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littlcdarlin · 4 months ago

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Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Professor Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Professor Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

��Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Professor Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck– is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

#event horizon #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #professor!Joel miller #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel x you #Joel Miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

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nebulousmoon3990 · 7 months ago

Text

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

II𓂃› POISON

Warning: Negligence (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, swearing, sensitive topics,bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), Fem reader!, use of (M/n) for his mother's name, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Two weeks.It had been two weeks since you disappeared, two weeks in which Bruce did and still does everything he can to find you (as the millionaire Bruce Wayne or as Batman), two weeks in which he and possibly no one in the mansion slept properly, two weeks in which guilt gnawed at him in the worst possible way. But even so, Bruce is ashamed to say that in these two weeks he has only been going to his room now.

Could you blame him? Bruce didn't want to go to his room because that would be a way of saying that you died. He refuses to think that way, you are alive, he is sure of it, and he will find you.

However, Bruce's thesis was shattered by his anxiety.

That's why he goes to your room for the first time.

Bruce remembers going there only once, you must have been seven years old, what saddens him the most is that he only went there because there was a problem with the ceiling and that's why you had to change rooms. Your room was on the second floor, a little further away from the others, possibly the room closest to yours was Tim's.

Alfred had to show him where his room was, which made Bruce feel even worse. He didn't know where his own room was! Was he so negligent to that point?

Your room was at the end of the hallway, the only thing that identified it was a guitar sticker on the door, it was faded and dented, possibly having been there for years, wood splinters were visible on the door and the metals on it were very rusty.

Grabbing the doorknob, Bruce hesitated to open it, the logical part of his brain warning that you might feel uncomfortable with him invading your room like that, but his desire spoke louder, gathering courage Bruce opened the door slowly and faced the environment. He was greeted with a sweet smell that reminded him of artificial strawberries, coming from the entire room and Bruce thought that maybe this was the smell you had passed many times.

The first thing he noticed was the appearance of your room, it was smaller than most of the rooms in the mansion. Your bed was next to the window, giving you a view of the mansion's garden, next to the small bed was a nearly empty study table, on it papers and colored pencils were in the corner organized so as not to have a mess, a small swivel chair was there, there were tears and poorly washed stains, but it seemed like you used it a lot. Above the table on the wall were posters of bands and other things, but what caught Bruce's attention was not that, no, it wasn't.

There were trophies, certificates and awards on top of his shelves.

There were so many, so many, that Bruce thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but it soon proved to be true when he approached the said shelves. There were trophies for gymnastics, literature, computing, swimming, there were awards for drawing, music, and even jiu-jitsu.

Each one was accompanied by a photo of you, photos that were supposed to be taken with your family but most of them were with your instructors, it was possible to see that with each photo that there was your face changed from false joy to not even bothering to smile.

The sight of you in the photos made Bruce's heart break, the worst one of all was one that looked like you were from gymnastics, but in this one you were really exhausted. Sweat was all over your forehead, making your hair stick to it, your eyes were a little red and there was a bruise on your arm, you tried to smile but it was noticeable that the smile was fake and to top it off, to break Bruce's heart? You were holding back tears, tears shining in the corners of your eyes so intensely, but you held it tight, so as not to cry in front of the camera.

Bruce felt horrible, really awful in fact.

He carefully picked up the photo and sat down on the chair, watching you. You must have been eight or nine years old? He didn't know, but you looked so young, so helpless, but you already looked so... broken. As if you knew the weight of the world, the weight that life brought.

He straightened up in the chair and looked at the room again, seeing the back of his room where the wardrobe was. Bruce noticed that next to the large piece of furniture there was a box, almost as worn as the sticker on the door, he got up from the chair leaving the photo on the table next to him, walking over to the box and picking it up with ease. Preferring to sit on the bed instead of the chair he opened the cardboard box to find a computer and a pen drive.

Bruce, so immersed in his thoughts, barely noticed that while he was turning on the old device, someone else was entering the room.

“Bruce?” The aforementioned looked up to see Dick. Looking at his son, he realized how worn out Dick was, whether it was the deep bags under his eyes or the messy hair from so much grabbing and pulling. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” came to see my daughter’s room? Came to try to feel less guilty? Came to try to comfort myself in my pain of not having protected my own daughter? Bruce didn’t know what to answer, fortunately, Dick understood this and decided to see for himself. Carefully, Grayson entered the room and observed with interest, his gaze stopping at the same shelves of trophies that Bruce was interested in, the small smile on Grayson’s face disappeared when he discovered the real reason for the trophies being there.

