growing distant, though you chalk it up to the busyness of your schedules. You decide to invite Viktor home for the weekend, mostly because you have the tools you need in your workshop - but maybe also because you want to spend time with him.

Now that you and Viktor have made your peace with each other, the semester passes quickly. No longer do you fight so terribly on every subject, trying to be heard and seen by one another: you understand more about him, and he you, and it makes for a significantly more collaborative work experience.

Not only that, you’d actually consider him to be a good friend. You’d always thought he was intelligent, and that he had incredibly inventive ideas, but now that you weren’t spending all your time arguing, you were able to discover that he’s actually quite funny and kind.

He cares a great deal about people, especially those from his home, and he wants to make things that will lessen the burden life has on them. His conversations are thoughtful and inquisitive, and his humour is so dry it’s almost shocking - the first time he’d teased you, you’d given yourself a stomachache from laughing so hard.

On top of that, he also seems to bring out the best in you. He’s encouraging, and not in a patronizing way - he knows your strengths, knows your skills, and holds you to them. He’s honest about what he thinks you can accomplish, and he’s not shy about saying it.

You understand each other better, now, and your relationship is stronger for it.

—

It’s Thursday, when you wake up like you do any other day.

You roll out of bed to chase after your alarm clock, which grates on you less and less each day, now that you’re finally getting enough sleep.

You wander into the bathroom to fix your hair and brush your teeth.

You saunter back out into your bedroom to pull out your uniform for the day, and get dressed.

Only when you’re about to leave for class, do you notice anything different. A crisp black envelope on the floor by your front door, likely shoved in by the threshold. Either that, or someone had pushed it so violently through the mail slot that it had completely missed the little basket you’d hung to catch everything.

No matter.

You pull it off the floor, and flip it around in your hands.

It’s got your name scrawled across the front, in flowing penmanship and silver ink. It’s rather lovely, in your opinion - so much so, that you almost feel a little bad in ripping it open.

Your curiosity has always been one of your strong suits, though, and easily outweighs any guilt.

You quickly scan the contents you pull out, agitation rising as you pass over every word.

It’s an invitation.

To a gala.

Not just any gala, but one hosted specifically for the students of the academy.

It had initially started as a way for pupils to unwind and meet each other in a relaxed, formal setting - but over the years it had become another big networking scheme. The top ten of each class would be cordially invited to the event, in hopes of meeting and impressing sponsors - other personnel who would be attending for the very reason of attaining future apprentices.

You’d entirely forgotten about it.

It wasn’t as if your attendance was mandatory…just highly recommended. If you wanted a future of any sort, that is.

“I don’t have time for this,” you grumble, and quickly toss the paper into your letter basket. You could figure out what you wanted to do later, when you weren’t pressed for time and about to be late to class.

—

When you stride into the lecture hall, you make an immediate beeline for your usual seat. Tucked up beside Viktor, near the window.

You’d previously been sitting together right in the middle of the room, which he claimed were the best possible seats for learning - but the moment you so much as mentioned liking the natural light from the window, he’d gone about trading spots with two of your classmates.

Thankfully they hadn’t put up much of a fuss, but you were grateful for the sentiment nonetheless. Ever since you’d fallen ill all those weeks ago, Viktor had been doing his best to be accommodating of your needs.

Sometimes at the expense of his own, though you tried to discourage those little habits.

“Good morning,” he greets you when you settle down beside him and start pulling your notes out.

“Hey,” you smile, the conversation only hesitating for a moment, before you ask, “You don’t happen to have any ideas for our final, do you?”

Viktor crinkles his nose slightly, and shakes his head. “We only just handed our fourth project in. We haven’t been graded yet.”

“I knoooow,” you whine, letting your head fall to rest on the desk. “But our last project is supposed to showcase everything we’ve learned about this semester. It wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.”

But much to your disappointment, Viktor is drawing as much of a blank as you are. You’d doodled a couple of ideas over the past week, trying to come up with some sort of design for a functional machine - scribbling for hours in an attempt to know the unknown and pull it forth from the universe.

So far, you just had a bunch of half-baked thoughts, and impossible, non-functional contraptions.

“Maybe we could head to the library over lunch?” you suggest, pouting at him hopefully. However, he seems to have grown immune to such an expression in his time knowing you, because he regards you with friendly suspicion.

“Are you sure you should be skipping a meal?” he wonders lightly, though you can hear the genuine concern in his tone.

But you understand where he’s coming from, and you’ve thankfully been more prepared as of late: you pull a small fabric satchel out of your bookbag, and hand it to him to curiously inspect.

Dried fruits, nuts, seeds, honeyed grains and little pieces of chocolate.

“You’ve been bringing snacks?” He sounds surprised.

