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show-your-fangs · 1 year

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Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort.

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up.

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on.

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright.

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red.

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed.

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it.

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you.

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice.

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else.

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently.

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home.

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next.

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives.

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring.

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it.

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him.

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him.

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside.

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room.

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years.

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours.

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced.

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you.

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest.

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute.

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day.

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him.

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners.

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more.

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed.

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length.

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane.

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long.

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body.

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip.

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy.

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate.

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look.

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself.

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case.

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him.

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away.

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all.

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay.

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet.

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you.

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you.

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling.

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool.

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out.

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you.

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him.

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you.

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection.

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened.

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping.

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body.

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position.

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm.

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three.

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water.

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch.

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there.

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task.

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear.

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty.

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more.

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms.

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess.

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time.

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do.

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips.

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one.

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it.

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you.

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile.

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed.

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it.

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips.

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully.

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake.

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes.

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled.

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you.

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time.

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him.

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now.

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes.

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone.

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter.

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something.

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important.

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could.

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice.

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours.

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction.

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C.

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him.

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day.

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up.

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him.

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second.

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours.

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face.

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone.

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed.

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief?

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again.

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you.

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest.

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him.

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body.

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight.

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free.

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.”

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you.

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level.

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you.

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him.

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation.

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact.

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you.

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest.

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him.

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done.

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue.

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him.

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length.

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him.

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become.

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass.

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise.

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked.

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did.

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him.

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house.

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners.

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection.

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot.

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have.

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full.

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in.

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for.

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you.

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously.

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself.

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before.

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him.

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever.

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening.

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst.

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place.

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you.

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately.

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours.

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome.

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory.

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend.

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

#dbf!hotch #dbf!hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #professor!Hotch #perv!hotch #we shouldn’t (and yet we do)

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malusmagpie · 6 months

Text

Unbreakable Bonds

Pairing: Master!AnakinxPadawan!Reader

Summary: A master is supposed to care deeply for his Padawan… Right?

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: IMPORTANT: Anakin is 26 in this one. You’re 21. Okay? Okay. First. Sorry for disappearing! I’m fine and thank you so much for all the kind words in my inbox they meant the world to me. I just got uninspired for writing and burnt out from work. Second. I genuinely thought this was way longer than it is. Uhhhhh it’s a two parter. Maybe a three. No promises. Can y’all tell this is my fav trope? But i missed u guys 🫶🏼 lazy ending warning i didn’t wanna keep going i wanted to split it in two.

The sounds of the 501st yelling around you was not what you expected to wake up to. The men of the battalion had set up a camp for everybody on the remote planet you’d landed on in the Outer Rim the night before because the walk had been far too long to do in one stretch. You couldn’t even remember what the planet was called. You just knew your Master was assigned to a mission here and that meant you were assigned to it as well.

You shot out of your sleeping bag when you heard blaster shots above head. One flew through your tent, barely even a foot away from you. Your hand reached for your lightsaber on the ground and it flew into your grip as you ran through the flimsy tent door.

The bright suns of the desert planet blinded you for a moment and you adjusted your eyes before whipping your head toward all the commotion.

“They’re flanking left!” You heard Fives yell. You ran over to where you saw Anakin using a rock as cover.

“Master, why didn’t you wake me?” You yelled over the sounds of blaster fire and explosions with wide eyes. He smiled at you, a smile that didn’t aid your panic.

“Well good morning, Princess. Sleep well?” He always had time for jokes, even in an ambush. You groaned and ducked further down when you felt a blaster shot coming directly at you. “If you didn’t already notice. We’ve been ambushed, but I have a plan.” He finished and you stared at him with a blank expression.

“What would that be, Master?” You said wearily, you were preparing yourself to hear what could be considered by most to be an insane string of words in response to your question. To you though, it would be a normal Anakin thing to say. The 501st was doing a fantastic job at keeping them at bay for the short duration of your conversation but instead of responding, Anakin simply smiled before running right at the blaster shots, blocking them as if the ambush meant nothing to him.

The five year difference in your ages didn’t seem to matter. You tended to act and feel like the older one most days. It was a shame when your previous Master died, you cried in your room for days when the news arrived and you still flinched when you heard his name, it gave the council pretty much no choice but to put you under Anakin’s charge until you finished your training and completed your trials.

Regardless of who was more mature, you followed him blindly. The knowledge that you could trust him not to get you killed at the very minimum was reason enough to stay right on his heel. He was running toward a tank that was firing explosives at your camp. You tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself when he climbed up on top of it, dodging whatever came his way in the process. You followed him, doing the best you could with what you had been taught.

You stood with him on top of the tank and he used his lightsaber to cut the locked door open. It dropped to the floor of the small space inside the tank, crushing a battle droid in the process. Anakin jumped down to the bottom and you opted for climbing down the ladder, following him closely. He took the second battle droids head off with one swing of his lightsaber and took the piloting chair when the droid fell to the ground. You stood watch behind him, in case anybody came in behind the two of you.

With an aggressive turn to the handles that controlled the top half of the machine, Anakin turned the tanks artillery around causing your body to jostle around. You caught your footing and within moments, most of the battle droids around you became victim to the explosives flying out of the tank.

You heard something above head and your eyes caught sight of a droid holding a blaster toward you. You expected the thing to climb down before it blasted but when it shot at you from its vantage point you stumbled back with a stagger. Using a relatively easy Force ability, you pushed it off the tank and it landed on the ground. The tank moved as if it had gone over a bump and you safely assumed that you had done your job at getting rid of the droid.

“What was that?” He called over his shoulder and you looked down at your arm where your previously dry robe now had a small, blood-soaked patch.

“Nothing. I took care of it.” You replied with no hesitation. You heard the commotion eventually come to an end and Anakin let the 501st finish off the few remaining droids before getting up out of his seat.

“Thanks for trusting me, Y/N.” He said as he walked by you in the dimly lit space. You placed your lightsaber on your hip and followed him as he climbed up and out of the tank. You winced every time you pulled yourself up the ladder with your injured arm but you still got to the top fairly quickly. Anakin hopped down to the ground and held his hand out to help you. His eyes trailed to your stained robe as you reached your own hand to meet his.

Anakin pulled you down with both haste and caution. His eyebrows furrowed as he examined your wound as best as he could and you stared at him with an expression that screamed silent apologies.

“I’m sorry. I misread the situation and it shot me-“ You started and he didn’t let you finish.

“Next time I check in on you. Tell me the truth.” He spoke sternly as he guided you back to what was left of the camp. You closed your eyes for a moment, beating yourself up for not speaking up.

“I didn’t want to distract you.” You spoke softly and he scoffed.

“You know what’s worse than distracting me? Letting me turn around to see you bled out on the ground.” He stopped walking and his hand still held a firm grip on your uninjured bicep. Your eyes watched your shoes, feeling Anakin’s gaze bore into you.

“Never lie to me again. Mistakes happen, don’t let them fester.” Anakin’s voice was softer now. He let go of your arm and he continued walking before you could apologize again.

Your head hung low as you approached the men who fought valiantly for your Master; not because you were embarrassed, but because you couldn’t keep your head up. You felt your body begin to lose stability and you looked at your arm again, the patch had become almost the entire lower half of your arm and you were beginning to feel the pain. The adrenaline wouldn’t bring you much further and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to speak but you began to see small black dots in your vision. Your head spun slowly and your eyes fell shut. You had very little control over where you dropped, but you felt the impact right before you blacked out and you knew it was going to leave a bruise or two.

You woke up to see the interior of Anakin’s star fighter. You blinked slowly, wincing in pain. You looked down at your arm, it was dressed professionally and your sleeve had been cut off, likely to access the wound without undressing you.

“Keep still. You’re still healing.” A voice rang through the room and you turned your head to find the source. You winced when the movement caused your wound to burn. You heard Anakin sigh and stand up. He stood over you, eyebrows knitted in concern with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What part of ‘tell me if you’re not okay’ do you not understand?” He said sternly. You watched his eyes analyze your dressings from afar and you let out a sigh of your own, your voice sounded cracked and dry.

“I’m sorry-“ You started. Anakin held a hand up, signalling for you to stop speaking. His head angled itself away from you and he took a deep breath with his eyes shut. The way he always did when he had to calm down.

“I care about you.” He said after a moment of silence as he let his hand drop to his side, his voice sounded softer again. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died under my charge. Do you understand?” He gazed at you, looking for a sign that you did in fact, understand. You nodded.

“Good.” He pulled his chair over by the small cot you were laying on and sat down. “How’s it feeling?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

You looked at the wound with a shrug. “Could have been worse.” You seethed causing him to deepen the lines in his face, resting his hand on your arm.

“Just… Rest. That’s all you can do until we get to Coruscant.” He looked at you for a moment before getting up, presumably to fly the ship. You leaned back against the pillow and shut your eyes, letting sleep take over you. All you heard before sleep took over your body were the four words he let slip earlier. They echoed in your head as you lulled away.

“I care about you.”

You didn’t dream. At least you thought you didn’t. It was a shock to you when in your slumber, your mind filled with images of your own master smiling, laughing, and holding you. Soft words were whispered behind the backs of the council. His hand reaching for yours to squeeze it because he knew you were nervous. Kisses placed on foreheads and lingering touches were halted when you heard the 501st clanging around beyond your minds eye. In the cockpit on Anakin’s ship. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately closed them again, pretending to stay asleep and trying to grasp what the hell your brain was doing.

By the time the ship arrived on Coruscant, you’d rested and the bacta-bag wrapped around your arm seemed to have worked wonders on you. You opened your eyes to Anakin shaking you softly and the sound of his voice made a small part of you fill with an unexpected warmth.

“I’ll deal with the Council by myself, let me get you to your apartment first.” He said when you finally sat up. He rested a gentle hand on the back of your waist and you felt tingles over your entire back from the contact. The feeling shocked you, causing you to clear your throat to suppress a gasp. Anakin guided you off the bed and helped you off the bridge and onto the landing pad of your balcony.

“Are they angry?” You asked with a look toward him. He smiled, the kind of smile he held on his face when he had a joke in mind.

“They’re not allowed to feel angry remember?” He muttered humorously and you cracked a half smile. “Don’t worry about them.” He finished as he sat you down on your couch.

“Master, I really am sorry.” You spoke as he mindlessly placed the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your legs. Anakin shook his head.

“Really, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He said, settling down on the couch beside your legs. His forearms rested over his knees and he clasped his hands between them. You looked at him for longer than you thought appropriate. He looked tired and it took everything in you not to reach out and place your hand on his cheek.

He cared about you. He said it himself. Surely it was the same kind of care every Master had for their Padawan.

But it didn’t feel that way when he looked at you now.

You grappled with your thoughts, convincing yourself you were imagining things, that it was delusion. You almost didn’t hear him speak when he did.

“I almost lost you today.” Anakin said sternly. “I don’t have the time between all my meetings for a funeral, believe me.” He chuckled humourlessly.

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged and played with the frayed edge of the blanket over your legs. He shot you a look that made you smile and he followed with a chuckle. His hair pushed further into his face as he shook his down turned head.

A silence crept its way between the two of you and you watched his every move. You couldn’t explain the feeling that arose every time he smiled at you. It was like a switch had flipped and you desperately tried to figure out a way to flip it back while you watched him place his hands on his knees to push himself to his feet with a sigh. You gnawed at the skin inside your cheek as you watched him.

When he finally looked at you again, your mouth opened to say something, but it shut just as fast. You couldn’t trust your own words right now. Not with the way you were feeling. His lips thinned as he glanced at your arm again and he cleared his throat.

“Rest. I’m leaving you with C3-PO. He’ll help you get back on your feet so we can get back to our job.” He said, not bothering to look at you. You tried to ignore the pang of disappointment you felt at that. You gave him a nod as he retreated to his ship, leaving you with nothing more than a small nod in return.

You worked your jaw as he ascended and sped off. With a swift movement you pushed the blanket off your legs and stood. You felt fine, sure maybe a little bit weak from the blood loss but him calling in a babysitter for you felt unnecessary. You channeled your confusing emotions into annoyance at his childlike treatment of you. Because that seemed healthy.

As you paced your living room you swung your arm around gently to test how mobile you were. It seemed alright, nothing to pause missions or call reinforcements in for. You planned to give him a mouthful when he came back, you practiced your speech out loud as you walked around your apartment.

~•~•~•~

Anakin left yet another long winded meeting with a sigh, closing the door behind him as he left the council chambers. The meetings were a lot more tedious when he didn’t have Y/N with him. She tended to soften the blows, her charm and kindness carried them through plenty of scoldings and lectures from the council. He ran a hand through his hair as he stalked the busy hallways of the Temple.

All he could think of was how dumb he’d been. How blind he was to her struggle. If he’d just taken one second longer to check on her, she wouldn’t have that nasty bruise on the side of her face from the fall. Maybe if he’d kept a better eye on her she wouldn’t have gotten hit with the blaster at all.

Not only did he have to deal with the guilt of letting her get hurt, it was only a matter of time before he finally faced the reality of his feelings toward her. He knew it was coming, he couldn’t hold it back much longer. It already pained him immensely to hide it before she got hurt. Now, the very real fact was, he could misstep once and lose her forever. That dwelled on him and he wouldn’t let anymore time go on without telling her he cared for her in a way a Master shouldn’t care for their Padawan.

He sighed again, turning a corner and making for his speeder that was parked in the corner of the hangar. He’d give her a choice, of course. He’d tell her it was fine if she wanted to ask the council to place her with somebody else. He’d even go as far as push for her trials to be done quicker if it meant she could leave his charge if this all made her uncomfortable. He had every aspect planned but he needed to do it. If not now it would eat him alive forever, possibly until it was too late. He shook the thought from his head as he sped back to her house.

He arrived, later than he wanted, but with flowers and her favourite fruit. It showed he paid attention, at least in his mind. As if any of that would matter if she rejected him.

None of this was right, nor okay. He knew this all too well. He knew exactly what he was doing here and he’d weighed out all the pros and all the cons. Pros, he might have her. Cons, the Code. The damned Code.

He ruffled his hair nervously before taking one final deep breath and exiting his speeder. He caught sight of her pacing around and his eyebrows furrowed. 3PO intersected his path.

“Master Anakin, I fear Miss Y/N has lost it.” He said nervously. Anakin quirked a brow, smirking at the girl pacing her apartment and mouthing things.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thanks 3PO. Stay here.” He muttered as he pushed past the droids and left them on the balcony.

With a swift hand motion, Anakin opened her balcony door and placed her gifts on the table next to him. It wasn’t long before Y/N turned to face him during her paces.

~•~•~•~

“You. What have I done to lead you to believe that I would need not one, but two damned babysitters when I’m realistically only mildly hurt- What’s that?” You stopped in your tracks as you pointed to the flowers on the table. Your eyes landed back on Anakin where he leaned his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed.

He gave you a smile and you couldn’t seem to remember where you were in your speech. In fact, you couldn’t remember the speech at all.

“A gift. For you. I guess it’s more of an apology now though, isn’t it? Since you’re upset at me.” He shrugged, looking down at the bouquet and back at you.

“I’m not upset.” You shrugged, crossing your own arms as you took a few steps toward him. Your eyes fixated on him, you didn’t even care about the gift.

“Is that so? I could have sworn..” He trailed and you shook your head.

“Not upset. Glad you’re here.” You muttered and he chuckled as you approached him to snatch up the flowers and fruit to place them their respective places in a home.

“Right.” He nodded, that crooked smile never leaving his face. You didn’t even have to look at him to know what he looked like right now. You muttered something in agreement as you filled a vase with water and began cutting the stems. After a few moments of letting you arrange the flowers, Anakin rounded the counter to stand beside you and cleared his throat. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

“You feel it too don’t you?” He asked quietly, leaning against the edge of your counter as your hands worked away at the flowers. His words gave you pause, and you placed the flowers neatly in the vase before sliding it to the middle of the counter.

“Feel what?” You questioned, barely looking away from your finishing touches on the arranged bouquet before you grabbed a cutting board for the fruit. His hand rested over yours where you held the board, causing you to look at him again. You studied his features and somehow you knew. You knew exactly what he was talking about, what he was eluding to. Your heart raced as you watched his eyes scan your face, looking at every inch of you to gauge your emotions.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N. Just tell me if you want it as badly as I do..” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your eyes fell shut for a moment and you took a breath, trying to steady your thoughts. To see reason.

“Say it.” You replied without thinking.

Anakin sighed. “I care about you far more than what would be considered normal… Or.. Correct. In the eyes of the Jedi.” He said, his mouth formed a thin line as he gauged your response.

You stared at him, long and hard. You couldn’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen, that it was always going to happen, that nothing could have stopped it.

“I care about you too, Anakin. But-“

“Show me.” He breathed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Show you what?” You asked, already knowing the answer. It was always like this. You were always one step ahead of each other. Which made this conversation feel all the more tedious.

“Show me how much you care. No buts. Use your feelings.” He said, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath shuddered again as you placed your hands on the counter next to him and pushed yourself up toward him. Your eyes watched his flutter shut and you followed suit before placing your lips against his.

You melted into him when his hands circled your waist, bringing you directly in front of himself and a small sigh left your lips between kisses. It felt perfect. It felt right. Fated, even. His warm hands sent shivers through you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer.

When you finally broke the kiss, he almost chased you before retreating and placing his forehead against yours. His heavy breaths matched your own and your eyes finally opened to see blue hues looking back at you.

“Well. Shit.” You whispered and he chuckled. “What now?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. “I know I’m screwed if you change your mind though.” He finished with a cocky smile.

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peanutpinet · 27 days

Note

Hello!! I planned to check on your page in hopes to read some old/new fics and I was so glad I came across your recent one!! Thank you for that. I have a request for the mafia fics you make which are just *chef's kiss*

- Could you have Mark x female reader (same age, or the fem a bit younger) where they are both in a higher status who train the recruits and some of them disrespect the girl?

Please take your time- I know writing consistently can be hard (this is actually my second request and I can't wait for what more you have to bring!) Also I love that your fics are angsty but more fluffy which is what makes them great!!

Respect - Mafia! Mark Lee x Trainee! Fem Reader

A/N: hellow anon, I'm so sorry it took me eons to write this fic and am sorry if it didn't live up to your expectation but I hope you still find it enjoyable. I'm sorry to my fellow nctzens that I haven't been posting as well. Life happened and there's so much going around that has overwhelmed me but I'm slowly trying to work my way through the requests. I promise I'm trying to get your requests written!!

Also, your author went into the Love and Deepspace rabbit hole and well, you can probably guess who's my bias (cough*Sylus*cough). I had a thought of making a Jeno (Sylus) fic but we'll see if it'll come through the light of day but for now, I hope you enjoy my first-ever Mark fic on this blog.

Disclaimer: This is also part of the NCT mafia world/fic that I've created. The NCT members portrayed in this fic are not how they are irl. This is a work of FICTION!

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Mark being a mess, chaotic dreamies, mentions of drug, illegal drug selling, stuck-up annoying kid, no blood (for once in an NCT mafia fic), no torture (another surprise). NOT PROOFREAD!

ENJOY!!

“Hey Melk, don’t forget that you have to take charge of today’s recruits” Haechan shouted at what he likes to call, the ‘leader’ of dream

“You do know that I have a lot going around (literally irl as well, praying for Mark)?” Mark replied, as he was finishing some of the paperwork regarding the events from last weekend’s incident

“How’s Jisung holding up?” Mark asked whereas Haechan sighed seeing his hyung always taking care of his younger members rather than resting and taking care of his own health. “He’s doing fine. He actually got together with the girl which I’m not that surprised considering that he would always steal glances at her whenever he spotted her”

“Yo? Really? I never knew that he was close with the other recruits other than Eunji but I’m happy for him” Mark replied, still not looking away from the amount of paperwork

“Okay. That’s it” Haechan groaned and immediately yanked the paperwork away from Mark who was now yelling at him to give it back. “Lee Donghyuck!! Give it back, I swear if you rip it and make me redo the paperwork…”

“Relax, who said that I’m going to do that” Haechan scoffed right as the door to Mark’s office opened and revealed Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun

“Yo Hyung, you looked really….” Jaemin was about to comment when Mark looked up to his younger members who stopped whatever comment they had and instead pitied their leader. “Really tired. Go take a break from all the paperwork, hyung. Just because you’re the leader of dream, doesn’t mean that you should shoulder all the burden on your own” Jaemin continued, taking pity of their leader and grabbed all the paperwork and folders that were scattered all over the desk

“Guys, I’m really fine. It’s not like I’ve never done this before” Mark tried to reason and his members took all the paperwork out of his reach

“Sure you have but we would prefer that you take care of your health for once. I’m going to let Doyoung and Taeyong-hyung that you need a break. When was the last time you had a proper break? Even Haechan got it” Renjun argued, taking his phone out and called Doyoung

Sighing, Mark leaned back on his chair whilst closing his eyes. “Guys, I promise you that I’m not overworking myself, it’s just that I honestly have no idea what to do even if I get the day off”

“Yea, I know, hyung. It’s getting out of hand. No, we need Taeyong-hyung. Okay, okay. Got it, hyung” Renjun got off the phone and Haechan asked if it was Doyoung-hyung. “Is it Doyoung-hyung? What did he say? Do I get the day off as well?”

Slapping Haechan, Renjun shook his head in annoyance. “Like hell you get the day off. You took a whole week off last month if you’ve forgotten about it. Taeyong-hyung is on his way”

Right as Renjun finished, they all heard a knock on the door and Jeno went to open the door to reveal Taeyong who looked like he just got back from a meeting with the fancy suit that he was wearing but his tie was slightly loose.

“Ehem, hyung, you might have gotten something around on your neck” Chenle teased as Taeyong wiped his neck to see a smear lip stain and brushed it off and went towards Mark

“Mark…” Taeyong called out to his younger member who was also a fellow leader

Looking up at his older hyung, Taeyong could see the dark circles that were under his eyes. Mark’s hair was clearly messy and his skin tone looked ashy. Sighing, Taeyong sat across Mark with his desk separating the two leaders. “Mark, you need to rest. I’m sorry I didn’t realise it sooner but I’ll ask the others to handle the paperwork that you were handling and you can have till the weekend off”

Widening his eyes, Mark shot up from his seat and placed his hands on the desk. “B-but Hyung, I swear I’m okay. Plus, I honestly don’t know what to do with my free time anyway. I just feel that just sleeping around would make me feel guilty. I swear I’ll take it easy”

“See, hyung. We think he completely lost it at this point” Haechan teased only to have Mark get up and smack the younger member

“Haechan, Mark” Taeyong mentioned and the two stopped bickering. “Mark, if you feel that you’re slacking off by taking a few days off then why don’t you help teach some classes? It’s been a while since you last taught a class because of your busy schedules”

“Right, there are some new recruits we’ve been eyeing to be part of the new sub-unit” Mark mentioned

Taeyong then slid the tab across the desk towards Mark who took it and looked through the schedules and recruits that they were training. He also had a look at who was the teaching assistant and his eye was caught on a girl. She was a year younger than him and was recruited around the same time as the 00 liners.

“(y/n)” Mark thought to himself

Of course, how could he have forgotten the girl who was impressive enough to be part of the same batch along with Jeno and Jaemin. She was so impressive that she managed to get to a rank just below the official NCT members. She was also the one that helped save Mark back during their early days as recruits when they had to spy on some influential conglomerate who was secretly corrupting their company’s money and was also cheating on their wife and kids.

“Hello?! Earth to Melk? Mork? Mek?” Haechan called out several times before Mark finally snaps back to reality

“H-huh? Sorry. It really has been a while since I’ve trained some recruits or even get into field exercises” Mark mentioned

Taeyong shook his head, chuckling as he got up from his seat. “Well, it’s a good time to get back into it, don’t you think?”

Taeyong patted Mark’s back as he headed towards the door and was about to leave but he stopped and turned to Mark and the dreamies. “By the way, Haechan, you’re not going to get any leaves for the next 4 months because you took a two whole weeks off in the past 2 months. Oh and Mark, be sure to look out for (y/n) and say hello to her for me”

As Taeyong left, the entire dream group went off with one conversation about how Haechan managed to sneak 2 weeks off and the other was teasing Mark about (y/n).

Time Skip to Training Month

The entire month, NCT would always conduct field lessons where the members would be divided into several groups, teach the new recruits of the actual field work then bring some of the new recruits at the end of the month with them for actual field work at where they can go hands on to what the members typically do while also learn where their strong skills are.

Mark was assigned to teach about spying and decoding some of the most basic conversation that could be a potential clue. Going into the class, the entire classroom seemed to still be wild yet he tried to get them to sit back down.

“Class? Yo guys?” Mark called out yet no one seemed to notice him which reminded him a lot of NCT Dream

Sighing, Mark was about to slam something to the desk when (y/n) and other teaching assistants came in, startling the entire classroom. “Attention everyone!” (y/n) shouted, the entire classroom sat down and Mark himself was slightly startled

One of the recruits even accidentally threw an object that was in their hand but Mark caught it right before it hit (y/n)’s face. “Alright, class. Welcome to this month’s field study about stealth and spying. I’ll be your main teacher, Mark. You can Mark me in your memory”

“Mr Mark, are you new here?” one of the recruits asked and Mark chuckled. “No, why?”

“Because it seems that you’re mistaken. Everyone here excels in the class and we’re only here for the action. So when are we going to go out for the real deal” the recruits joked around and (y/n) along with some of the higher ranks were about to stop them but Mark raised his hand, stopping them

“The real deal?” Mark chuckled, standing in front of the desk, putting both his arms on the desk behind him. “Alright then. If you want the real deal then tell me who the imposter is in this room. There’s someone in this room that’s not a recruit”

Immediately the entire classroom was a ruckus. Each of them questioned one another because while they were all recruits, they were all from different batches.

“Umm, sir, this can go on for the whole day if you don’t stop it” (y/n) mentioned as Mark turned to see the girl that he admired growing up to become a well-established woman in the group

“Hello? Mark?” (y/n) snapped her fingers in front of the NCT Dream’s leader’s face which snapped him back to reality. “Right, sorry”

Mark then walked away from the desk and headed to one of the groups that was having a heated conversation and pulled one of the “recruits’” jacket. “Haechan, I told you to stop sneaking in like this. Wait until I tell Taeyong about this”

Haechan who chuckly opened the hood of his hoodie just smiled at the tired Mark and waved at (y/n). “Hi (y/n). It’s been a while hasn’t it?” Haechan stated, skipping towards (y/n) who smiled but shook her head in disbelief. “Should’ve known that it was you, Haechan”

The entire class was in shock that another NCT member was in the room and no one recognised him at all. “Relax, I was just curious about the class you were teaching. Gosh, I knew Taeyong made sure that everyone out there didn’t know our identities but our own recruits not knowing who’s who?” Haechan chuckled, shaking his head as he walked towards the desk in front of the classroom. “Damn, either we’ve become desperate and recruited some unskillful people or they’re too spoiled and entitled to the point that they practically forgot what they’ve been taught, and well, from previous experience, it would be the latter”

Haechan was practically livid as he eyed the recruits. He knew some from training them a while back and he remembered a specific recruit that was so full of himself and one time even mistook his girlfriend for some silly new recruit and even nearly bullied her.

Haechan slowly walked toward one of the recruits, his gaze darkened and despite being around the same height as the recruit, he was still an NCT member. His aura screamed intimidating as if he had done so many bad things which sent the entire class silent. “Wouldn’t you say so, Nicholas?”

“Lee Haechan, I think that’s enough” Mark��s voice echoed through the classroom; it wasn’t a shout but rather a statement. The entire class could only watch two NCT members interact in silence. No one dared to talk to each other until Mark walked towards Haechan, his hand was on the younger member’s shoulder. “Haechan” Mark yanked the younger member and made him turn. “I said enough”

The two NCT members had a stare-off right as the bell rang. Sighing, Mark told the students to be prepared for the next lesson because he was going to bring them for a mini field assessment. “Alright, dismiss everyone”

One by one the students left the classroom along with some of the higher recruits and right as (y/n) was about to leave, Mark decided to ask her a favour. “Hey (y/n), I know that I might be asking a lot but would you mind sending me the entire background information of the students and an overview of what they’ve learned?”

“Sure thing. Anything else that you might need?” (y/n) asked, tilting her head which made Mark stutter a bit. “N-no, that’s all. Thanks (y/n). I appreciate it”

“No worries. I’ll umm, get going and get the things you need ready” (y/n) mentioned and left the classroom to just Mark and Haechan

“Haechan, what were you even trying to do with spying on the class? I didn’t even get to teach anything and…” Mark was starting to complain but Haechan’s serious tone cut him off. “Hyung. You should know that while I’m a prankster at times, I don’t really play around when it comes to work, and let me tell you, that kid, Nicholas, and his gang. There’s something not right about them. They thought my girlfriend was some new recruit and were about to bully her had Jeno not come and stop them”

Hearing Haechan be serious and explain this made Mark let out another long sigh and mess his hair up. “And? You kept an eye on them, right? What did you find, Haechan?”

Haechan looked down, clenching his hands into a fist. “Nothing out of the ordinary just yet but I’m warning you, Hyng. He’s not someone we should leave unwatched” Haechan mentioned as he left Mark in the classroom to think about what just happened.

Over the next course of 3 weeks, Mark has been teaching and training the recruits alongside the higher rankings like (y/n). Occasionally, some of the other members would come around and visit Mark’s lessons and even help teach some of the recruits as well.

By the end of the month, Taeyong had assigned fieldwork for each of the members and the class they were teaching. Mark announced to his class that they were assigned to handle some illegal drug-selling group that was in a college.

“Alright class. There’s a yearly sorority party going at a special location. It’s typically different every year, and the tracing class has already traced their location. Your job is to infiltrate the party and find whoever is selling and retrieving those drugs. Don’t get caught, watch each others’ back. We’ll be close by just in case anything goes wrong. You’ll be separated amongst different teams to infiltrate each party since there are several going around in the town they were assigned to.

Mark watched as the recruits were divided and (y/n) was assigned to be the main leader for the group that had Nicholas which even though throughout the past few weeks, Mark didn’t notice anything, he couldn’t help but feel something not sit right with him that he decided to talk with (y/n) right before her team headed out.

“Hey” Mark called out to (y/n) who turned and looked at Mark. “Oh, Mark, hi. What is it? Is there something wrong?” (y/n) asked

“N-no. Well, just wanted to make sure that you’re alright” Mark mentioned, scratching the back of his neck, making (y/n) chuckle. “I’m okay, Mark. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like they’re in kindergarten where they need to be constantly watched” (y/n) mentioned, making Mark laugh as well

“I know, I know. But you know, they’re still kids. They haven’t gone to the field like we have. This is a good opportunity for them to be exposed and for us to see how serious they are. Also to see who is easily manipulated or not” Mark mentioned, making the hair on the back of (y/n)’s neck stand up

“I, I know, Mark. I know what you mean. Since the incident with Eunji against of the entitled group, it has been part of the program where before their supposed ‘graduation’, they would be sent to the field to deal with real-life problems” (y/n) replied and Mark knew the incident she was talking about

“I know that incident too. Just, be careful alright? If anything happens, just call us” Mark mentioned as (y/n) nodded and left along with the rest of the group for the recruits’ annual field mission

Mark’s POV

It was a little past 1 am and almost 6 hours since the group left yet there really hadn’t been any major updates regarding the issue and I’m starting to grow worry. “Yo Hyung, are you working overtime again?” I heard Renjun mention, coming into my office

“Not exactly overtime if I’m waiting until the class has all come back” I mentioned as Renjun shook his head whereas the rest of the dreamies came into my office

“Are you sure you’re just waiting for the class or waiting for (y/n)?” Haechan teased which made me throw the nearest object towards him

“There’s nothing wrong with being worried about a fellow comrade. It’s quite normal. Especially if you have a crush on the person” Jeno followed along with the teasing

The members kept me company for a while until Haechan received a notification from his laptop that the final team, the one (y/n) is supervising was finally done with their task and were heading their way back to the headquarters.

The dreamies and I went towards our HQ’s vehicle building. By the time we arrived, the cars that (y/n) and her team used were already back but instead of hearing some encouraging words or complains about coming back late or something, we heard some arguments between several people.

Your POV

“You seriously going to report us about what we did? I mean we’ve been training at this place for who knows how damn long it has been since we were all brought here. We’re always monitored whenever we leave the base and the one time we get to go out and explore without being monitored, of course, you had to be the responsible one and ruined it” Nicholas complained

Scoffing, I crossed my arms and looked at Nicholas with a sharp gaze, no one else dared to speak up. “Ruined it?! You were the one acting like a brat. It’s as if this place is a prison and you can’t get any social interaction at all. More like, you can’t pull anyone in here so you decided to try and drug that girl at the party”

Nicholas was about to bark back at me but we were all shocked at the next few words that echoed through the place and heavy boots getting closer.