“W-wait, is that from gymnastics?” Dick looked closer, seeing on the table the same photo Bruce had taken, his anxious eyes roaming the entire shelf, observing his every victory in detail. “Is that all of…(name)?”

“Yeah, and all of hers, all the effort we never saw.” Bruce turned his focus back to the computer, the anguish in his words reminding him of his mistake, while Dick sank in guilt as Bruce himself decided to look at the computer’s contents.

It looked like it hadn't been used for a while, there was dust on the computer and the screen was broken, putting the pen drive in the device a folder appeared on the screen, Bruce clicked and the loading screen appeared on the screen, while it was loading Bruce felt his oldest son sitting next to him, watching the computer next to him and as soon as the loading was finished the two men came across photos.

Very, very old photos of you.

Photos of you as a baby at various points in your childhood outside the mansion, there was a photo of you walking while smiling at the camera, a photo of you sleeping on the couch drooling all over it, a photo of you drinking while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and many others.

Bruce heard Dick sigh when he saw you, he had to hold himself back from melting right there, you looked so cute with your chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wished he could be there at that moment, seeing you so cute, taking care of you, being the father he never was.

But time has passed, you've grown up and are gone now.

Bruce shook off his thoughts when he saw a different photo, in it you had the corners of your mouth covered in what he assumed was chocolate, your hands were covered in the same candy, but what caught Bruce's attention wasn't that, but the woman behind you holding you while laughing at your lameness.

your mother

(M/n) (Last name)

He remembers the woman, kind and caring, a writer from outside Gotham, and although it is strange that she preferred Gotham to live in (with so many other cities more protected than it is), she reached her peak of fame, which made them meet. Just one night with her, nothing more, an affair that didn't go ahead and in which he thought he would forget about her, only for a year later she sends him a letter, talking about you, his daughter.

She didn't ask for anything, not even alimony for herself, she just asked him not to interfere in her daughter's life, although Bruce found the request strange he accepted, being too busy with work to care, he didn't give it due importance at the time.

That was until (M/n) died, her sudden death made him bring you to his house, he fought for custody of you with your aunt, but since he was the one best able to raise you, your custody was given to him.

That was many years ago, he doesn't remember you bringing this computer.

Oh.

Do you keep the computer to remember your mother?

The articles were old, wouldn't it be better to transfer the photos to your cell phone? Or didn't you want to? Maybe you would prefer to keep the computer to remember your memories.

Dick shifted beside him, looking again at the immense trophies on his shelf. “We had her here, and we just ignored her.”

“Dick—”

“We had a diamond in the rough, shining brightly for us, and we just ignored it, and now that she’s gone…” Bruce said nothing, there was nothing to say.

Dick was right.

They had lost a precious stone.

And there was no way to get her back.

Three months.

Nothing about you, no clues, no trails, nothing made it even more difficult because the bus you were on was burned, even if it was left there were no fingerprints, DNA or anything else that would lead them to you.

Dick had to go back to Blüdhaven, continuing his own investigation there. Bruce, knowing that he couldn't do it alone (not this time), put his pride aside and warned the members of the league about your disappearance.

Clark, in an effort to find you, published an article in the Daily Planet about your disappearance, but not even that helped in his search.

The members of the League were alert in each of their cities, looking for clues about you, but nothing came to them, not the organization that kidnapped you or your possible whereabouts.

It was as if you had disappeared from the earth.

Six months.

The police were getting sloppy, probably already giving up on the case. Bruce was still investigating, but how was he going to get deeper into the case if the clues that led to you had disappeared into the wind like dust on the ground?

All he had were your desperate calls for help, your messages, but they led nowhere, your device destroyed without its location.

The family had become more depressed, as if something was missing for everyone present, the immense loneliness in the mansion showing who was missing.

You.

One year.

The case was closed, with nothing to investigate, the Gotham police had more problems to deal with than a missing and possibly dead teenager.

There was… nothing.

Nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to look for.You were gone.

A long time ago.

What they didn't know was that you weren't gone, but you were there.

“Alright, alright, I think we’re done for today, right?”

The iron-tasting liquid once again rose up in her bile, making the blood in her throat gush out of her mouth, choking her.

The room they were in, previously white, was now stained crimson, clinging deep into the walls as it reflected the light from the lamp.

In the corner of the room stood you, chained up like a beast (which technically wasn’t a lie now). You lay still as the toxic green liquid entered your veins, the acidity still biting your skin.