“You never know when one of us might get hungry,” you retort, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you skipping lunches, too.”

He has the decency to look bashful as he passes the bag back. “As long as you eat something,” he sighs, “You get terribly hangry, you know.”

You gently smack him as you feign offense, outright denying such heinous claims, and he fights back with equal fervor - the two of you quickly devolving into quiet giggles and halfhearted arguing.

Until your professor walks in, and wastes no time shushing the entire room.

—

Lunch, however, does not prove fruitful. Or at least it hasn’t thus far.

You and Viktor are huddled together at your usual spot, hidden away behind towering shelves and surrounded by textbooks. You’ve been tossing your thoughts back and forth for nearly half an hour, pressing your minds as hard as you can.

His ideas are overall better than anything you’d tried to come up with, but they still don’t fully take into account all that you’d learned in your class. You’d made a few mock-ups to potentially alter the designs to include other functions, but whenever you added something, another thing would be greatly impacted - making the concept moot once again.

“What about…” Viktor mumbles, beginning to draw yet another small machine. However, he stops a couple seconds in, and sighs. “No, that won’t work.”

You’re getting frustrated, and you can tell that he is, too.

“We’ve been at it for thirty minutes,” you grumble, reaching up to flip the table lamp off. “Maybe we should-”

You hiss loudly, and whip your hand away. Neither of you miss the sizzle of your fingertips against the fiery metal lampshade, and you certainly feel the burn.

“Gods above,” you swear, waving your hand around in an attempt to cool off the sharp sting.

Viktor is quick to catch you, and pulls you closer by the wrist to further inspect the damage. He’s gentle when he prods at the inflamed area, and the chilliness of his fingers is pleasant, softly stroking over the small burn.

“It doesn’t look serious,” he says, after a couple of moments. “But if it blisters, you’ll want to put some salve and a bandage on it.”

You nod, though your mood is entirely soured.

“Stupid lightbulbs,” you grumble, carefully removing your hand from his grasp. “Why do they have to be so hot? They’re a fire hazard, and they make a damn mess when they explode!” and then quieter, “I wish we could make them better.”

You know you’re just complaining, feeling embarrassed for injuring yourself in such a mundane way, but your sentiment rings true - time and time again you’ve had to deal with the lights in your old workshop popping at random intervals, sometimes at the most dangerous and inopportune times. You still have the scar on your cheek to prove it.

It takes a couple of seconds for the thought to click into place.

But when it does, the two of you seem to have the same idea.

“Viktor!” you whisper-yell, excitement drawing up the corners of your mouth. “What about-”

“Better lightbulbs?”

You nod so fast it makes you dizzy, and turn towards your notebook, flipping to a new page.

“Look,” you instruct him, as you begin drawing up a concept you’d worked on a year or two prior. “I made these little thingies for my mom’s wheelchair, to help her see the controls in the dark.”

He follows the tip of your pencil with rapt attention, nodding along as you explain everything to him. How you’d been unable to find such a small lightbulb as to solder it into a circuit board - how you’d instead designed your own way to generate light, encasing the components in resin to keep them stable.

“I never really figured out how to deal with the heat emission,” you admit, crinkling your nose in frustration. “I lowered the energy expenditure as much as I could - low enough so it wouldn’t melt any of the metal pieces, but…”

“If we’re going to make it bright enough to light up a room, we’ll have to bump it back up,” he finishes for you.

You nod, and fall into a pensive silence.

“What if we could divert the heat?” he suggests, plucking your pencil right from your hand.

You watch while he scrawls a few quick concepts beneath your original drawing, using different methods you’d touched on in class. “If we can funnel the heat away from the meltable bits, then it might work more efficiently. Though…the light may be a little harsh, if all the brightness is coming from a single, tiny source.”

“We could always make a hollow resin case,” you propose, “Translucent white would help it cast light more evenly around a room, and if that’s the case, we can make it look like a standard lightbulb.”

“We could make it fit the standard socket, as well.”

The two of you jot down a couple more things, taking note of what ideas you might want to incorporate and how you might make certain things work. It’s not an overly convoluted process, though complications start to arise when you try to figure out how to build it.

You’d had access to the tools you’d needed, the first time you’d made your diodes - resin, molds, soldering tools and raw materials, clamps and magnifiers and heat guns. You knew that the academy had such things available to students, but it was usually at a personal cost.

You either paid the fee to use the items, or you put your names on a waiting list at -that this point- was a couple of weeks long.

You wouldn’t have enough time to go through the entire testing process and create your final project.

And neither of you had the pocket money to pay.

“I have what we need back home,” you admit, picking idly at your nails. “I don’t have enough space to store anything in my dorm, but…we could always head to my place for the weekend, if you’re available?”