“You tried to do what?!” we heard Mark shout and as I turned around, I saw Mark along with the other Dream members making their way towards us

Instinctively, I lightly bowed at them and explained what happened. “We found who was selling the drugs and traced them back to an old man who was working together with one of the kids. Of course, we’ve handled the situation. We confiscated the drugs and the kids who were selling them then…” before I continued, Mark stopped me and made his way towards Nicholas

“We know what happened (y/n). You gave us constant updates and we already know who was the one actually selling the drugs and all” Haechan explained

“But not about someone, amongst our soon-to-be fresh grads wanting to use those drugs for…” Jeno mentioned but Mark continued. “Personal reasons”

Everyone was silent, I didn’t even dare to say anything. Dream are considered to be the more laid-back group but when it comes to their job, they don’t play around. Especially when it involves illegal things and their reputation being at stake. Yet, this is the first time I’ve seen Mark actually be this intimidating as the leader of NCT Dream.

“Explain yourself” Mark stated, his eyes filled with annoyance was bored into Nicholas’ scared ones. “Or would you like to be intimidated by DoJaeJung?”

Dojaejung, another sub-unit of NCT with Doyoung, Jaehyun, and Jungwoo. Though these 3 older NCT members seemed chill, Jungwoo is able to make you rat yourself, twisting your own words. Doyoung’s judging eyes and sharp words are also able to make you cower in fear. Finally, Jaehyun. He might seem the quietest and the one who could care less about anything. But if it involves his members, something that is against the foundation that he along with NCT built, it’s safe to say that you’re better off digging your own grave before facing him.

“N-no Mark, it was just…” Nicholas stuttered. “That’s sir to you. You don’t get to call me by my first name. Not at this very moment”

“Y-yes sir. I was saying that we never meant to harm anyone. We also didn’t harm anyone. We were curious and well we’ve been here practically for a long time and we just wanted to have fun had she not act like such an entitled person and…”

Without a warning, Mark punched Nicholas to the ground, causing me to gasp and cover my mouth Haechan chuckled then both Jeno and Jaemin each grabbed Nicholas’ arm, forcing him to look up at Mark. “You don’t get to say that about her. She’s doing her job. If she hadn’t been there to stop you. Graduating from here should be the least of your worries at this point. Once the whole of NCT finds out what you and some of you tried to pull out there which let me tell you from experience” Mark chuckled, his gaze was sharp

“Taeyong always knows everything. If you think you can think ahead and try to cover up whatever evidence you have. Taeyong will already have backups on backups. Evidence after evidence. Witnesses ready. If I were you, I’d start practicing begging to be spared. Now go back to your dorms. We’ll talk more about your stunt and give you a proper teaching of respect”

A/N: thank you once again for requesting this fic, anon and I hope you and everyone enjoyed reading this fic! Also if anyone also plays love and deepspace, hit me up :3

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ashton-sano · 3 months

Text

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

"How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live

“Just. one. More day.”

-If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

#character x you #feitan x reader #phantom troupe #hxh x reader #feitan portor #xreader #x reader #x yn #character x y/n #character x reader #feitan porter x reader #hunter x hunter drabble #hxh feitan #drabbles

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

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Im just saying a hate fucking fic where Lyle is jealous that Quaritch is always giving the reader all the attention when he is supposed to be his right hand man wouldn’t be terrible 😏

Wouldn't be terrible at all ( I had to write this, thank you!)

Hate-Fucking with Lyle Wainfleet

Recom Lyle x Recom f. Y/N

Masterlist

Summary: (can be seen in the ask)

WARNINGS: SMUT / NSFW, fighting, swearing, degrading, violence, force, hurt/comfort, spanking, penetration, man-handling

Word Count: 6480

Quaritch stood next to the helicopter with a tablet in his hand. He was flicking through it and then pulled out a paper from his pocket.

All the recom’s including me were geared up and waiting for orders.

“Y/N.” Quaritch said and my gaze shot up. “Put these coordinates in.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod, walking over to him and standing next to the Colonel who hands me the tablet. I start clicking from tab to tab and he holds out the paper with all the information. Once I finish I hand it back to him and he gives me a firm yet appreciative nod. I move to the side again, stilling my movements and holding my weapon.

What I don’t notice is the pair of eyes burning into my skin. They belong to Lyle and he’s seething with jealousy. He was a Corporal and had recently been promoted to Lieutenant for his loyalty to the RDA. Meaning, he was the next highest rank after the Colonel. Which also meant he was meant to be Quaritch’s number two or his so-called right-hand man.

But for whatever reason, the Colonel seemed to take a liking in you and it annoyed Lyle. A hatred for you was building up in him, even though you hadn’t ever done anything directly to harm him. He knew he was in the wrong for this because you were a nice person but he couldn’t even bring himself to say that about you.

This wasn’t the first time you had been asked to do something he should have.

Another time when we were out on a mission, Quaritch needed to send the helicopter our location and additional files of data we collected. Once again, the technology seemed to overwhelm him. He also happened to be tired after the long day in the forest, so without hesitation, he called you to him.

Quaritch knew he could rely on you and he had great trust in you.

While you helped him out on the screen he grinned at a few of his soldiers.

“Good te’ have some young flesh with us.” he chuckled and a few soldiers grinned in response to his comment. I smiled, returning the screen to him after I was done. He liked to joke about how younger generations like myself were more technologically competent.

Once again, Lyle was pissed off. His ears were strained back and his arms folded as he glared at you while you continued a conversation with one of the soldiers.

It was true. I was younger than all of them. I was also the last to join the Deja Blu team. While we were all physically the same age now because our avatars were in their twenties, I was roughly that old when I died while the Colonel was over 50 and Lyle had almost reached 40. There was a significant mental age gap between Lyle and me but it wasn’t even noticeable. I subconsciously adapted my behaviour to the others and so did he, which balanced everything out.

Currently, I was in one of our meeting rooms with Quaritch. The General was there and he was talking to her about the mission. I stood next to the Colonel just as a backup and also to help him beam up the pictures we took of old retrieved machinery in the forest.

Lyle walked by, glancing through the huge glass windows and stopping in his tracks when he saw the layout of the scene in the room. He growled when he saw you standing next to your superior. Actually, his superior and your double-superior if that made sense. Lyle was also your superior so technically he could order you to do things when the Colonel wasn’t there.

He was definitely going to take advantage of his rank to get back at you.

Lyle walked inside while the General and Quaritch were talking. Their conversation was coming to an end and she told him to follow her to the aircraft runway to show him relevant equipment for the next mission. He wasn’t necessarily pleased about having to spend more time with her but he didn’t dare show it. He dismissed me, handing over the tablet he was holding to free his hands before following her to the door. The Colonel noticed Lyle and nodded towards him. The gesture was returned to Lyle. They had both gone and now it was just me, Lyle, and a few other humans doing scientific studies.

I was taking notes of what the Colonel had told me to write down and felt another presence. Turning around I spot Lyle and smile.

“Hey, don’t you have training?” I ask, putting the tablet down and turning to him. He didn’t smile back or even greet me which both confused and worried me. Lyle was always friendly.

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked and his voice seemed to be deeper than usual. I don’t take my eyes off him as he approaches me. I just study his movements trying to sense out of his emotions.

“The Colonel had a meeting, I helped take notes and-” I explain, giving him another friendly smile and motioning to the screen in front of me.

“Did he ask you?” Lyle’s tail swishes in irritation and the sign of body language makes my gently swaying tail freeze. Something is off and I can now tell he is not happy. Instantly, I’m worried I did something wrong even though I know I haven’t.

“Uhm, I guess so.” I reply, not sure how else to answer.

“You don’t know?” Lyle asks, his hard gaze meeting mine while his almost mocking tone undermines my words. I nervously look down, turning away from him. His presence suddenly seems so strong it intimidates me.

“I don’t remember.” I say before turning to the tablet and picking it up.

Lyle grits his teeth and in the next second his hand rips the tablet from mine. I stare up at him in shock at his rough actions.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not daring to take it back.

“Stop doin’ my job.” he growls at me, staring me down for a good few seconds before turning to leave with the tablet. Lyle slams the door closed behind him, leaving me standing alone. I flinch at the loud noise, not moving and just processing what happened.

I scan the room, looking at the humans who were already looking at me. Their curious eyes drank in the dramatic scene. I frown, pinning my ears to the side of my head and once they see I’ve spotted them they quickly turn away.

Confusion and anger were pumping through my body as I huffed through my nostrils in annoyance before exiting the room. Lyle was already gone.

That interaction put me in a bad mood and I most definitely expected an apology from him during our next encounter.

The next day, during a briefing Quaritch was giving the recom’s, he received a phone call. He saw it was someone ranking close to the General and his eyes met mine. He curled his finger, beckoning me to him and without hesitation, I got up from my seat and approached him.

“Notes.” he murmured before picking up the phone and I quickly unlocked mine, scrolling through files to find what he needed. Once I got it I handed him my phone and he gave me his usual appreciative nod before turning away and talking to the person on the phone. I stand patiently, waiting for him to finish so that I can get my phone back.

All the recom’s are used to me being called up and when he turns away they use the time as a break and start talking. I intuitively scan the room before my eyes lock with Lyle’s.

I freeze and my heart drops when I see that he’s staring me down again. He was sitting in the front row of the benches, leaning forwards on his arms which rested on his manspreading thighs. His glare made me stop chewing on my tongue and my ears were flattened back just like his.

He seemed to notice how I didn’t look away this time and took note of my reacting attitude towards him. The Colonel returned and Lyle looked away. I continued to study him as I sat down, trying to think of an explanation for his behaviour.

Did that count as taking his job away? But if so, what does he expect? I’m not going to ignore Quaritch’s orders. He asked me to do something, I’m going to do it. If Lyle has a problem with that, then I have a problem with Lyle.

The next time I spoke to Lyle was when the recom team wasn’t being used for its deemed mission but for chores. With our height and strength, we were a great help and happened to often do a better job than the human soldiers.

This time we were cleaning and repairing helicopters. There were 4 in total and Brown and I were in charge of one together.

Lyle was walking up and down the runway, keeping an eye on everything because Quaritch was busy.

Brown knelt down, tightening the screw and pipes of the engine while I held a cloth in my hand and wiped away the grease and ashes. He gave me a thumbs-up and I nodded, trying to start the engine again but once again the helicopter died. Brown groaned in frustration and I chuckled, walking over to him to see what it looked like.

“Shouldn’t that be screwed on here?” I ask, pointing it out to him.

“Don’t know, this is how the other guy showed me te’ do it.” he replied, shrugging. I hum, examining the mess.

“Y/N, back to work!” I hear Lyle loudly call from behind us. Both of us turn around to face him and I frown when my eyes meet him. He’s standing with his arms crossed and tail swaying.

“I am working.” I say, leaning on the front of the aircraft and looking at him.

“She’s helpin’ me out.” Brown said, looking up at Lyle. I smile, thankful for his helpful words.

Lyle glares at me and I raise an eyebrow, challenging him to complain about me even more.

“Wearin’ that?” he scoffs and I blink in silence, processing his nerve to even comment on my clothes. It was extremely warm in the garage for all aircraft, especially when we were working on their engines.

So I had shorts and a sports bra on, instead of my usual tank top. Not a big deal. It wasn’t the first time either.

“Yeah, you got a problem?” I ask, fully turning around to face him. Brown notices the tension and stands up. He wasn’t used to seeing me mad.

“I do actually, yes.” Lyle answered, taking an intimidating step forward but it just makes me sneer at him. We’re staring each other down until Brown comes to my rescue.

“She’s wearin’ more than me.” He says, making it sound like a light joke even though he is trying to scale down the situation. Brown was shirtless with just loose shorts on, so he wasn’t wrong.

Lyle’s eyes flicker to him, finally breaking the tense and harsh eye contact and I softly sigh.

“Get back to it then.” Wainfleet sternly says, turning away from us. I roll my eyes, turning back to the engine and Brown scans the two of us before kneeling down again.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, glancing up at me before reaching for the screwdriver.

“No idea. He’s been like this for the past few days.” I say with a sigh while my tail flicks in irritation.

“I think he’s into you.” he chuckles and I wheeze.

“Yeah, right. I’d rather die.” I say, realising I may not even mean that after I said it. Nonetheless, Brown didn’t need to know.

“I’m serious, he’s been an ass like this once and that was when he was all over some girl.“ Brown adds and I think about it.

“Besides, look at you. I think he’s interested.”

I scoff at his comment, hitting the back of his head which makes him laugh as he readjusts his baseball cap.

“He’s interested to kill me.” I say and Brown gives me a doubting look, wanting to reply but we’re interrupted.

“Y/N!” I hear a distant call which makes me turn my attention away from the conversation. I turn around, vaguely noticing that Lyle was still standing behind us and was facing us. He too was looking in the direction the voice came from.

Quaritch came out from around the corner, seeming rushed as he scanned the room for me. His eyes found me and his tense shoulders slumped in relief.

“Y/N, sweet’eart. I need you for the meeting.” He called and I nodded. I was completely oblivious to the pet name and it flew right by me. It just so happened to hit Lyle like a brick to the face and Brown noticed it too.

As I turn to leave I grin at Lyle who looks angry that I’m being called up instead of him. I chuck the dirty cloth at him.

“You can clean now. I’m needed elsewhere.” I tease him, smiling at Brown who is fighting a grin before jogging to where the Colonel came from.

Lyle was boiling with anger, gripping the cloth so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Pfft, ‘sweetheart’.” he mumbled in a mocking tone.

The fact that Quaritch called for you pissed him off even more and he wasn’t sure whether he was jealous of you or him. It seems as though the Colonel and you have become close with all the time you spend working together, so you doing Lyle’s job. He didn’t know whether to be mad at you for taking it away from him or whether to be mad at the Colonel for wanting you instead of him. Somehow, he also felt angry that you allowed Quaritch to call you pet names like that.

Lyle turned to Brown who avoided eye contact with him and started doing what I was before.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type.” Brown joked, glancing up at Lyle before taking cover behind the broken engine again.

Lyle’s ears tipped back at his words. “What? No! I’m not.” he snarls, aggressively cleaning the side of the aircraft. Brown didn’t say anything else, not wanting to cause a commotion.

“It’s just- she’s doin’ my job. Ya know? I’m the fuckin’ Lieutenant.” he huffs and Brown’s ears flick up. Lyle was talking to himself mostly, needing to let his frustration out. Brown preferred not to voice his opinion in fear of getting a beating.

‘You were going to pay for this’ Lyle thought.

The meeting Quaritch called me in for was similar to most others. It seemed as though the General needed to be re-informed of our mission every few days which was starting to annoy both Quaritch and me.

Luckily it ended before either of us started giving Ardmore some attitude.

She walked out of the room with her usual group of soldiers following her and the Colonel watched her leave with a stern look. Once the door closed behind them he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That woman’s gettin’ on my nerves.” he subtly said and I grinned, shutting down the computer and turning off the beamer. I wanted to comment on her too but I knew better than that.

“Why does she need us doing this every few days?” I ask, putting the remote control back into a drawer before facing the Colonel.

“Don’t think she trusts us.” Quaritch answers and I hum in reply.

“Anyway, you’ve been a great help Y/N. You’re dismissed for the rest of the evenin’.” he said, flashing me a smile and I returned it.

“Thank you, sir.” I say with a nod before walking out the door myself. There were a lot of thoughts going through my head at the moment so I had tunnel vision for the door of my room. I reached it, letting myself in and closing the door behind me, sighing in relief at the silence and privacy.

What you hadn’t noticed was, of course, Lyle. He refused to finish cleaning the helicopter and was actually planning on just going to wash his hands but he stumbled across the room you were having this ‘meeting’ in and decided to hang around there instead. Since he was a recombinant, no one would question why he isn’t working so he leaned against the wall next to one of the windows in the room and waited.

Once Ardmore left he turned around and looked inside, watching the interaction between the Colonel and you. You seemed to be having a pleasant conversation which put Lyle in a very non-pleasant mood.

He saw you start to leave and his eyes flickered to his superior, noticing how the Colonel peered after you.

Lyle’s ears automatically flattened back without him noticing. Of course, you were still wearing your skimpy outfit.

He waited for you to see him because he was very close to the door but your eyes didn’t catch him. Instead, you walked away and probably to your room.

Lyle huffed in annoyance, making sure the Colonel wouldn’t see him through the windows before following you down the long hallways. The third time he turned a corner he stopped and noticed you unlocking your door and walking inside. Now you were alone and he could scold you for all the shit you have done that’s pissed him off.

He slowly walked up to your door, stopping in front of it before knocking harshly at the wood.

My tired eyes shot open and my ears perked at the noise. I was in the bathroom, cleaning myself off with a wet towel. Droplets of water were running down my neck and chest after I had just rubbed off some of the helicopter's grease.

I sigh, holding on to the towel before walking to the door.

I open it, expecting to see Z-Dog asking where I’ve been of Brown trying to figure out more about the drama. But no, to my surprise, Lyle is standing in front of me and once again he doesn’t look happy.

I raise an eyebrow, wiping my cheek with the towel while waiting for him to say something.

“You know you’re meant to greet your superiors.” he said and I was already sick of his presence. I groaned, dropping my head because I felt too tired to deal with him and his shit now.

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t remember that.” I say, purposefully angering him.

“You do.”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t apply to me since I might be your superior soon.” I say, smiling slyly at him.

Lyle growled and tried stepping in but I blocked his way. “Forget it, this is my space.” I snap and he grits his teeth.

“Too bad, mandatory room inspection.” he says and I know he’s making it up. This was pathetic and immature.

“Yeah right.” I snort and he straightens his posture, peering down at me.

“Do I have to remind you that I outrank you by two positions?” he said and my ears tip back. This wasn’t fair but he was right. I had to listen so I sighed, moving out of his way and he walks into my room.

I stand by the open door, following him with my eyes.

“Close it.” he orders and I stare for a few good seconds before complying. Yep, that’s it. I’m going to die in here on this good day.

I turn to face him while he stands in all his tall glory, frowning at me.

Lyle’s eyes scan my body and I take note of that, watching how they linger on my chest.

“Up here.” I say and I can see how he curses himself for having me catch him.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” he asks and his voice sounds strained which makes me think I might get a punch if I answer wrongly.

“No? I’m doing my job.”

“My job.” he quickly corrects me, spitting his words which makes me feel salty.

“I’m not going to disobey direct orders from the Colonel.” I hiss.

“He’s only given’ ‘em to you ‘cause of how you look.” Lyle snarls at me and I’m taken aback by his words.

Now my hands are resting on my hips as I glare up at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, clearly voicing my irritation through tone and body language. He shifts his weight onto one leg, looking up and swiping his thumb over his nose while he scoffs in disbelief.

“He’s checkin’ you out. Don’t think he gives you orders because he thinks you’re competent.”

My mouth drops open and I am very much offended. “He doesn’t fucking ‘check me out’.” I reply, staring daggers into this menace of a man.

“I saw him look after you when you left the room just now.” he says and I stay quiet. I don’t know how to respond and I’m confused what we’re even arguing about.

“Oh, don’t be all surprised now. Look at what you’re fuckin’ wearin’.” Lyle says motioning to my minimally dressed body and that’s all it takes for me to lose it.

Without hesitation, I slap Lyle across the face and it clearly startles him.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” I spit my words at him, pointing my finger while he holds his cheek. “I wear this to training and it’s never been a big deal!” I shout and my noise level seems to bother him. He glances at the door before returning his fierce eyes to me.

“Be quiet.” he mumbles but I shake my head.

“You don’t even wear a shirt!”

“Y/N- stop.”

“You know, maybe the Colonel just wants someone mature and professional for once.” I snarl and Lyle stops his movements.

“What did you just say?” he asks, taking a step forwards. I stand my ground, not looking away.

“You heard me. The shit you’re doing right now is close to crossing the line.” I snarl and he raises an eyebrow. “I can report you for-”

My words are cut off when Lyle walks straight up to me and his right-hand wraps around my throat. I go to push him off me but he catches my wrist with his other hand.

“You’re such a fuckin’ pain in my ass, you know that?” Lyle growls and I frown up at him, trying to desperately pull his hand from my neck but it doesn’t budge.

“You’re such an asshole, get out of my-”

This time I’m interrupted by something I would have never expected and the action startles me so much that my heart stops beating for a second and I don’t move.

Lyle pulls me to him with the help of the grip he has around my throat and crashes his lips against mine. He holds me in place and kisses me roughly and after a second I kiss back. Why I do that I have no idea but he’s gotten me so frustrated with everything I can’t think logically around him.

The kiss turns into a heated make-out session and the hand he had wrapped around my throat was now tightly gripping the base of my queue on the back of my head. He tugged at it, making me tilt my head upwards to him.

My hands roam up his torso, rearranging the tank top before I close them into fists around the cloth by his neck. He doesn’t pull away and I’m starting to pant every time I can. One of my hands retreats from the deafening grip I had on his shirt to his bicep and I dig my fingernails into his skin. I still hated him and quite frankly didn’t care if I hurt him. He seemed to feel the same because he growled and squeezed my queue in response, making me whimper.

While some messed up part of me was into the whole thing, that pissed me off and I harshly pushed him in the chest. It broke the kiss and he took a step back to balance himself.

My chest was heaving, mirroring his own while I breathed heavily. Lyle was watching me intently, still clearly enraged. Both our ears were pinned back flat against our heads, reminding the other of the hatred we felt for each other despite the attraction I refuse to bring up.

“This is why you’re so provoked by me?” I tease him, rolling my shoulders back. His tail furiously flicks behind him.

“You’re into me and now you wanna get your dick wet?” I joke, trying to demean him.

He steps forward again, this time harshly gripping my jaw and forcing me to meet his stern glare.

“I’m not into you.” He snarls. “You just happen to be wearin’ the sluttiest thing they got.”

“Aww, are you having a hard time controlling yourself?” I coo, trying to baby him and make fun of him before I can’t take his angry face seriously anymore. I break into light laughter and Lyle growls again. I feel the vibrations from his chest. He pushed me back and my back hit the wall with a thud, making my eyes close from the sudden impact.

He was going to do what he needed to do but you didn’t deserve to get it on the bed. That would be too intimate so you’re getting it against a wall.

I look up at him with wide eyes and am quick to realise that I am very much not in control of the events that will soon unfold.

Lyle reaches behind his back, tugging his tank top over his head and discarding it on the ground before coming over to me. I don’t dare move and within seconds one of his hands caught my wrist, holding it above me and firmly pressed against the wall. I let out a faint gasp, following his movements and trying to wriggle it free but I fail.

Before I can try another miserable escape attempt, his other hand wraps around the strap of my sports bra and he tears it apart with ease. My breath catches in my throat and when he does the same to the other strap, a part of it recoils and slingshots back against my skin, making me flinch and cry out but Lyle couldn’t care less.

He tears apart the remaining cloth until it’s no longer wrapped around my torso and he lets it fall to the floor.

“You jerk, I liked that one.” I hiss at him, trying to catch his attention but Lyle’s head is elsewhere as he just stares at my now bare chest.

“Yeah?” He asks and I know he’s about the belittle my petty words.

“The Colonel did too. He’s never seein’ you in it again.”

I scoff. “Next time, I’ll go to him like this then.”

I answer, motioning to my bare chest because I knew that would get under his skin.

“You don’t know when to stop do ya?” he asks before his hand roughly fastens around the back of my neck and he turns me around. My chest and face are pressed against the wall while his other arm tugs my hips towards him, making me arch my back.

Within seconds my shorts have been pulled down my legs and before I could complain, his large palm delivered a harsh spank to my ass. I flinched away from his touch, pushing up further against the wall while I heard a deep chuckle from behind me.

“You’re in for it now.” he scowled and I snarled, pressing myself away from the wall and flicking him in the face with my tail. I wanted to turn around but he still held me by the neck and another skin-reddening spank landed on my ass. He gave me about 5 more, making them sting harder each time and I stopped struggling to get him to stop.

“You deserve more than that, you’re just lucky I’m impatient today.” he said, pulling me back from the wall and spinning me around.

I was going to get him back for making my ass sting so harshly.

His hands wrapped around my waist and he hoisted me into the air. Being lifted from my feet distracted me enough to not deliver another slap to his face.

He moved closer, resting me on his hips while my legs dangled on either side of him. Lyle looked distracted enough by the new position he put us in so I used this opportunity to harm him again. The fight was on and I wasn’t giving up.

My fingers clawed at his shoulders and then I tried to choke him with both hands but when I looked up at him, he looked completely unfazed by my aggressive antics.

Lyle’s hands were on my hips, and he was busy looking at my bare body which was shielded with just my panties at this point. He flexed his core abs and forced my hips to roll forwards while he pressed his up against mine.

I gasped when I felt him grind himself against me and my hands automatically loosened, falling from his neck and resting on his chest. A bolt of electric excitement shot through me and I bit my lip, hating the pleasure I felt.

He did it again and I tightly held onto his shoulders, pressing my lips together to suppress any noises that might fuel this bad idea.

Lyle looked up at my face and smirked when he saw my struggle to keep quiet. He decided to just keep repeating his actions until my rebellious acts will finally give out.

I had to occasionally close my eyes but once I felt his hardening dick twitch beneath me and press right against my clothed core, my sealed lips fell open and I moaned.

Lyle’s ears perked forwards and his sly smirk turned into a shit-eating grin.

“Ya feel good?” he asked me in a teasing manner.

“Shut up.” I answer breathily, not having a snarky remark I can fire back. I was lucky because Lyle wasn’t able to withstand me that long. The teasing ended quickly.

His fingers curled around the side of my underwear and to my displeasure but not a surprise, he tore the cloth apart and it joined the pile on the floor. I was naked now in his hands and he exhaled shakily while his starved eyes drank in all they saw.

His eyes widened when he noticed my tattoo. It was located above my pussy, close enough to always be covered by any panties I wore. The hand that threw away my panties came up to my lower abdomen and he traced his fingers down it.

“Fuck- I never knew you had this.” he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes off of the teasing pattern decorating my skin.

Now it’s my turn to evilly smirk at him. “You like it?” I ask, feigning innocence.

He scoffs, still staring down at it. “If I knew you had this, I wouldn’t have been able to wait this long.”

I grin before reaching between us and unbuckling his belt.

Lyle was brought out of his trance of fantasies and stared down at my hands.

“Look who’s all needy now.” he cooed, teasing me again and I huffed.

“Shut up, you did this to me.”

“Fuck yeah I did.” he replied, interpreting it rather as a compliment than an insult.

His hands replaced mine and he pushed his pants down, letting them pool around his ankles with his underwear.

I shudder, letting out a shaky breath as my eyes are met with his throbbing cock. The tip was glistening, already smeared with droplets of pre-cum while I watched the veins on the underside pulse. He was so much bigger than I could have possibly imagined and it looked so inviting.

I wanted to touch him but Lyle was feeling too restless.

“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk.” he said and I scoffed.

“Yeah right, like you’d ever manage that.”

I knew I could be underestimating him but we weren’t here to fucking make love. I was still mad at him for his behaviour.

“Quit bein’ a bitch and I might be nice.” he snarled, readjusting me on him while his lust-blown eyes stared into mine.

“Forget it, you started this.” I hiss and we’re back at the beginning again, arguing back and forth.

The tension in his body rose and Lyle decided to change my mind with actions instead of words. He didn’t like his odds because he knew you had a big mouth and talking wasn’t his absolute strength.

His hands held me up by the back of my thighs and he pulled his hips slightly back before moving forwards so that his tip was now pressing against my bare entrance. He had lifted me a little higher to achieve that and I bit my lip in anticipation.

The pressure of his tip against me had my pussy throbbing and then his fingers came down and he started gliding one through my folds.

I let my head fall back against the wall while I held onto his arms. He continued his actions, circling my clit and successfully not leaving a single area untouched.

Lyle started slowly pushing into me while he gently applied pressure on my clit and I was slowly melting into his touch. The pleasure I felt made it easier for him to enter me and soon enough, Lyle was buried hilt-deep in me.

He groaned, digging his fingers into the plush of my thighs to keep him steadied. “Shit… so tight.”

“Lyle-” I gasp, relishing in the feeling of being filled by him. I glance down, noticing a faint bump in my belly which made my stomach twist with more excitement.

Hearing his name did unspeakable things to the marine soldier and he drew his hips back before pushing in a little faster and steadier this time.

I sighed, relaxing into him and once Lyle noticed I was taking him well he took things up a notch. His hips gliding back and forth turned into unwavering thrusts which sped up as we started to accept each other. Soon I was being shoved against the wall with each stroke and Lyle started rutting into me like this was the last time we would ever get this chance.

I closed my legs around his waist to ensure I stay on him while we both started getting lost in the feeling of pleasure. My eyes were fluttering closed with occasional whimpers and moans being drawn from my lips. They spurred Lyle on and his head was dropped forward and next to mine. His grunts and pants filled my ears and I loved the noises he made. My stomach tightened each time he groaned in bliss and he felt it when my pussy hugged him tighter.

We were both so frustrated and wound up from our arguments that we grew desperate for each other without knowing it. Finally, we were being relieved from all the tension and suspense and our senses were more responsive. Meaning, neither of us was going to last very long.

“Holy shit-” I moan, gasping when the angle he uses to drill into me hits my sweet spot. “I’m so close.”

Lyle growls into my ear, pressing his face into my neck and deeply inhaling my scent. It drove him feral and he couldn’t wait to cloak it with his musk. That way it would be made clear to the others, that you were his even without you knowing.

“Come on,” he whispered, encouraging me to cum. His words mixed with the next thrust absolutely crash me over the edge and my body trembles in euphoria.

I moan, arching my back off the wall and holding on to him for dear life while my pussy clenches down on him.

Lyle moans, knowing he will spill any second.

My orgasm washes over me and my pussy is throbbing wildly as I regain my breath.

He thrusts into me a few more times before quickly pulling out. In an instant, his hand closes into a fist around his shaft and he jerks himself until his cum sputters from his tip.

“Fuckkk-” he curses, throwing his head back before quickly looking down at our bodies again.

I watch with wide eyes as the thick ropes of white and almost luminescent cum paint my quivering pussy. He’s aiming for my tattoo and manages to almost fully cover it.

Once he calms down I smile to myself, loving how a small and naughty tattoo like that can make him so weak.

“Damn, this tat’ has you whipped.” I giggle, looking up at him. Lyle sighs, knowing I’m right. “ I’d say you like it more than me.”

“Fuck’s sake, all of you is so amazing.” he breathily answers, dropping his head into the crook of my neck again. He’s still floating in pleasure and his head isn’t fully back yet.

I raise an eyebrow. “All of me?”

Lyle pulls away, smirking at me. “We need to work on your attitude a little but otherwise-”

I pretend to be hurt and give him a light punch in the chest which makes him chuckle.

“My attitude is what got you laid, so play nice.”

He laughs before gently placing me on the ground. Lyle picks up the ripped clothes which used to be one and cleaned me up.

“I don’t know if you deserve ‘nice’. ” he replied and I rolled my eyes before walking over to my bed and picking up my large sleeping t-shirt. Lyle watched me not put it on and I smiled at him before leaving the room and going into the bathroom.

“You not comin’ back outside?” he asked, meaning the base.

“Nope. Our lovely Colonel dismissed me for the rest of the evening.” I call back to him. Lyle’s ears flick back for a brief moment.

‘Of course, he fucking did that’ Lyle thought. He looked down at what used to be your bra and felt a sense of pride when he saw how torn it was.

“Well, your bra’s done for so you ain’t gettin’ any more time off from him.” Lyle jokes.

“Can’t hear you I’m showering!” I shout and Lyle stands still for a few moments, thinking.

He glances at the door he came in through, contemplating whether he should get back to work. Then he looked towards you and saw you in the shower.

Let’s just say that work can wait.

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

Y/N:

Tag List: @number1gal @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

400 notes · View notes

seattlesolace · 1 year

Text

there for you // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: human!jay x guardian angel!fem!reader

summary: Jay is the boy you were tasked to guard, and guide, for life. you follow him through all stages of his youth, but what happens when he reaches a certain age and you start to develop... feelings?

genre: fluff, fantasy // warning: profanity, mentions of bullying

word count: ~5.3k

author's note: welcome to seattlesolace, and welcome to another fantasy-related content.

works regarding guardian angels have always been my favorite type of thing to read, so this is my spin on it. no, y/n doesn't have wings, and the type of guarding she does is more on the emotional side, but I do hope you like this one since it does bring me a little comfort when I reread it.

the song inspiration for this fic is below:

it was the song that Jungkook used in his GCF video and for some reason it kept playing in my head, and when I read the lyrics it was definitely giving me guardian angels vibes... so that's how this fic was made! for now, enjoy 🤍

When he was 8

When you’re screaming, but they only hear you whisper I’ll be there for you

“Park Jongseong!”

Jay blinked as he struggled to wake up at the sound of his nagging mother. It was 7 AM. He looked around his room before blinking several more times and then closing his eyes shut again.

The door flung open and his mother barged in. Holding a spatula on one hand, she patted Jay with the other hand and tried her best to lower her voice.

“Jay, you’re gonna be late. Come on, you have to get ready for school.”

“I don’t wanna go,” said Jay in a sulky voice.

His mother frowned. “Why?”

Jay remained silent. He’d rather keep his mouth shut than telling his mother and getting embarrassed all over again.