Doctor Magnus was the one in front of you, the man with long black hair and golden eyes was watching you dangerously, the loving attitude that many could see as a father educating his son was nothing more than a facade of sadistic malice from the man.

He disgusted you.

They all did.

All of them, all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM-

Magnus watched as the syringe that connected the tube in your neck finished injecting the toxin into your veins, with the process finished, Magnus approached you and pulled it from your neck.

With the brutality with which he pulled the syringe, you hissed in pain, your abnormally large fangs showing themselves to the doctor, the protective instinct emerging in your brain. Despite the offense, Magnus just smiled at you.

Stepping away from you, he lowered your restraints making you feel a little comfortable. With his fingerprint, the doctor opened the automatic door, before leaving he stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.

“Get plenty of rest (Name)…” the man’s smirk widened, the evil coursing through him making her stomach churn with fear.

"Tomorrow your experiments will intensify.”

Okay, I'm a little disappointed (I was hoping to write one more, but I couldn't add anything without it affecting the next chapter), well I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Here's the tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #dc x reader #alfred pennyworth #batfam #batfamily #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #clark kent #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x you #Spidermanreader #Dick grayson #dc comics x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 9 months ago

Text

No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself.

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?”

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own.

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you.

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable.

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling.

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you."

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth.

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter.

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open.

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

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

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temiizpalace · 10 months ago

Text

☆┊YOU DREAM OF ME??

SUMMARY: entering the dream world was such a strange feat.. especially seeing yourself in somebody else’s dream.

CHARACTERS: jade leech-centric

GENRE: fluff, crackfic

WARNINGS: you act cringe because jade leech is a cringy guy with wattpad fantasies + BOOK 7 SPOILERS + canon divergence (some dialogue is not exact cause i lowkey forgot, some moments didn’t actually happen, and i shortened it a lil so i don’t have to write too much)

NOTES: while writing this, it turns out someone else had a similar idea so i was hesitant to upload the writing. however, I’ve decided to anyways. that being said, crediting said individual is still in order since they had the idea first.

please check out @.paralleljoys post here (IF ANY ISSUES PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK, TY!)

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

🐬∘˙

you didn’t expect this. nobody expected this, actually.

jade leech, cunning, observant, quiet, and mysterious. he was one to keep his cards close to his chest and play it safely to ensure the best outcomes. and yet, here we are, in said eels dreams. a look inside of his thoughts, how he truly saw people, how he—

“jade you’re so cool! i love love love love loveeee the way your mind works sooooo much!” a voice, sounding similarly to yours, chimed. “fufu, you flatter me, my pearl..”

your jaw dropped, grims jaw dropped, you can hear idia falling out of his seat from behind the screen, jamil’s eyes had never been opened wider, floyd cringed, silver looked away, ortho could barely compute, and sebek had the most genuine disgust written on his face.

was that you? you thought azul and floyd looked stupid, BUT THAT WAS YOU? jamil slapped a hand over grims mouth, preventing the direbeast from cackling his lungs out at the sight of your pathetic image. “MYAHAHA, HENCHMAN YOU LOOK SO STUPI—“ “keep quiet.” jamil mutters, slightly smirking. you could tell he was also containing his laughter, making your face change in hue.

“eww, no way. i knew jade was all lovey dovey with the prefect but i dont wanna watch it. what a sap.” floyd groans, looking at dream you, real you, then at jade. “i dont wanna watch this either! if you guys are embarrassed how do you think i feel?!” you murmur, hiding your face in shame.

“my pearl, open wide.” jade grins, holding a piece of shrimp in his hands. “oh my, jade you sweetheart!” you giggle, opening your mouth so jade can feed you. idia snickers, holding back a laugh. you can practically see his smug expression in your mind. “he has the fantasies of a trashy middle school fanfiction, what comedy gold.”

silver clears his throat, trying to regain the attention of the group in order to free jade from his dream. while everyone with a logical mind held an equally logical discussion, you, floyd, and grim were too focused on the scene before you. “jade, you and shrimpy should just get married.” dream floyd grins, pushing you two together.

“agreed. you both are a match made in heaven!” dream azul says in between sobs, wiping his tears away with one of his tentacles. “why, what a splendid idea! azul, please make arrangements right away. we shall wed at once, my dear.” jade chuckles, holding you close in his arms. “j-jade!? i don’t know what to say..”