You feel bad, springing the question on him so suddenly. Though you considered Viktor a friend, your relationship was still rather new - you don’t want your parents to hound him relentlessly, which you knew they might, if you brought him home.

Your father would likely leave him well enough alone, out of politeness, but your mother is one of the nosiest people you know. She’d without a doubt question him until she made herself dizzy. Where are you from? What are you studying? What’s your relationship with my daughter?

She had no qualms about making people uncomfortable.

“Are you sure your parents would be alright with me joining you?” he asks, a worried crease appearing between his brows.

“Probably,” you sigh, carefully placing a bookmark in your notes before shutting the cover. “In all honesty, they’ll likely just be happy that I’m bringing someone home. They’ve been trying for years to get me to socialize, instead of holing up in the basement like some kind of hermit.”

Your words earn a soft laugh from him, and you smile, the sound stirring up the butterflies in your stomach.

After a couple more minutes of contemplation, Viktor agrees to your invitation, and you promise him that you’ll send a message to your parents that evening to alert them to your arrival.

—

The following evening, you meet up with Viktor in front of the academy, close to where you’d been dropped off at the very beginning of the semester. Neither of you have packed much for the weekend - he some clothing and writing materials, you your notebooks and silver pen box.

V hadn’t been very chatty as of late, but you didn’t feel any malicious intent from him - if you shared a class, then you know how busy he’s got to be. There wouldn’t be much else to talk about besides your projects, and that would be a dead giveaway on who he was.

It wasn’t like you’d stopped speaking to each other.

You still wrote to each other daily, asking about classes, complaining about stresses, and cracking jokes about your classmates. He’d thankfully been getting along with his partner for the last couple weeks, though while you’re happy that he’s having a better time with her than he had been, you can’t help the little pang of jealousy that stabs at your heart.

He’s allowed to have friends, you tell yourself, hoping the ache will somehow subside. I want him to have friends. I want him to have a good experience at the academy.

It does nothing to mitigate the way it hurts.

Though…you do feel a lot better when you’re around Viktor. His sly wit and the earnest excitement he adopts whenever you’re working on something together - he lifts your mood in the best of ways, and makes you forget about the little wounds decorating your heart.

You can’t help but wonder what your life would be like if you pursued him, instead.

But as quick as the thought comes, you banish it from your mind - it still flusters you as you approach your partner, though he thankfully doesn’t mention it.

“Our ride should be here soon,” you say, coming to a stop at his side. “My parents said they’d send someone to fetch us, but I don’t know if they had anyone specific in mind.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence while you wait, shivering slightly as the brisk wind meanders through the streets and up under your jackets.

Your taxi arrives after a couple of minutes, promptly coming to a stop in front of you, right on the hour, and you both clamber in. It’s not much warmer in the cab, but at least the wind is no longer whipping right through your bones.

“You’ve brought a friend this time!” the driver chips happily, heartily laughing as you long eyes in the mirror.

It takes you a moment to place where you’ve seen his face before, but when it dawns on you, you return his smile tenfold. “It’s you again!” you chime, recognizing him as the man who had brought you over at the beginning of the semester.

The two of you cheerfully catch up, as your previous conversation comes rushing back. He’s openly surprised that you even recall his face, let alone his name. And when you ask about his grandkids? He lights up with a palpable warmth.

He wastes no time in updating you on his life, going on and on about each of his kids, and their kids - shedding a joyful tear or two when he announces that his only daughter just had her first baby, a little girl that he got to meet just days prior.

You feel a little bad for leaving Viktor out of the conversation, but you know the aversion he has to certain social settings. In any case, he seems content to sit beside you in silence, while you chatter amicably with your old friend - a conversation you’re so invested in, that you completely miss the way he stares at you with the utmost affection.

By the end of the drive, you’ve half a mind to ask your driver to join you for coffee sometime. But you don’t want to overstep and perhaps put him in an uncomfortable position, so you instead settle for handing him the same hefty tip as the first day you’d met.

He waits while you and Viktor meander your way up the front walkway of your childhood home - waits until the two of you have opened the door and walked in, before taking off with a wave.

And then, you’re in silence.

The door shuts behind you, and it’s as if the outside world ceases to exist.

There’s a very distant echo of a gramophone playing music elsewhere in the house, but you can’t quite place where. The lights are dim, the floors are gathering dust, and the walls have begun to gather cobwebs - it’s like the entire place has frozen in time, filling you with a strange sense of emptiness.

Viktor sets a hand on your shoulder, as if your sudden shift in mood is visible. “Are you-”

But his words are cut off by a loud cacophony of…meowing?