“Look, whatever is going on, you have to get it together or else your father is going to throw another lecture about the importance of education. Now I have to go finish breakfast. You better be ready by the time the food is served, okay?”

Jay’s mother ruffled her son’s hair as she left the room, leaving the door open on purpose. As Jay tossed and turned throwing a silent fit, he noticed the figure standing by the door.

“Noona?”

You smiled widely and entered the room, sitting on the edge of Jay’s bed. Jay automatically sat up and straightened himself.

“You need to listen to your mother,” you said, calmly.

Jay pouted. “But you know what happened the other day at school.”

You nodded. “I do. And I loved what you did.”

“Telling off a bully made me become the target of bullying. I didn’t see it coming,” Jay was now fully awake, fighting off yawns.

“It will get better,” you straightened the wrinkles on your white dress.

“How?”

“If you refuse to go to school, that just shows how much you are afraid of them. Don’t ever let them know about your fear. Don’t even feel afraid.”

For a boy his age, he knows that all the things you just said made sense. It was cliché, even. But it still didn’t convince him to go to school.

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he said, finally, after seconds of silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “You are a paradox. You stood up for the poor girl in class, and then you get bullied, and you don’t wanna go to school, and now you think you don’t care what people think about you, but at the same time you are still refusing and---“

“Okay! Okay, Noona! I will go to school if you stop talking,” Jay got out of his bed and snatched the towel hanging on his chair.

You laughed. “See you later?”

“See you later!”

When he was 17

I can’t do this alone Sometimes I just need a light

Jay kicked the little stones and made traces of lines in the sand. He took the lollipop he was eating and used the stick to write down something. He heard footsteps coming from behind him. When he turned around, you were already standing there, in your white dress, strands of hair falling off from your messy bun.

“Took you long enough,” murmured Jay.

You placed a hand over your chest, acting offended. “Some attitude?”

“I called for you 15 minutes ago, you usually respond within a minute,” Jay clearly looked disappointed. You sighed.

“I’m sorry. I had some stuff to take care of…”

“Another 17-year-old with romance problems?” asked Jay.

You tilted your head and chuckled. “No, some paper problems regarding the new recruitment for guardian angels. So, what is up with you?”

“There is this girl I like…”

“Okay, not the first,” you sat down on the bench as you listened to Jay who was still on his feet, playing with the sand.

“But I don’t know if I should tell her.”

You observed the teenage boy in front of you. His cap covered half his face, his loose tee and his wide-fit shorts made him look more mature than his age.

Noticing no response from you, Jay coughed. “Aren’t you cold?”

You realized Jay was referring to the fact that you wear the same white dress all the time and only change outfits whenever you were showing yourself to the real world.

“Angels don’t get cold, don’t worry.” You smiled. “Okay, so you like her. How much?”

Hearing this question, Jay’s lips form into a wide smile. It made you smile, too.

“A lot.”

“What do you like about her?”

“Almost… everything? Why are you asking me this, you know exactly who she is. You pop up at school like every day,” Jay got tired and sat down beside you.

“I know exactly what she’s like,” you leaned on the bench and stared at the stars. “But I want to know what she looks like, painted with the words from your mouth.”

Jay laughed shyly. “I didn’t know you were poetic.”

“I’m not, but you are,” you looked at Jay and elbowed him. “Go on. Answer.”

“Noona.”

“What?”

“Do I really have to? It’s embarrassing,” Jay covered his face with his two hands.

You gasped in surprise. “Embarrassing?? Nothing is embarrassing about love. What’s embarrassing is watching you grow up from the chubby 3-year-old who runs around the backyard, naked, become a sophisticated, academic-award-winning 17-year-old who doesn’t even know how to talk to girls.”

“Speaking of ages…” Jay turned around to face you. He had one leg up the bench so he could really face you.

“Don’t change the subject,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve never really asked but I want to know. How old are you?” Jay stared at you, full of curiosity.

“I’m just a little over a thousand years old—“

“Not your angel age, like your human age, this figure, right now?” Jay poked you slightly to confirm his question. You felt a buzz.

“Well, um,” you did not even think for once that you would become flustered. “I’m probably in my mid-20s? Like 25? 26?”

Jay observed you in detail. It made you a tad bit giddy.

“Stop staring,” you said, shoving Jay’s face away.

Jay complained. “Not fair! You watch me sleep all the time.”

“No, I don’t. And if you say it like that, it sounds creepy.”

“But you do. Nothing in my room is white. So, if I see something white it’s definitely you.”

“What if it’s a ghost?”

Jay scoffed, sounding slightly scared. “Don’t say that.”

“Yet you are talking to me now,” you stared back at Jay, challenging him. Jay sighed and held up his hands.

“Fine. But you’re not a ghost. I believe in you because you’ve always been there for me. Now please give me advice, I am lost,” Jay leaned back to the bench after emphasizing the last word and accidentally knocked his cap off.

You caught his cap and put it on your head. Jay laughed at the sight of this.

“First of all, you need to determine whether or not you really need to confess. What’s the aim of your confession? Just to let her know? To date her? To find out if she feels the same? If the aim is to just let yourself be free of the burden that is your feelings, that is quite a selfish move. I suggest you don’t confess.”

Jay blinked and turned to you. “Wow. That was first of all?”

“Second of all,” you said as you chuckled and shoved Jay’s face away. “You need to weigh the situation. Once you’ve decided to confess, you really need to make sure of the place and time of your confession. Would you want to do it at the university? In a café? In class? Whatever. Make sure you do what she likes—“

“We’re not into that stage yet—“

“I mean NOT SEXUALLY!” you raised your voice. Jay burst out laughing and almost choked on his lollipop.

“Go choke some more,” you stood up, feeling a bit fed up.

Jay held your hand to stop you from walking away, even though he knew you could just poof and evaporate to oblivion because you had done that several times. But this time, you stayed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “you may proceed.” Jay scooted to let you sit beside him again.

“The last,” you sat back down and smoothed out your dress. “Is to prepare for the worst. Looking at you like this,” you made a gesture at Jay, judgingly. “She might not accept your confession.”

“Hey!” Jay was clearly offended, but he smiled as he complained. “Am I really that bad?”

“You know why I came late?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked for a substitute to be your guardian while I find a different person who causes less trouble—“

Jay nudged you as you broke into laughter. “Bullshit. You love me.”

“Ha!” you scoffed. I really do. “Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes, please.”

“If she does not accept your confession, then it’s okay. You want to cry? Fine. You want to binge-eat? Fine. But like I said back then when you were dealing with bullies, don’t let it show. Don’t let your disappointment show, don’t let your sadness show. Don’t even be angry because she has the right to turn you down if she doesn’t like you back.”

“Wow,” Jay looked at you in awe.

“I know right,” you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’m stunning at night.”

“You sound so wise, I almost believed you when you said you were in your mid-20s,” Jay shook his head and took his cap back.

“Well, how old do you think I should be given this amount of wisdom?”

“At least 50—ouch!”

You pinched Jay’s arm really hard to the point that his first cry of shock gradually turned into genuine screams of pain. You almost died of silent laughter.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay if you get rejected?” you asked, looking concerned.

Jay took a deep breath. “Of course I’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

You sat in brief silence for a moment.

“I mean, you can use your superpowers to find other girls for me, right?” Jay flashed a sweet smile to you, his signature lopsided smirk.

“In your dreams, you boob,” you snickered, flicking Jay’s cap off his head.

When he just turned 23

But I’m holding on to something Won’t let go of you for nothing I’m running just to keep my hands on you

Your eyes widened at the sight of food being served in front of you. Sitting across from you is Jay, clearly not feeling the same excitement.

“Oh, please, cheer up!” you said as you handed him a pair of chopsticks. “You’re not in the mood for seafood?”

Jay shook his head and fixed his beanie.

“Well, tough, because I feel like eating some seafood and I’m paying,” you started stirring the seafood stew that was boiling, but then your smile faded when you didn’t get a reaction from Jay.

“I’m sorry,” you said, putting the ladle down. “Do you want to order something else?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Jay answered without missing a beat. “It’s just that…”

He fell silent and blankly stared at the food before shifting his eyes to you.

“You’re thinking about her?” you asked, knowingly. Jay nodded.

You put both your elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me everything.”

“You know already.”

“No, I don’t. I stopped following you on your dates since I got caught once and you told me off,” you said in defense. “And I’m still sorry for that, by the way.”

Jay shot a weak smile. “We’re in a fight. Or at least, I think we are. She doesn’t even take it seriously.”

You have been observing Jay’s first serious relationship for over 2 years. It was the same girl Jay confessed to when he was 17, except back then, he got rejected.

“What happened?” you asked. “Also, do you mind if I listen while eating?”

Jay shook his head and told you to help yourself. As you listened to his story, you carefully took out pieces of seafood onto your plate as well.

“She has a lot of friends. Male friends. And when I say a lot, I mean it,” said Jay who was now playing with his chopsticks.

“And it bothers you?”

“What kind of boyfriend wouldn’t be bothered?” Jay almost snapped the chopsticks. You had to carefully hold his hand down.

“Lower your voice, Jay,” you hushed. Jay mouthed ‘sorry’.

“She has no boundaries, Noona. She hangs out with them almost all the time. She even shares affectionate terms and nicknames with one of them that I dislike the most.”

You stopped stirring your food and shifted your eyes to his face.

“Whenever I call her or talk to her it feels rather rushed, like a squeezed-in business meeting.”

You paused eating for a while as you gathered your thoughts. She sounds like an awful person.

“Jay, I’m gonna ask you something.”

Jay blinked at the change of tone in your voice. “What?”

“From the beginning of your relationship, did you ever think you would last this long?”

Jay took a deep breath and rested his elbows on the table, propping his head up with both his hands.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he answered after taking a couple of seconds to think.

“Alright, let me ask another thing. Have you ever thought, during your relationship, that you give more than you take—“

“Yes.”

You were slightly shocked at the answer.

“That didn’t take me long to answer, huh?” Jay noticed the surprise on your face.

“That’s… a problem, Jay,” you looked into his eyes with a sad gaze. She doesn’t deserve you.

Before you were able to resume your thoughts, an old lady came by your table and served a second dish.

“We didn’t order this—“ said Jay.

“Oh, we did! Thank you, auntie!”

Jay smiled at the old lady before looking at you in confusion. “We didn’t?”

“I know you’re not the biggest fan of seafood, so here’s your meat. Now, tell me everything so I can give you the proper advice.”

You were looking down at your bowl, devouring the seafood stew that was now completely yours. As he picked up his chopsticks, he smiled and mumbled a ‘thank you’ before joining to eat.

---

“You broke two rules.”

You fixed the glasses sitting on your nose as you leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N, I’ve told you many times before. Before you were even assigned to this boy.”

“Man,” you corrected.

“Fine, ‘man’,” said the guy in front of you as he fixed his nametag which read Jung Hoseok.

You sighed. “Okay, what did I do wrong?”

Hoseok was sifting through the papers when he glanced up at you and blinked. “You really want me to tell you?”

You shrugged.

Hoseok cleared his throat. “Okay, you violated his personal life by interfering with his romantic relationships—“

“I didn’t do anything wrong—“

“And! You developed feelings for him.”

Hearing the second point, you fell silent. Hoseok looked at you and took out a pen from his jacket.

“It’s not like we don’t know, Y/N,” said Hoseok in a lower voice. “I actually expected more from you.”

You looked back at Hoseok. As a guardian angel who had been doing your job for just ten years more than the man in front of you, you felt slightly ashamed. Hoseok had achieved so much in so little time that this scene where you were being scolded by someone of a higher position despite less experience did not feel bad.

Hoseok looked around at the empty café that he cleared out for this special meeting. At the door, Hoseok’s assistant was standing straight, guarding the entrance.

“Alright,” you finally spoke up. “What’s my penalty? A year off? Desk job at the headquarters for like, three months?”

Hoseok frowned. “Y/N, the rule you violated deserves a penalty that is much… worse than just a desk job.”

“What? I’m fired forever?” You were genuinely clueless since you had never broken a rule before, thus never acknowledging or studying the guide on guarding that had been constantly renewed every now and then.

“You’re becoming human,” said Hoseok, firmly.

You fell silent, but not for long. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna be mortal. No big deal—“

“And memories of him will be erased, the same works for him,” Hoseok continued.

You scoffed. “You mean, he won’t remember me?”

Hoseok nodded. “Neither will you.”

“Hoseok, please—“

“I’m sorry, Y/N…”

You stared at the paper and the pen that Hoseok had readied. You remained still like that for a couple of seconds before you felt your eyes tearing up, and you decided to wipe your tears before they fell and embarrass you further.

“So, we get punished for loving people now?” you asked. “So much for being angels.”

Hoseok pushed the paper forward for you to sign as you reached for the pen. “That’s exactly my point, Y/N. We’re angels.”

You signed the paper which signified the end of your contract.

“We don’t feel,” said Hoseok as he pushed another folder to you, containing important documents.

“This is your identity, you will find everything you need to know about the human world and becoming human. Your age stays the same as now, but once you walk out that door,” Hoseok pointed to the guard at the entrance. “You will become human, and you’re gonna start aging.”

You peeked into the files that were now in your hands. “Does this mean I won’t be able to see you, too?”

Hoseok smiled as he tidied up all the loose papers. “I’m gonna miss you, Y/N.”

You let out a deep sigh and stood up. You walked over to Hoseok’s side as he got out of his chair, too.

“It’s been a pleasure, Hope,” you said, calling him by his code name. Hoseok shook your hand for a second before pulling you into a hug.

“Don’t be a bitch,” he said, followed by a laugh. You smacked his back before pulling away.

“Wait, if I’m becoming human, does that mean I’m gonna get a guardian assigned to me too now?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed, thinking hard.

Hoseok was genuinely confused for two seconds. “That is a really good question. I’m gonna have to check later at the headquarters.”

The two of them stood still before Hoseok’s phone started to ring. The boss was calling.

“I gotta take this. Best of luck to you, Y/N.”

You took two steps forward and hugged Hoseok one last time. “Thanks, mate.”

“Don’t forget your files,” Hoseok pointed to the folder before answering the phone. “Hello? Yes, Sir—“

Your ears canceled out the conversation immediately as your heels started clicking, making your way to the entrance. You gave the guard a warm smile before he opened the door for you.

The moment you stepped out of the door you completely felt blank. You knew your name, and how old you were, but you didn’t have a grasp of why you were there and where you were heading.

“Wait,” you murmured to yourself as you opened your files. You started reading the papers as you made your way to the sidewalk.

You weren’t even that far away from the shop you exited when suddenly a young man, who was rushing behind you, bumped into you, making you lose your balance.

“Oh, shit!” The young man exclaimed as he gathered the files that flew from your hands before making his way to you to help you up. “I am so sorry! Are you okay?”

You were fine, you thought to yourself, as you slipped back into your heels. However, as you looked up to see the man who caused this ruckus, you felt a heavy weight on your chest.

It was Jay.

“Miss, are you hurt?” He asked one more time, being extremely polite not to touch you anywhere, but making sure he did not leave you out of his sight.

“I’m… fine,” you answered clutching your chest. You felt the extreme weight getting even more painful.

“Look, I’m actually really in a hurry, so forgive me if I leave you here?” Jay offered his hand to help you up, but you declined. “Um, here are your papers. Again, I’m so sorry.”

You forced a smile, half in pain and half confused as to why you were feeling such discomfort. “That’s okay.”

“Alright,” Jay straightened his beanie and wiped the dust off his sweatshirt. “Have a safe flight!” he said, before running off again.

“Flight?” you muttered as you checked the files. Amongst all the papers, the one that was in the front was a printed e-ticket, a flight to New York departing in seven hours.

One year later

I got you, I promise Let me be honest

For the first couple of months you were in New York, everything felt magically easy for you. It took you no time to get a job and settle at a place that was relatively a reach for common New Yorkers. Your career somehow sped up and you were running the fashion division in a local but well-known magazine. You were making friends here and there, networking with a lot of people who would lead you to meet famous people and collaborate with celebrities you never knew you had a chance to meet.

Until one fine day, you felt a slight pain in your chest.

“Unnie, are you feeling unwell?”

Yoon, the company’s photographer, noticed you sitting on the bar stool, clutching your chest.

“I think it’s just my asthma. I’m gonna go grab my Ventolin,” you reassured Yoon before leaving the studio.

As you exited to the hallway, two of your coworkers immediately started walking by both sides.

“Y/N, schedule,” said Julian, handing over an iPad.

“Do you think these photos are okay?” On her left, Robin, was holding another iPad and scrolling through different photos from the shoot.

Your pain was growing even more as you reached the end of the hallway. “Hold on,” you held up one hand and Julian and Robin both stopped chirping.

“Are you okay?” asked Robin.

“You must be nervous about the upcoming shoot,” said Julian.

“What shoot?”

“That is exactly what I am here for. Schedule, Y/N,” Julian tapped the iPad in your hand and pointed to an area that read ‘PJS shoot’.

Julian and Robin looked at each other and smiled. “Isn’t it amazing? The founder of PJS Collection himself is coming over for New York Fashion Week and our magazine is one of the first to schedule a shoot and an interview with him. Dope, right?”

You looked at Robin with a confused face. “PJS Collection?”

“Park Jong Seong. Oh my God, Y/N, you work in fashion. How do you not know him?” Julian was starting to show sass.

And again, you felt the unbearable pain in your chest.

“Great, okay, you know what? I feel really under the weather right now so please bombard me with questions in about… two more hours, okay?”

And with that you disappeared into your office, leaving Julian and Robin looking at each other with their iPads in their hands.

---

“Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Isa put her cup of tea down as she fixed her gaze on you. It was in the afternoon, and you had time to kill before meeting with a client.

“I don’t know, it comes and goes. I’d like to think it’s nothing serious,” you brought your hand to your chest to make sure you weren’t feeling anything at that moment.

“Well, you did use the word ‘unbearable’, so that seems pretty serious to me,” Isa looked really concerned, but you waved her off.

“It’s the type of unbearable that becomes bearable, like, I don’t know, period cramps?”

Isa chuckled and proceeded to ask you a whole lot of questions about your job. After talking and refilling their pot of tea two times, an hour passed by. Isa checked her phone and found several chats from some people.

“Listen, good luck with the project. I gotta go see Yoon now,” said Isa, squeezing your hands and sliding in a couple of bills for her share of the tea time snacks.

“Thanks, Isa,” you smiled and waved goodbye, setting your eyes on Isa until she left the place. You sighed and stirred your cup of tea. You didn’t believe it at first, but as time went by, you felt your heart beating faster.

“I really need to schedule a check-up,” you murmured to yourself as you reached for your phone.

“Miss L/N?”

You almost lost your grip on your phone when you heard the voice behind you. You turned around and almost clutched your chest again if not for your gesture to shake hands with the person in front of you. The handshake lasted for a second, but you felt a flashback that was vivid if only it lasted a bit longer.

“Mr. Park, I presume?” you tried not to waver at the images in your head.

“Just Jay, please,” Jay’s eyes disappeared behind his smile. You could almost hear your chest pounding.

“Have a seat, Jay,” you welcomed your client warmly, trying to dismiss the pain. Maybe if I don’t think about it, I won’t feel it.

“Can I just say,” Jay said immediately after he sat down and thanked the waiter for bringing a new set of cups. “You look oddly familiar.”

You frowned as you poured tea into your own cup. “That’s strange.” I bet my reaction is more abnormal.

“Or maybe you look like someone I used to know… wait, was that offensive? I am so sorry,” Jay started babbling apologies and excuses and you found it weirdly adorable.

“No, it’s okay, I get that a lot. It’s a pleasure to be working with you! I found out your line is quickly getting recognition from where you come from?”

Jay smiled proudly, but was humble. “Yes, it is, thank you for saying that.”

You noticed that you couldn’t feel the pain as long as you continued to listen to Jay’s voice, so that was exactly what you did.

“Could you tell me more about the concept you’re going for in fashion week?”

---

You made your way through Central Park, trying to find out where exactly Jay was waiting for you. He mentioned that he wanted ‘to make it more fun’ and that he thought it was ‘cute’ to make you search for him. But he said it all through chat and proceeded to update his Instagram story which spoiled the hiding place. You almost wanted to type FOOL into his DMs.

“How did you know I’m here?” Jay stood up from the bench he was sitting on, eyes widened in amazement.

“I follow you on Instagram, genius,” you chuckled as you saw the sudden realization creeping up on Jay’s face. “You look great.”

Jay smiled. It was so typical of you – completely slandering him one second and showering him with compliments right after. Jay thought it was not normal to get all giddy from a compliment on a first date; technically you have been meeting several times since fashion week, but only now agreeing on calling this hang-out a ‘date’.

“I dressed up so you can take a picture for my ToJays Fashion collection,” said Jay, matter-of-fact-ly.

You pouted. “Is that why you wanted to hang out with me? So you can have a free professional photographer?”

Jay had his hands up. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

You scoffed and proceeded to walk away. Jay quickly caught up with you and you chatted as you both strolled around the park.

At this point, you were used to the abnormal feeling in your chest. You had associated it with Jay, and you thought of it as a good feeling. You forced yourself to believe that if other people felt butterflies in their stomachs, then you would feel a set of dumbbells on your chest whenever you meet a person you potentially like.

And you liked Jay a lot.

The two of you made your way past the lake, walking down the path between green fields and people sprawled on them, enjoying the beautiful weather. Sometimes your hands would brush against one another, and it bothered you not because you didn’t want to touch Jay, but because you were constantly having flashbacks. And this time, it became more vivid.

“Y/N.”

Jay decided to call on you once he noticed you staring blankly at the path in front of you.

“Are you tired? Do you want to sit down?”

You figured it was best to follow Jay’s words and as you both sat down, you moved closer towards Jay and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you mind?” you asked. Jay shook his head and smiled.

“You know we can always go to a coffee shop, or a bookstore, if walking around is too tiring for you?” Jay’s voice sounded even deeper now that you had your head on his shoulder.

You didn’t answer. Jay started feeling very concerned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Jay. His tone softened. Your heart ached.

“I’m al—“

You couldn’t finish your sentence because Jay intertwined his fingers with yours. You didn’t let go even after several seconds, and you started to close your eyes.

That’s when everything came back to your memories.

Jay’s cry, his laughter when he was little. All the episodes where he was sulking in his room, having his mother coax him out of bed.

When Jay turned seventeen, and all his friends gave him a surprise as you watched from outside of class, and on the same day his first love broke his heart.

When they erased your memory and you bumped into him right after, unaware that Jay was actually rushing to the place you were supposed to meet.

That one particular night at the playground when you wore his cap and realized for the first time that you were in love with the boy you were supposed to guard.

Your head jerked up as you let go of Jay’s hand, and you brought your hand to your chest. You stood up slowly and turned to Jay.

Jay had his head down. He moved his fingers, the same fingers that were intertwined with yours just seconds ago. When he looked up, you knew that he remembered, too.

“Y/N…”

Jay stood up straight and faced you. You weren’t sure how to react, or what to say. Was it weird that you are now together miles away from home? Was it appropriate, knowing the history that you have? Does he love you back?

“You were always there for me.”

Jay looked you in the eyes. Your brown eyes were showing a hint of gold with the reflection of the sun. You blinked as you felt your eyes glistening, starting to feel the warmth of your tears. You brought your hands up to cover your face. To avoid seeing you cry, Jay pulled you into his embrace. As he wrapped his arms around you, he whispered.

“And now I can be here for you, too.”

You brought your hands around Jay’s neck as he hugged you tight. The pain was gone now. The flashbacks disappeared too, replaced with vivid memories. Jay smiled as he buried his face in your neck.

“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” He asked as he pulled away to see you, but not taking his arms away from your waist.

“I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Is it okay now?” asked Jay.

You nodded and smiled.

“Are you going to leave again?” Jay’s tone changed and became mellow.

You shook your head. “Not unless I find someone better, but I doubt that.”

Jay laughed softly and ran his fingers through your hair. “Oh, one more thing.”

You tilted your head, a gesture of asking.

“How old are you now?”

You chuckled and hit Jay’s shoulder gently. “I’m 25.”

“Great. Still a noona to me,” Jay leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead before pulling you in for another giant hug, and silencing your complaints.

-END-

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fakescenariosbeforesleepblog · 7 months

Text

Prisoner 505.

König x reader.

You're in a prison, why? War crimes, that's all König knew about you, you will be the new addition to KorTac, he's the one who will pick you up and take you to your new "home" what surprises will you bring to him? Will you be enemies, friends, lovers?

Warning: I'm trying to write this for a gn reader, but idk. Mentions of violence, spelling and grammatical errors.

📢 Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.2

König wasn't ok with this mission, Why him? Someone else could do this, he hates every second of this, he left the car, walking to that giant black door, a prison, not any prison, this one is particularly a secret prison, not everyone knows about this place, it's a place that works with one purpose, First, take any dangerous people there to rot or let private contractors buy some of the prisoners, for what? Whatever they want, depending on every prisoner's record.

Yours, it doesn't say much about you. König observed the file on his hand once more while he remembered the conversation with O'Conor and the rest.

«Why me? Do I look like a fuckin babysitter? I'm not a fuckin' driver» «You're the best for this you will keep this new guy to line, I read was undisciplined»

Prisoner 505.

Name: (y/n) Age: unknown date of birth: unknown

Codename: Buitre 6-1

reasons for imprisonment:

War crimes (not specified), murders, torture, undisciplined, deserter (prisoner left his position after committing the aforementioned crimes, was captured and executed).

This prisoner was reported as 'killed in action' before the corresponding authorities, therefore, it does not exist in the system anymore, No more information available.

König sighed and walked Inside, the "waiting room" looked really fancy, he walked directly to the man sitting at the central desk, the man was fat but very well dressed.

- I came to pick a package...

The man looked up at him carefree, extending his hand to receive the file König had in hand.

- Ah... The 505, lemme check if they already finished.

The man took the phone, pressed some numbers and Called someone else.

«Did you finish? Someone came for his package... Ahh fuck, well that's Terrible, yeah... Pretty fucked up, I'll take him downstairs then, yeah... See you.»

He hung up the phone and smiled at könig, his smile is not kind, actually it is some darkness in it.

- Unfortunately, our prisoner is in his daily discipline session. You can wait here or we can go downstairs so you can see what you're buying, Sir.

König couldn't be more angry, waiting? Hell no, that was not an option.

- Downstairs, I don't have the entire day to wait for you.

- Follow me please.

Both walked to the elevator in silence, König was curious about that Discipline routine they're giving you.

- what's that shit about discipline session?

- Oh, you will see Sir. The prisoner is always getting in trouble, so we take drastic measures. This morning the 505 sent the prisoner 296 to the nursery, he has a broken jaw and lost one of his eyes.

How many levels does this place have? Floor 99. That's where you were. König didn't say more, that was enough information for him at the moment, finally, they arrived, he could hear some people laughing, the noise of water running and some insults.

«We're having too much fun as always (Y/n) but unfortunately we don't have much time anymore» «Fuck you, you and I know that I would kill you easily if I wasn't hanging and tie up here» «Shut up»

The man punishing you, was opening a Fire hose drenching you, while another was hitting you with a rope and other instruments on a table. There you were, half naked, wet, hurt, but the anger in your eyes doesn't let any sign of pain appear on your face. You looked at the two new people who appeared in the room, the tallest man was looking at you, What a pervert, you thought.

- Do You... Like what you're looking at, Big boy?

You laughed until the water and another hit silent you. König wasn't actually looking at your body, he was looking at the way you were being punished, lost in thoughts. The fat guard who came with König was laughing at you.

- As you can see, Sir, it's very... Enthusiast, a troublemaker.

- Ja... Anyway, I have to go... So, if you can finish now, that would be great.

- Of course. Put it down, dress up, and let us know when it's ready.

That was all, König and the guard left the room, you got dressed, tied up again and kicked out of your cell. You didn't have stuff or something, it was only your prisoner uniform, all black, you started to walk behind König and the guard, you noticed König's hunting knife on his belt, you approached them quietly, König didn't feel when you took his knife, he only heard a body falling on the floor, he turned himself quickly just to see the fat guard on the floor, chocking with his own blood, you were admiring your work and smiling at him.

«i warned you, Frank, the last thing you would see before you die it would be me» you whispered to him. Then you looked at König, cleaned his knife with your shirt and gave it to him, König took it and also took you by the arm, not hard but firm enough to show some authority.

- What have you done, huh? You can't be killing people every time you want, when you're under my watch you will obey me, Do you understand?

You looked at him with deer sad eyes and nodded In silence. Why did you look at him with those eyes? Thank God, König had the mask on, you couldn't see how he blushed just for that, he let your arm go and both ran to the elevator and left before someone saw the dead body. Once you were out, König just pointed at the car, you stopped and thought about it, you were finally free, you could run away and leave König there.

That's what you tried to do, König simply sighed annoyed, you were definitely a pain in his ass, you lost him, or... At least that's what you thought, you stopped to take some air, clearly you weren't in good shape. König hand around your neck took you by surprise.

- Listen, Püppchen (doll), you're free because of me, you're out of that place because a fuckin idiot in KorTac bought you, so don't make it more difficult, this is your only chance, will you work for us or I can take you back to rot in that fuckin' black hole. Hmm? What will you decide, Schatz?.

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indicafaeries · 24 days

Note

omg the idea of knoxville with a crush on reader who is just so much cooler than he is won’t leave my head. like he doesn’t even know what to do bc they’re always down to do any stunt and everyone always wants to be around them and talks ab how cool she is. i’m thinking she’s probably an og jackass member maybe she grew up with bam and ryan (she obv skates too). i so desperately need him knocked down a few pegs when he realizes the whole co guy act doesn’t work on her. anyways im just yapping now. literallyNy fic genre (fluff/smut hurt/comfort) idc i just need it😭

omggggg i loved this i struggled thinking of stunts and stuff but i hope this is okay!! thank you for the request bff🤭

dude you’re johnny fucking knoxville, be cool

johnny knoxville x cool gn!reader

warnings: dangerous stunts, swearing, alcohol, weed, maybe a little ooc behaviour and slightly suggestive talk 😋

johnnys in love with you cause you’re 20x cooler than him

fluff w a bit of suggestive themes

a/n: sorry this took me a hot sec to write i was going between my grandparents home and my own, also ik johnny can skateboard, just imagine he sucks a little. and with that on with the fic

you sat in the shopping cart, laughing hysterically, you had just been launched through a department store window in one playing the harmonica, johnny was standing near the window, having no prior knowledge of your stunt. “y/n oh my god, where did you come from what? are you okay?” he asks laughing, despite being caught so off guard by your insane entrance. “yeah dude that was nothing, like seriously, you should’ve seen your face though” you say laughing harder, taking his hand as he helps you out of the cart, butterflies flittering in your stomach as his hand grips your waist to help you out. johnny on the other hand was trying not to go red as his hand held yours and his other hand brushed your waist, wondering how you could be so effortlessly pretty and calm after doing a stunt like that.

the two of you walked out of the store, making a quick escape, leaving the mess for Jeff to clean up. he grinned at you “I gotta hand it to you cool cat, that was kinda badass, I certainly wasn't expecting that” you just laughed “yeah yeah I know” you had a cocky smile on your face as you got back to where you n the guys were staying. you'd been doing jackass for almost year now and fuck was it fun, being an og member was the best, people looked up to you and thought you were insane, which wasn't surprising with the stunts you did. you see, the stunts you did were the craziest ones that pretty much no one wanted to do or backed out of, that was like pretty much everyone but Johnny, he was almost as crazy as you were, but everyone knew the only reason he didn't back out was to try and be as cool as you . Johnny secretly really looked up to you and thought you were so cool and daring to do the stunts you did, especially at your age. you were the same age as Ryan and went to school with him and bam, they were your best friends.