“do you not wish to marry me?” he asks, his thumb tracing your chin. his voice was low, yet soothing at the same time. “it’s not like i don’t want to..” dream you mumbles, avoiding his eyes by looking at the ground with a pout. REAL you, on the other hand, can’t bear the sight of it anymore. neither can floyd. or grim.

“let’s continue to overcome hardships and conquer many mountains together.” jade laughs, pulling you all in by the shoulders. as the dream variants of jades loved ones cheer, floyd swims in and swoops down, attacking his brother and his dumbed down dream him.

“I CANNOT STAND IT ANYMORE!” floyd grunts, scowling at his dear brother, who held an expression of shock. “f-floyd? there’s two of you..?!” he stutters, looking at his dream twin and his actual twin. “they’re mirror images of each other! how can you tell them apart!” azul exclaims, wiping his eyes to get a better look.

“who is this? can i hug you and eat you? hehe.”

“i originally thought you weren’t interested in other people, but you have a limited memory. “i dont eat dance and eat shrimps stuck in between rocks.” floyd scoffs, staring at his dumbfounded doppelgänger. “floyd.. doesn’t eat shrimps.. or dance..?” jade ponders, feeling his mind begin to waver.

“jade! im scared!” dream you screams, curling up in the boys arms. your eyebrow twitches, tired of the humiliation you witnessed thanks to jades horrible imagination. following your impulse, you run out with floyd, despite the shouts of your name.

“PREFECT! GET BACK HERE! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TRYING TO ACHIEVE?!” sebek shouts, but his voice falls on deaf ears. he made a point though, what were you doing? it’d be much safer to just stay back and watch this play out, so why the hell are you trying to get involved?! “p-pearl?!” jade gasps, eyes wide in disbelief.

“th-there’s also two of you.? what in the seven is going on here?” he swam back slowly, unraveling the scene before him. two brothers, two lovers (well not officially..), and a whole school of students that seem familiar, but unsure as to where.. you could tell jade was beginning to wake up! it’s only a matter of time..

“jade, don’t be fooled. floyd shouldn’t be that ugly bastard, he should be more innocent and cute. and look at [MC], they love you so much they don’t know what to do with themselves! don’t be tricked by that fraud.” azul sneers, pointing at you and floyd, much to your dismay. just taking a glance at floyd was enough to be able to tell he was this close to breaking every bone in dream azul’s body and frankly you don’t blame him.

“i see.. floyd has been very charming to his relatives and my pearl wouldn’t leave my side so quickly,” jade hesitates, glancing at his two brothers. “i should go. they all really need me.” he smiled politely, swimming towards what once looked like his loved ones, now forming into large piles of dark goo. as jade was nearly consumed by the darkness, floyd swims past quickly. you stood on the eels back, landing a hit on dumb dumb floyd, crybaby azul, and cringe wattpad you.

“I DO NOT SOUND LIKE THAT.” you finally yell, catching nearly everyone’s attention. “it’s no use. we have to help out.” jamil sighs, lifting his magic pen. “let’s go!” silver shouts, rushing into the spot where you and floyd had already began your attack. as the fight rages on, the others serving as a distraction for jade, floyd had continued to land hits on the watered down versions of yourselves with ease before they finally shouted for help.

“it hurts! help us, jade!” dream floyd cries. “rescue us, jade!” azul cries. “oww! protect us, jade!” dream you screams, finally catching his attention. “how dare you! you fake. get behind me, i got this.” jade hisses, attacking floyd directly. you felt your balance falter on floyd’s back, slipping before falling near the vents. “prefect!” ortho shouts, rushing over to catch you til you fell into jamil’s arms safely. “it’s not safe, the vents are crumbling due to the fighting. retreat for now!” he directs, running towards a safer location.

“your carelessness nearly got you killed, prefect.” jamil sighs, looking down at you with a concerned yet tired expression. “sorry, i just couldn’t take it anymore!” you groan, crossing your arms angrily. “you can set me down now, jamil.” you pat his arm, breaking him from his daze. “..right.” he mutters, placing you down gently. they began to discuss different ways to wake up jade, before sebek finally settled on just electrocuting them.

“be careful, sebek.” silver reminds him, patting his shoulder before the boy ran out. “pierce the cloudy sky, lightning! living bolt!”

the tweels stop their fighting, electricity trickling all over their body leaving them temporarily paralyzed and passed out. after a few moments, their eyes fluttered open, being met with millions of other stares. “jade!” azul shouts, pushing floyd at the way with a grunt. “thank goodness you’re alive! i could’ve lost my cute subordinate!” he sniffles, causing jades eyebrow to raise. “..cute subordinate?”