You glance around for half a second, until the noise sounds off again, and you’re able to pinpoint the location to the top of the stairs. It grows closer with every squawk, and soon you’re also able to make the distinction of a tiny bell jingling. A quick little rhythm, closing in on the two of you.

Then, from around the upstairs corner, barely visible from where you stand in the front entrance, comes a cat.

At least…you’re pretty sure it’s a cat.

It’s white and incredibly fluffy, and startlingly large in stature. And sure enough, hanging at its throat on a soft yellow collar, is an itty bitty bell. But the thing most unsettling about the newcomer, are quite possibly its eyes.

Bright shocking blue, like the sky itself reflects there.

“Luca! Come on, away from the door!” comes your mother’s voice, scolding in words but hardly in tone. She speaks to the creature in the way one might coddle a baby - something you never thought you’d ever get to hear your mother do.

“Did they run out of guard dogs?” you tease, as she rounds the corner.

Her face lights up when she realizes it’s you that’s causing all the fuss, and she wastes no time zipping closer in her motorized chair. “You know I’ve always preferred cats,” she retorts, gesturing you closer so she can hug you, “Besides, Luca chose this place all on his own. Didn’t you, sweet boy?”

When she releases you from her hold, she immediately starts making kissy noises at the great fluffy beast, enticing him up into the little padded basket she’d attached to the front of her chair.

“Momma, this is Viktor,” you say, once the cat is settled into his bed. “We met at school - I told you about him in the letter I sent yesterday. Remember?”

All at once, your mother’s cheerful demeanor dissipates.

Cold dread washes over you when she narrows her eyes at him, scooting her chair closer and closer so she can better scrutinize him. She looks entirely judgmental in how she almost glares down her nose at him, eyes cold and searching.

But then, right as you’re about to tell her to leave him alone, she perks back up.

All on her own.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Viktor,” she says, holding her hand out.

The two of you almost deflate as the relief rushes in. Your mother then steers away from him and motions you to follow.

“We really wish you’d visit more,” she chastises you, as she leads you down the hallway, towards the kitchen. “Your father has been terribly bored since you went away, and has decided to take up cooking as a hobby.”

She pauses briefly, and fixes you with a comically mortified expression.

“You’re lucky I convinced him to cook something normal for dinner, darling. The things he’s put on my plate these last couple months…” she stares off into the distance for a couple seconds, face wrinkling at the less than fond memories, before continuing the journey down the hall.

It doesn’t take long for the wafting smell to reach your nose, and moments later, the three of you step into the kitchen.

It’s always been a place you enjoyed spending time - coming upstairs in the middle of the night to hunt down whatever snack you desired, or to make some strange concoction of ingredients that would make most people cringe.

“Hi Papa,” you giggle, taking in the mess accumulating around most of the room. Dishes and various chopped ingredients, a toppled bag of mushrooms and rice pellets littering the floor, and so much flour.

Your father turns around at the sound of your laughter, his face lighting up the moment he lays eyes on you.

“Sweetpea!” he cries, and immediately crowds you into a hug.

You squirm and wriggle as he litters your face with kisses, squealing with glee. “You’re getting flour on my clean clothes!” you whine, but he only hugs you harder.

He finally relents when he thinks his smothering is sufficient, and you skip back to Viktor’s side to go through introductions again.

Your father doesn’t go through the same notions as your mother: where she had put on an air of judgment, he keeps the air around him light and friendly and welcoming. But you can see in the subtle stiffness of his posture - he doesn’t know what to think of your friend.

You know they’ll both love Viktor by the end of the weekend - the two of you are so alike, after all - but you know the journey will probably be met with the slightest bit of resistance. For all their hounding after you to make friends, they sure hadn’t been prepared for the fact that you might actually make friends.

It strikes you that perhaps they’re just stressed to see their daughter all grown up, and beginning to make her way in life.

That’s a conversation for another time, you think, wrapping your hand around Viktor’s wrist.

“Come on,” you tug him gently out of the kitchen, “We can get our books set up in the shop, and maybe start getting some materials together.”

—

Walking into your old workspace is once again like stepping straight into the past. It’s as cluttered as you remember it, with pieces and spare parts strewn across every surface. A half-finished project still lays in the center of your desk, and your main shelving unit is still stocked with the old trinkets you’d made when you first started getting into machinery.

It’s just…dustier.

“Feel free to look around,” you tell Viktor, setting your bag down on the lumpy couch you’d crammed into the corner of the room.

You look around for a couple of seconds before locating the exact crate you need, and heft it onto your hip. “I’m going to the store room to grab some of the stuff we need,” you say.

Viktor glances up from where he’s fondly going over some of your old drawings.

“Do you need any help?” he wonders.

You shake your head. “It’s pretty tight in there, anyways. I don’t think we’d both fit. I’ll be back in a few.”