“soooo y/n, how did it go, did he fall head over heels?” bam teases as Ryan laughs and joins in “yeah did he cum in his pants when he saw you soar through the air in a shopping cart” “shut up” you say feeling the heat rise to your face, “I'm tellin ya y/n he wants you so bad it isn't even funny anymore” Ryan says taking a swig of his beer, finishing it off “Ryans got a point yk” bam grins. “yeah whatever let’s just hit the skatepark, we won’t have time before the stunt tomorrow” you say stretching while getting up, your HIM skateboard slung under your arm.

johnny, whos sitting watching you with steve-o by his side, admires the way your shirt rises ever so slightly when you stretch, and the way your black sunglasses sit on your face making you look so cool. “fuck i wish i knew what the fuck they’re all talking about” johnny mumbles trying to make out what you, bam and dunn were talking about as you all headed off, “dude if you think they’re so cool, which we all know they are, ask em out, they clearly like you” steve-o chimes in, while munchin down on a sandwich, “i don’t know man, i mean be so real they’re actually cooler than me how am i supposed to even like charm them” johnny replies, making steve-o shake his head “dude you’re johnny fuckin knoxville, be cool” which gave johnny an idea.

you, bam and dunn were all messing around at the skatepark, dipping into the bowl and grinding on the rails. your speakers were blaring HIM as bam sang along poorly and dunn was hyping him up, you sat there shaking your head, with a fresh joint in your hands. you loved the skate park at this time, the warmth from the setting sun and the way its orange glow blanketed the smooth concrete, the lack of people frequenting the park, the soft evening breeze that blew through, as you were admiring all this you noticed a certain familiar tall figure skating towards you, your eyes widened when you realised it was Johnny, and he was headed for the advanced bowl, you found yourself walking towards it curiously, taking a drag of the joint as you sat on the bench next to it, the earthy taste lingering in your mouth, as the smoke danced around you and the weed filled your senses.

you sat there wondering what he was planning since you knew he wasn't the best skater, like sure he knew how to and he wasn't half bad, but he wasn't nearly as good as you or bam, and he certainly wasn't advanced enough for this bowl. now this bowl was similar to most except it was sideways so you could skate up it like a wall. he said nothing but shot you a cocky grin before attempting the advanced bowl, he was going surprisingly well, well that’s what you were thinking till you saw he skate too far up into the wall of the bowl and slip and fall of the skateboard, the board falling next to his head after he hit the ground hard.

you make your way over to him, not able to help yourself from laughing, before you could even ask if he was okay he looks up at you, the remnants of a cocky grin still gracing his face despite the fall, he says “what did you think of that cool cat? personally for my first try at that i’d say i looked pretty cool” you can’t help but laugh at him wiping tears from your face taking a drag from your joint “in your dreams cowboy” you chuckle offering him a hand up and a drag from your joint, though instead of taking it from your hand he just leans down his soft lips against your fingers as he takes a drag from it while you’re holding it. you smile secretly a little flustered from his actions as he blows a smoke cloud around you. “seriously? you didn’t think that was cool?” he asked, you raised an eyebrow at him “you’re gonna have to do more than that to impress me pj” you chime finishing off your joint, feeling the weed haze over your senses. you chuck the butt on the ground stomping it out as dunn and bam spot you guys, walking over to you with mischievous grins on their faces.

“falling for y/n huh?” Ryan teases making everyone laugh, you and bam share a looks before skating over to the bowl “we’ll show ya how its done Knoxville” bam says confidently, before to two of you shred it with ease going up and around the bowl, Johnny unable to tear his eyes off you in awe. as the night settles in the four of you walk back to the hotel, bam and Ryan disappearing once you got there leaving you and Johnny alone, you wondered if bam and dunn did this on purpose, they did. you both decide to go to the hotel bar before bed, the sickly scent of alcohol filling your senses as you walked inside. you looked around taking in the sight of the big bar area, noticing weeman, Preston and Chris in the corner causing a ruckus, you led Johnny over to a quieter spot at the bar taking a seat. drinks began flowing and conversation came on naturally, you can’t help but notice the way Johnny looks at you, the twinkle in his eyes to the smile on his face, maybe it was just the alcohol but he looked genuinely head over heels for you, bam and dunns words from earlier about his little crush swirling in your head.

you could feel the liquor raising your already high confidence deciding to challenge him to a little game. “hey Johnny I bet I could finish these shots quicker than you” you grin knowing very well you could “oh? and what do I get if I win doll?” he asks with a noticeable glint in his eyes “ill be your bitch, but if I win I get to make you my bitch” you were testing him now, the alcohol giving you the push you needed to do this, testing to see if he really did have feeling for you, Johnny was completely surprised you said that, it was obvious from his expression, that doesn't mean he didn't love the idea, “alright, you're on y/n” he lips quirked up into a smirk. you counted down before downing the shots, Johnny moved surprisingly fast like he wanted to win, but not as fast as you. you finish the last shot, fiery whiskey warming your insides as you put the shot glass on the table, Johnny just finishing his off.

“get fucked cowboy, I win” you cheer triumphantly, Johnny looks at you, a look of anticipation in his eyes, “I certainly hope I get fucked” he can't help but mumble out staring at you through those fuck me eyes he does so well. “oh just you wait Johnny, ive been wanting to do this for a while” you smirk looking up at him, bringing your face close to his. “sure its not as long's ive been dreaming about you cool cat” his breath is warm against your face as he leans down, your faces barely an inch apart, you bring your lips to his, your hands wrapping around his neck as one of his hands grips your hair, to other eagerly snaking around your waist, he tasted of whiskey and cigarettes, the kiss made the bar melt away around you. Johnny pulled away for a moment catching his breath as he rests his forehead against yours, “that was better than anything I could've imagined and trust me Ive been imagining, be mine y/n?” Johnny said softly against your lips “with pleasure Johnny, now lets take this upstairs” you smile, beet red and completely in love, “lets.”

#jackass x reader #jackass #johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #jackass fanfic

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thevestigeofvanillaan · 1 year

Text

Daddy's Girl.

"i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke"

karma akabane x spoiled!reader.

content: smut, mention of weed, smoking, getting high, innocent reader, corruption, "daddy", bully!karma, enemies to lovers ig, belly bulge.

hey guys!! first karma post. also first post on the new "EARTH'S GRIMEY CRIES" page!! i lately have taken interest in the color palette for cyan, blue, dark blue, and darker shades of red. "The Delicate Sound Of Thunder" live concert by pink floyd was an influence on this particular page design, and i love it. it's always nice that i can create a whole new page when i get out of room on my navigation centers, or when i want to. hopefully my sp fans aren't too upset that i want to write about other shows/people!! i'll be posting drafts and finishing requests soon.

karma is such an asshole.

to everyone, not even just you.

having not known him pained you as you thought he'd hated you for no reason other than you're a "taut daddy's girl who gets daddy's money". which was unreliable truth that nobody except select few in the entire school system knew. karma was one of those people.

he knows everything about everyone, it's terrifying, honestly.

"talk of that brat" karma scoffs as you walk over to talk to your tutor, nagisa, who'd oddly enough been on speaking terms with karma regardless of their differences and past experiences.

"nagisa, i got a b on our recent test, can you help me more in the future?"

"i don't see why no—"

"maybe if instead of buying you ponies, your daddy bought you an education; you wouldn't be in such a pickle, darling."

you sigh and walk away, assuming the help is useless anyway, and karma was right. you were just not bright when it came to academics because you were raised with everything a kid dreams of.

but he catches up to you.

"no hard feelings, princess?"

"no hard feelings? asshole. what is with you? can't you leave me alone?" you scoff and continue to walk, not bothering to eye him.

he sighs and jogs slightly to catch up with you. "alright– listen, i got an a+ on the recent test.. alright? let me help you."

"you? offering to help me? what kind of sick joke?"

"it's not a joke. come to mine at.. say seven." karma stops walking beside you to go find someone else to bother.

i wouldn't say i called it if i hadn't. but i called it when i said it was a sick joke.

you showed up at karma's doorstep at 7:00 PM, like he'd told you to. alarming detail being no cars in the driveway, where his parents cars are usually parked.

he'd opened the door. "hey princess. make yourself at home, you might be here a while." he invites you in with his usual sarcastic tone you hated.

"want like.. water? sorry it's not sparkly or whatever i don't drink that weird shit." he says as he grabs a glass and fills it with water, handing it to you.

karma starts to head upstairs and so you follow him into his room that's weirdly tidy and large.

karma was not poor, in fact his parents made the same money your dad did. just, karma took individuality when it came to money. decided to get a job at a young age and has been making his own money ever since and even bought his own car.

you didn't do that. you were always handed everything, so you grew up differently than karma. or at least with a different mindset.

"your room is nice." you compliment awkwardly to fill the silence as you just stand in the middle of the clean wooden floors.

"uh, are you gonna sit down or just stand there?" he tilts his head and chuckles, patting the spot right next to him on his bed.

you place your cup down on a table and cough softly even though you didn't need to, heading over slowly and sitting down fairly far from him.

but that distance didn't stay when he scooted closer anyway. "so! what's the score ya got on the test?"

"hey wait. why do you make fun of me all the time? for.. being fortunate i guess."

karma stays in silence for a moment before laughing. "you.." he pokes your chest and doesn't look into your eyes as he talks. "you aren't the fortunate one. your daddy is, and you take advantage of it.. that's what i make fun of."

you look down at his hand that lay still in your lap and grab it with your own hand. "i never got to know what it was like to be a teenager because my dad was strict. he used money to keep me away from the public, sex, drugs, parties, everything. that's not my fault."

he doesn't say anything for a couple seconds before he looks into your eyes. "huh. so you have never done any of that?"

you nod 'no'.

"hah! baby do you have a lot i need to teach you. to hell with the stupid test that we already did." karma laughs. "you've never even gone to a party?"

"nope."

"shit. you're such a virgin." he laughs and you look down in embarrassment. but he brings a hand to your chin and makes you look back up at him. "hey, no need to be embarrassed. hey let me help you."

"help me with what?"

"you ever wanted to get high?" karma asks, opening a drawer before taking out a pen. "this makes you tired, jus'so you know. your daddy cool if you stay the night? because baby you'll be out."

"mhm." you nod and bite your lip, shifting the way you're sitting in excitement. you always wanted to get high but never had the chance.

"you're ampy. guess my little innocent girl's not gonna be so innocent anymore, huh?"

my? you'd wonder about what he'd meant. but you didn't care because it made you feel good; at least in the way you took it.

he holds the pen up to your mouth. "breathe in.. then.. breathe in again. that's the only way i can really explain it to you."

and with that you took it to your mouth and did as he told you. "take another hit. but that's it, this can be strong and i don't know your tolerance, baby."

after you take another, you watch as he takes his and after that, it starts to hit you. the room starts moving into .5 and it's all zoomed out. it's cool, nothing like you'd ever experienced before.

you start to giggle.

"mhmm. you okay, baby?" karma asks and you nod, moving closer to him.

"uhuh. hey. what's next?" you ask, crawling into his lap and laying on him in tiredness.

"what do you mean, what's next?" he asks, rubbing my arm and conforting me. this was the sweetest karma had ever been.

"well you said— you said you were gon' teach me stuff. can teach me bout sex. take it from me?" you didn't even know what you were saying, or that it would affect you tomorrow. and you didn't care.

karma chuckles lowly and lays me down. "you're tired, can see it in your eyes."

"fuck me to sleep." you sit up and grab at the hair at the base of his neck, pulling on it before pulling his face into yours, kissing him softly. "please— all i wan' right now is you."

he takes his hands and parts your legs and rests himself between them, laying you back down to lean over you as he kisses down your neck, playing with the hem of your shirt.

through your shorts you felt the bulge inside his jeans pressing against your clothed core. you wanted it so bad. you take your hands to his face and pull him back up to kiss your lips.

whispering into his mouth "please, need you so bad.. karma."

now that he knew you knew what you were doing and with who, he went feral. he took off your shirt and unzipped your jean shorts.

you trace his jawline with your fingers and admire his pretty face as he removes his own clothes.

not long later his tip is pressed against your entrance. "are you sure you want this, baby?"

with one nod he thrusts into you painfully and your back arches as you moan loudly. he doesn't give you time to adjust as he starts thrusting at a quick paste.

your moans are loud and you scratch at his biceps and his back as tears prick your lash line.

"fuck karma— please.." you moan as he uses his thumb to play with your clit as the rest of his fingers press down on your lower abdomin, creating intense pleasure. the bulge in your belly was felt on his finger tips.

"oh, baby moan louder.. let my neighbors hear who fucking owns you.."

"fuck!! ugh—karma please please please please fuck harder." you moan out loudly, pushing him down into your chest and locking your legs around his waist so he can't pull out.

"baby don't do that.. im gonna cum soon." both hands go to your thighs so even if you tried to take them off you couldn't because he holds your legs firmly there, against his own command. "you're— real tense!" he squeezes his abs in a groan from the throat. "you're gonna cum?"

"mmmmhmm." you whine and nod, tears streaming down your face with all the pleasure.

"fuck im gonna breed you all good.. fill ya full with daddy's cum, yeah? you're mine, you know that? huh? tell me you're all mine." he groans and whines at you in a needy voice that makes your orgasm peak.

"all yours–! 'm cummin'!"

"god yes, cum with me baby." he groans and you release together, heavy breathing and leftover moans fill the room as they echo against the walls.

karma pulls out and falls beside you, who's about to be sleeping mind you.

"hey wait, don't you fall asleep. knew indica would get ya like this.. it always does with first timers." he sighs and gets up, grabbing a towel and walking back over to you, half lidded and looking up at him with dried mascara tear stained cheeks.

karma smiles softly at your expression once he knows you can't see him, rubbing the towel on your thighs and everywhere between your legs. he grabs a shirt and helps you sit up, putting it on you and grabbing your panties, that he also puts on you before laying you back down.

he lays beside you and you drag heavy limbs to snuggle into his chest and side. "thanks.. for all this. guess im not your little innocent girl no more."

"you're still my girl.. told ya that, didn't i?" he says and you giggle softly, nodding into his chest. "good, so.. you're my not-so-innocent little girl now, huh?"

#vanillaan #karma akabane #karma x reader #karma akabane x reader #assassination classroom #karma x y/n #assclass #assclass x reader

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

Text

ii. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? read part one, the likeability paradox, here !!

warnings. no use of y/n ( joel’s nickname for the reader is sol ), panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k ( my dumbass really thought this would be shorter than part one- )

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it ) <3

taglist. @kayleezra , @newavenger , @luthienaliceisilra , @str84pedro , @baebee35 , @aheartgonewild ( if you’re crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for whatever reason ) + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3. (capitalisation available )

the journey has been one of silence.

it all begins three days prior to arriving at their destination, with a dishevelled joel startling awake. sitting himself upright, a string of grunts and groans flow from him as several new pains in his back make themselves known, one for each year he’s lived. sleeping on the couch is no place for a man of his age, but it has become his abode more frequently as of late whilst tess has let herself get acquainted with the likes of a recently widowed woman.

why on earth the two women seem to insist on occupying his and tess’ shared mattress for their sweat-provoking and sheet-tangling endeavours when the widow’s own bed now harbours one less occupant, joel is none the wiser.

“you sly fox!” it occurs at an hour much too early for tess’ level of excitement, a spark of something in her voice he’s not quite heard in nearly a decade now, back when she’d let it slip that she’d made contact with someone over the radio. “keeping this all to yourself!”

blinking out the sleep-induced blur in his vision, his hands rub over them in a further effort to clear his sight. the couch squeaks beneath the weight of him as he leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his pointed knees. confusion leaves him in a questioning grunt.

“c’mon, joel, the jig is up!” she’s insisting on maintaining her enthusiasm, and the man has to wonder just how good her night must have been for her to be so chipper come barely an hour past sunrise. “so, who is she?”

with only the sparing of a clueless, sleep-filled glance, joel’s risen to his feet and shouldered past his companion. headed straight for the minuscule kitchen, where once he would have boiled a kettle and prepped himself a mug of instant coffee, nowadays he’s lucky to find enough water to fill a single unwashed cup. he does just that, watching the water fill only a third of the plastic before downing it in one gulp.

tess is hot on his heels, following him through their cramped living space. he sighs, resigning himself to the reality he’s faced with: this is not a conversation she will let him walk away from. be whatever it may be, the woman is hunting for some answers. “what’re ya talkin’ about? ain’t keepin’ shit from you.”

he’s reminded, much to his own dismay, of a time she’d accused him of cutting deals on the side without her, back when her distrust and his aloofness had kept their newfound partnership on edge.

“oh, really?” her voice never loses that sense of excitement, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be grateful or resentful of this. the smile on her lips spreads wider over her face. “then explain these, casanova.”

there, dangling over her extended pointer finger, lays a blur of lace.

it is a dainty little thing, a blush of some pastel colour that’s oh so feminine it makes his toes curl at the thought. a tangle of fabrics so delicate he fears they’d fall apart with just a taste of his calloused touch.

it is delicate, it is soft, it is dirty.

and it is yours.

was yours, till he’d ripped it down your legs and stuffed the fabric into the back of his jeans. it was a mindless action, at the time, and one he’d forgotten about, tucked away in the unmarked box in his mind where he’d learned to place most things involving you. sleep-filled eyes, and wine-stained lips, and serenity-inducing laughter, and heavenly-soiled lace. forgotten about, until he’d been stripping himself off at the end of the night and the garment stumbled to the floor at his feet, calling for him like tess’ lover cried her name in pleas of more.

he’d tasted the softness of lace that night, first on his lips and then around his cock, tangled in the unforgiving grip of his frantic hands.

the fabric had not been forgotten since, always within reach of the man. where some kept trinkets of silvers and golds as their symbols of luck, he kept your lace, tucked safely in the back left pocket of his jeans, awaiting his nervous fiddling in times when stress ran high and only the softness of the fabric would pull him back down to earth

“they ain’t mine.” still, he snatches them out of her grasp.

back left pocket, tucked back into safety.

“never said they were,” she has a point, but it only serves to frustrate him. because of course she wasn’t implying they were his to wear- never in a month of sundays would the likes of joel miller fit himself into such well-kept lace-, but she sure as hell believes they are his. “thought i’d be nice for once and clean some of your clothes, since you seem to have forgotten how to. they fell out your pocket while i was busy folding some trousers.”

convenient.

that’s what it is, considering that in their who-knows-how-many years of partnership, the woman has not taken the time to tend to his washing. he’d asked her, once, body recovering from a near-fatal stab he’d taken to the abdomen. she had not said no to his request. or, rather, she had not simply used the word no. ask me again and i’ll finish what those raider’s started.

every surface of the room captures his attention, from the ripped wallpaper to the tattered remains of what once were curtains, anything other than tess, who hovers at his shoulder like a fly to shit.

he needs something to do, to distract.

thinking of the days ahead, he begins a list of things they’ll need- gauze, food rations, water, more gauze. joel has still yet to sharpen their knives, displeased with them since the moment he’d noticed tess’ struggling to cut through a cable wire. did they have enough ammo? maybe he’d need to grovel for some more off of bill-

“who’ve you been fucking, sunshine?”

frozen where he stands. mind in disarray, heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, blood somehow both everywhere and nowhere in his body at once. all he can think is that tess knows. sunshine. she knows, she knows, she knows.

she knows and she’s going to tell frank, who’ll tell bill, who’ll place a target on joel’s head and hit bullseye the moment he so much as tries to step anywhere near you, and then where will joel be? back to facing only the dull grey skies and locking himself away in bone-chilling solitude.

clarity befalls him.

she’s teasing. sunshine. it’s not an answer to her question, it’s a name meant to mock him. tess has no clue, not a single incline to guess what events had transpired in the stillness of the night the last time she’d dragged them out to bill and frank’s. she doesn’t know.

“if you don’t want to tell me,” the words leave her in a sing-song tone, and for a moment he needs to remind himself this is a woman his own age, not a teenager. it would be easy to confuse the two. “i’ll just have to figure it out myself!”

he won’t be the one to tell.

“laura silver.” it’s the first name that comes to mind, and the image it paints in his head brings forth a repulsion unlike no other. he’d rather lick shit off a stick than subject himself to her company willingly. by the twisted-up look on tess’ face, she seems to agree.

“really? isn’t she a bit... chatty for you? and, like, way too happy?”

she has no idea.

the questioning glances only amplify once the two set off, each stop they make along the way- to eat, to sleep, to rest their deteriorating joints- punctuated with that feeling in the air that joel dislikes so much. the unsaid, the unfinished, the more. it makes his stomach lurch with anxious thoughts and his heartbeat cease under the stress they bring.

birds tweeting, wind howling, leaves rustling becomes the soundtrack to their travels, guiding them onwards with encouraging notes and filling the empty pockets of silence that sit between the four, five, six steps he walks ahead of her, fingers curled around a weapon and eyes trained on anything that moves the wrong way. the guts and gore of clickers stabbed and bloaters beaten wet their clothes in the early hours, yet they dry come noon, coating their every inch in a sickening syrup.

“you both got another thing coming if you think he’s gonna let you through the door like that.” joel had not experienced anything like it since the ages where he’d arrive home hours past his curfew, knees scrapped on gravel and clothes stained in mud, stood beneath the dimming porch light as his mother washed him.

only, it is bill who holds the hose instead of the woman who’d raised him.

freshly hosed down, a trail of dripped water marks the space he crosses through the house out into the backyard, losing tess along the way as she calls dibs on showering first- as if joel wouldn’t immediately put himself last in any scenario that involves her.

what he finds is a garden in gloom, infant rosebuds so young and new to life they’ve yet to lose that tinge of green that separates them from the rest of the bush they inhabit. it is the image of winter, casting its blue hue on everything it touches, from the leafless trees to the wolf-eyed dog, who’s tail begins a slow wag from its place upon the floor before the mutt’s jumping up all four paws and bounding its way over to him.

the german shepherd crashes into him like a wave, nearly sending him stumbling backwards. it’s grown in the past weeks, he realises, large paws a little more suited to the length of its stretched back. he fights a fearsome battle to contain the man within him who longs to clap his hands down on the dog’s fur, with an inhale of breath he hopes will drag down the words of praise and greeting aimed towards the pointy-eared creature, joel manages to dismiss the animal with a shrug.

it follows him, even so, as he takes another step out into the yard.

frank’s familiar figure sits within a chair. he’s calm, staring out at his decayed world as though he’s merely waiting for the passing of time to bring back the colourfulness his flowerbeds once possessed. his hair sits the same, his clothes look the same and, yet, something is off. joel can’t quite put his finger on it, all he knows is that this man is half the man he’d bid goodbye to weeks ago.

“sorry for dragging you guys out here again so soon,” his words are gentle, like always, yet his voice is ragged. joel wonders if he too had caught that damn cold. maybe him and tess brought it into the house, leaving behind a tally of germs for the three occupants of the home to choke on. maybe you’d caught it too. maybe you were in need of someone to make you soup and fret over the temperature your body keeps. maybe he should have returned sooner. “but i’m sure bill’s already filled you in.”

bill has done no such thing.

joel shakes his head. frank’s never one to push him to talk, accustomed to the likes of a man who’s short on words and spreads any dose of warmth his soul may posses sparingly. it’s a trait he appreciates, the patience to never expect more. frank talks, joel listens, both of them agree on this dynamic.

“we’ve got nothing for you this time, i’m afraid," joel swallows a snarky then what d’ya call us out for. he’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man who’s known him too long, who chooses to combat the raising of his hackles and the frowning of his brow with calmly spoken words. “but we’ll owe you one. a favour, i mean.”

that recaptures his attention. his shoulders lower in tow with his hostility and the dog nuzzles its muzzle into his hand, forcing him to uncurl his fist. “what’s the catch?” he asks because he knows frank, and he knows that frank knows him, that frank chooses his words wisely when they’re alone. he wouldn’t be beating around the bush, keeping his words vague and his tone secretive, if it weren’t for the fact that joel, likely, will not enjoy partaking in whatever favour they’re about to ask of him.

“we’ve got a truck, in the garage,” he shares, like this is news to joel, like he’d never seen the vehicle in question. “and it’s been a while since it’s had a run-around, breaks are probably squeaky as sin, and-”

“get to the point.”

frank smiles, less uneasy as joel’s usual candor nature gets in the way of his brooding image, interrupting his silent streak with a rushed out jumble of words the man’s sure would sound harsher were they directed at anyone other than the friendly-eyed artist. “can you teach the girl to drive?”

joel’s ability is not being questioned, in truth, but rather his willingness.

the request is sensical, understandable for a girl your age- whatever that may be- to have no experience behind the wheel. the damned mushrooms had likely already taken hold of the world by the time you’d reached the legal driving age.

it is not a difficult task either, he supposes, with no need for every intricate little road rule to be passed down. so long as you can learn to spin the wheel, shift the gears and control the pedals, you’d be good to go.

agreeing to it would also, in theory, be agreeing to the prospective scenario where joel miller finds himself trapped inside the small, four-wheeled confines of a moving vehicle with someone who grinds his gears and haunts his thoughts. there’s so much room to suffer in the solitude of your presence, so much potential to think up what-ifs and if-onlys in his head as you stare back at him, eyes beaming rays of pure-heartedness. i don’t like you, joel. it’ll echo in the distance between you.

“bill can’t do it?” his question is met with a grimace, and he wonders if the man had already attempted. perhaps you are beyond teaching in his eyes and so they’ve settled for calling in joel to deal with your unsalvageable driving skills. perhaps they know you already dislike the man and figured there’d be no harm in giving you more reason to, when he loses his patience and scrutinises your driving skills.

“she won’t let him,” joel’s head snaps up from the floor, eyes shifting from the mutt enjoying the carding of his fingers over its head back to frank. the greys in the man’s hair seem to have multiplied, the wrinkles on his face a little deeper. joel’s struck, his stomach twisting up, with the reality of noticing his friend is growing old. “said she’d sooner trust a clicker behind the wheel than bill. she asked us to call you guys.”

you called.

you wanted him here.

you guys. sure, it may be the collective of both him and tess. but he’s still a part of that equation, meaning you’d willingly brought him close, beckoned his return to the heaven he’d left you in.

one shower later and he’s wadding his way out back, into the garage. hair still a mess of towel-dried curls, clothes fresh and a little unfitting- he’d stolen them from frank, after overhearing the man inform tess he’d taken the liberty of burning their blood soaked clothing.

he’d agreed to the deal, much to frank’s delight and his own shame, mind too enraptured by the prospect of solitude with you to judge the situation at hand clearly.

the door creaks, a beg for oil, and announces joel’s arrival far sooner than he would have preferred, stumbling upon the scene of you. more specifically, the back of you, doubled over. everything from the waist up digging through the backseats of the vehicle, seemingly searching for something, while everything downwards sits on full display for his starved eyes to feast upon. boot covered feet, the hem of the most nonsensical skirt resting upon bare calves, the curvature of thighs beneath silk, the stretch of tightened fabric against your ass.

joel thinks himself a strong man, but he is weakened by the sight.

you startle at his entrance, rushing to straighten yourself so quickly your head smacks against the top of the car’s door frame. a hiss and a pressing of a hand to your head is not enough to comfort the witness of your harm, crossing those three steps forward needed to grip your jumper-covered shoulders and spin you to face him, eyes immediate with their scanning of your features, frantic to confirm you’re not teary-eyed, nor pouty-lipped, nor in the beginnings of a concussion.

“i never heard-" you pause whatever you wish to say when one of his hands covers your own, cradling the back of your head. he’s well-aware this is too close, too unlike him, too noteworthy. but he can not seem to care enough to welcomed back the distance that so often sits between you. “oh, it’s you.”

“sorry to disappoint ya.”

he surely is.

disappointed, confused, conflicted. here you stand, no runny nose, no bloodshot eyes, no scratch in your voice, no need to be cared for. it’s a selfish thing, to feel his heart lurch at the fact you’re in full-health, no pesky cough in sight, but his distaste towards the feeling only makes it double in size.

“no! sorry, i just,” you’re the first to inch back, head tilting to meet his stare with your own. he follows suit, taking your unvocalised desires and stepping away from you, hands back by his own side and vowing to keep themselves there. “i thought it would be tess teaching me.”

so maybe you’d never called for him.

he’s just the tag-along, the con to tess’ pro, the consequence to tess’ presence. you view him like the sun views the moon: a small, dim, lifeless rock that sits in wait every waking day, orbiting around tess’ planet.

it is not news, yet it stings like it. a fresh wound added onto the litter of marks that ache his soul. the pain leaves him in the only way he knows how anymore; a face devoid of emotion.

“not,” you’re uneasy. thrown-off. squitterish. hands tuck up into the sleeves of your sweater and eyes glass over with worry. the possibility that he scares you both lights his soul on fire and sends it to drown in a lake made of his sorrows. “that there’s anything wrong with you! i just... figured you’d have better stuff to do.”

he doesn’t.

“yeah, well, i ain’t doin’ it for free,” his proverbial foot shoots into his mouth, slamming shut whatever small window of opportunity he’d stumbled upon to say the kind thing, to do nice by you for once. i don’t like you, joel. but he could change that, if he just changed his attitude. and his nature. and his sense of being. so, just about everything about himself. it would not be much for the promise of a piece of his sol. it’s much too late for that now and, so, he commits to the role life’s already chosen for him to play, the heartless bastard. “let’s get this over with.”

“jesus christ, sol, didn’t your daddy ever put ya behind the wheel?”

joel’s anger is unjustified.

he’s aware of this, in the back of his mind, yet any rational voices burn into silence at the heat of his ire. only twenty, or thirty, or forty minutes since you’ve hit the open road, since he’d buckled himself into the idea of being alone with you, and the car feels like it’s closing in on itself. every inhale a struggle for oxygen, every exhale a subdued desire.

perfectly manicured nails grip the steering wheel.

counting trees had worked, if only for a while, to keep his focus off everything occupying the driver’s side. the novelty wore off as you passed the thirty seventh in a row, where joel’s eyes finally drifted off from the view ahead to the one on his left.

a pair of lips sit parted in concentration.

he’d needed a new distraction, one he found as he popped open the glove compartment and found a man of his taste’s holy grail. well, at least the holy grail that was found in materials rather than between the thighs of- cds! rock, country, punk. the 70s, the 80s, the 90s. fleetwood mac, the rolling stones, johnny cash. that’s what he’d found, a collection bill must keep to hold an emblem of what the world once was: loud, rhythmic, lively. now static, quiet, lonely. not even a full verse into ring of fire and you’d switched the volume off. “i can’t concentrate with that crap playing.”

half a thigh, exposed by the slit up a skirt.

now he has nowhere to turn, to let himself run off to in thoughts that promise the sweet salvation of distraction. facing forward is not an option, the empty road ahead holding no ounce of his attention. focusing on the right as the world passes by outside the window holds no merit, and no amount of trinkets nor garbage that litter the nooks and crannies of the car helps. his eyes always find their way back to you.

breathtaking in the most painful way, you sit unaware of the effect you have on him. as you shift from third to fourth gear, as your thigh tenses to press down harder on the gas pedal, as nimble fingers unnecessarily practice using the indicators. you don’t see how his frown deepens and he scorns you with his stare.

“he was a bit busy making a name for himself,” you utter a reply minutes too late, when he’s already convinced himself you hadn’t heard him.

your focus is strict, eyes glued on the road as if you’re afraid an obstacle- be it something infected, or something animal, or something malevolent- will come your way. and all the while, joel’s sat in shock, pure fucking eye-widening shock, as the words you utter slowly seep into his brain. minute as it may be, it’s the first detail, the first piece of history you’ve offered of yourself. an absent father, the words cause a dull ache in the left side of his chest.

god, he’s being too quiet, he needs to ask more while you’re willing to answer.

you switch to fifth gear with a delay that would have cost you points back in the days of capitalistic civilisations. the gear-box makes an ugly noise of which the engine follows up with a growl of its own.

panicked, your hand shoots straight back to the gear-shift, curling around it so tight the white bones beneath your knuckles threaten to rip through your skin and put themselves on display. the car slows with the release of your foot off the pedal and he presumes you mean to lower the gears too- perhaps, you’ve thought it best to maintain the safety net provided in the third gear- but you must not be thinking straight, must lack proper motor-control over your body, as your hand pushes down on the stick and, slam!

the car comes to a complete stop.

the sharp pain that cuts up his neck as whiplash takes over, the weight of his upper-half flying forward and stopped only by the seatbelt that crosses over him, it becomes near non-existent as a strangled cry and a whimper of pain comes from the driver’s seat.

a scrambling of hands, a forceful push onto the pedal, a handful of panicked breaths and fearful mutterings of something involving bill and kill and will. none of it helps in the face of your problem. you’re stubborn, however, trying once more to push the stick forward, and getting nowhere. joel tells himself to remain delicate in his touch and composed in his heart as his hand clamps down on top yours, curling his longer digits around the gear-stick and giving it a tug upwards, effortless in his attempt to shift the car out of reverse and back into the first gear.

your eyes meet his. watery, and big, and full of fear.

“musician?” conversation, that will distract you in your moments of panic. he’ll talk you through the fierce currents of racing heartbeats and sweaty palms, till your waters are calm as can be.

the hand that still sits atop your own gives a soft squeeze.

“deep breath, sol,” he leads by example, filling his lungs with a sharp, deep inhale through his nose. you follow, nodding as if you’re in a trance yet you mimic him nonetheless. deep inhale, through the nose, inflate your chest. “atta girl. you’re fine. car’s fine. ya just stalled it, s’all. happens all the time.”

he’s hopeful to be helpful, but then the first tear wins the war over your composure, slipping down your cheek as you shakily exhale. another few- four, he thinks, but can not say for sure- follow suit, staining ugly cristaline rivers down the globes of your cheeks. another inhale from joel, another exhale from you. you breathe in tandem, as if relying on the other to remember such a human act is necessary for survival.

it’s purely instinctual, something as uncontrollable and unpracticed as the beating of his heart or the blinking of his eyes, the way his free hand captures ahold of your cheek. the rough pad of his thumb swipes over the bottom of your eye, so close that he feels the tickle of your lower lashes, collecting whatever tears threaten to fall next.

let them stain his skin instead of yours.