“i’ll cry if jade is gone! don’t go anywhere!” dream floyd sighs with a dopey expression. “jade you idiot! you could’ve gotten seriously hurt and id never forgive you!” dream you sobs, rushing over to hold his hand hastily. “hm. that’s strange. the floyd and azul i know would never say something like that.” jade scoffs, looking at the two with disgust.

“huh?” they gasp, staring at him as if he said something crazy. “was sebek’s lightning so powerful, jade is finally starting to awaken?” silver mumbles, raising a finger to his chin. “awaken.. why am i here in the first place..?” jade groans, recollecting his thoughts slowly. “so.. i am a student at night raven college.. on land? agh.”

“my head feels like it’s going to split!” he winces in pain, holding his head as he shouts. all his memories finally began to come back to him, all the moments he had during the year turning the gears in his mind til he was finally back to his senses. “how could i possibly have forgotten something so important?” he huffs, looking back at the doppelgängers behind him.

“floyd would never act so obedient, he’s much more domineering. azul would give orders to others without putting himself in danger as much as possible.” he pauses for a moment, staring at your fake before shaking his head. “[MC] would have never acted so defenseless. what an embarrassing feat. i was acting quite strange.” jade sighs, turning his back towards the trio.

they had all began to complain to jade, asking why he would believe such fake things. dream you broke into tears, curling in floyds arms with a sob. jade would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous, but it’s not the real you so he’ll hold back. a little. they all clung onto jade, begging him to reconsider his decision before he finally spared them a word.

“can you please not touch me? creepy.” with a quick slash, the floyd and azul clones were reduced to goo. jade looked at the fake you, slightly hesitating at your trembling figure. alas, they were spared no expense and fell back into the darkness, crying his name and dragging out each syllable.

“no mercy..” idia stuttered, chewing on his nail. “he was protecting them with his life, only to end them once he realized they were fake.” jamil states, scratching his chin while replaying the scene back in his head. “scary..” idia murmurs. “finally awake, jade?” floyd punches his brothers arm, earning a chuckle. “yes, thank you.”

they share a laugh before hitting each other suddenly, startling each and every one of you. “floyd, you dare have hurt your own brother? i thought my whole body was going to fall apart. have you no mercy on your own blood? how terrible.” jade wiped away a tear, floyd not buying it for a single second.

“jade leech.” his banter was cut short by the sounds of your voice, your stern tone telling that this will not end well for him. “w-why, [MC]! how might i be of service.?” jade smiles, remaining his composure well. “don’t “how might i be of service” me! you have some serious explanation to do once we’re out of this stupid dream.” you scowl, staring him down with an intimidating glare.

jade, seemed unfazed. he was certainly embarrassed, but who is he to let it show? “oh dear, is it quite wrong for one to dream of their mate while asleep?” he shakes his head, catching you off guard. “mate?” everyone collectively questions. “uhm, yeah. do you guys not notice?” floyd scratches the back of his neck as if it were the most obvious thing.

what the hell is he talking about? mate? what.. when? that’s.. it’s not possible. “what are you on about, leech?” you sneer, causing him to grab your hand with a smile. “would you care for me to show you?” he grins teasingly, pulling you in til you rested on his chest. “hey! why you—“

“enough. you two are more than free to discuss this mishap after malleus is defeated. right now, we’ve got bigger problems to focus on.” jamil frowns, separating you two from each other. “..right. im not done with you yet.” you glare at the eel in front of you, much to his amusement. “i look forward to it.”

despite the topic being held for later, you couldn’t help but let jade’s words and fantasies linger in your mind for a moment longer. the statements he had said, the actions he had performed, all of it made you feel.. special.

“he dreams of me?”

A/N: i got lazy at the end whoops. anyways what if i write a jamil one?? double anyways what if jamil and jade love triangl— *gunshots*

im not used to writing long fics for characters by themselves and i think you can tell

date published: 8/22/24

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shiorimakibawrites · 1 month ago

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So...I Guess We're Sharing (Daredevil)

Word Count: ~3400 Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Summary: Due to a mishap, you end up sharing a room with your ex Matt Murdock. And so much more... Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, making out, non-detailed sexual fantasy (p in v sex, male receiving oral sex), oral sex (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, coming untouched Matt Murdock / Daredevil Masterlist My Masterlist A03 link

Written for Bella's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge with the prompt "So...I guess we're sharing."