He watches as you disappear through the doorway, and smiles a couple moments later when he hears metallic rustling and the sounds of machine parts knocking together.

His attention is quickly drawn once again to all the work you’d done over the years - hundreds of drawings and notes pinned up to a corkboard on the wall, strings attached to pins to connect them together.

Some of the doodles, he has no idea what to make of. The lines are sloppy and unmeasured, so he guesses that they’re some of your first ever designs - impossible and unrealistic, but creative nonetheless.

He recognizes other things, though. Simple machines that he’s also studied when he’d first started out, learning by taking stuff apart and putting it back together again.

He pauses.

Backtracks.

Recognizes more than just a simple machine: a drawing he’d made, years ago at this point, but most definitely one of his.

But what was it doing here? He remembers sketching it out, because he’d had to copy it in ink instead of graphite.

Had to copy it because…

His gaze darts towards the door for a few seconds, to make sure you’re still occupied in the other room, before he begins searching around your shelves in earnest.

Every time his eyes find a new object, he knows it. He remembers the story behind it - remembers drawing it himself, or watching the lines appear in his notebook as his beloved friend shared it.

His best friend, whom he wrote to every day.

His best friend, whose face he didn’t know.

His best friend, who shared with him a pair of magic pens.

She was you?

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #The Bottom Of The Inkwell

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wsknbfanaccnt · 16 hours

Text

Drug Addiction Headcanons

TW: Drug, alcohol, sex addiction

Characters: Akashi, Aomine, Kise, Murasakibara

This is also going to focus heavily on Akashi and Aomine

─ ⋆⋅ Akashi & Aomine ⋅⋆ ─

ngl I feel like Aomine would probably be most at risk for drug addiction

and Akashi

like Aomine literally has depression and Akashi is mentally ill so they would want something that would fill the void ykwim?

eventually Akashi would be Aomine's drug dealer because hey he's rich and can get away with anything

Akashi caught Aomine smoking something and immediately knew what it is

(dont ask me about what drug because i dont know shi abt that)

Aomine was like under a bridge maybe and Akashi caught him on the way to buy some

"Shit- Akashi? What are you doing here?" cue aomine trying to hide what was in his hand

but it was a well known place for drug dealing

Akashi took one look at what he was doing and went "For similar purposes." and he was just looking at Aomine dead in the eye

they went from smoking together to Akashi's being his drug dealer real quick

oh and Akashi also hires prostitutes for Aomine

ofc he knows exactly what Aomine wants when it comes to women

idk Akashi has access to prostitutes and he could hire one if he wants to but i dont think he'd be much of a sex addict unlike aomine

when they really get comfortable Akashi just watches Aomine fuck a whore while getting high in the corner of the room and just casually talks to Aomine like nothing's happening

there was one instance (that they could remember at least) that they got high and basically ended up fucking

neither of them have ever spoken about that

ever

not a single word

not even the next morning when they were both bare naked and Akashi's ass was sore and they KNEW they fucked

───── ⋆⋅ Kise ⋅⋆ ─────

someone give me an excuse to write this as an AoAka oneshot

I convinced myself to make an excuse for this oneshot so here u go

he would probably be the next most at risk

VERY secretive about it though, no one knows but him

he doesnt even do it in public

he's v paranoid about it

ever since he got addicted he never did a single photoshoot without being high

his coworkers had their suspicions but Kise was too meticulous about it for them to actually confirm anything and have evidence

he cries a lot when he's high

── ⋆⋅ Murasakibara ⋅⋆ ──

he probably smokes weed just for fun

hes not an addict

he just likes the feeling funny

(hippie ass mf)

and since this mf likes candy he'd probably love edibles or brownies or smth similar to that

he'd probably just do it after school or on weekends idk

just to make everything more amusing

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doesntseeyourbeauty · 11 months

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Elizabeth!!!! Hiiiiii!!!! 🤍👻🤍👻 I'm sorry I've been absent these past days, I've been a bit overwhelmed with work and reading two silly books that I'm enjoying so much. How are you??

Yeah, that's understandable, work sometimes is really draining and it also uses so much of our time, 😩. Well, those are pretty too, I love to see the colour combos people choose for the songs. Yes, yes, yes, me too!!!! 🥰😍😍

AAAAH thank youuuu for saying that!!! Now I'm even more excited about it!!!! It's going to be so cool! 🤭

How was the eras movie???? Tell me everything!!!!

Hehehe good food always wins!

Oh that muppet twilight thing seems very promising! Hehe

Definitely!!! I also think that's so interesting that she has worked with do many different people, but her essence is still unmistakable!