“ya dad,” maybe you need clarification, something to stall the rapidly speeding thoughts that race through your mind. “was he a musician?”

at first, silence. more deep breathing, less shaky exhales. your tears still wet his thumb but they no longer seem to be spilling down your cheek, collecting on your lashes like the dust on a shelf. he thinks of wiping the tears off the untouched side of your face, mostly to settle whatever part of him feels shaken at your distress, yet, as he slowly raises the hand that sits atop yours on the gear-stick, you halt him. fingers tangle messily with his own and squeeze so hard he feels the pressure deep in his bones, threatening to snap like twigs.

and, then, you shake you head.

no.

nonverbal, yet entirely understood by him.

your dad was not a singer. you hear him as much as you feel him. you’re slowly returning. to the car, and to a rational state of mind, and to him. a few moments pass, slipping between you with as much ease as his thumb stroking over your wrist, pushing down just that little bit till he feels the fading thrump-thrumps of a panicked heart. he speaks once you’re ready, once the slow rise and fall of your chest lulls his own self into a state of calm. “gonna need ya to turn the keys in the ignition, think ya can do that?”

you do as he says, inadvertently placing your trust in him and his words, and turn the key. when the car shudders yet fails to come alive, your head snaps right back to him, eyes a pleading mess for answers, guidance, help.

it does wonders to his ego, to that caveman mentality that sadly resides in some corner of his mind. needed, useful, protective. things he doesn’t get to feel with tess, doesn’t need to feel with tess. she takes care of herself, and him, and never asks for a damn thing in return. but you need him, need his calming words and his knowledge of vehicles.

for once, he’s a necessity instead of a casualty in your life.

“foot on the clutch, sol,” his pointed words hold no mockery, becoming a metaphorical rubber-dingy that he tosses your way, one more thing to pull you into the safety of a calm shore.

this time, the engine roars back to life.

you’re elated, a smile splitting up your cheeks even as you let the car crawl to a start, wheels turning slowly as you give the gas a light tap. he sees the way your shoulders sag, like a ten-ton weight has just been stripped off them.

“told ya, s’just a stall,” it’s the nicest i told you so he can offer, especially as the lingering of that nasty feeling still creeps over your actions, subduing you in a way he doesn’t quite enjoy. you should not be meek, nor placid, nor doubtful yet that is all he sees as he watches you hesitantly drive the car into second gear. “used to happen t’me all the time. at the worst times, too. like... intersections and shit. can’t count the times i got flipped off by some truck driver.”

you giggle. quiet, girlish, subtle. joel almost mistakes it for a tickle in your throat, a discomfort you catch yourself coughing over. but, no. your shoulders dance, your lips tilt up, rapid little breaths sneak out your nose. it doesn’t even matter that it’s at his expense, the fact he’s the one to rouse such a delicate reaction despite his rough voice, and rough words and, well, rough everything, it’s enough to settle his soul with a deep contempt.

you continue slowly, not daring to test the power of the car. he says nothing, not a word about the waste of bill’s fuel nor the painfully boring pace at which the world flies by outside the window. you’ll speed up, he knows it, once you get your momentarily lost confidence back. talking seems to be your first approach to easing the tension in your stiff arms. “actor.”

he hums in question, quirking a brow despite your gaze being fixated on nothing but what sits ahead.

“he was an actor. a wannabe actor,” you’re soft spoken, trying your best to keep that shake in your voice under control. “my dad. so... you almost had it right.”

“anything i might know him from?” he tries, and fails, to match the lightness of your voice, his own far too gruff, and dark, and jagged to replicate the smooth edges of your own.

“not unless you had a thing for cheesy teenage romcoms.”

the words seem to take control of him, forcing their way out before he can so much as recognise their existence. “i didn’t but my dau-” if you notice the way he halts himself, you say nothing.

“wanna know the most ironic thing?” he senses no real humour behind the few chuckles you let out, eyes lost ahead. joel wonders if you’re truly seeing the road, or merely looking at it, letting the world blur as your focus sits elsewhere. you await no response before continuing. “the only role he could never master was the present father.”

a father placing his dreams over his child, the idea is one he can’t quite wrap his head around.

joel had had big dreams, once. dreams that involved world tours, and golden records, and screaming fans. those dreams were shoved aside, not even a whisper to be heard in his mind, the moment he held his bundle of joy for the first time. screaming her little lungs off, tiny body covered in fluids he could never name, eyes staring wide back at him as she took in the image of her father for the first time. she became his new dream, his only dream. to hold, protect and love.

just like the stage, he eventually lost that dream too.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes the words out, quiet beneath the hum of the engine.

“why?” you’re not harsh with your delivery. in fact, you even glance momentarily in his direction and shoot him one of those smiles, the ones that steal the spotlight away from everything else and render him frozen beneath it’s shine. nonetheless, joel fears he’s done it once more, offended you without even trying. “it’s not your job to apologise for someone else’s mistake, joel.”

the silence which settles between you once more feels less like the awful quiet of drowning beneath crashing waves and more akin to the static of an untuned radio, with its antenna out of place and detecting no signals. it’s calming to sit like that with you and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the world passing by outside the windows, joel’s mind wanders off into dangerous territories.

territories where he thinks of this exact setting, you driving and him sitting in the passengers side fighting off the sudden languid feeling that grips his soul, only in his imagination it’s later, deep into the night. you’re not alone on the road, a collection of cars passing by and driving ahead, and the smell of cheap beer fills the car. snoring from the backseats, a sleepy girl finally given into the call of sleep after a long day. the image of his hand reaching over the console to find yours, matching silver bands clinking together as he lets himself entwine his fingers with yours.

he jolts up straight, head no longer resting on the window and eyes blinking away whatever make-believe daydream he’d inflicted upon himself, when a sound of anguish comes from your seat.

selfishly indulging in his silly fantasies, joel’d failed to notice your silence was not the same as his. while he bathed in warmth, you quivered in coldness. your nails now threaten to leave marks on the steering wheel, your lips point downwards in a frown, your thigh shakes nervously with each measly push of fuel you give the car.

it’s cruel of him to keep you driving in this state.

“there’s a gas station a few miles from ‘ere,” his words are punctuated by a defeated sigh, already beating himself up mentally for not noticing soon enough the state you’ve been sat in. “pull into it.”

if joel had a nickel for every time he’s seen you in this position, he’d have two nickels.

your chest heaving with every breath, your back pressed to his front, your closed legs stood between his own. flashbacks to the kitchen, all you’re missing is a knife in your hand and a counter-top for him to box you in against.

he’d believe the idea of popping the car’s hood and teaching you a little about the interior of a vehicle was a good one, a smart one, a chance to gain some knowledge that may prove itself useful. the plan was to show you where things sat- the engine, the dip-stick for the oil, the battery- and hope the momentary distraction would be enough to unravel your nerves, leaving you primed and prepped to drive you both back to the home joel would never share with you.

as marvellously innocent and simple as his plan was, he’d failed to take into account one important detail: you’re your own person, capable of things he’d never think to predict. so, when you’d stepped out the now parked truck a few minutes after him, sweater left behind and nothing but some flimsy, practically see-through white tank top, he’d just about felt all the blood drain from his face- and head straight to his crotch- while his eyes done little to hide the glaringly obvious staring at your breasts they indulged in, the blush of colour from pebbled nipples beneath the fabric enough to have him salivating at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “i’m not staining my favourite sweater with oil”, that had been your excuse for torturing him so cruelly.

he’s no better than the old perverts who used to drool over a woman jogging down the street.

“ok, so, this,” you shuffle forwards, feet crunching down on some crumbling gravel below. before joel can let relief flood over his senses at having just that slightest bit of distance between you both, you bend at the hip and lean across the vehicle, hands grabbing at a familiar yellow stick. “is the dip-stick?”

hearing your voice but rendered incapable of listening, he’s frozen. the fingers at his side ball into fists as that familiar beast seduces itself over his senses, flashing images in his mind of all the places he’s yet to place his hands. your neck, your waist, your thighs, the wanton desire to map out your every trace and burn it into his memory is endless, all-consuming.

your voice calls out his name.

he hums, you repeat your question, to which he huffs out an agreement, tongue too heavy to form words.

“then this,” you stretch further, fingertips reaching for the top right corner. not quite reaching your desired object, you shuffle two steps back and send him into turmoil as your ass presses tightly into his crotch. like a wounded animal, he sucks air in through his teeth and clamps his hands down on your hips. initially he means to move you but, inevitably, he holds you against him. “must be the battery.”

the jeans he wears seem to have grown a little tighter. uncomfortably so. still, he can’t bring himself to care, nor to readjust them, grip only clamping itself down tighter on you at the sheer threat of removing them.

he’d thought back to that night, more times that he cares to admit to himself. at first, it was a means to an end, a memory of lustful images to drive him towards some quick pleasure and relieve the pressure of stress off his shoulders, giving him the chance to actually get some sleep. your taste on his tongue, your hands in his hair, the weight of your body keening back into him. he felt it for days. weeks, even, ghosts that haunted his skin.

then came the guilt, seeping in like rain through the crack in tess’ and his ceiling.

he had no right to touching you the way he had. here you are, a glimmer of light that brings warmth into the coldest of place, while there he is, a thunderstorm of emotions all wrapped up in the darkness of rain clouds, threatening to stain and dampen everything he puts his care into. his daughter, dead. his brother, gone. and, hell, even tess has nearly slipped through his weak hold countless times. so, how dare he subject you to the danger of his caress, mark you with the touch of death his heart seems to bring?

hours of tossing and turning, unwrapping himself from tess’ arms as he’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to go wear his footprints into the floorboards of their living room, pacing back and forth as withered hands ran through greying hair, searching for some solution to this... this swelling in his heart, ache in his bones, longing in his loins at the memory of you.

bill had asked him once, years ago, what his greatest weakness was. he’d been wise enough to gruff out a harsh nothin’.

his answer has changed, since then.

you reach into the darkness of his spiralling mind and drag him back with three words. “texas, you good?”

he doesn’t quite give you an answer. not a vocal one, at least, settling for giving each of your hips a squeeze when words fail him. he’s gazing in admiration and wonder, eyes trailing themselves over the way you’re struggling to stretch further, the tips of your fingers fighting to reach the object you’d been trying to identify. one moment, you’re huffing over the fight to touch the car’s battery, and the next, you’re sending two tidal waves down joel’s spine: panic and arousal.

maybe, you don’t mean to do it. it could be purely accidental, an action you don’t even take a second to consider after years of living solely in the presence of two men who bare no interest in bending you over any surface. but, you do it.

you whine.

it’s born from pain, your entire frame shooting upright while clutching your hand close to your chest. joel knows that alone should be enough to vanish any explicit thoughts from his mind. the hunger only grows though, his insides twisting up at the notion of you being hurt, needing comfort. a kiss to a bleeding wound, he’d deliver it no questions asked.

his hands are still around your waist. your bodies are still pressed together. he feels every shaky inhale, every heaved exhale. it’s a struggle to pry your injured hand away from the safety of your chest, pulling backwards till your elbow juts outwards and your open palm sits level with his mouth.

it’s your pointer finger, a dark, angry looking mark running halfway down your fingerprints.

“‘s the matter with ya,” worry has always been something joel expresses loudly. raised voices, frantic movements, heavy steps. his brother had called him out on it, the morning after his parental care led to a heated argument and the slamming of doors, from both the pre-teen and the adult in the miller household. it’s a flaw that’s only worsened, with time and circumstance, and it keeps him from saying what he really means. are you okay? “you some kind of idiot or somethin’?” i can’t stand to see you hurt.

“i didn’t think-”

“clearly fuckin’ not!” be more careful. “touchin’ the damn battery like the car ain’t just been stopped!” please.

he’s better with actions, gentle in the physical even as he berates you verbally. he pulls in air through his nostrils before blowing it out through his puckered lips, directly onto the mild burn imprinting itself on your delicate skin. you hiss as his cooling breath makes initial contact and your hand jerks back, fighting to stray away from him. joel fixes his grip, making sure you don’t get too far before he blows a second breath.

“i’m fine,” you’re an awful liar, the grimace on your lips doing nothing to reassure him. at least you’re smart enough to not waste any more energy on fighting against him, slumping forward to rest your hand on the truck’s open hood. “didn’t even hurt that much. i just wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”

with no acknowledgement thrown your way, he huffs out another couple of breaths, mind already running off in thoughts of what comes next. a superficial burn, it should heal in a matter of days. if you’re lucky, the injured skin will merely peal away to reveal a fresh layer. if you’re unlucky, a blister will swell in it’s place.

joel only aims to ensure your luck.

bowing his head and leaning down, he captures your finger between his lips. your breaths catches in your throat as this new angle, new proximity to your face allows his eyes to take in the way your own seem to roll back, lips parted with something unsaid. he drags the tip of his tongue over your wound, which pulses and burns hot beneath his muscle. his tongue flicks back over only for him to lick at the burn once more, this time with a flattened tongue, smothering it in his saliva.

the suckle his lips give is purely selfish.

“that kinda-” a fluttery sort of noise leaves you, a pleasant little thing that seems unable to decide if it wants to be a giggle or a moan. it settles for something in between, unknowingly spurring joel on to suck around your digit again. “it kinda tickles.”

the hand he holds against your hip travels north, halting abruptly as the top of his thumb reaches the swell of your breast. being so affected by a braless chest is something joel thought he’d left behind in teenage-hood. the way his cock twitches in his pants at the knowledge that yours sit bare beneath the thin cotton camisole gives him deja-vu.

in a rushed- and entirely unthought over decision- joel switches the direction of his trail of fingerprints to move south, slipping down past where cotton sits tucked beneath silk. the skirt is soft and inviting. all his sick mind can do is picture you lain across a bed with silk sheets, your naked curves, and pert nipples, and dribbling cunt a whole different kind of soft and inviting.

skin meets skin when he arrives at the top of the skirt’s slit. he wastes no time, fingers dragging themselves under the material to feel the recently discovered terrain of your full thighs. with supple skin, warm and pliable beneath his hold, he indulges himself in letting his grip dig in and squeeze the meaty flesh.

all the while, his tongue licks over your burn.

“otis does that too,” you’re struggling to keep your grip on the car, a delightful realisation for joel. you’d played the innocent for far too long last time, hardly exposing your desires till push came to shove and your knife went clattering out your hand. now you force yourself deeper into his touch, your finger applying pressure to his tongue as it pushes down on the muscle and tickles his tastebuds with the bite of your painted nail. the quiet voice of his subconscious wants you to push deeper, till your digit hits the back of his throat, his eyes sting with tears and he’s gagging around you. “tries to lick wounds better-”

the sight of you shutting up, lips parted in some unheard noise as his hand cups the entirety of your clothed pussy, sends a wave of heat to joel’s already burning loins.

the furnace of your two intertwined bodies shields you both to the slowly dropping temperatures, with no time to spare and no care to give to the grey skies that roll in while he rolls your concealed clit beneath two fingers, pinching once or twice, possibly thrice, in hopes of pushing his emotional aches onto you physically.

fighting against the tight squeeze of your underwear’s band around his wrist, two fingers, a pointer and a middle, smooth their way past your pubic bone, over your aching mound and dip down to swipe over your slit. a soaked mess, a warm and sticky coating, welcomes them as joel strokes the outer surface of your cunt in a lax manner, taking his time to admire how soft your lips feel, how warm your skin burns, how hard your entrance throbs, all the while he’s coating your cunt it’s own liquid pleasure. his mouth drops your hand, the grip his own has on it tightening once more. though, this time, it’s not from the need to keep you in place but from a primal, possessive desire that seduces his rationality. “quit comparin’ me to your fuckin’ dog.”

the hand down your pants has a mind of its own, trading the teasing strokes up the length of your seam for the tight squeeze of your walls around his fingers as they penetrate you- two at the same time, no consideration for the discomfort the sudden sting of breaching your entrance brings.

you seem to like the pain, enough to let go of the vehicle and melt back into joel. your head meets his shoulder as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack, legs writhing to fight for more friction. he remains frozen, face a stoic slab void of expression if not for the crease in his brow where his eyebrows have furrowed. the fingers in your cunt curl, slightly, testing your patience with the way they press into the spongy tissue.

“joe- ah...” you fail to say his name, your two lips barely getting the chance to touch as he curls his finger a second time. this time harder, with more certainty in the way he’s touching you. “move, please.”

your lips, parted in gasps and cries that threaten to cut his fun short with the way they likely have his cock staining his briefs in precum, become public enemy number one as he decides they need to be shut, silenced, occupied so that he can hold off blowing his load again before he’s even had the chance to feel you clench around his cock.

with your finger still drenched in his spit, a fat bead of it dripping down the back of your hand, he shoves it into your own mouth, disgustingly intrigued with the way you welcome it so eagerly and drink down the taste of his saliva.

now you’re silenced, joel gives an experimental thrust of his hand, dragging both his fingers out till only the tips tease at your entrance before slamming them back in. the moan you let out is muffled, a sound that titillates him yet no longer threatens his sanity. you find another way to ruin him, however, body jolting and ass rolling back into his form when he starts to set a steady pace to leisurely fuck his fingers into your cunt.

“tried to be fuckin’ good. kept my hands to myself, didn’t- fuck!” he must reach something inside of you, knuckles deep and slick spilling down his hand, that has you mewling, eyes no longer shut as you crane your neck to stare up at him and your hips roll backwards, momentarily smothering his clothed cock between the swell of your silk covered cheeks. “didn’t bring up anythin’ ‘bout the last time i saw ya. but you just ‘ad to go and ruin it now, didn’t ya?”

“leasehmm,” you hum the incoherent babble around your own finger and joel can’t stop himself from forcing it further into your mouth, laser stare sharp enough to burn holes into your throat as he watches you gag.

“c’mon, you can do it,” you’ve got him trapped between your legs, both your thighs and the walls of your cunt clenching his hand in a vice grip as he continues his ministrations, satiating the taste for warm flesh he’s been craving since he slammed the door to the kitchen and tried to fool himself into thinking he could simply make his way back to tess in her drunken state, crash down to sleep on the couch and wake up the next day as if everything that had transpired in the moonlight was just another one of his perverted fantasies. awakening with the taste of you still on his tongue threw all hope out the window. “use your words, pretty girl.”

with an awkward bend, the pad of his thumb brushes over your neglected clit in a gentle circling motion, coaxing you further and further to that ledge of ecstasy he aims to throw you off, plunge you into the heavens of a blinding orgasm. crooking his fingers and grinding his cock into the base of your spine become practiced movements, a kind of push and pull dance his body plays with yours, guiding you both to the beats of your erratic hearts.

“mmmoel,” bless you, really, for trying so hard to speak while chocking on yourself, yet making no attempt to shove his hand away. your well-mannered nature has never made him so hard- and, trust that it has done so plenty of times- as you melt yourself into a writhing mess in his arms, blown out pupils and spit dribbling out the corner of your mouth all the while you do as he bids. “mmhop.”

“‘s the matter, sweet girl? hmm?” you’re close, he knows it. feels it, when your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist through the soft skirt, nails biting flesh even through the layer of silk. he half wonders if this is it, this is where you’re going to rip him off you and slap him in the face with the harsh truth: you’re too good to be touched by the likes of him. only, you simply clutch onto him and let him continue to play you like he’d once played a guitar, fingers plucking at the right strings and pressing on the right cords to make you sing a melody so sweet even the angels themselves would cry at its sound. “cat got your tongue? feels good, i know. ‘s okay, you can let go f’me, not gonna hold it against ya. just gonna hold ya through it, yeah? keep ya real safe in my arms while this pretty little pussy of yours takes what she needs, m’kay?”

the longer you take to tell him to stop, the more debauched the images of you in his mind become. once wishes of butterfly kisses and sweet surrenders beneath his naked embrace, now desires to have you on your knees crying, begging, praying for him to smother you with his sins.

with another thrust, he fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you even wider and trying his damn best to ignore the fact you’re still so tight despite the thickness of his fingers. that’ll only lead to his thoughts derailing to how much tighter you’d feel clamped around the girth of his cock.

he’d been modest, back in his younger years, shrugging off the cries of past lovers regarding his well endowed state as nothing more than flirtatious fiction, the kind of thing women would tell their man to make him feel special. only a few years ago he’d started to second guess his assumptions as he began to chase his highs with faceless bodies and all kinds of holes- mouth, cunt and ass.

most of the time his concubines get no chance to truly see his cock, too busy having their face shoved down into gravel, or into some brick wall in a sketchy alleyway, or, simply, the darkness that consumed the walls of the cubicle which kept them from seeing just who exactly they were fucking would also take away their chance to know what they were getting themselves into, what was about to get in to them.

their first reactions always seem to be a crying sort of sound, a sick pleasure washing over him and having his balls tightening. then comes the complaining of too much, too fast, too good, their bodies at odds with themselves and unable to decide if being impaled by him is their worst nightmare or their sweetest dream.

before they can ever decide, he’s ripping away from them and fucking himself to completion with his own hand. a mumbled thanks and- if it was one of those kind of deals- a drop of a med kit or some food rations to their feet, joel would be tucked back into his worn jeans and out of their sight before they’re able to catch their breaths and realise he’d left them there, stretched open and fucked out with no orgasm to show for it.

with you, he’d be different though.

there’s no need for his own pleasure if it came down to choosing between it and your own. the sheer thought of nuzzling his mouth between your thighs and lapping at every inch of your pussy, till his muscle aches and his jaw locks, is enough to have him on the precipice of cumming untouched. so, to think of a scenario where he slips his cock inside your velvet walls and doesn’t leave you a spasming mess after several earth shattering orgasms, over and over till a ring of your mixed juices decorates the base of him and you’ve milked him dry, that feels impossible.

“wait, joel, ah! please, please,” your head thrashes to the side, ripping away from your burned finger. you’re trembling, feet pushing up onto their tippy-toes as he fucks higher and higher into you. the hand around your wrists finds a new home curled around your jaw and his thumb begins it’s torturous circling of your clit once more, pushing and guiding and bullying your aching cunt towards an orgasm that’s sure to leave you breathless and- “stop!”

this time, it’s joel who’s recoiling his scorned hands.

pants fill the air, a desperate fight for oxygen as you stand before him, legs shaky and perked nipples chafing against the see-through fabric of your camisole. thunder cracks above, a deep and trembling noises that joel can’t help but feel fits the ambience, turmoil in both the sky and his heart.

he knows its for the best, to have you put your foot down and put an end to this ridiculous pursuit of lust joel’s imposing on you. not only have you made it clear you do not like him, but you’re younger, full of life, heart too mellow for a soul as dark as his. still, disappointment floods his bones.

both hands back at his side, he clenches them. wrong move, only serving to remind him one of his hands is smothered in your wetness, a schlick squelch bouncing up to his eardrums. you’ve turned to look at him, at some point. he notices the slight swell of your lips and the blown-out pupils, try though he might to ignore it.

staring right at him, you seem to be almost waiting on a reaction.

“‘s gettin’ dark, should prolly think of headin’ back,” joel won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg, not when he knows it’ll get him nowhere. the hood, that’s what he should be focusing on. he shoots a hand up and slams the hood shut, fighting the urge to let his stare linger on the stain his pleasure soaked fingers leave behind on the blue painted metal. “bill and frank’ll be wonder-”

you call his name.

he can’t look at you, fingers fidgeting with some scab on his hand.

you try again. louder.

a sigh of resignation. he turns to face you, leaning back against the truck. the quirk of his brow enough to encourage you to get on with it, say what you need to say. paint him in shame, call him some names and then let you both be on your way.

you seem to take it as an invitation to approach. one step, then two more when he fails to back away. with a final step, you’re stood right before him, forcing yourself between the space of his parted legs. he’s never had you this close before, at least not with you facing him, and it’s almost too much. the familiar anxious pit in his loins creeps back, leaving him all too aware of the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins.

you smell... christmassy. burnt wood, dusted cinnamon, mulled wine. warm.

he can’t remember the last time he even thought of christmas.

he jolts at the feeling of your hands on his thighs, the coldness of them burning through the rough material of his pants. he’s not sure when it happened but he somehow finds himself sitting on the truck’s hood, hands splayed out on either side of him and knees bent over the edge as he parts way for you between them.

your hands smooth up the muscles of his thighs, up and down in repeated motions. soothing, calming. his heart beats a little slower with each movement.

only to jackhammer against his ribcage as your touch begins to move higher.

“i didn’t mean stop as in, stop touching me,” you breathe out the words like they’re the most delicate of secrets, only for his ears and your own to know. fingers threading through belt loops. a pull or two. he’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal clinking as you release him from the strain of it’s buckle, and the biting sound of teeth unzipping. “just... just wanna see you... feel you this time, when i... if that’s okay with you.”

he’s nodding his head before you can even finish your words, nearly crumbling as your fingers brush against his bulge. “‘smore than fine by me. shit, that’s... yeah.”

a pathetic man, that’s what he’s become, a meek shadow to the man who moments ago had you on the precipice of cumming around his fingers while you babbled incoherently. you seem to have turned the tide, whether you’re aware of it or not, hand sinking beneath the withered band of his boxers.

you don’t give him the relief he wants- needs- instantly. instead, you tease, fingertips dancing down the underside of his shaft and following the trail of a vein he doubts you’re even aware of. sliding back up to his tip, you revel in the weakness he displays as you brush over heightened nerves, sensitive to your touch and stained in earlier excitement.

“you’re warm,” is not exactly what he’d expected you to say, if he’s honest. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it, mind firing into overdrive as you fully wrap yourself around his cock. ignoring the chafing, you work your hand over him, grow familiar with the length of him, tip to base. “big.”

with your free hand, you do your best to peel back the layers of fabric till nothing stands in your path of gazing at his cock, heavy in your palm and red at the tip.

“yeah? ‘s bigger than you’re used to, ain’t it?” joel coos, you nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your eyes meet his. wide, glossy, intrigued, a mirror of the scared look you’ve worn when you’d stalled the car.

joel groans at the memory, the way he’d taken care of you, coaxed you back to a rational state of mind.

he wants more of that, more chances to protect you.

even if it’s against your own mind.

“‘s okay, sol, you’ll learn to take it,” you keen at his words, sinking closer to him, shoes scratching on the gravel beneath you. you squeeze your hand around him and he chokes on an inhale. “gonna teach ya to take it like a champ.”

he reaches behind him, tugging the gun out the back of his trousers. he was stupid to place it there in the first place, a rushed action he’d made when stepping out the vehicle. he hadn’t wanted you to see the weapon, to be reminded that the world outside bill and frank- the world joel resides in- is not safe, not from infected and certainly not from people.

before he can put it to rest on the hood, you snatch it out his hand.

you’re inspecting it like it’s the first you’ve ever seen, yet the way you perfectly wrap your hand around it and point past his shoulders tells him otherwise. there’s familiarity in your stance, like you’d once lived under rules where bill didn’t prohibit you from touching a firearm. it has him wondering, longing to know who you were before. where you’d come from, how you’d met the two men you share a roof with.

you play with the safety, snapping his attention right back to the present.

the sight of the gun in your hand fills him dread. and misery. and a sense of nausea. you’re far from weak, no matter how much he’d like you to be, but there’s just something fundamentally wrong with the image of you holding such a destructive weapon.

you should be holding otis’ lead. or a canvas depicting frank’s recent masterpiece. or the end of some wine bottle bill’s struggling to open.

or joel’s hand.

instead of speaking his mind, he pries it from you with a huff- from both of you- and lays it to rest somewhere towards his right, out of sight and out of mind. “‘s not some toy for a girl like you to be messin’ about with.”

“neither are you,” you make a point to rack your pretty nails over the untamed curls of his pubic hair, the occasional flash of silver a reminder of his aging state. you don’t seem to notice, or care, too busy bringing the attention back to his leaking tip.

a sound adjacent to a growl escapes him, feral and domineering. shame exists within him, for a moment, witnessing himself be at such a loss of control. when his hands find purchase on your waist, the feeling dissipates and what takes it’s place is pure adulterated need, throbbing in his very core.

he tugs you forward, closer, catching the way you’re struggling to reach him, hand gripping his thigh for support.

“y’gonna hurry on up ‘ere,” impatience punctuates the soul, driving him off the cliff of sanity and plunging head first into the rocky territories below. “or d’ya need me to do all the work? lay ya down, nice and pretty on the hood so i can fuck you?”

you deny his offer with actions, clambering your way into his lap, legs splayed out either side of his thighs. the skirt bunches awkwardly between you both and steals his view as you rest down against his stiffness and smother it in the warmth of your clothed cunt.

there’s dampness on your panties, teasing him as you give an experimental roll along his cock, holding it tight between both your bodies.

“shit, joel,” a hiss through your clenched teeth and your face twisting up in something- pain? arousal? both? he can’t quite pinpoint it. your hips roll again, this time reaching higher, teasing him with a visual of what’s to come. “feel so thick, don’t know how i’m gonna-”

“didn’t i already tell ya-” he grabs at your skirt, irritation clear in the way he rips it up the length of your legs, exposing your skin inch by inch. “you’re gonna learn to take it?”

your hand dives under the fabric before his can, fingers curling around his cock once again and giving him a salacious stroke, taking your time gliding over the smooth skin and sensitive head. “mhmm. you gonna teach me?”

he nods, affirmative.

the next few minutes are nothing but messy grinding. like a pair of hormone-crazed teens, you explore the joys of rubbing up on each other. two pieces of wet wood searching for that spark in between. you make the most effort, working the muscles in your thighs to slide up the length of him and to grind back down, the wet patch in your panties growing with each stroke. joel sits back, allows himself the rare luxury of being taking care of. the last time he had a pretty girl in his lap, she had solace in her eyes and a couple twenties stuffed down her sparkly bra.

“what d’ya bring me ‘ere for,” he’d berated his younger brother after, his anger seemingly coming across as unserious to a giggling tommy, “was fuckin’ depressin’. kept lookin’ at those girls and thinkin’ bout if their poor dads knew what they were up to.”

he can’t help but wonder if bill and frank know what you’re up to.

“hey, hey, wait,” the words tumble out of him erratically as he catches up to your actions, the hand around his cock suddenly holding it still as you raise your hips. his hands pull and grab at the fabric of your skirt, a frustrated grunt slipping out of him as he hoists it up past your waist. this time, you’re covered by a shade of baby blue cotton instead of lace, less sultry yet far more appealing in his eyes. comfortable, that’s what they look like, the kind of pair he’d find you wearing stood in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning, one of his wrinkled old t-shirts the only thing keeping your frame concealed. joel’d always had a good imagination, and it serves him well, decorating his mind with several images of a domestic bliss he’d never get to share with you. “lemme see.”

you’re a smart girl, it’s one of your best qualities, and so you need no further instructions to understand what joel’s asking for.

he watches like a hawk as your fingers tug your panties to one side, a pretty window of slick covered skin that has him involuntarily jutting his hips up off the truck, his head slipping up your seam and pressing into your clit, an action that sparks the reaction of your own hips grinding down. you recover quick, hand back on the task of gripping his base and holding him, while your over reaches back to grip his knee, giving you a grip to steady yourself on as you straighten your thighs.

“this what you want,” your voice calls through the lustful haze in his mind as he takes in the sight of you sinking down onto him, the head of his cock fitting snuggly between your velvet walls. it’s almost enough to make him cum on sight. “to watch? me sitting on your dick?”

joel wonders if you’re trying to shame his desires. ultimately, he’s too lost in the way you cling around him to really care. if anything, he almost wants you to be disgusted by him, making the act of devouring your pleasure that much more sinful.

hands grip at your hips, with moon-shape indents forming around where his nails dig into your flesh. patience is a virtue he scarcely possess but he forces it on himself, fighting back the need to slam you right down on him and carve a home out for his hot cum inside your empty womb. he can’t allow himself the fast-paced indulgence he’s used to, not when he sees the deep breaths you need to take or the pained wrinkle in your brow with each inch you sink deeper and deeper down on him with.

he let’s you take your time, eyes starring with a crazed expression at the point your bodies meet. once he’s fully nestled inside the warmth of your cunt, your forehead rests against his own and he’s forced to look into your eyes and once again notice the way your pupils sit dilated in lust.

it’s a sight he’d like to get used to.

“kinda regretting this,” dread plummets through his heart and a ball forms in his throat. your walls hold him in a vice grip that seems to contradict your statement, until you clarify. “thinking i could take it like this. i’ve never, you know, in this position before-”

“you’re doin’ great,” joel’s own voice sounds pained, straining beneath the buzzing energy that’s begging him to relinquish control to his lust. it would be so easy, effortless even, to grip your hips and fuck you down onto him like you’re nothing if not a hole to get himself off in. unfortunately, his heart stands in the way. “shit, fuckin’ better than great.”

neither of you keep time of how long you sit like that, pelvis to pelvis, his cock buried into the hilt and a puddle of your wetness collecting along his pubic bone, the bristle hairs providing a rough friction for your clit.

eventually, initiative is taken, and you work up the nerve to roll your hips.

the view he’d been enjoying is stolen as your skirt slips back down to pool around you both, his hands too occupied gripping at your waist as your own find home on his sturdy shoulders.

another roll of of your body, slow and steady, lighting every nerve in his cock on fire with the sweet burn of your cunt fighting to keep him inside, refusing to let him slip too far out before you’re filling yourself back up again. your lips fall open in a pathetic moan, the sweet smell of your breath hitting his nostrils as you sit forehead to forehead.

and joel wonders if there’ll ever be a part of you he’s not enamoured by.

your confidence grows as you begin to set a pace, bouncing yourself up and down in his lap as joel grips here, there and everywhere on your body. a pinch to your hardened nipples, a trace of your hidden thighs, a cradling of your face. there’s not an inch of you he wants to neglect, staining his fingerprints all over you with every frantic touch.

this is nothing like the back-alley exchanges of body heat he’s grown accustomed to, this is nothing rushed and everything felt. it’s a carnal hunger for the feel of flesh and the taste of sweat. it’s feral, and lustful, and downright intoxicating. it’s the need to get his fill of you over, and over, and over again, till the fountain of your velvet warmth overflows with his seed and has nowhere else to run but down the length of your full thighs and dripping onto his emptied balls below.