So...I Guess We're Sharing

When your friend Ellie announced that she was marrying Theo Nelson in upstate New York, you had been hoping to run into Matt Murdock at the wedding. It wasn't an unreasonable expectation. Theo was the young brother of Foggy Nelson, Matt's best friend. It was only logical that Foggy'd be invited. And generally where you invited Foggy, Matt followed.

Now your plans for this possible reunion with your old flame had been talking, sharing a dance during the reception, flirting a little if you still found each other attractive, maybe a kiss…

Having you both booked for the same room due some kind of computer hiccup wasn't in those plans. Especially when there were no other rooms at this or the other hotels nearby. Mostly because both Ellie and Theo had very large families and lots of friends…

This left you with the choice to (A) share the room with Matt, (B) bunk with one of your friends, or (C) sleep in your car.

Option C was out of the question. For reasons that only made sense to them, Theo and Ellie decided the best time of the year to get married was January. Which meant it was far too cold to be sleeping in the car. Especially when more snow was predicted, bringing the risk of not waking up often enough to keep the tailpipe clear. Even if you didn't die, that didn't sound restful. And you were a massive bitch when you were overtired.

Option B was safer but has its own problems. You couldn't bunk with Ellie. It was less of a problem tonight but tomorrow it will be. Your bestie deserved to spend her wedding night having her mind blown by her new husband, not restricted to cuddling because her friend was third-wheeling. The rooms of your other friends in the party were less than appealing. You loved their kids but said kids had spent all day either flying or at the airport so right now they were a combination of pent-up energy and cranky. Except for the two babies who had bypassed cranky hours ago and were obviously 110% done with everything. And not afraid to say so, at the top of their little lungs.

Which wasn't their fault. You found flying stressful and you knew what was going on. But all the sympathy in the world didn't make their crying less capable of giving you a migraine.

Matt didn't have a car to sleep in, for obvious reasons. And him bunking with Marci and Foggy sounded nearly as awkward as you staying with Ellie and Theo. Apparently the pair had been looking forward to this trip as a mini-honeymoon. Mama and Papa Nelson's room already had extra people in it…

Which left Option A as the best choice for both of you.

"So…I guess we're sharing."

"I guess we are," you agreed, trying to hide your nerves.

You reminded yourself that while Matt was your ex, the relationship had ended amiably enough. It had hurt but there had been no name calling or a massive fight, public fight in the quad. Just two people agreeing that their lives were moving apart and maybe it was better to end things while you still liked each other.

Apparently all these years apart had not dulled Matt's perception of your moods. "We don't have to. I'll be fine with Foggy and Marci—"

"No, no, it's fine," you said, waving off the offer. "I said I was fine with sharing."

Matt's head tilted to one side. A shiver ran down your spine. You had forgotten how it felt to be the focus of Matt's attention. Even before you learned about his senses, it had seemed to you that being blind never stopped Matt from seeing you in ways that no one else ever had. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "If you're sure…"

"I am." You said, firmly. You could do this. It was fine. It would be fine.

The confidence momentarily wavered when you arrived at the room and discovered that there was only one bed. Matt, ever the gentlemen, immediately offered to sleep on the floor.

"No, no," you said, shaking your head. "Your back would never forgive you. It's a big bed. We can share, no problem."

This statement earned you another intense study from Matt. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." You felt your cheeks warm. "It's not like we've never slept in the same bed."

"True," Matt said, a little smile appearing on his lips. "It will be like old times."

"Just like old times," you repeated.

Except with more clothes, the horny part of your mind reminded you with a pout. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, was more than a little disappointing. Nearly twenty years had transformed Matt from a very pretty boy to a devastatingly handsome man. The Matt you had known had been coltishall awkward, still not quite grown into his shoulders, with soft, round cheeks. The kind of person you imagined telling your father 'Yes, sir, I'll have her home by nine.'

Now? Now Matt looked like the kind person you could picture saying 'Your daughter also calls me daddy.'

The awkwardness had been replaced with cat-like grace and confidence. That cream cable-knit sweater of his could not hide that Matt had been hitting the gym anymore than those criminally well-fitting jeans could disguise that he still had the best ass you had ever laid eyes on. But far more potent was his face. Those round cheeks had been replaced with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, both adorned with the beginnings of a beard. A beard that was lightly peppered with gray that matched the touch of the same at his temples.

You couldn't explain why that little detail was getting you all hot and bothered. You just knew that it was making your cunt sit up and beg.