Hahaha people should mind their business instead of trying to figure out who is dating who. Hahaha that must be awkward sometimes. 😅😝

Hahaha Kayla seems like such a sweetheart, even though she's a food thief! And Winnie is talkative, that's so sweet! I wish mine were too!!!

Yes, I do think Olivia shows growth in guts! It's so amazing, there isn't a bad song on it!!

Have a wonderful week!!! Muah 😘🤍🤍🤍

HIIIIIIII!!!! I hope you're doing well despite work being overwhelming! <3 What silly books are you reading? (I'm always looking for new books to read!)

It can be! I used to only work 4 days a week so it's been taking adjusting to being at work everyday except the weekend, but I'll get there soon! Same! I know for me, I try to use colors that I associate with the album the song is from but sometimes I like to choose the color based off what color I think the song would be! So for the eras tour movie, I made a cold as you bracelet and I chose blue for the beads bc it just felt fitting!

You're gonna have such a blast at your show, I already know! I still go back and watch the videos I took from my show and I love that you get to have those memories too!

It was AMAZING!!! My theater was sold out (it was on the 13th!) and the vibes were amazing!!! Everyone had an understanding that there was going to be singing, the chants, and I danced in my seat for the most part, but at the end, we all stood up to dance to Karma! The surprise song section was so much fun as well, and one of my favorite parts was the credits! I'll go ahead and say it but I did sob during marjorie and tolerate it (I recently got out of a long term relationship) but other than that it was a blast!!!

It does! I'm a big food person, after all, I grew up in the Southern United States and food is a big part of our culture. So food is always one of my top things about places or better yet the outdoor options they have for adventures!

It's so funny!!! This is the link to the one I saw and it made me laugh so hard! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4l9mjSeAVW0

I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that Taylor has always been a songwriter first and has been passionate about the music she puts into the world. It's also just so amazing to me to see how fast she can create such amazing lyrics (like how she wrote the Last Time in roughly 10 minutes) and they become some of her best work. She's just amazing in general but that's me!

Oh I agree! It can be but we've had it happen all our lives. We once had someone ask if my older brother and our mom were married. Which is insulting to my older brother because damn he doesn't look that old (our mom is in her late 40's now), but also I guess it's a compliment to our mom? Idk, I never like to assume about people's relationship status, speculation can be a negative thing!

They both have such amazing personalities and I'm very grateful to have both of them! I can't imagine existing without them lol

AGREED!!! Guts has been on repeat since it's release for me and I have no regrets about it!

I hope you have the loveliest of weeks!!!! <3333

#swiftie halloween

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nevarrhoe · 2 years

Text

mea culpa (m.m) - two

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter. (masterlist + playlist)

warnings: afab reader/fem pronouns, age gap, smut, p in v, choking, unprotected sex, semi-public sex. and also swearing, naturally.

MINORS DNI - this has been clearly marked as having explicit content and with these clear warnings in place, you are reading this whilst being aware of said content and i bare no responsibility for what you to choose to consume. with that in mind, if someone who a) does not have their age in their bio or b) does so and is a minor, you will be blocked.

thank you so much for such a positive response to this series so far!! it really means the world to me and if you would like to be tagged, please let me know <3

-jazz (@dameronology)

It was a little hard to stop thinking about Matthew Murdock over the next few days.

Nevermind the fact he’d left hickeys all over your neck - it was the fact he was texting you every few hours with absolutely indescribable fantasies that made it difficult to think about anything else. Your blood would run cold every time your phone buzzed, just on the off chance that one of your friends, or god forbid your father, see your phone screen. It put you on edge in the best way. This entire thing was already beyond fucked up for more than one reason and yet, you wanted more. So much more.

Can’t wait to taste you again.

Can’t wait to hear you scream my name again.

Hope you haven’t been thinking about anyone else.

And it was funny, really, because Matt was a perfectly respectable man from the outside. Quiet, unassuming, a dry sense of humour - you never would have taken him of all people to be the one to make you feel so fucking alive. It wasn’t just how good he was in bed, but rather the thrill of it all. Nothing got your motor running like a situation’s potential to disappoint your father but hey. That was for your therapist to deal with.

Of course, your father had asked several questions about where you’d disappeared too after the gala on Friday. He was more concerned about it had looked for him, and to have his daughter run out on a big charity event. Your mother had been less worried about that part, and more about her vintage Chanel suit. You’d settled both their worries by a) telling your father you’d had stomach problems (because who was gonna ask about that?) and b) promising to send the Chanel off to a dry cleaner.

It was on a slow Monday afternoon - exactly three days after you’d met him - that Matt sent you a not so dirty text. It was so casual, in fact, that it caught you more off guard than any of the filth he’d sent you over the weekend.

Wanna grab lunch?

“Are you okay, honey?”