“joel, please,” he decides he likes you much better like this, your whole body gripping itself around him-arms, legs, soaked cunt- in search of a sweet salvation only he can bring as your usual bright smile and quick tongue become reduced to nothing but whimpered breaths and desperate prayers. “i’m- god, i can’t-”

your thighs tremble as he tightens his hold, keeping you steady when the exhaustion of exhilarating yourself on top of him begins to take a hold of you. the need to take over becomes primal, blunt nails tearing into the meat of your thighs and bouncing you down on him with an effortless look he hopes will fool you out of noticing he’s seconds away from blowing his load prematurely, mind and body too close to the edge of nirvana from simply having the weight of you on him.

he just needs to get you there first.

“hate this fucking skirt,” the grumble was meant to be a thought he keeps to himself, but the giggle it rouses out of you makes it worth the slip-up, your own hands delivering the mercy of helping him drag the length of it farther up, marking a clear path for his own to sneak under and find your pulsing clit. “don’t wear it again.”

a few tight circles with just the right amount of pressure has you melting deeper into him, your arms curling around him as your head lays itself to rest upon his shoulder. your every breath delivers a brush of heat against his already burning skin and he wishes there were no plaid shirts nor camisoles resting between your heartbeats.

“but it’s so,” he must have struck gold, found some hidden gem in the combination of the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the rhythm at which he’s fucking you down onto his cock, for you clamp down on him so tightly he worries you may cut off his circulation. “soft and, oh, yes! and it- it fits me so perfectly-”

“not sure if you’re talkin’ bout your skirt or your pussy,” he grunts out, a teasing smirk on his mouth that dies the instance his lips press to your neck, nose chasing the scent of your lingering shampoo.

“you’re so-” he’s so, what? you don’t get to finish, hand fisting into his hair and moans falling from your lips like autumn leaves.

“tsk, look at ya,” he certainly is, and loving every inch of you he sees, hips rolling down with the guidance of his hands, head tucked safely away from the world in the crook of his neck, hands gripping any part of him they seem to reach. if art is subjective, then you’re the damned mona lisa, the starry night, the birth of venus. “can’t even fuckin’ speak properly, mouth’s good for nothin’ when you’re full of cock.”

you nod into him, hips moving faster, nails digging deeper, moans getting louder. he’s got you so close, a few more thrusts till he’s sure to have you flying off the handles and cumming around him.

you whine his name.

he meets the roll of your hips with the raising of his own.

a pull of hair, a bite of skin, and then you’re-

“oh shit, ain’t this a pretty sight.”

joel’s blood runs cold.

you’re frozen against him.

just past your shoulder, directly in joel’s eye-line, by the gas station’s entry stands a man. he’s younger than joel, maybe even younger than you. his clothes are stained in all sorts- sweat, dried blood, mud- and are tattered, as if he’s been wearing the same thing everyday. the strap of a backpack sits over one shoulder and he seems to be carrying no weapons but the hunting knife in his belt.

the intruder- if he can even be called that out in the openness of the world- takes a couple steps closer but they’re not full of confidence. if anything, his frame seems just as shaken as you both, fingers fidgeting with the adjustable cord of the bag’s strap.

“please, don’t stop on my account,” he seems to be trying to play it cool, but fails to let out the light-hearted chuckle he intends to, a noise more similar to a choke taking its place. “heck, give me a little performance even”

joel’s not sure what’s gotten into him- if it’s the fact he’d been moments away from making you cum, or the dropping temperatures that have you sinking deeper into his warm body, or the sheer desire to possess you so intimately under someone else’s knowledge- but he finds himself rutting up into you again.

you don’t join in, limbs still locked in shocked, yet a moan is breathed into his neck.

“shit, man,” the stranger sounds amazed, as if not even he thought joel would gift him such a sight. his hands find something new to fidget with, struggling to undo the buckle of his tattered leather belt. “pull up her skirt, lemme see how she’s taking you.”

he obliges and bunches the fabric up in his hands, exposing the sight that lays beneath. it’s not the explicit sight the man must be hoping for, the snug fit of his cock inside your cunt mostly concealed by your pushed-aside panties.

unable to stop himself, joel wonders if this man would prefer you in something more scandalous than the blue cotton that he so deeply adores.

“sorry- fuck! just, it’s just been a while,” the buckle comes undone at last, a button and a zipper follow. one hand dips beneath the waist band of the man’s boxers. “swear i’m not trynna be a creep, or nuffin’. can you... could you squeeze her ass? wanna see how much of a hand full she is.”

this time around, you let out a sound that’s less pleasant to joel’s ears, a far cry from pleasured as he so greedily cups a handful of your ass. the realisation that, though your body may contradict you with the canting of your hips into his or the continued arousal you drip between your pelvises, you’re not enjoying this, hits him like a truck.

you’re not moaning in pleasure, you’re whimpering in fear. you’re not shaking because you’re cold, you’re shaking because you’re scared. this man is scaring you.

joel is letting him scare you.

“swear i’ll just- a few minutes and i’ll be out your hair, ok?” the man’s fumbling, bag dropping off his shoulder down onto the floor as he works over his cock. joel wonders if it’s uncomfortable, stroking himself without the help of spit to ease the slide, and scoots his hand over to his right, fingers slipping over the hood in search. “just really need this, man, you’ve no idea how it gets out here on your own-”

nothing usually crosses joel’s mind when he pulls a trigger.

becoming numb to it, blanking one’s mind, treating it as normal. it’s the only way to come out the other side of it without it weighing on your conscious. it was built over time, the first few months a struggle to even touch a gun after what happened on outbreak day. shooting humans had always been the easy part, reminding himself there’s an evil in them he doesn’t need to meet to know it exists. the infected, he’d struggled, compassion sinking deep into the pit of his stomach as he’d glance at their once-alive eyes, now nothing but a breeding ground for some mushroom.

the shot rings out, moments after the bullet hits its target and, this time, you cross his mind.

defenceless, shaking, clinging onto him. it’s shameful to admit that it turns him on, has his balls throbbing with unloaded cum, to protect you. to play the role of saviour, supporter, guardian to the fearful girl in his lap.

he doesn’t even care enough to spare the dead man a look, eyes back on you.

you’re already staring right back at him, shock written all over your face. “you... you killed him.”

“he was holdin’ a gun, sol,” he’s not sure if it makes you feel any better. you do, however, seem to shuffle closer to him, chest to chest as you take in what he’s telling you. “was gonna fire a few rounds into me and then where would that leave ya, huh? free for the taken.”

thunder roars above your heads.

your brows furrow, conflictive expressions taking over you while you assess what’s just happened. he tries not to think too much about the fact his cock is still very much nestled inside your soaked pussy, throbbing with the impending release life keeps stealing away from you both.

“you killed him.” you repeat, more sure in your words this time.

“i did.”

lightning lights up the darkening sky.

“i should be scared of you.”

“you should.”

one last rumble from the storm clouds.

“but i’m not.”

the heavens above seem to open as cold, thick drops of water fall from the sky, quickly soaking everything they meet. the gravel, his shirt, your hair. the rain seems to have no boundaries, slipping between you both and filling the little gaps it manages to find.

neither of you move from where you’re seated, letting the cold overtake your bodies. you both use it as an excuse to move closer, arms tangling around one another as you stare each other down with judgement, assessing what either will do next.

you call the shots, experimentally rolling your hips, testing the waters to see where he’s at.

joel meets you just where you want him to, touches more frantic than before and far more sloppy, neither of you conscious of the goosebumps that line your skins as you indulge in one another’s bodies, fucking beneath the pouring rain like some silly scene out of a romance film.

“i was protectin’ you,” he breathes onto your neck, mouthing at your flesh and enjoying the thudding of your pulse beneath his tongue. “keepin’ you safe, sol. ‘s what i do, what i’ll always do.”

it’s unclear if the words are meant to assure you or himself.

it doesn’t take long till you’re both back at the edge of glorious relief, the unmet orgasms from earlier rearing their heads all at once and flooding over both of you. one of his hands snakes it’s way under your skirt to rub at your clit, while one of your own threads itself in his hair and tugs sharply, till he feels a sting in his scalp.

what a sight it is to behold as you cum, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a mute scream, soaked hair sticking to your forehead and every other place it touches. joel wants to see you through to the very end, hold you while you shake and break completely on his cock, but the warmth that creeps up his loins takes that priviledge away.

only as the first spurt of thick cum shoots out of him does joel manage to rip you off him, jostling you further up his lap and providing him with the friction of your ass cheeks to sooth over his spasming member as he paints your lower back and inner skirt in his pleasure.

he watches you falling apart in the heat of your orgasm and his bones ache a little less, his soul feels a little lighter, his heart seems to beat a little better.

joel never manages to put his thoughts into words quite properly.

“you’re not,” he breaths out, shaky. you’re still rutting against his limp cock, soaking him with your slick and whimpering into his shoulder as his head bumps against your aching clit, the come down from your orgasm hitting you harder than his. he’s vaguely aware of how tightly he’s gripping you, arms holding you flush, anchoring you down against him as the rain continues to pour. “you’re not real.”

you’re mumbling something but it falls on deaf ears as joel fails to reel his thoughts in, eyes skittish as they jump from watching water crash against the windows of the deserted gas station to the limp body of the stranger, cock still in his hand and a bullet straight through his forehead, a sick red washing away along the gravel.

“...here. i’m real, joel,” a kiss pressed to his forehead. you’re gentle with him, whispering into his good ear and he wonders if you know he can hear you better on this side, he’d never mentioned it. a hand coaxes his own off your waist and guides it upwards, pressing against the left side of your chest. rapid thumps. you mimic the movement, hand pressing against his own heart as you rest your forehead against his. “i’m here. we’re both here.”

joel drives back.

there’s no prior discussion where you agree on this. he simply cleans you both up- to the best of his abilities-, sits you down in the passengers seat and walks his way round to the driver’s side. it’s silent, and this time it’s the uncomfortable kind. the kind that wrestles with his mind and puts discomfort in his heart. there’s something unspoken between you both and he does not know how to begin to talk about it, not without the risk of messing it all up.

you don’t protest this time around when he turns on one of bill’s old cd’s, and, so, billy joel sings you all the way home.

at some point, he convinces himself you’ve fallen prey to sleep, eyes closed and head slumped to the side, searching for the safety of something to rest itself on. slowing to a stop, he takes his time undoing your seatbelt and maneuvering your lax limbs till your head meets his shoulder. the drive onwards is slower, more careful as he drives over any bump in the road and each turning he takes less sharp.

“i owe you a thank you,” you eventually mumble, weight still leaning against him and eyes very much shut.

he nods, though you do not see it. “okay.”

it’s all he can think to say, unsure what a girl like you could ever thank him for. all he’s done since the moment he met you is dampen your shine and stain your kindness with rough hands and a rougher heart.

“for, you know, not telling tess,” your response brings more questions than answers. not telling tess what? “i just... she’d hate me, if she knew, and she’s some of the only family i have left. i couldn’t stand to lose her over a few... mistaken moments between us.”

joel wonders if he’s part of this short list of family you have.

he doubts it.

“don’t see why she’d care,” he’s choosing to ignore that word, mistaken, yet it’s not enough to stop his fingers from twisting tighter around the wheel, tension in his wounded heart.

“of course you wouldn’t,” you wrestle down a yawn and nestle your head deeper into the crook of his neck, body hunched in a position he can’t imagine to be too comfortable. he keeps this thought to himself, decidedly enjoying this false image of tender touch. you ground him, weight down on his paper-thin mind-state like a rock that promises to keep all his pages in place. “you’re careless.”

there you go again, displaying such casual cruelty.

you’re careless.

how twisted life is to give him everything he’s worked so hard to be- a man feared, untested, unmessed with- only for his every want become his waking nightmare as it sits on your own lips.

i don’t like you, joel.

“‘s that why ya don’t like me?” he can’t help himself, even if he wanted to.

“i don’t like you because you-” a pull of breath. an opening of eyes. a raise of a head. you don’t make it far before he’s raising a hand off the wheel to encourage you back down to rest upon him, half-worrying he’ll be strown apart by the next gust of wind should he lose the weight of your head on his shoulder. “i can’t tell you.”

“why not?”

“you never brought me that dress.”

there’s no answer he can give that won’t incriminate him and steer you on the clear path to see just how caring a man like him can be. every fabric he’s seen the wrong colour, the wrong length, the wrong style for you. the closest he’d gotten to finding a dress worthy enough of slipping down your skin was stripped from the corpse of a woman joel’d been tasked with disposing of. in a moment of weakness, he’d nearly taken it, till his skin began to crawl with the implications of gifting you a dead woman’s dress, the last piece of clothing she’d worn while her blood was still warm and her lungs filled with air.

you fall asleep, for real this time, not even stirring as he maneuvers himself out of his jacket and drapes it over your damp figure, body sinking deeper into his own- as deep as the console between you allows.

night has taken hold of the sky by the time he pulls into the fenced community, headlights lighting up the path back into the garage. pulling the car to a stop, joel eases your weight off him and steps out the car, mindful of how he closes the door over. he makes his way around to the passenger side and pries the door open to find you still sleeping, peaceful as can be, the dull army green of his jacket contrasting the pastel shade of your skirt.

he takes a moment, sinking to his knees, and let’s himself indulge in the image of you like this a little longer, before the watchful eyes of bill or the curious glances of tess stand between the ways joel longs to look at you. softness greets his thumb as it brushes over your cheek. you seek out his warmth, chasing it even as he moves downwards to swipe at the dribble of spit threatening to spill out your slacked lips.

if he were a better liar, perhaps he’d claim this was his way of attempting to wake you up.

“what happened?” frank is the first to greet him, eyes blown a little wider than usual as he takes in the sight of you curled against joel, one arm round your back and another under your knees keeping the weight of you off the ground. “is she okay?”

“nothin’s happened,” the man’s reactions to joel’s return to the house has brought on more pairs of eyes, tess and bill flooding out the kitchen to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. “she’s just tired. ‘s been a long day and-”

“your clothes are wet.” bill’s eyes are glaring, tearing apart every detail they can pick up: the gentle grip he holds you with, your sweater thrown over his shoulder, the peaceful manner in which your sleeping form sinks into his warmth, the jacket that’s slowly slipping down your form to reveal bare shoulders and soaked cotton.

his tongue feels heavy, his mouth turning to sandpaper as the anxious feeling of being watched dries up his senses. hardly aware of it, he’s straightening his spine and puffing his chest, staring the older man down before flickering over to where tess stands, face much kinder looking as she watches you sleep. “you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna show me her room ‘fore my back gives out?”

that seems to get the ball rolling, all questioning and staring left behind as frank guides him three doors down and slips the door open, stepping aside to let joel in. he doesn’t bother hitting the light, a part of him not wanting to pick up any details to linger on around your room, using what little light the moon provides to find his way over to the bed. frank’s gaze is burning a hole in joel’s back even as he drops you down onto the mattress, and it’s almost like he can hear the buzz of energy radiating from everything the man wants to ask him.

it’s not till the four of them sit the dining table and joel’s shovelling a fork-load of food into his mouth that the next question comes.

“why was her sweater dry?” it’s tess who asks, punctuating it with an obnoxious sip from her glass.

all eyes are on Joel, a spotlight she’d shun directly on him and leaving him on display. bill, in particular, seems to be clinging to his every movement, anticipating his answer with the clenching of fingers around the steak knife in his hand.

“what?” it’s all he can manage without the fear of saying too much.

“your clothes were all wet. but her sweater, on your shoulder, it was dry.”

how had tess even noticed that?

“she took it off,” it takes a couple minutes to answer, a pause he tries to play off as simply his need to chew on the food he shovels into his mouth at last. it feels heavy, slipping down his throat, like he can already anticipate it’s return to the surface alongside his bile. “said somethin’ bout not wantin’ to get oil on it when i told her i was gonna show her the different parts of the engine.”

silence.

eyes shooting back and forth.

tess looks at frank.

frank looks at bill.

bill loathes at joel.

and then, “oh.”

tess says it like it’s the start of a sentence, an audible ellipses that she’s refusing to elaborate on.

“oh.” joel parrots, hoping they’ll drop the topic and allow him to go back to the raging waters thrashing around in his thoughts.

luck is not on his side.

“that makes sense,” the woman continues, attempting to cut the tension with an airy chuckle and a shrugging of her shoulders, as if doing so will shake the tension out of everyone else’s. “was worried that poor girl was running around with her tits out in front of the likes of you.”

bill grips tighter around his cutlery, knuckles white under the dining room light.

straightening up, a momentary lapse of judgement and a foolish flash of red hot possession shoots over him, embarking him on the road to saying perhaps the dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“would that be so bad?”

a hand smacks down on the table. a chair scrapes, another following right after.

“bill,” frank’s tone is nothing if not a warning, hand on the man’s forearm as he soothes his thumb over his skin.

“it’s late,” it comes after a deep breath, the kind a shrink would teach you to use in times of stress, or fear, or anger. bill isn’t even acknowledging tess, fully focused on joel. “you should get going.”

plates half full, bellies half empty, the four of them step away from the table. tess slips on a jacket, one she’d not had prior to arriving, and passes joel a loaded bag. he figures she must have had her pick around the old clothes shop, loitering whatever was left that could either fit them or keep them warm through the remainder of the cold months.

he throws it over his shoulder without question.

the air has shifted, a tense feeling floating around the atmosphere that exists between him and bill. tess and frank are seemingly unaware of it, laughing and talking amongst themselves as the group makes their way to the front door.

joel is the last to step out and, in doing so, he pauses, glancing backwards into the open doorway.

he calls out to tess, all three heads turn.

“need a piss.”

“take your time,” it’s the friendlier of the two men who responds, threading his arm around bill’s and dragging him along with him. it reminds him of why he likes frank more. “we’ll walk tess to the gate.”

he watches the three figures fade away into the dark of the street, carefully stepping back into the house once he feels the safety of distance. he tries to keep his footsteps light, suddenly aware of how quiet the place feels without the panting of a dog or the rustling of someone in the kitchen. he counts the doors as he goes- one, two, three- and turns the handle of the third.

the room is still dark, but that’s okay. he’s used to darkness. his eyes carefully scan the floor with each step he takes closer to the bed, watching out for any discarded dog toy or worn clothing splayed across it. at some point, his steps meet carpet instead of cold floor. he’d not noticed it earlier, but then his sense had been rather focused on the precious cargo he carried.

he finds you where he left you, hair a mess upon your pillow and chest rising steadily in the breaths of deep sleep. only, you’ve gained a companion, the unmistakeable beady-eyed stare of the german shepherd meeting joel’s in the dark. the dog makes a noise, half whimper half whine, and the tip of its bushy tail begins to beat against the mattress, matching the rhythm of joel’s heart.

like before, he lets his hand brush your cheek. instead of wiping saliva, he brushes a few stray hairs away from your peaceful face. you shift and he panics, fearful you’ve awakened, only to relax as you sink deeper into the pillow.

his hand lingers longer than necessary.

another whine from the mutt gives him the will to at last pull away from you, trading your soft cheek for the smooth fur along the dog’s head. his fingers card through it, nails digging a little to scratch at otis’ scalp.

“you take care of her,” for me. “alright bud?”

he must be losing his mind, for he swears he feels the dog nod.

the steps he takes on his way out are less careful, though he’s slowed by the amount of times he seems to insist on turning back to glance at the bed. maybe it’s for comfort, the peace of mind of knowing he’d brought you back safe and sound.

maybe it’s with longing, his aching joints begging for him to crawl his way in beside you, cocooning you between himself and the ball of fluff behind you.

shaking his head, an array of self-aimed insults plough through his mind, joel curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door, steadying himself to glance back one last time.

“joel...” he freezes, caught in place. how long have you been awake? how do you know it’s him? how are you so softly spoken when your voice is hoarse? “turn the lamp on,” a yawn. he hears rustling and imagines you readjusting yourself into whichever position brings you most comfort. the thought of if it ever gets lonely, sleeping with no one to hold, crosses his mind. he refuses to let it linger. “don’t wanna wake up to the dark.”

he shuffles over to where he sees the outline of a lamp, fingers sliding around in the dark till they hit a switch and a lovely orange hue overtakes the room, bringing it to life. little trinkets, scattered papers, a couple pictures in frames line the desk in front of him. he’s seen too much for comfort, avoiding looking at anything else in your space till he finds you, curled up in the bed too big for one, otis’ head resting on your hip.

you still have his jacket over you, ignoring the warm comforter you lay upon.

he thinks he musters up a smile. if he does, you’re returning it, eyes sleepy and lips lazy in their movement. it’s a peaceful moment, the kind joel doesn’t get many- if any- of these days. he won’t waste it by speaking what’s on his mind. your eyes slowly drop once more, surrendering to exhaustion.

the bedroom door creaks behind him on the way out.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal smut

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inkbyajm · 10 months

Text

of unspoken words

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tropes: fluff, angst, hurt-comfort, slow-burn

warnings: 11 year age-gap (reader is 24-25, joel is 35-36), clothing description, arguing

word count: ~6300

author’s note: this took forever to put out because life got in the way, but i did have fun writing angst. this chapter takes course in a span of a year. goodbye, 2003.

————-　❈　————-

Five

He found her in the crowd of the Auditorium shores.

Four

Her back facing him, she stood in front of Tommy as he looked down at her.

Three

Grasping her shoulders, Tommy flashed her a smile.

Two

He leaned down, his face disappearing behind her head.

One

Joel didn't have to see in the darkness to know what was happening.

Happy New Year!

"Hey!" Joel snapped out of his daze, frowning at Tommy who was behind the wheel. "You sleepin'?"

"No, just...thinkin' of stuff."

"Good, 'cause we're here."

Tommy had begged Joel to go out drinking with him for some time, the latter never feeling up to it: he was either tired, busy, hanging out with Sarah, or whatever other excuses he came up with. The only reason they were walking up the steps to 'Lucky Luke's' was because he had lost the bet on how long their project was going to take. They finished much earlier than Joel had confidently anticipated. He had a suspicion his brother set him up for failure, but he didn't bother to bring it up, wanting to enjoy his evening after a successful job. They entered the establishment which turned out to be bigger than it appeared from the outside. The interior was old and rustic, everything from the chairs to the panels on the walls was made of hardwood. There were all kinds of lights strung up about the ceiling, the walls were decorated with pictures of patrons, sports-related posters, number plates, flags, and so on. The music, thankfully, was quiet enough for people to hear each other. The brothers sat down at the far end of the L-shaped counter, waiting for someone to take their order.

"Remind me why we didn't go to Buddy's?" Joel asked somewhat annoyedly. He wasn't the biggest fan of changing environments.

"Because fuck Luiz and his overpriced beer. Besides, I have a feeling you'll find this place a lot more interesting."

Rubbing his face, Joel scrunched his nose. "Christ, Tommy, we've never been here. How do you know their shit don't taste like flavored tap water?"

"I trust the person who works here." Tommy replied, looking ahead.

The eldest Miller followed his gaze and saw her there, rapidly getting two glasses from under the bar and serving a young couple their cocktails. Fumbling with her notepad, she made her way across to the pair, pen in hand.

"Hi, how can I help you?" and it was only then that she looked up to see Tommy and Joel with their arms folded in front of them, the former giving her a childish smile along with a wave. "What- how'd you find out I work here? Did you stalk me? Should I get the FBI involved?"

"Good to see you too, (Y/N/N). Heard some of the guys talk about a pretty lady workin' at Lucky Luke's. Description matched so I thought it was finally time to check it out and see your impressive skills for myself," he said, clapping Joel on his shoulder. "Brought this one along with me. You don't mind, do you?"

She looked at her employer, who only gave her a brow raise. They hadn't seen much of each other since the year started, since the countdown at the Auditorium shores, since she and Tommy shared a moment much more intimate than the one they'd had on Christmas Eve. He knew he shouldn't have involved himself, especially not with the babysitter out of all people; but she gave him a scarf, a scarf she took time to knit and embroider his initials on. It sparked something in him he hadn't felt in a long time, thinking she'd felt it too. Who are you kidding? She was young, she was ambitious, and he had no business involving himself with her unless he wanted to come off as a creep. So he stopped, and boy did it eat him up inside.

They watched as she looked at the clock and disappeared behind the door near the other end of the counter. They sat in confusion for a couple of minutes until the door opened again and she walked out without her apron.

“What are you boys having?”

Tommy squinted at the board next to them, “I’ll have a pint of Blood & Honey, pretty please. Joel?”

The other brother sat with his brows furrowed, having a difficult time making a choice. Possibly running out of patience, (Y/N) took three-pint glasses from the hanging shelf above her head and poured yellow liquids into two of them, the last one appearing brown. She slid the latter to Joel, then hopped up and over the wooden counter to take a seat next to Tommy.

“You have great timing, I happen to have finished my shift,” she said and raised her glass to clink it against his. “So, what’s new?”

While Tommy talked restlessly about the day they’ve had, the bet they made, and exciting events coming up, Joel quietly nodded along every now and then, but mostly he observed her. She seemed different in an environment made for adults than she did at home with his 12-year-old kid. Ripped dark-blue jeans, sturdy boots, a military-green tank top, and a plaid shirt – she seemed like she belonged. Looking was fair game, as long as he didn’t interact too much, everything was going to be fine.

One pint down, Tommy excused himself to the bathroom, leaving his brother in a situation he didn’t want to be in. The two sat in silence for a bit, looking at their folded hands on the countertop.

“We got married pretty young, me and my ex-wife,” he suddenly spoke, keeping his eyes low. “She was my high-school sweetheart, my world. Then we got married and it all went downhill. To be honest, I’m not sure what happened even to this day. Maybe she felt suffocated, overwhelmed; I remember how hard the pregnancy was for her. In the end, a short time after Sarah was born, we had…an explosive argument. She loved her, she did, but it wasn’t enough to commit to that life. So she left, and I never saw or heard from her again.”

(Y/N) sat unmoving, then took the last sip from her glass. “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Miller?”

The formal address stung more than it should have. “Thought you deserved to know.”

“Is this what you’ve been contemplating for the past three months you’ve been freezing me out?” she laughed bitterly, looking at him for the first time since she sat down. “’ Should I or should I not provide additional lore on the mystery that is Joel Miller’?”

“(Y/N/N)-”

“Respectfully, sir, you don’t get to move the boundary lines whenever and however you want. You don’t want to be friends? That’s perfectly fine, I’ll remain respectful from now on-”

“No, just- I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to freeze you out, I-” he stared at the empty glass in his hand before she took it and hopped back over the bar to refill both of their drinks. “I don’t really have friends, and I certainly wouldn’t want our relationship to affect yours with Sarah-”

“You don’t trust me to do a good enough job despite my feelings?” she looked less angry then, more dejected.

“I do. I trust you to look after Sarah more than I do that meathead over there,” both of them looked at the far end of the room to find Tommy, with an already half-empty glass, talking with some townsfolk. “It’s myself I don’t trust.”

(Y/N) looked at him then, at the hint of sorrow displayed on his face, and leaned against the counter, their faces merely inches away from one another, “You were doing just fine, Joel. Just talk to me, okay? I promise I’m as reasonable and as patient as they come.”

He could beat himself up over having his heart squeeze at the sight of her smile later. At that moment, all he wanted to do was get to know another side of the woman he could proudly call a friend.

————-　❈　————-

Summer came much quicker than any of them had anticipated. And while (Y/N) had already made plans to stay with her family until September, her schedule for the first half of June was empty. And thankfully it was because if there's one thing she did not have in her 2002 bingo card, it's a cruise trip in the Caribbean.

"What's this?" she said as she stared at the envelope given to her by Joel. Sarah sat in the living room, whatever she was watching on the television long forgotten as she tried to concentrate on the conversation going on in the kitchen.

"Open it."

"Are you paying me early this month?" she chuckled as she began to carefully tear it open. Her hands froze when she pulled out the printed tickets.

"An all-expenses-paid trip to cruise around with us in June," he pointed at the black-and-white printing, noting her silence. "Shit, I didn't think of- You're not busy, are you?"

"N-no, I'm leaving on the 17th but," she looked up at him. "Joel, I can't take this."

"What do you mean?"

"I- this is crazy. It probably cost you hundreds of dollars, I mean it's too generous-"

"I bought the tickets at a cheaper price months ago. Think of it as the other half of your Christmas present," he explained, his body filled with dread at the idea of making such a bold gesture. "Look, I don't want to make you feel like we're forcing you into anything. If you don't want to go, it's fine. I can get a full refund-"

She jumped on him then, with her arms tightly wrapped around him, she was almost hanging off his neck. He gladly caught her, chuckling in relief. "Of course, I'll come, I'd be more than happy to."

Rapid steps were heard coming from the living room and just as (Y/N) had detached herself from the man in front of her, a smaller body crashed into hers. "You're coming! We're gonna have so much fun!" said Sarah, jumping up and down excitedly.

The young woman wasn't exactly sure of what there was to do on a gigantic boat in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. However, she soon found out they had programs for the entirety of their 4-night stay, which included karaoke, dancing, games, and trivia nights.

On the first day, (Y/N) found out the Miller brothers had pipes on them, singing and jamming to songs from Radiohead and the like. She’d never seen Joel that relaxed, carefree, or joyful; he moved as if nothing else in the world mattered but that moment they were living in. She and Sarah performed ABBA and Hallican Drops songs, riding on the confidence boost given by the crowd cheering them on enthusiastically.

Another day passed, and while Sarah went to join kids her age for ‘Youth Night’, the adults hit the bar for ‘Trivia Night’. The following things were facts: Joel and (Y/N) are equally competitive, Joel is a sore loser, (Y/N) gets loud when she’s passionate, and Tommy is there to have a drink and a laugh. Despite the small disputes and a few I-told-you-so’s, team ‘Lucky Jackasses’ managed to secure second place and win $120 worth of beverages as well as a three-course meal dinner for all the team members.

After the event, once everyone was settled with drinks in their hands, Tommy walked towards the railing to find (Y/N) leaning against it, gazing at the vast ocean.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Her head turned, the startled expression replaced by a smile as he put his jacket around her shoulders. “Just lookin’, admiring.”

“For such a nice lady, I didn’t think you could turn so intense so quick.”

She laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed at the amount of times she’d slammed the table or wildly gestured with her hands. “Yeah, I can get really competitive when it comes to games and such. I can take a loss, though, not like a certain someone.”

“Now imagine how I felt growing up. Thank the lord I was never like that, or else we woulda killed each other a long time ago.” he reminisced.

“Where is he anyway?”

“Went to put Sarah to bed. Think he might have hit the hay himself, the old man.”

There was a minute of silence where both of them just stared at the daunting darkness ahead of them.

“He ain’t the slickest when it comes to things like this. You gotta be more obvious with him, or else you’ll torture yourself for a long time until he finally makes a decision.”

She felt pressure in her chest. Of course, Tommy would find out. “What are you referring to?”

“Come on, (Y/N/N),” he chuckled, looking at her with sympathy. “You’re not exactly hiding it. Look, Joel’s a great guy, and I’m his brother, I’d take any occasion to shit on him.”

“Tom-“

“It takes a lot to get through to him. His fear from past experiences and the need to protect Sarah hold him back, he might not even know that you’re feeling what you’re feeling. You do what you want to do, but my advice is: show him what it is you need him to see and make no room for ambiguity.”

She wanted to share her thoughts, express her doubts to the man she considered a close friend. But she couldn’t, not at that moment. So she spoke the very next thought aloud instead:

“It is so crazy to think we’re floating on a piece of metal in the middle of a large mass of water. So many creatures underneath us, so many people on board. Have you seen Titanic?”

“We are not talkin’, let alone thinkin’, about the Titanic right now.” Tommy said as he began physically retracting himself from the conversation.

“I can’t help-”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pointing at her like one would at a misbehaving dog. “I am not letting anything or anyone fuck up my relaxation time.”

The two walked back to their adjacent rooms, slightly tipsy. They noted the darkness as soon as Tommy opened the door to his shared cabin - Joel was asleep until he wasn’t. Woken up by the faintest noise, he noticed the jacket she wore and the tired smile her face carried, indicating they had been out there for a long time. His hands clenched under the blanket at the sight of her hugging his brother goodnight as she whispered in his ear before departing.

—

The next day, as the ship docked at Cozumel, an island just off the coast of Mexico, the family decided to go out and explore what it had to offer. The activities mainly consisted of scuba diving, which Joel had reserved in advance due to Sarah’s insistence, swimming in crystal clear water, and exploring ruins. The eldest Miller seemed content and at peace, or at least he did at the beginning of their little expedition. (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice the cold emanating from him, the way he’d be quick to glue himself to Sarah even when he didn’t need to, those moments he’d be more interested in studying the bushes than interacting with her. Tommy was right, she needed to be more forward. The trip was an opportunity she didn’t want to waste. Realistically, the worst thing he could do is reject you and/or fire you, she thought, then you can go back to living your life without this anxiety. Or you could curl up in your cabin and cry.