Further increasing your difficulties in keeping your mind out of the gutter was that his mouth still looked the same. It made you wonder if those petal pink lips would still be just as soft when he kissed you…and if he still loved eating pussy. Even dulled by time, the memory of the time he had spent hours with his face buried between your thighs, had your cunt clenching desperately around the empty air.

"Are you doing that on purpose?"

You jumped. When had he moved? He had been by the dresser, searching for something in his bag. Now he was right in front of you, one hand on the wall by your shoulder, the other closer to your hip. Almost but not quite pinning you to the wall. None of him was actually touching you but you could feel his warmth. You had forgotten how much of a living furnace Matt was.

"Doing what?" You asked, sounding more breathless than you expected. But how could you be anything else with him so close, those beautiful hazel eyes displaying the first signs of heat.

Matt arched an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten about my senses, sweetheart?"

"What do your senses have —-" You started before you cut yourself off. His senses… Matt would have heard your heartbeat increase at the sight of him. Would have heard your breath hitch when you realized how close he was, how you couldn't stop yourself from inhaling, wanting more of his good man smell…

And speaking of smell….

"You can smell…." You stopped, feeling your cheeks flush again. You couldn't say it.

Matt had no such qualms. "Your pheromones? How much you are soaking those panties? Yes, sweetheart, I can smell that."

Blood flooded your face. But also moved south as certain parts of your anatomy responded to the knowledge that he had noticed it. A reaction that only increased when you noticed the tenting in his jeans. A growl-like rumble erupted from his chest in response, hands twitching toward you before stopping. He closed his eyes, looking almost pained. "Sorry…I had forgotten how good you smell. It's making it difficult to control myself."

"Then don't."

"What?" His eyes snapped back open.

"Then don't," you repeated. The answer had been impulse but you stood by it. You didn't want to spend this entire weekend pretending that you didn't want him to fuck your brains out.

This time his hand couldn't stop itself from grabbing your hip. Or his body from moving closer, one thick thigh lodging itself between your legs. Your own hands hadn't remained idle, flying up to lay flat against his chest. But not to push him away. You just had to touch him.

You bite your bottom lip. He was even more solid under your hands than he looked. Solid enough to give horny brain thoughts. Thoughts of him pounding you against this wall, your legs wrapped around his waist while his hands gripped your thighs…

His hand on your hip tightened to near bruising. "Sweetheart…"

"Don't want you to control yourself," you panted out. "Want you to fuck me."

His hips involuntarily jerked, his thigh forcing your legs further apart. But what really had your cunt clenching desperately was feeling his growing erection pressed against you. There were too many clothes in the way and the angle wasn't right to do anything about but tease you….but you moaned.

That moan must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because Matt was kissing you. This was not the soft kiss you had imagined days ago, no gentle exploration of your mouths. This kiss was all passion. A fiery battle of lips, teeth, and tongues where neither of you could keep your hands still. Chest, shoulders, back until finally you reached his ass. It was just as good as you remembered, ample handfuls that you could not resist kneading like it was dough.

His hands tried to be just as thorough in their exploration but were stymied by the wall and how tightly his own body was pressed against yours. The frustrated whine was your only warning before you were lifted off the floor. Startled, you yelped and had to abandon his ass in favor of holding onto his shoulders.

Your assessment of how muscle was hiding under that sweater jumped another notch by how easily he carried you from the wall over to the bed. The only hint of strain came after that journey as his hands couldn't seem to decide what they wanted to touch most.

It felt good but you wanted more. Or rather you needed less, less of these clothes in the way of his hands and your hands. With this goal in mind, you started pulling your shirt off. Matt made a soft discontented noise when this impeded his exploration, until he realized what you were doing. Then his hands were eagerly assisting you. The moan Matt let out when his hands touched your bare skin went straight to your cunt.

Matt wasted no time in exploring every exposed inch of torso with his hands, followed closely by his mouth, rediscovering the spots that made you moan and squirm underneath him. It also made your hands even more eager for his bare skin. You pulled on his sweater, demanding, "Off, off, Matt, please…"

He whined against your cleavage but obeyed, leaning back to strip off that sweater. You felt your mouth go dry. You had been expecting muscles but the sight still took your breath away. And as beautiful as they looked, they felt even better under your hands. His torso was like satin…warm satin…you had forgotten how soft his skin was…how that lovely shade of rose would blossom and spread…how delightful those little whines he made when your hands found a sensitive spot…how easily he yielded to your desires…

It had been years (too many years) but you found yourself remembering. Where those spots were, how sensitive his nipples were…even the scars he had acquired over the years (so many scars….) just provided another interesting texture, another way to make him moan for you.