You blinked, eyes shooting up to your best friend. Okay, maybe not a best friend - those were hard to come by in high-society. She was your most tolerable friend. It had been her idea to get martinis for lunch. Your idea of fun wasn’t exactly sitting around with five rich girls and their daddy’s credit cards but it wasn’t like you had work to do, right?

Part of you so badly wanted to tell them about the escapade over the weekend - about how much better an older guy was than all their ridiculous, frat-house boyfriends, and how good he’d made you feel. But did you trust them? Not with your damn life. And for risk of being cut out of your father’s will, you figured it was something to keep to yourself.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I gotta ditch. My dad needs me to get something from his office.”

Grabbing your jacket - a tan Chanel parka, naturally - you slid out of the booth and straight out of the restaurant. Matt’s number was dialed into your phone before you even hit the street.

“Matthew, hi!” you greeted him. “I’m down for lunch.”

“Perfect,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Wanna come by my office?”

“Sure. Want me to grab takeout?”

“It’s okay. I already have lunch here.”

“Okay. Text me the address.”

–

The Nelson & Murdock office wasn’t too far from where you’d been. Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t exactly your stomping ground but your Uber had dropped you off right outside, and you had a taser in your bag. Not to mention the years of Krav Maga and karate that you’d done in high school and college. You could have been a damn vigilante if you wanted to.

It was the shorter, Nelson half of Nelson and Murdock that saw you first. He seemed taken aback at first - maybe by your expensive appearance, but also maybe because every other person in the room was a middle-aged man there for free legal advice. By the looks of your Chanel bag and red-soled shoes, he figured you probably didn’t need any legal advice for free. Especially not from him. It seemed much more apparent that you had the likes of Jeri Hogarth in your pocket should you need any legal assistance.

“Hello. Hi.” Foggy greeted you with wide eyes. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no,” you turned around to face him, sticking out your hand. “You’re Nelson, right?”

“I am Nelson,” he replied, shocked look still not faltering. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of Matt’s,” you explained. “I don’t suppose he’s around?”

Speak of the devil. Your conversation was cut short by Murdock’s entrance. He looked hot in a suave sort of way; tie loosened around his neck, top button undone and sleeves rolled up. It was the first time you’d seen him since you’d left his apartment early on Saturday morning and frankly, you didn’t know how to act. Most of the men you slept with didn’t invite you to their offices for lunch - hell, most of them didn’t have offices.

“Hey, Murdock,” you gave him a small wave.

“Hey - come in,” Matt shot you a grin, ushering over to his own office in the corner.

It was neater than you’d thought it would be; there was a laptop perched on his desk, with a braille translator and a stack of legal files. They were probably the same legal files your dad had, just..the other side of the story. After all, Nelson and Murdock were known for looking out for the little guy. That was much more admirable than daddy dearest and his famously corrupt evidence.

“Your shirt fits better today,” you commented, shrugging off your jacket. “That’s a real shame.”

“Is that a comment about my arms or the way I dress?”

“I think you know that it’s about your arms.”

You pushed aside the files, hopping up onto Matt’s desk. He had you caged in within a second, broad hands gripping your hips and guiding you up into a kiss. It was a little softer than the ones you’d shared on Friday night - there was less heat; a causal air to it. You didn’t think it was possible to miss the lips of a man you’d fucked exactly once.

“So,” you murmured against him. “You said you had lunch here.”

“I do,” Matt gave you a shit-eating grin. “You.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, hitting his shoulder. “Did you seriously invite me over here just for a fuck?”

“Not exactly!” he quickly replied, raising his hands in surrender. “I wanted to check in with you and see how you were.”

“Oh, okay,” you raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “I’m not too bad. I was having lunch with some of my friends when you texted-”

Matt suddenly attached his lips to your neck, teeth gently nipping on the same mark he’d left a few days ago. You didn’t mean to let out a moan, but how could you not?

“Matthew!” you exclaimed again.

“No, go on!” he stopped for a second. “I’m listening. You were having lunch with your friends and…”

“And you texted and I was bored, so I left and - Jesus fucking Christ, that feels so good.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You left your friends to see me?”

“I would leave my dying Aunt Betty’s bedside to see you,” you said. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you. “Enough catching up. I’m good to have lunch now.”

He gave you a grin and a few moments later, his hands found your way under your ass. Matt shoved aside the pile of legal papers and moved you further onto the desk, lips back on your neck and working a thousand times harder than they had before. Instinctively, you tangled a hand in his hair and just let him have at it.

The build-up wasn’t as tense as it had been the first time you fucked, but that was because Matt knew you better now. He pretty much had you memorised; the ticklish spot on your neck, the most sensitive spot on your hips, the way you liked his nails to dig into your back just enough to hurt. That was just a testament to him. Who else would remember that? Who else would take the time to learn what you liked after just once?