It started with small gestures: offering him water from her bottle, asking to take pictures of him and Sarah on her film camera, and pointing at pretty things during their diving session. Then, once she felt there was less resistance, she moved on to bumping shoulders with him, exchanging facts about the ancient Maya civilization, and splashing him with water as they all played in the sea. Just before they went out to swim, Sarah asked her babysitter if she could help with her sunscreen application. When she turned back to her towel, her eyes landed on a shirtless Joel. Her soon-to-be-35-year-old employer was exactly the kind of fit she imagined a father who works in construction to look like. He caught her staring, and to avoid drowning in embarrassment, she offered to apply sunscreen on his face. The entire process seemed way more intimate than it was. He stood very still, watching her work with such focus, gently gliding over the skin on his chin, his cheeks, under his eyes, his forehead, and his nose. Upon making accidental eye contact, he saw her get visibly flustered, causing her to take a step back.

“Could you get my back too?” he asked tentatively. “‘Afraid I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

Whispering a quick ‘sure’, she began rubbing the cream on his shoulders first. She believed she had the green light to ease the tension in his muscles while they were at it. Unbelievably stiff at first, Joel relaxed under her touch with every circular movement of her thumbs. Feeling like she’d been at it for far too long, the young woman pulled away, earning a genuine ‘thank you’ accompanied by a smile. She had made great progress that day, showing just the right amount of affection to not spook him away. He wasn’t put off by any of it, however, which gave her a great sense of relief, an indication she’d been going in the right direction so far.

Once the evening came, the group split into two pairs: Joel and (Y/N) went on a stroll on the beach not far away from the pier while Sarah and Tommy went to quench their thirst at the bar further away. Though they shared a few jokes and remarks about the beauty of their surroundings, their walk was mostly filled with comfortable silence. At some point, Joel’s phone went off, prompting him to walk further away from the waves.

Something smacked itself against her leg and looking down, (Y/N) realized it was a straw-coloured boater hat.

“Sorry! That’s mine.” she heard someone exclaim above the waves crashing onto the sand. A young man, seemingly her age, jogged up to her with a warm smile. “Wind’s picking up, blew it right off my big head.”

His comment made her giggle, handing over the headwear, “No problem, it happens.”

“Are you from the Voyager?”

“I am.”

“Where’s your family? You didn’t go on a cruise all by yourself, did you?”

“No, that would be kind of sad,” she chuckled. “I’m here with the family I babysit for.”

“Wow, you must be a damn good nanny,” his brows raised in astonishment. “Do they need a cleaner by any chance? A driver, maybe? I don’t ask for much, I can live in the basement. Hell, a closet would do!”

This made her burst out laughing, triggering him to do the same. “I also do all of those things, not sure I want to compete with someone over a job I like.”

“Alright, so if we look at the CV of a successful nanny, we have,” he said, putting on imaginary glasses and comically squinting at the equally nonexistent paper in his hand. “Intelligent, talented, able to grow arms to flip pancakes and iron a t-shirt at the same time, strikingly beautiful obviously, excellent cook because of course you are, am I missing anything?”

“I happen to have a natural talent for board games,” she smiled, proudly. “You can actually ask my boss, he has yet to beat me.”

But as she turned her head, she saw Joel rapidly making his way further away from them.

“Sorry, it seems I’ve got to go,” she muttered, giving him an apologetic look as she walked backward. “It was nice to meet you, take care of that hat!”

(Y/N) was forced to jog up almost 30 feet to catch up to the brooding man.

“Hey, why didn’t you call me? Is it Sarah? Is Tommy alright?” The latter’s name seemed to deepen his scowl.

“No, just thought I’d leave you and Harold Lloyd to yourselves.” he grumbled, looking strictly ahead.

“I’m sorry for getting caught up in the conversation. He was being nice, you know, friendly tourist banter?”

“He was hitting on you, (Y/N), and if you can’t see that then you’re more naive than I thought.”

He had never treated her like anything but his equal, so naturally being called childish not only hurt her but woke something up inside her as well, all of the pent-up frustration suddenly coming to the surface.

“Fine, so he was flirting. Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all,” he said unconvincingly. “Just doing my job as a wingman.”

It took her a second to realize what, or rather who, he was referring to. “What the fuck does this have to do with Tommy?” He didn’t answer her immediately, taking long and quick strides along the sand. “Joel!”

He only stopped when she abruptly tugged at his arm, finally meeting his eyes. “You like him, don’t you?”

The question almost came as a slap. Where was this coming from? “What? Since when?!”

“Since you first laid eyes on each other last Christmas. Or since your kiss on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know, I’m not exactly keeping track.”

Instead of tugging at her hair, a need she strongly wanted to give into, the young woman rubbed her face with frustration instead. "I know you aren't stupid, and Tommy did warn me about how oblivious you can be, but good God, to this extent?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I care about you, okay?" she shouted, sounding somewhat desperate.

Heavy silence passed, the only sounds being the relentless lapping of the waves accompanied by her heavy breathing. The two of them stared at each other as if truly seeing one another for the first time.

"I don't understand-"

"I like you, Joel. And I'm tired of tiptoeing around it." She sensed him battling with himself, his own emotions, his thoughts.

"You can't, you-" something resembling despair crossed his expression. "(Y/N/N), you're young-"

"Jesus, Joel, stop acting like you're decrepit!" she approached him then, noticing the way he took a couple of steps back. "You're just a guy in his thirties, raising a daughter, looking for...companionship in this messed-up world."

They were much closer now, chests almost touching, neither of them breaking eye contact. She caught him glancing at her lips for a millisecond, afraid to move even the slightest muscle. Her name didn't fully leave his mouth when she crashed her mouth onto his, shutting him up for good. She felt lightheaded yet more alive than ever, relishing in the feeling of his hands gently taking hold of her waist. They parted then to bring air back into their lungs as she pressed her forehead against his.

"You don't want to do this." he spoke in an almost pained whisper.

(Y/N) caressed his cheeks, maintaining eye contact. "Don't tell me what to do, Miller."

————-　❈　————-

Was the concept of love complicated in and of itself, or was it the people involved that made it unnecessarily difficult? The question floated around in his mind for months, like a ghost that needed to be laid to rest. Jane Eyre had fallen in love with the ever-brooding Mr Rochester. Elizabeth Bennett, too, succumbed to her feelings for the stubborn and slightly awkward Mr Darcy. And while it was common for young women to see older men in that period of history, an age gap as large as theirs was harder to deal with in modern days.

The months that followed their shared moment at the beach felt like torture. Joel tried to balance out his life, spending as much time with his daughter as he did working to make it a fun break for her. If there was one thing he didn’t want to be remembered for it’s being a negligent parent, someone who put their work before their own child. He also spent those long suffocating summer days thinking about her and wondering what she was getting up to. She had only sent one letter to the Millers for the entire duration of the season - it was a beautiful postcard along with a picture of herself and her friends surrounded by greenery. The back of the card read:

Dear Joel,

I hope your summer is going well. Mine certainly is! I sent you a picture of me and my friends in the middle of a hike, which was very difficult but oh so worth it! The views are spectacular here, I wish you could see it for yourself. Many kisses to you, to Tommy, and especially to Saz.

With love,

She seemed so happy, her face beaming despite her sore limbs and sweaty skin. She deserved that kind of life, the kind where she would smile and laugh more often than she cried or frowned, the kind where she could rely on her partner at all times to have her needs met and her concerns heard, the kind she would feel supported even for the smallest things. Joel wanted to give her that life, but he wasn’t sure if he could. What she didn’t deserve was unanswered calls, postponed dates, tired exchanges, weird glances, constant worry, concerned comments, or countless excuses. It wasn’t a certainty that life with him would be like that, but it was a possibility, which was already too much of a risk. She might have reconsidered her feelings already, using her time away to really think about what she was getting into. He didn’t know when she’d be back, either, so instead of obsessing over it, he decided to occupy his mind with other things.

When his 35th birthday came around, it started just about how he expected it to. He woke up, feeling just as old as ever, got dressed, and went downstairs to be welcomed by the sight of Sarah setting up his birthday breakfast with Tommy’s very generous help. Afterward, they packed Tommy’s truck for the day, drove the child to school, and went to work. In the evening, on their way home, Joel noticed how weirdly non-talkative his brother was, letting the radio fill the silence instead.

“What’s going on?”

Tommy looked at him confusedly, “What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully silent.”

“What, am I not allowed to be?” he chuckled in response. “Do you want me to talk? ‘Cause I can. In fact, I was thinking about how Johnny-”

“Never mind, just- just forget I said anything.” Joel sighed, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand.

Once they parked in front of the garage, the absence of light in the house didn’t go unnoticed by the owner.

“Did Sarah tell you about goin’ to a friend’s?” he asked, suddenly anxious.

“I don’t recall. Maybe she went to bed.” his brother shrugged, prompting his brother to check his watch. It was only half past eight.

Carefully, he walked up to the door, its unlocked state rendering him vigilant, and cautiously walked into the pitch-black living room.

“Sarah?” he called out into what seemed to be an empty room.

Before he could take another step, all of the smaller lights turned on simultaneously as a group of people yelled ‘Surprise!’, each of them wearing some kind of silly party accessories such as a hat, oversized colorful glasses, or a boa. He also noted the sudden presence of confetti on himself, turning his head to see Tommy grinning with a party popper in his hand. The individuals standing in his home were all the closest he had to ‘friends’: people he had worked and gotten along with, a couple of dads he befriended through Sarah’s soccer games and the Adlers. Everyone took turns to hug the birthday boy before engaging in conversations in separate parts of the room. Sarah was the last and he gladly swept her into the biggest and warmest hug, immensely proud of his little girl.

“Did you plan this?”

“Yeah, Uncle Tommy helped. Do you like it?”

It was only then that he really looked at the way the space was decorated with streamers, balloons, cut-outs, and a big banner that read ‘Happy 35th, Joel’.

“I love it, baby girl, thank you.” he squeezed her one more time before letting go and walking over to catch up with every guest.

Everyone served themselves to the food put out on the coffee table, something the guests contributed to: deviled eggs, cheese pretzels, small cups of hummus and veggie sticks, fried shrimp, and a very well-assembled charcuterie board. After about an hour of chatting, Sarah announced it was time for his gift. His eyes were covered with a bandana then he heard her scurrying away towards the kitchen, turning the lights off on the way. He sat there for a few seconds and then heard it. He wasn’t sure if his ears were deceiving him, making him think (Y/N) was singing happy birthday to him. The pit in his stomach grew. She isn’t here, you’re making it up, you are losing it. But she sounded so vivid. When the song was over, he lowered the bandana with shaking hands and saw her standing in front of him, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the candles on the cake held by his daughter. Without thinking, he took a couple of steps and crashed his lips on hers rougher than he intended to. The deafening applause and cheering were drowned out by his emotions as he felt her flesh under his palms, desperately clinging onto her waist with one hand and her head with the other. Once they parted to catch their breath, he pressed his forehead against hers, wanting to keep her as close as possible.

“I missed you,” he whispered, the most vulnerable he’d ever been in front of others. “So damn much.”

“I missed you too,” she gently ran her thumbs across his cheeks, feeling many butterflies at the sight of his smile. “I meant what I said on the beach. I want to do this and a million more things with you.”

Their moment had to be interrupted by Tommy shoving a camcorder in their faces, asking to ‘say hello to the future’. Joel’s only response was to try and get the camera back (to no avail). The candles, long blown out by Sarah, were lit once more so he could properly make a wish. And all he could hope for as he stood there, surrounded by the people closest to him, was more moments just like it.

————-　❈　————-

Things only looked up for the pair from then on. They celebrated every single holiday together, dressed up for Halloween (after much pleading from (Y/N), who did not spare Joel’s little brother from her shenanigans) to enjoy the festivities with Sarah, organized countless movie nights and board-game sessions, and even frequented Sarah’s soccer games together more often than not. Everything was going smoothly until after her graduation when both of them realized what it meant for their future.

The weeks that followed were nothing but tense. It started with Joel distancing himself for no apparent reason, which naturally caused his lover to start asking questions. She was frustrated she had to pry him back open after they’d spent so much time together. He was avoidant, he was cold, and he made excuses, leading to the biggest argument they’d ever had after she barged into his house one evening when Sarah was away. It was a lot of yelling, many accusations, and even more words neither of them really meant.

“I can’t do this if you don’t talk to me, Joel.”

“Then don’t. Go,” he was heaving. She’d never seen him so angry. “I warned you. At the very beginning. I warned you and you didn’t listen, so this is all on you.”

She stepped out into the summer night with her face stained with endless tears, her eyes puffy, and her throat raw, hiccupping all the way to her car. As soon as the door closed, she broke down again, pouring her grief onto her steering wheel. That night was the last time she would visit the Miller residence. She said goodbye to Sarah alone a few weeks later, just before hitting the road. She would, however, see Joel again months later.

————-　❈　————-

September 26th, 2003.

09:06 pm

She walked down the street in downtown Austin, heading towards the bus that would take her on an hour-and-a-half trip to San Antonio. Vehicle in sight, she was only a few feet away from leaving the city behind before a voice called her name. She didn’t need to turn around to identify it. She wanted to be dramatic and petty and just get on the bus and not dwell on the past, but the past caught up to her. The past stood behind her as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, cursing her treacherous heart, her stupid heart, her naive heart that got her into this mess in the first place. Love and hatred pulled her in opposite directions, and she realized then that despite seemingly having made her mind up at the start of summer, she was to decide her future right then and there: standing at the border of two lives with little to no time.

He called out for her again, and she gave in, owing herself a proper resolution to that affair.

“Hi, Joel.” she said, her tone flat as if talking to a stranger.

“I thought you left months ago.”

“I went on a trip around the country with some friends. They canceled my flight in San Antonio last week, and rescheduled it to 5 am tomorrow.”

The rescheduling was a pain in the ass. It meant she had to either book a cheap hotel near the airport and pray she wouldn’t miss her flight, or worse, sleep directly at the terminal. She had a strange sensation the universe was trying to stop her from going anywhere.

“Oh, well,” he mumbled, his hands in his jean pockets, finding sudden interest in his shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Feeling like this interaction was going nowhere, (Y/N) bid him a good night and resumed her walk towards the bus.

“For everything. I’m sorry for all of it.” his voice came closer. The feeling of deep-rooted sadness battled with the sensation of pent-up anger for control of her mind and body.

She scoffed, revealing a bit of that irritation, “And you call me difficult.”

“Look, I know, alright? I know I’m a stubborn asshole. I know that I can be cold and distant, I know I’m not very good at communicating. I wish-” he paused to catch his breath, or maybe think about his words before they slipped out. “I wish you hadn’t seen that side of me. God knows I haven’t felt so…at peace until I met you. I like who I am when you’re around, you balance me out. It’s selfish, very selfish, I mean you’ve got a whole future ahead of you, so many promising opportunities. And I guess I wanted to spare you from crashing and burning down the line, chained down to some guy going through a midlife crisis in Austin. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did that night and I won’t ever forgive myself for it, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you believing those words, so here I am.”

By the end of his monologue, small salty drops stained the ground beneath (Y/N)’s feet. Her heart ached for two reasons: the reassurance that he didn’t grow tired of her after all, and the grief of having to lose her love once again. She turned back to face him, noting his pleading eyes, and silently went up to wrap her arms around his neck, feeling his warmth, taking in his cologne, for the last time.

“I forgive you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I forgive you, Joel. Happy birthday.” Her hands stroked the back of his head soothingly. She realized he was crying too, her jacket bunched up in his fists, his heart audibly breaking.

This wasn’t a fairytale, like the ones she used to read to Sarah. It wasn’t one of her period romance novels. Their story came to a bittersweet end; she felt thankful, however, that it had an end at all.

“Please be happy, okay? I don’t want you sulking around just because I’m not here to act as your personal cheerleader.” she spoke quietly, holding his face, her world, in her hands.

Joel chuckled through tears, “Don’t worry, Sarah can cover for you.”

The mention of her name caused another round of tears to pool in her eyes. “Tell Saz I’m sorry, and that I love her greatly. Tell Tommy I’ll miss him too; his snoring, not so much.”

After another beat of laughter and silence, the two reluctantly parted, acknowledging that her bus was to leave at any minute. Before he lost her for good, Joel pulled her in for one last kiss, sharing her pain and heartache.

“Be good.” she whispered into his lips before forcing herself to board the bus with a heavy heart.

She saw him outside her window, putting up a palm against the glass for her to mimic. As the bus drove away from its station, she watched as her lover became smaller and smaller before receding from her view. With the family she cared for behind her, the young woman observed the disappearing scenery of the city she called her second home with a fresh set of tears.

————-　❈　————-

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

tags: @elliaze @joeldjarin

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader angst

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dreamyzhou · 4 months

Text

Iodine, Livermorium, and Uranium

Pairing: College softie!Hyunjae x Eric's sister!reader

Genre: Contemporary college rom-com

Words: 4,8k

Warnings: Eric is your younger brother and he calls you Noona time to time, swear words, rats, Gen Z jokes, Kendrick and Drake drama, food (ice cream, barbecue, and rice), mentions of alcohol, you and Hyunjae are of same age, a lil suggestive in the end (??!!!), kissing [idek if some of these should be a warning, but i care if you get hurt by a fanfic i write, so imma just put it]

Inspired by: Hasan Minhaj (overall him as a comedian, artist, and a person), because he taught me how to be funnier than I was before all this.

Premise: When your brother, Eric, said he will sit in Chair 16 in Chemistry, he knew you were about to come early to pull it before he gets to sit. And when you did, you realized it was a set up.

Dedicated to Izzy @from-izzy who I kept reminding myself of when I wanted to give up on this fic.

1st fic of 31st Alternate Universe by Ellie unlocked by Hyunjae.

[7:59 A.M]

Three knocks. All it took was three knocks on your wooden bedroom door to be prepared and put up a sleeping act.

"Y/N, first day of college! Wake up!" A kick on your door and a hyperactive male voice with volume boosted with megaphone almost shattered your eardrums.

Tense muscles rose your spine. Then, you looked at the kid in front of you with his "I love LA" shirt. In all honesty, you weren't prepared for that one.

"That was creative, I'll give you that..." You took a portion of your blanket to wrap yourself a fluffy cocoon of cotton.

"Creative? Dude, that was genius. World record on actually making half of your body get up at the least! You know you need a permit to use these?"

You looked at him with the most judgemental eyes you ever gave to anyone.

"You got a permit... just to wake me up?"

"...No, my firefighter friend did. I just borrowed it from him!"

"What if he got into trouble for your misuse?!"

"Relax! The fact that he gave it to me is already a misconduct... Now, it's third week of October..."

"So?" You groaned as you went back to your dream shell. The sight of your laziness rolled Eric's eyes, he turned the megaphone's volume to the maximum.

"So! Get yo ass out of bed, She-Who-My-Grandma-Compares-Me-With! First person to get the bathroom, gets all the hot water!"

All the melatonin in your brain disappeared in a snap of Thanos' finger. Every muscle strand in you responded within 0.01 second as you ran to the bathroom. Eric pulled your elbow to the back, causing you to lose balance for awhile. You took a sandal lying around somewhere, then threw it to his head. Unfortunately for you, as the sandal was in the air, the blond-haired Jerry to your Tom closed the bathroom behind him.

"Ugh!"

"I win!"

"Bleh, bleh, bleh... Whatever!"

You turned around, walking to your bedroom. Trying to construct new activities you should be doing for your first day in third year of university, but... let's just say it takes energy to think. Your usual routine was one hour of waking up, half an hour of breakfast, and breakfast while running. It was a decent routine, but you needed to keep them in order. You recalled yesterday when you brought a hot waffle to the bathroom, you let it cool down as you showered, and by the time you're finished you ate it. It invited a married rat couple who had many babies.

Yesterday? Hold on—

There was a screech coming from the door that got hit by the sandal.

"Uh... Noona? You can have the shower first... I'm in the mood to be nice today!"

"No, a deal's a deal..." Letting out an intentional maniac laugh, you were glad you can just use the guest bathroom (which was never the option because for some peculiar reason, the water was never hot.

"Fuck you!"

[8:43 A.M]

You accompanied your brother to the room they needed him and the rest of the first-year students. There was a third-year student volunteering to help out the first-years with their orientations and such, and you told Eric he could always go to them. The clock indicated it was almost the time you both needed to go your own ways. He looked back at you, as if shy to say something then he entered the room that hadn't close its doors.

You knew this habit of your brother's that somehow helped managing his anxiety a bit. Looking at an older sister figure seemed to ease him as if everything will be alright as long as you were there. You never really got an explicit expression of how good you are of a sister, but it was never about you when it comes to Eric. It was just about the fact that you helped him no matter if it was just by being there for him.

"Hey, Eric?" He already took two steps in the room, but your call turned him around.

"Yeah?"

"You're still ten centimeters shorter in my eyes..." Eric laughed at the insult that he disliked the most, but only if other people said it.

"And you are still screaming Justin Bieber's Baby lyrics with your brush in my eyes."

He approached you and you two did the sibling handshake that you both never made a mistake in for years.

"Don't forget to drive a sister home at 2:30, okay?"

"Won't!"

[3:16 P.M]

Unlocking the flat you shared with your little brother with the cold keys, you sighed as you entered the place. Eric promised to take you home, but you just got off the taxi and paid what could be the price of a fast food meal. You sensed danger when you heard, what you made up as, two males talking... and laughing. You hoped it was Eric, but their voices weren't the high-pitched and hyperactive kind. They were talking about... Drake?

"Oh hi, Noo—" POW!

Whether it was your reflexes that didn't even let him finish the word that could have make you (and his forehead) feel at ease or the fact that Eric was just unwise to be behind you while you were in your flight-or-fight mode... nobody knows.

"What'd you do that for?!" He screeched as he held his forehead.

He went to the mirror near the door, one that he installed for "fashion" purposes.

"Look at this! I got a sole with a Nike logo printed on my head!"

You didn't really care about how much it hurt as he was speaking about it. You went to the living room at started your own lecture on how ditching on one's sister is not nice. You didn't even introduce yourself to the two guys who were looking at you, not knowing what to do.

"Like dude, where were you?! I texted you and called you, but apparently you were inviting two strangers to talk about that Hotline Bling dude! Also who invites a stranger home— did you forget that you were almost kidnapped because you didn't listen to Mom's stranger danger lecture—"

"Y/N, there is a pint of Cookies and Cream ice cream next to the ice cubes in the freeze—" You smiled instantly and ran excitedly to the freezer.

The two 'strangers' were left agape that it took you food to earn your silence.

"Hotline Bling dude is crazy..." One of the two guys with a chiseled face and thin lips, laughed as you approach them.

"Moon Kevin, right? Second-year student? Photography?" He nodded with a chill attitude.

"Yes, ma'am!"

The other boy with a face with racoon features took the remote and continued the fanmade lyric video from Youtube that they left paused as everybody sat with their snacks in hand.

As they exclaimed "Owww!" at the rap punchlines, you noticed how quick the three clicked. How they sounded like longtime best friends reunited. You shook your head at their silliness as you watched the video in silence. At least you were in peace knowing that Eric would be in fate's good hands.

[5:37 P.M. | Week 3]

Okay... maybe you spoke too soon. You were not in peace. Especially, since everyday they would come over to the flat. Something about the way Eric socializes decreased your social battery when you didn't even know who these kids were. Last week, Eric invited three more strangers to crash 'his' place, they were all your juniors! Not to mention, famous juniors! Not only that, they watched NBA games and F1 races at night, occupying your house like a public facility whenever they can.

You were in the couch, invited to watch along, but you kept your lips shut, since these boys were rowdy and you weren't into basketball. Right now, they were challenging themselves to watch the game with water in their mouth and whoever spit it out first had to pay all their part of the dinner your bank account.

Your phone indicated a message coming in with a vibrate.

Biological 'Buy 1 Get 1' : Y/N. Hyunjae said he wanted to come here, is that okay?

You turned your head to Eric, bewildered.

"You invited five people who I still struggle to name without warning and my knowledge, but... sure I guess!"

You went back to your meal and you swore you saw three Singapore fountains living.

"Oww! You see that, Reggie?"

"I see that!"

"You see that—"

"I see—"

"Beast dunk by the man, Lebron James! Y'all, Miami game night is getting really hot tonight! Take a look at that jump in your ESPN replay—"

"HOLY SHIT, I ALMOST DROWNED!"

"YOU SPAT FIRST!

You just knew the next thing they would do is to fight for no reason, and blame it all on Chanhee (He didn't even participate to the challenge, but Sunwoo would gaslight the guy to pay if Chanhee 'really loves' his friends. That kid really had to thank God, Chanhee really loves them and is an aristocrat's son).

As you reach for more popcorn, the electronic doorbell rang. Eric parkoured from where he sat to the door (a habit you learned he had whenever he's excited).

As he came back, he brought two bags with McDonald's logo.

"Delivery man?" Your brother laughed at squirell guy's question (you hoped his name was Changmin).

"Nope. The snack himself." There was another man behind him.

A soft-gazed guy with a tall fitted figure, broad shoulders and carefully-crafted cheekbones. Oh yeah, this snack needs a warning...

"Hyunjae in the house!"

You really tried your best not to stare too much that night.

[8:14 A.M | Week 4]

"I knew it!" You shut your locker door and saw your brother looking at you with excitement.

"What do you want?" He ignored your rolling eyes.

You walked to the end of the hallway, thinking that Eric was following you. Your feet halt as it detected loneliness by the lack of Eric shadowing behind. Turning around, eyebrows united... you dropped your neck a little, expressing the face of a person left hanging by an Eric, who was looking at you with a smirk and a knowing look.

"So?! What do you know?!"

He took a few steps to you, then he said.

"You know I'm good in chemistry, right?"

"You have 23 exes and you cried when each time you broke up. What do you mean?"

"NOT THAT KIND OF CHEMISTRY—"

"Ohhhh... right... Ms. Choi gave you an AP class for Chemistry back in high school when you blew up a project... Wouldn't that make you eligible to skip 2 years in Chemistry for your Bachelor's?" Eric clapped his hand together.

"Ditto! Now... The dean had let me skip two years as long as I've done two weeks of pre-requisites, so here I am, stuck with your second class of the day, I'll be in Chair 16!" He turned around and ran to the indoor field as he saw Younghoon, a fellow third-year who happened to be your math tutoring student.

"You left me hanging, again?!" You knew that pain in the ass could hear you from afar, but he pretended not to hear by closing his ears as he ran and disappeared.

"Fucking dickhead..."

You opened your phone which had your college schedule as its lock screen wallpaper. Second period will be with Professor Do in Chemistry.

[10:41 A.M]

Ever since the first week of the semester, the lab's door had a paper taped onto it, saying "Warning: harmful acid clean-up! No entry!" and a letter from the chancellor that, while the lab needed to go through some clean-up due to a very harsh acid spill accident, all students who wish to seek Chemistry credits need to go to the Classroom XI, a spare room unused, to attend lecture.

You were in the room approaching the front rows. It was a strategy to record professors lectures better and also to keep yourself visible when your professors take attendance. The memory of raising your hand and saying 'here' and still marked as absent when you chose to sat on Chair 52, two rows behind the student cluster, traumatized you as it almost made you fail the whole course. Thank god you could prove that you listened to the lecture, since most of the lecture weren't on your textbooks.

You saw that Chair 18 was occupied. Chair 16 and 17 were empty.

Letting your Converse shoes took pace, you let your blue backpack hug the shoulders of Chair 17. You then sat in the chair, imaginatively creating prank scenarios to perform human-made karmas on Eric for making you wait to long for what he wanted to say at locker hallways.

Oh, this going to be perfect...

You felt it from your peripheral senses that Eric was approaching the chair on your left. Putting an act of clueless human being, your hand reached to your phone on your left pocket slowly. As the kid beside you dragged the chair behind, he was about to give up his responsibility to bear his own weight to his chair... until the same hand you used to try reaching your phone went to the back of his chair quickly and pulled it.

"Ow!!" You were covering your face not to burst into explosion of loud giggles. Turning your head to the left, looking at the boy on the floor and you—

Oh shit— Eric what did you do?

You remembered Eric's jersey number for his basketball match back in high school, so you look at Chair 22 at the row behind your right. There he was smirking at you and waving. You gave him your panicked face; in response you received a shrug and 'not my problem' (judging from your poor lip-reading skills). You showed off your canine teeth and a middle finger.

"Let me guess..." Hyunjae stood up and fixed his chair, resting his pained butt on it.

"I'm—" Your face were burning hot like a stove, probably red like a tomato by now.

"A friend set you up, because you want to get into my pants. So, you pulled my chair..." It was like the world had a hand on your mouth for a second. You chuckled nervously.

"First of all, not exactly. My bitch brother, Eric, said he'll sit here."

"Eric is your brother?" You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Yeah, why?"

"I thought you were his girlfriend back in his house..." You faked a vomiting gesture. He laughed a little at you with a small smile.

"Back to the topic. Second... Is the 'pulling your chair' trick famous or something? You didn't seem surprised." He looked at you, mouth agape in bewilderment.

"You're not up to date with the famous students here, are you?" You probably looked silly right now, but your eyebrows were probably like a great horned owl.

"Should I be?" He raised his eyebrows, then shook his head while smiling.

"No, no! It's fine! It's famous, because I do that prank to all of my friends. Let's just say, it became a strategy for girls to get closer to me when I started being friends with kids like Juyeon, Changmin, and... your brother."

"The hell you mean my brother's famous?" Hyunjae raised his chin at Eric's direction.

"Judge for yourself."

As you look back at Chair 22, the two chairs on its left and right were seated by girls who were twirling their hair and touching his bicep. On the other hand, he kept looking at his phone screen while ignoring them.

"Morning, students! I will introduce the molecular spectroscopy this week..." As Professor Do went on talking, his words fade away the moment you heard the big, dictionary-rich words.

"The only thing I like about molecules are the periodic table thing..." The guy next to you murmured.

"I don't even remember half of it..." You turned to him.

"You don't? So if I say you're Beryllium-Uranium-Titanium-Ful, you wouldn't have a clue?" You shook your head.

He smiled a little bit, yet you couldn't read what the intention was for.

[11:32 A.M]

You and Hyunjae tidied your belongings to your own backpacks, as everyone else did. All the urge to scream and knock some sense into your brother was still concealed in your chest. Now that you thought of it, a question tickled the back of your scalp.

"I'm confused though..." He looked at you with pursed lips.

"Yeah?"

"Why weren't you curious about the set up?" He tilted his head.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not curious why my brother set me up with you?" Hyunjae let few chuckles escaped his lips.

"Judging by your answers... I believe, it was more likely he was trying to set me up with you." He started to walk to the door slowly, until his feet froze in the middle of it as he faced you again.

"And you know what? I'm pretty glad, honestly. See you tonight, Y/N." He walked away with another smile.

Your eyes were almost out of its sockets. Every nerve on your body was confused; whether they should be relaxed because the man was away, or they should still be tense by the fact that what he said just now didn't make sense? Honestly, you didn't know anymore.

You kept your eyes at Hyunjae as he kept going to the door, you saw that Eric was leaning on the door waiting for him. They both let their hand greet each other in their masculine manner. Then, Eric winked at you.

[7:18 P.M | Week 7]

There had been no lectures or assignments ever since Week 5 until Week 9. This was because it was yuletide. Eric kept gaining new friends and inviting more to your house. He had to keep a promise that he can only bring ten people to your house, as long he was responsible for having them as guests.

However, you gained a liking to his friends. They really were how you hoped Eric's friends to be; as funny as him, wouldn't make him feel alone like how he wouldn't to other people, and influenced him to try so many other things. So, the promise he made was still kept, but you don't mind if he couldn't keep it once or twice. Like sweeping up the floor at midnight after they went home? You don't mind doing it with him.

...Okay, maybe there was one more. Lee Hyunjae. That man kept inviting you to watch matches along, it was ridiculous! By now, you know which NBA stars belong in which team. He taught you how to play PlayStation games. Sometimes, all of you were there but only the two of were enjoying Resident Evil on the screen.

The second time you interacted with Hyunjae after you pulled his chair was after school when he went to your house together with you. You offered him a ride together with Eric, saving his 4,500 Won to go to your flat every day. From Week 4 to Week 5, the three of you had been doing carpool karaoke at noon.

From then on, little conversations and details mattered to Hyunjae. Once you mentioned that you love homemade popcorn and french fries. After that day, he came with a homemade popcorn and another day with french fries. Every detail about you that he caught were used as a weapon to unintentionally steal your heart.

He was... too nice for someone who was just Eric's friend in your life. Maybe that was why you decided to be involved when you were invited to watch a game together.

Now, it was 25th of December. None of the other ten boys went home to their hometown or families. It was a sad week for them all. They were homesick and so were you and Eric as you both missed your family in LA. Then, Sangyeon, who happened to be the only senior of yours that made it to this friend circle, said a Christmas dinner should sound nice.