“Not that I don’t enjoy this,” Matt paused for a second. “But my lunch break isn’t that long. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to be quick.”

“You’re real cheap, Matthew Murdock,” you scowled. “Do you invite all girls over here for a fuck disguised as lunch and then rush them?”

“No, not all of them,” he shot back. “Some are more breakfast kinda gals-”

“- oh shut the fuck up.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him back into a kiss. Matt couldn’t help but smile against you - at how badly you wanted him, how you chastised him but still didn’t stop him.

It was in that moment that you thanked every deity there was that you’d chosen to wear a skirt that day. But frankly, you wouldn’t have given a fuck if Matt had ripped your Versace mini-skirt to shreds. He would have been okay with that too, especially if it meant you have to borrow a shirt of his to leave in.

Still, Matthew Murdock was nothing if not respectable - at least enough so not to destroy your designer clothes. Instead, he simply pushed it up, large hands making their way to your ass cheeks and giving one of them a light slap. You froze when he did - how many clients were out there in the waiting room right now? Even with the blinds closed and the door shut, how many of them could hear what was going on?

“Problem?” Matt paused.

“There are people out there who could hear us-”

“- not with the air conditioning on. Foggy always has it going. Don’t worry.”

You scowled. “How do you know that?”

“Just do.”

Matt wasted no time in resuming his activities. Grabbing you by the hips again, he lifted you with ease and spun you around so that he was the one on the desk, and you were in his lap. The friction of his hard-on in his trousers against your core was almost unbearable and he could tell you were desperate by the way your grip on him suddenly tightened.

“Look at you,” he grinned. There was something about the way his voice dropped four octaves every time he was about to fuck you. “You’re calling me sloppy but you’re gagging for it, aren’t you?”

You let out a small grumble, shaking your head. “I thought you didn’t have time to tease?”

“You’re lucky that I don’t have time to do a lot of the things I want to do to you, sweetheart,” he said. “Everyone out there would be able to hear me fucking you if I didn’t have to be back in twenty minutes.”

“Matthew,” you growled. “I don’t care how long you have - if you’re not inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going somewhere else.”

“I didn’t think there would be many men around at this time willing.”

You let out a derivative snort, acrylic nails dragging down his neck and hand settling ever so gently on his throat. “You think I don’t have plenty of offers? You’re not the only man who can make me scream.”

It was almost like your words awakened something in Matt. In a flash, he’d pulled you off the desk and positioned you against it; there was the sound of his belt and a second later, his dick was inside you. Rock hard and beautiful, and the perfect length to have you clenching around him in mere fucking seconds.

He wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, one hand tangling his fingers with yours on the desk and the other wrapped around your throat. You had complete and utter trust in him and maybe that was why you placed your own hand over his and encouraged him to squeeze harder.

Matt’s movements were rapid and consistent: time was of the essence after all, and there was no way in hell he was going back to work until you came.

It didn’t take much, to be honest. Not when you had his gruff voice muttering things in your ear. It was hard not to make noise then - Matt moved his hand from your throat accordingly, clutching it over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans. What an ass. Not to mention that it only made you even fucking louder.

“Do they make you feel this good?” he teased. “Do they?”

He managed to hit the right spot over and over and it wasn’t long before you felt that knot in your stomach. It was a plunge; like a plane falling out of the sky, anything that caused a sharp drop in your gut. The room was practically spinning around you as you came undone, red acrylics digging into the skin of Matt’s arm for some kind of relief.

“There we go, sweetheart,” Matt murmured. He softened his pace, slowing down for a minute to revel in his own high. “Good girl.”

He released his hand from your mouth, chest heaving against your back for a minute as you both came down from your respective orgasms. A broad arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Matthew Murdock was a gentleman, even when he was rearranging your guts.

You slowly turned around to face him, pulling him into another desperate kiss.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Matt softly asked.

“Yeah, I am,” you ran a hand down his chest, faltering for a second. “Why? You gonna take me out for dinner?”

“Yeah, but an actual meal. It’s not a euphemism, I promise,” he gave you a grin.

You returned the gesture for a minute, a wide smile on your face - but then it faltered. “Matthew, I would love for you to take me on a date, and I adore spending time with you but…”

“But what?”

“My dad,” you groaned, dropping your head into his shoulder. “If anyone catches me with you, I’m done for - as hot as that is.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, fine. What if we just hang out at my apartment and get take out? You can dress like a slob and no-one will see us.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” your smile quickly returned. “But I am not dressing like a slob. I wear Chanel or I wear nothing.”

“I would much prefer if you wore nothing.”

tags: @walkintheprk @lunarxeclipse

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