So, there you all were, eating Samgyeop and the Saeng Galbi that you grilled. Everyone enjoying their Soju bottles with the rice accompanied by the smoky beef, laughing as you shared how Eric once was asked to be the guy to replace an injured baseball player, then going home and watched a baseball match with a man claiming to be the father of the injured, doing the service as a gratitude for Eric. Two months later, the man was on breaking news for car theft and being chased by the police for six hours straight.

After the dinner, everyone opened up their presents. You were given a few things by these boys, like a hat by Changmin with a note "I don't really know what you like, but Eric said your ears get numb when it snows. Thank you for letting us be a safe space to each other by letting us hang in your house every day! Must not be easy :("

You also got new headphones, because Haknyeon noticed your left Airpods was broken. For people who weren't exactly close, but always welcoming for you (because you welcomed them first), they were very considerate and caring.

You opened your gift from Hyunjae and there were three things there: a Chanel lipstick, a mistletoe, and a coupon for the arcade. You were worried for a second that the lipstick shade won't match you. You turned the case and read what the name of the shade was: '16 - Livermorium'

The thin coupon paper was almost see-through, you could see that there was a writing with a marker behind it.

Wanna bail? □ Yes □ No

You smiled widely at the words, you looked for Hyunjae as everyone was busy talking to each other, expressing their gratitude for the gifts received. You saw Hyunjae leaning near the vestibule, already looking at you. The grin in your face widened and you nodded. He smiled as you both stepped quietly out the room.

"Y/N! Thank you for the new jacket!! You don't know how much I wanted this kind—" Jacob was about to hug you but he noticed you and Hyunjae were taking your shoes to go outside quietly.

You both looked up at Jacob, frozen and you panicked a little. However, Jacob gave a gentle smile instead. He reached to his pocket and tossed Hyunjae his Kawasaki keys.

"Y'all go! I'll cover for you."

[7:49 P.M]

The two of you were in giggles as you scored thirty points in the timed basketball game, while Hyunjae scored more but since his hoop didn't detect the ball passing through, he was still at zero.

"I won!" He rolled his eyes while curving his lips to a crescent, exposing the white on his teeth and the red in his cheeks.

Suddenly, a light bulb was lit inside that wrinkly organ in your skull. You took a few steps to Hyunjae, looking up at him wearing the biggest smile.

"Hey, Hyunjae."

He looked at your eyes, hypnotized by those honey ambers. His own eyes gazing at you from your eyes to the corner of your lips. For one second, he was too drunk in you to even respond.

"Yeah?"

"You opened my gift yet?"

"Yeah... The perfume, right? How much did it cost?" He did not intervene with his eye contact that moved from your eyes to your lips to your eyes and your lips (on and on and on).

"127,900 Won. It's custom made, just like the lipstick you gave me."

He started to feel weak in this eye contact, as if about to give up and just kiss you already. His breath started to hitch and had no energy to do anything beyond whispering.

"Yeah? What did you pick for my custom perfume?"

"I gave the perfumer a sample of my shampoo, my own perfume, my lipstick, and the butter you use for the popcorn you make... because it smells like me." Hyunjae smirked at the sensual, yet the genuine loving manner.

"Is that it?" His right arm decided to hug your waist.

You swore that you almost lost all the shyness and the contemplation to kiss him right there right then. His left thumb reached your bottom lip, dragging to the end point of your chin.

"You want me to remember you with your scent?" It was your turn to blush and get drunk in his love.

You nodded with a shameless naughty smile. Then you let your chin rest on his chest as you looked up to his eyes like a puppy. His pupils began to dilate as he stared at your eyes like a king sitting on his throne looking down at a begging treasonist kissing his feet.

"I just want you overall..." You whispered as he chuckled.

"Mhmm? Yeah? Why don't you show me?"

Hyunjae noticed you took something from the pockets of your pants. It was the Chanel lipstick he gave you and the mistletoe. As you left a gap between you and him enough to put on the makeup in front of him, he took the mistletoe from your hands put it on top.

"Make my dreams come true, will you?"

"Oh what? Kissing you under the mistletoe like the Justin Bieber song you always play?" You both giggled, never letting each other's sights out of each other's sights.

"Not really... Kissing Y/N and nobody else but Y/N had always been the dream since the first time I saw you." You raised your eyebrows at him while smiling widely.

"...And my childhood 13-year-old dream that I had when I was hitting puberty." You couldn't stop smiling and laughing. You snaked your hand, holding the mistletoe with him.

"Gladly..."

You leaned in with the best slow, romantic pace you could ever think of to introduce the relationship for much more kisses to come. It felt like you woke up from the dandellion hills in the Garden of Eden. Felt so right as if nothing in life had ever wronged you. It felt like you flew out of your body, elevating to the outer space where you live among the stars, just floating.

You both gave yourselves some breaths to take in, letting some space between you both.

"I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why a radioactive element, Livermorium?" He gave away the same giggles he had been having ever since he was with you in that arcade.

"I might memorize the periodic table, but I don't know what the chemical elements mean... I just like the way you can have a code to speak with when you have the periodic table." You tilted your head at him in confusion.

"So what is there to decipher?" He grinned at your cluelessness.

"Livermorium in short is Lv in Group 16 of the periodic table... familiar?" You looked at him wide-eyed as if starstruck at a Nobel Prize genius.

"Chair 16, Chemistry class... Lv short for the word Love?" He nodded proudly, enjoying the attention your eyes gave him.

"Corny, right?"

"Very!"

That night, he confessed that he would really like to be yours and he had never had anyone else (and didn't want to have) other than you in mind. It might look like it was too fast but the chemistry you both had spoke much for yourselves that actually, you were both ready.

From that moment on, the lipstick stained not only on your lips, but on his. He wore it so proud he wouldn't even wipe off the red-pinkish messy smears on his lower cheeks.

#dreamyzhou fic #deoboyznet #dreamyzhou the boyz hyunjae #lee hyunjae x reader #lee hyunjae #lee hyunjae imagine #tbz hyunjae #hyunjae #hyunjae fluff #hyunjae suggestive #tbz #the boyz

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letters-from-dekarios · 5 months

Note

{written on pub stationary, stained with aclohol. The hand writing is messy, obviously written in a less than sober state. The paper is creased and crumpled, as though it’s original destination was to be the trash bin. Multiple words are misspelled or crudely scribbled out.}

Dear Dekarriose Dekarios,

I guess youre actual title now is the Wizard of Waterdeep, it may be inappropriate to still simply call you ‘Dekarios’ or ‘Gale’. I still will, change all you want, detest me all you want for it, I cannot change that image I still have of you from our youths.

A cocky bastard smug young man who probably had a good reason for being smug. A learned young wizard who, despite his inherent talents, buried his nose in a million books a second to learn more. I hated you for it back then. I think I hate you for it now.

I don’t know. I’ve never understood it. I never figured out how you could be more with so much inherent magical talent, but not enough to make you a sorcerer. I never understood how you could be more in control of your magic than a sorcerer. I never understood how we could be the same age, and yet when I first started my academic career at Blackstaff you were already finishing yours. I admired you for it, I hated you for it.

I thought you hated me too.

Not hate, that’s not right. I thought you abdhorred disliked me. I thought in some way, it was okay, we were rivals. We had our fun, I cursed you a few times (if you never knew that was me doing it. Sorry.), you explained every spell you knew in such detail I assumed you were being condescending on purpose. I casted spells with ease without trying but I could never learn a new spell. You learned a million new spells but took great effort in casting them. I hated you for your succeeding where I failed. I thought you felt the same.

I question that recently. I have people who hate me now. It’s not the same. If you did hate me, I guess I liked the way you hated me, it was more fun than how I’m hated now. But did you hate me? Were you being condescending, or did you just like to talk about things you found interesting? Do you even remember a word I’m writing down? Do you remember me? I can’t bame blame you if you don’t. It’s been so many years, even I only remember once I’ve reached the bottom of a bottle, but I remember a lot.

I’m reaching the end of the page. I feel I’ve written a lot about nothing, so I guess it’s time I cut to the chase. I do miss our rivalry, our misadventures, our friendship, whatever you’d call it. I miss Gale Dekarios, the smug little bastard that once tried to tutor me. I miss you.

I wish you the best,

Irisa

-~•~-

{set before the events of the game, written by my tiefling Tav, Irisa, a wild magic sorceress who briefly did not know she was a sorceress, thus she briefly tried to learn Wizardry at Blackstaff. It did not go well. In her time there she had a rivalrous relationship with Gale, because the two of them were young and immature, and eventually she was expelled from the academy. Years down the line her life is not great, she’s drunk a lot, misses petty arguments with our favorite wizard, reflects on their time together, and wrote this letter and sent it out when drunk and probably forgot all about it come morning.}

Dearest Irisa,

Your letter, though quite barely decipherable, comes as a bit of a shock for me. I did not expect to receive word from you after so many years, and though I can tell you’re not doing exactly the greatest at the time of writing, I hope you’re well otherwise.

It may shock you to know that, despite how many years it’s been, I do remember you. For all it’s worth, I remember the rivalry between us. Who puts a Wizard and a Sorcerer in the same fold? I’ll never understand how that came to be, but it was an enjoyable few years with you there.

I do get that a lot, the admiration and the hatred all mixed in one. It may do well to understand that I am, or, rather, was one of Mystra’s chosen. Though my abilities as a child were to be challenged, it was all because of her. It’s not every day you have an eight-year-old human practicing magic, and Mystra knew that of me. She’s the only reason why I had such control and understanding, though it helped being quite studious.

Despite it all, I can say I never did hate you. You pushed me to countless new limits, helped me see my oddities and how to work through them, and showed me the intensity of magic on a grander scale than reading books ever could. You brought out the best in me, regardless of our differences.

While I didn’t hate you, I can confidently say I did envy your ease in casting spells. If only I could whisk a spell together that easily! Concentration gets the best of me nowadays, perhaps I should have practiced more of that while at the Academy.

I do sincerely apologize for any condescension you may have felt. I tend to do that at times apparently! It was a genuine interest on my part to have someone who shared a similar understanding with me, and I wanted to tell you of all the worlds we could both accomplish. My mother has quipped it as “Galesplaining”, whatever she intends that to mean.

I remember you completely. All the glory, the joy, the hurt, the failure. It’s ingrained in my mind and I doubt I can ever sand it away. I wouldn’t want to, either. You made my time at the Academy more enjoyable than it had been for years. You changed me, in some of the best ways imaginable.

I can’t deny finding myself at the bottom of a bottle stirring over the past, much like yourself, wondering what I could have changed or done differently. Maybe we could’ve stayed friends, that’s a nice alternate reality to think of.

I miss you, too, Irisa, even if you were the cause of all my misdemeanors and failures when my day started on the wrong foot. I have to know, were you the one who caused my portal home to get so out of shape?

When you’re sober, I implore you to visit my tower in Waterdeep. I’d like to catch up with you, it’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

And, for reference, I sort of liked the way you hated me, too.

text reads: gale dekarios

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tillthelandslide · 1 year

Text

Same For You (7) Hate Missing You

Series Masterlist

(6) The Dinner

Series Warnings: slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap, complicated relationship (low-key unhealthy dynamics), eventual love...

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊)

A/n: hi everyone 👋 just wanted to say a huge thank you to all the support on this series so far, it means a lot to me. I hope you continue to enjoy it, let me know what you think, my inbox is always open so share your thoughts, predictions, what you'd like to see, who you're rooting for, whatever 💞 also once again, next part will be posted once this reaches 100 notes :) - love Lou

She had been avoiding both of them like the plague. She had seen Charli a few times, the girls going for drinks a few times, but neither of the men were mentioned once, a clear rule y/n set down the moment they were with each other. She was thankful Charli didn't mention it, she didn't press, didn't demand a reason as to why she didn't want to talk about either of the guys. She had even spoken to George a few times and seen him twice, the two of them chilling in his and Charli's house and sharing ideas for songs, Y/n sharing some demos that George took to work on.

The distance didn't stop either of them from constantly texting or calling her. They both started to get worried when she took a while to reply, or didn't pick up the phone. She would text back hours after their messages were sent, with an excuse, although most of the time they were in fact true, such as "sorry been writing with this artist" which was true, but she had only allowed said artists to book time in with her so she could distract herself.

She was currently sitting in the garage, working with an independent artist called Emma, she had written a song for her and they were currently recording it. She currently was sat alone at her computer, they were taking a quick break so Emma could smoke in her back garden, outside the shed. She's distracted by the buzzing of her phone, Matty's name lighting up her screen with a picture they had taken from the day they got coffee. She had since changed his name, seeing "bestie" every time he called was just confusing her further.

Emma walks back in as she stares at her phone.

"You can take that if you want" she says and y/n shakes her head.

"no it's okay" she says, turning her phone over so their picture isn't staring back at her.

"Nothing important" she tells herself this although she knows it's a lie. She missed hearing his excited voice on the other side of the phone, missed the late night phone calls when he'd ramble about music and art. They finish the song and Emma leaves, by that point it's pretty late at night.

When she eventually looks at her phone she sees 6 missed calls from Matty and 4 messages, 4 missed calls from Ross and 6 messages. She sighs deeply texting both of them the same message.

"Sorry was in the studio working with a girl called Emma" it only takes a minute to receive two texts back.

"Been working a lot recently, don't wear yourself out love... P.s miss you xx" - Ross

"No worries darling, look at you go aye! Miss you xx" - Matty

She ignores both messages, leaving her home studio and returning to her house.

The truth is she misses them both, so much. But she needed time to think, not that she had done much of that. She had been making herself busy so she was distracted and it didn't leave much time to think. She wasn't doing herself any favors and she knew that.

❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀ •°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀

The band do their usual set in the usual bar in Soho, the same, usual people standing right at the front. Her eyes flick to the back table where they're usually sat, but she doesn't spot them. Charli is sat with George, and their overlapping friendship groups. Carly and Adam are even here. But they aren't there. Ross and Matty...

They hadn't come. She shouldn't really be surprised, not only had she been avoiding the two of them but they were an internationally famous band who clearly had better things to do than seeing a small band perform. She knew they were on a break from touring, hence why she had seen so much of them recently, but she still wouldn't be surprised if they had other things to do.

The cheers from the crowd don't feel as good, not when she knows they aren't there screaming along. She didn't know what she expected, she had brought this upon herself. When they get off the stage her band goes to greet their friends, but she exits the building, grabbing a cigarette from her pack hidden in her pocket. She shakes the thought that she was being rude away from her brain. She hadn't officially met Carly yet and felt bad that she hadn't immediately went over and introduced herself, but she needed a fag, right now.

The door opens behind her and a pair of arms wrap around her frame, a sweet scent following behind them. Charli.

"You smashed it as always" she says, pulling back from the hug.

"Thanks" she murmurs, taking a sharp inhale of her cigarette.

Charli doesn't mention either of the men and she doesn't know whether she's thankful or whether she wants to hear the reason they're not here. She stays quiet, silently smoking her cigarette. The dark haired girl's hands finds her shoulders, pulling Yn so she's facing her. She had hoped they'd be here, that she was forced to see them, she could tell herself it was out of her control, that she couldn't do anything about it. She could pretend she had no other choice, when in reality she just wanted to see them. Being without them both, was torture.

"Hey are you okay? What's going on with you?" She says and y/n sighs deeply. She wants to tell her, she wants to tell her everything. She knew she wouldn't judge and truly she was the only person she could see who wouldn't hate her for the whole situation. The band would say she's messing up their chances. George would probably feel entitled to tell his friends, for they were his best friends in the whole world. And she didn't have anyone else to tell. She couldn't tell either of the men in question because they wouldn't understand and she could (and probably would) lose both of them.

"I'm just tired Char... Promise" she drops her cigarette and allows Charli to pull her into a hug.

"If you need to tell me anything... I'm here" she says and y/n mumbles a thank you. One thing that the absence of Matty and Ross had caused was her close bond with Charli, she was thankful for that.

"Now come join us" so she does, she sits with Carly and Adam, introducing herself to the smiley girl. She compliments Y/n and her band, mentioning "the guys wouldn't shut about you... you put them to shame really" it makes her laugh and the three begin talking about all sorts. Matty and Ross slip from her mind a little bit, not fully disappearing but slightly less present. The group laughs and has fun and she's distracted again. Blissfully blocking both men out. Fairly successfully too.

❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀ •°❀°•❀•°❀°•❀

A pile of scrunched up papers are scattered around her, the studio floor barely visible through the white sheets. She arrived early this morning, surprised to see George already at the sound board, editing bits and bobs. She has avoided both Ross and Matty for exactly 6 days now, but she knew today that would come to an end, she'd be forced to be near them and she knew that her unclouded mind would be foggy again and she'd be right back at square one, just as confused as ever.

One particular loud sigh (among other annoyed, restless and agitated noises) draws George from his work at the computer, spinning around in the chair and looking at her.

She looked tired, bags were under her eyes and he noticed how her thumb on her left hand was bleeding slightly. He leaves the room, going to the bathroom of the studio and grabbing a sterile wipe and a plaster. He approaches her slowly, leaning down and sitting with her and even that doesn't draw her attention away from her notebook. He gently takes hold of her left hand, bringing it towards him, and that's what makes her look at him.

"What are you doing?" She asks, eyes briefly drifting away from her writing and landing on George's hand. It's a funny sight, his huge hand, the most gentle she had ever seen it, holding hers as he cleaned her abuse. It was a sweet moment, between two friends and she was thankful for it.

"You're bleeding love" the "oh" that falls from her lips before her eyes are back on her book and she's withdrawing her hand from him, tells him everything he needed to know. This was a common occurrence for her, they hadn't spent enough time alone together for him to know what she was like when she was anxious or agitated, he didn't know the tell tell signs of such feelings. But he takes her hand back into his as he tears the packet with his teeth.

"Let me do this for you okay?" He asks and she nods, allowing him to clean the wound, the blood (although not very much) sleeps into the wet fabric and it stings slightly. She flinches and he murmurs a sorry.

"Talk to me... What's up?" He asks. Truth is he didn't know her all that well, but he wanted to, just like Ross and Matty... Well maybe not just like them. He wanted to be her friend. They had spent a fair amount of time with each other but it was mostly for work. Of course, she was easy to get along with and George saw just as Matty and Ross did, that she was kind and a good person to be around. He cared for her already, he supposes that was something obvious about her, she drew people in, even just as friends. They wanted to know her.

"Nothing what are you talking about?" He furrows his eyebrows at her and scoffs.

"The scrunched up and ripped paper around the room says otherwise love"

"I just can't get this song right okay?" She says and he nods as he wraps her thumb in a plaster, letting her take her hand back.

"thanks"

"No worries... Whats the song about?" She thinks it's the first time in the whole time they've been working together, that someone has asked what the meaning of the song was and it throws her off for a second.

"I want to write a song about... how I always go after the wrong guy... Always end up getting my heart broken" she explains and George nods. He pulls her notebook and reads the words out loud.

"My brain twists and turns Craving for a touch that burns Every time I try to put myself first I drown in this pain, my heart might burst I wish it didn't have to hurt so much I'm in a million pieces, my soul I can't touch I'm screaming inside, my emotions I can't clutch" his eyebrows furrow, thinking about he words, before he looks up at her.

"what's wrong with this? It's good"

"i don't feel like it captures how I feel" he nods along.

"how do you feel?" It's a simple question, but the answer is far from simple, she doesn't know how to explain it, which is why she thinks she's struggling to get it into the paper in front of her.

"Okay... We're doing this then?" She asks and George looks confused, furrowing his eyebrows at her.

"What do you mean?"

"If I tell you, you have to promise it doesn't leave this room"

"of course... Now explain" she's thankful that he's there for her, that he wants to know. She's aware this is the first person she would've even hinted at how she was feeling.

"So I always seem to go for guys who just break my heart... And now... Hypothetically there might be a guy who is so god damn good and pure... And what... What if I don't deserve that? What if the reason I loved so hard before but ultimately got my heart broken .. is actually because I just don't deserve it and what if... I'm pushing him away because it might actually be good for once" she asks and George frowns.

"that's what I want to write about"

"Well purely hypothetically... If said guy is perhaps one of my best mates... Hypothetically I'd say you do deserve that love" she shakes her head at his words. She briefly wonders which one he's referring to, but shakes the thought from her mind.

"listen y/n... If you loved the wrong person that deeply, imagine how deeply you'll love the right one... And if they're the right person... They'll love you just as much"

"you're quite wise George Daniel" she leans her head onto his shoulder as a silent thank you and he smiles. She thinks about mentioning Matty, explaining that she felt something (although what and how deeply was not clear yet) but before she gets the chance, the door opens revealing both Matty and Ross who both smile at the sight of the two of them. Suddenly they're both right there again, stabbing at her heart and mystifying her brain , she realises her attempt to avoid them, to ice them out was futile because they're there, clouding her every thought, painting her brain with beautiful hews of Ross and Matty.

"Are you bonding?" Matty's voice rings out and both of them groan as they stand up.

"Shut up" George says as he returns to the sound desk. Matty walks towards her and is quick to pull her into a hug.

"hi" he says smiling down at her.

"Hi" she smiles back. Matty leaves to look at what George has been working on and she takes the time to walk over to Ross, who is smiling widely down at her.

"Hello stranger" he says and she feels guilty immediately but allows him to pull her to him, hugging her tightly. His lips graze her cheek quickly, not able to help himself. He breathes in her hair as he mumbled a "miss you". She's half expecting him to say something about how she was clearly avoiding him but he doesn't and she's unbelievably thankful for that.

She doesn't tell him she misses him back, she just smiles into his chest, finally pulling away when she hears Matty and George talking.

"How was the show on Saturday? Sorry I couldn't make it, Jamie needed me for a dirty hit thing" Matty explains and she smiles.

"Yeah it was good... George and Char came... And Hann and Carly too" she says and Matty raises his eyebrows. Her voice is slightly withheld, withdrawn, distant. He frowns at her, it was like two strangers talking to each other, like this conversation was more of a duty rather than between two friends who were genuinely interested in catching up.

"Good...." He says turning back to George who frowns up at him. She goes back to the papers, collecting the crumpled up ones and discarding them, Ross joins her. And his presence is suddenly too close for her so she stands immediately.

"I'm going outside for a bit" she announces, leaving before anyone has a chance to say anything.

When she's gone, the three guys share a look, and it's a matter of time before one of them speaks up.

"what's going on with her?" Both Ross and Matty ask George at the same time. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights. He quite successfully feigns ignorance, shrugging his shoulders. But then he feels it's not fair on his best friends.

"Maybe you should talk to her instead of asking me" George says, turning back to his screen.

"Mate I've been trying all week..." Matty speaks up

"she's been busy mate" Ross says and Matty's eyes find his.

"You know that's bullshit... She doesn't need to work with other people, she's doing this for a reason" he then argues. Ross cant argue with his logic, he can't find a fault to his reasoning, because it was true. It was obvious she was avoiding both of them, but neither knew why.

"I don't know what you want me to say" George says. Matty is then leaving before Ross gets a chance to attend to her first. He wanted to be the one to console her if she needed it, but of course Matty beat him to it.

"Just leave them mate, trust me... You're good. She's fine" Ross doesn't know what George means, but he shrugs and sits down anyway, eyes trained on the door just waiting for the moment it opens and she's back again.

Matty finds her smoking, nearly at the end of her cigarette. His eyebrows raise at the sight, not knowing she smoked. He doesn't comment though. He stays silent for a second.

"You've been avoiding me... Why?" He asks abruptly making her turn to look at him before turning back away from him.

"I haven't Matty... I've been busy" again it feels like a stranger is talking to him, not someone who he was considering to be one of his closest friends now. Not someone who got him, who he cared deeply for.

"If you say so love..." He inhales a puff of his own cigarette and suddenly her eyes are on him, watching as he breathes it out deeply. She's missed him, that much was obvious.

"Enjoy the vinyl I sent you?" He asks and she nods, eyes trained on the cigarette lying limply in-between his teeth as he talks, his hands clasped around his phone as he types something out. He doesn't see her nod so his eyes snap up, awaiting an answer.

"Yeah... Been playing it a lot recently actually" she says, and it sounds like her again, not withdrawn or pulled back, just her. His friend, his y/n.

"What's your favorite?" He asks and she pauses to think. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, fingertips clasping the cigarette again, his other hand dropping to his side. She suddenly feels the urge to take his hand in hers but she doesn't.

"I love all of them... But Sad To Breathe or Boyhood are my favorites at the moment" she says and Matty smiles.

"I'll tell Amber... She'll love that" she smiles at that.

"Sunshine Baby is a great song too" his eyes sparkle, and they smile at each other. He steps forward and she lets him, he drops his cigarette and so does she as he wraps his arms around her.

"Missed you, y'know" he says, face burying into her hair.

"Missed you too Matty" she admits. He doesn't ask why she was avoiding her again, he doesn't bring it back up and she doesn't know how to feel about it.

"You can avoid me all you want... But don't do that to Ross, he doesn't deserve that" his words are like a ton of bricks falling on her and she doesn't know how to react. So she doesn't, she just nods and murmurs a silly little "sorry"

"Let's get back inside" he says and she agrees, walking back to the studio with his arm hooked over her shoulders as he asked questions about the girl she was working with.

"I actually ended up writing a song after working with her that I really like" Ross and George catch that part of their conversation, both smiling at her before George speaks up.

"Let's see then" he says, she retrieves her notebook from where she discarded it, flicking to the right page, she wonders whether she should show them this. Would this reveal too much? she thinks. She hands the book to George first, his eyes flick over the words as Matty and Ross watch. She stands next to him, bringing her thumb that is wrapped in the plaster to her mouth before realising she couldn't abuse it like usual.

Matty notices the plaster, so does Ross, both wondering what happened. The injury was minor, but the both of them were still worried.

George's eyes find hers and he raises his eyebrows, silently asking "you sure?" she nods at him and he nods back.

"I like it" he confirms, handing her back the book. She passes it to Matty, him and Ross read it together.

Hate Missing You: I'm drowning in sadness without you, can you hear me? Hold my breath and count to three, who am I without you? You're the part of me I cannot see, won't you just let it be? I miss the feeling of being home, I feel lost without you I miss you but the feeling of my heartbeat makes me nervous That way you smile and my heart skips a beat, it makes me dizzy Sorry for the distance, it's tearing me apart, it's hard And there's no way to return your message from my heart So I make myself busy, giving me an excuse as why I can't see you, I can't choose between two halves of myself

They're lost for words, both looking at her, not speaking. She feels unbelievably nervous, awaiting a response that doesn't come for a few moments.

"This is.... its good Y/n/n" Matty says, she senses that its not all he has to say. If she could creep into his mind she'd see all his thoughts and she'd notice there was so many of them. Who was this about? Is this really how she felt? Is she okay? How can he help?

"It's powerful, raw.... its good love" Ross then says, but again she senses that he wants to say more. He wanted to know who this was about. Who got to have these hauntingly beautiful words written about them? Who was the one she missed? And how could he take the pain away?

They begin working on the song, Ross records some bass lines in the absence of Clara, Matty and Y/n both record some guitar bits and Y/n also records some piano bits. George adds in some simple drum beats.

Things with Matty seemed okay, almost back to normal. But things with Ross were suddenly different and she wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. Sure, lingering touches that screamed "I want you" were still shared, and looks that shouted "my soul yearns for you" happened more often than not. But ever since having dinner at Charli and George's house, ever since she kissed his cheek and left him on her door step, ever since she woke up from that blissful dream, something had shifted. They seemed to be avoiding things more, he hesitated before making his usual comments, comments that were once flirty seemed a little bit apprehensive now.

She knows he's only doing what she said, she told him they couldn't, so he was trying to respect that. But sometimes, when that thought slipped from his mind, the normal things that were 'them" happened, like those touches and stares. But even through that, something felt off. Her mind was still reeling from him holding her thigh with such a grip that it was as if she was his anchor keeping him on the ground. She swears she can still feel the way his thumb grazed the skin, even 6 days later, 6 torturous days she spent avoiding him. And she'd be lying if she said she hadn't found herself staring at those hands of his one too many times when he played the bass.

She excuses herself from the studio and the three men, explaining that she just needed a moment alone. They had been working for what felt like hours now and she couldn't handle one more of those longing looks from Ross, or one more of those eyebrow raises from Matty when he caught her staring at Ross.

She finds her coat that she had hung up upon her arrival, slipping her arms through it and going outside. Her hand finds the inside pocket, finding the pack of cigarettes she reserved for special occasions like this. When she was well and truly confused and stressed. She lights the cigarette easily, she takes three long drags before the door opens.

She knew it was only a matter of time before one of them found an excuse to join her, despite her request to be alone. She rolls her eyes slightly as she looks at Ross, who has his eyebrows raised at her, eyes flicking towards the cigarette in-between her fingertips.

She chuckles and shrugs her shoulders. He hadn't seen her smoke before and it was clear it wasn't a common occurrence, and that fact alone makes him wonder why she needed one now.

"Are you okay love?" He asks and he truly knows something is up when she just nods and deters the conversation.

"How'd you manage to get away from them?" She asks and he laughs, pulling his own pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one. She gives him the same look he gave her, sure she had seen pictures of him smoking, but she had thought he was more of a social smoker. This might have proved that, that was not the case.

He raises his eyebrows back and says a quick "sorry to disappoint you" which she just shakes her head at, for she was also smoking so she didn't care if he did too. It was actually kind of hot. Oh for God sake woman stop.

"Matty got a phone call so I slipped out and said I was going for a fag... George didn't care..." Ross explains and she nods.

His eyes wander over her features, taking in the way she's breathing deeply, in and out, smoke falling from her lips and nostrils. She smokes effortlessly and Ross can't help but like the sight. She looked good, as always, slightly tired but just as beautiful as the first time she took his breath away. But something was off, that much was clear.

"Are we okay?" He asks and she nods, but doesn't speak.

"Maybe try that again... But more convincing" he says and she can't help but laugh. She takes one last puff and drops the cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with her booted foot.

She steps towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist, needing a hug from him more than anything. The door that was cracked open, is now swinging open, nearly snapping off it's hinges.

"I'm sorry I've been off and avoiding you... Just didn't know how to act around you" she admits into his chest. He forgets about the cigarette he was nursing, dropping it to the floor and letting it burn out as he allowed his arms to wrap around her. He rests his head on top of hers, breathing her in. The new mix of her with the addition of tobacco is even more addicting and he can't help but sigh.

"Don't be sorry... It's hard, I've felt it too... all day in fact" he admits and she feels slightly more at ease at that.

"I know you said we can't... And that's fine... But I can't keep acting like this, it feels wrong. If I wanna hug you I wanna hug you. If I want to hold your hand I want to hold your hand.... Is that okay?" She knows she should shake her head, say no, it's not okay. But she couldn't help herself. She was addicted to him and he was even more addicted to her.

So she nods, she pulls back to look at him and nods, placing her head back against his lower chest and hugging him tightly.

"So what does that mean then?" He asks, his own way of saying what are we? They clearly weren't just friends, but she wasn't allowing them to be truly more than that. They were in some kind of limbo between both of those identifiers.

"We're just us... Is that okay?" And he nods, and smiles widely down at her. He could deal with that for now. It was better than the alternative which was not having her in any way, and he couldn't live like that.

"And Matty?" Ross asks, and she raises her eyebrows, unsure what he was getting at.

"I know you said nothing is going on... but I cant help but sense something there... if you say its nothing its nothing... Just be honest with me, I can take it" Ross says and she nods, sighing deeply.

"I'm still figuring that out..." its the first time she's been truthful about Matty, not just to Ross but to herself.

"Okay... I can deal with that" he says, smiling down at her.

They return to the studio finishing up the song. By the time they leave, its dark outside, George had bid them farewell maybe 20 minutes earlier, hugging her tightly and telling her he was there for her if she needed. The exchange didn't go unnoticed by the remaining men. London is cold but the lights sparkle and she gets that childish glow in her eyes as she walks down the steps from the studio. Ross and Matty can't take their eyes off her but for once she doesn't notice. Matty breaks first, eyes falling from her to Ross.

He notices the glint in his eyes and the way his dimples show deeply, the way his eyes crease. He's seen a similar look before, but nothing of that calibre. Matty's smile drops, he had to stop this. He had to.

That look. That look on his best friend's face, it told him everything he needed to know. That he liked her perhaps more than Matty did, maybe not, but he would always, always put his friends needs and desires before his own.

The problem was, Matty was unsure he'd be able to stop. He didn't know if it was possible. But he'd try... even if it destroyed him.

"Hey um" he hesitates, their eyes fall on him "you guys go ahead, I've left something upstairs" he says. Ross frowns at him.

"You sure mate? We can wait" yn nods too.

"No it's okay... go" he smiles at his friends and then he begins walking up the steps. They begin walking down the path, with Matty watching. Watching the way he made her laugh, watching the way one arm came to rest against her shoulders, watching the way, she, the one he so desperately wanted, seemed right in his arms... At home.

Note: low-key don't really like this chapter... But oh well. The only bit I actually like is the george x yn bit :(

(8) Studio Sessions

#same for you the 1975 series #the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald x reader #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fan fic #matty healy fan fic #the 1975 fan fiction

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