Your hands eventually found their way to his waist, drawing your eyes to the erection straining against the zipper….That must be uncomfortable.

A conclusion supported by the relieved sigh that escaped his lips when you popped the button on his jeans. Sighs that turned into groans when you wasted no time pulling down the zipper and reaching inside his boxers for his cock. Wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself biting back a groan of your own. You hadn't forgotten that he was big. But your fading memory was no substitute for actually having your hand around him — he's so thick…You felt another pulse of want between your legs, torn between having this cock buried deep inside your cunt and wrapping your mouth around it and making him scream…

As if he could read your mind, Matt's hands on your hips tightened…

"Please, sweetheart," he panted out, tugging at the waistband of your leggings. "May I? Please…ah!…I need…my mouth on you. Please!"

Oh his begging was just as sweet as it had been all those years ago…how could you deny him?

"Yes, yes," you said, lifting your hips to help him. Matt was quick to accept that help, peeling off both your leggings and panties in one swift action. You needed no encouragement to spread your legs wide for him.

If you thought the moan he made in response was obscenely loud, it was nothing compared to the one you made at the first lick. A slow, long drag of his tongue across your entrance, soon followed by another and another until you were squirming. Until the heavy weight of his arm laid across your hips to keep you pinned exactly where he wanted you. All you could do was whimper and beg for more.

He eagerly gave it to you. He made his way up to your clit where he applied teasing, kitten licks that sent sparks running up your spine. Then, without any warning, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard. You cried out, your hips trying in vain to jerk upward but he had no mercy. His arm kept you down and his mouth didn't relent on the pressure. You felt the coil inside you tighten as you drew closer and closer to that edge.

Then he hummed and sent you screaming over that edge.

You drowned in white hot pleasure. Pleasure that only continued to build with Matt lapping hungrily at your entrance, his eager grunts and slurps filling your ears. And just when you thought you could climb no higher, his tongue pressed inside you. You cried out, your hands scrambling to grab onto his hair. Once grabbed, you instinctively tugged on his hair, urging that clever tongue to keep thrusting in and out of you.

A silent order that Matt happily obeyed, moaning with each tug on his hair. The vibration only made you grip him tighter and pull harder…until he suddenly stiffened, letting a moan against your cunt that nearly sent you back over that edge…

The movements of his tongue didn't stop but they began…clumsy. Sometimes long laps, sometimes little licks…sometimes the pressure was featherlight, sometimes it was firm…sometime he swiped across your clit, sometimes his tongue fucked you, sometimes he lathed at your folds…

It was maddening, feeling good enough to bring you up to that edge but not good to send you over it. Even tugging at his hair only added moans that drive you even crazier….you squirmed under his arm. Funny it wasn't pinning you as firmly as before…you could almost just about ride his mouth but not quite…

"Matt," you whined. "Matt…"

Your voice seemed to break through whatever haze had seized his mind because he lifted his head far enough that you could see his face. And despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched. He looked positively lewd. Hair amess, lips kiss-swollen and shiny….further wetness smeared on his beard. His eyes were heavy-lidded, glassy…He almost looked drunk…The implications of what he was drunk on had only heightened your frustrated desires…

"Matt," you said. "Please….do I have to beg? Because I'll beg."

He looked confused for a moment before he blinked and the haze cleared a little. He smiled. How did that song go? He looks up, grinning like the devil? If so, that perfectly described that smile. Then you felt a thick finger run through your folds, coating itself in your slick before sliding inside you. "Not this time, sweetheart. All you need to do is ask."

The implication that there would be a next time stoked the growing fire just as much as the finger working its way inside you. You were so wet that it didn't take long for that finger to be buried up to the hilt. Nor did he waste any time fucking you that finger. It felt so good, reaching deeper than his mouth and thick enough to ease that empty feeling but it wasn't enough. "Matt."

"What is it, sweetheart? Do you need another finger?"

"Please!"

"As you wish."

True to his word, a second finger joined its fellow pumping in and out of you. Then those fingers curled and stroked a spot inside you that spent white sparks across your vision. You couldn't have contained your moans if you wanted to. Not that Matt seemed to mind how noisy you were being. Quite the opposite.

"Good girl," Matt rumbled out, his voice gone deeper and huskier. "Keep telling me how good you feel…what you need…"

His breath ghosted over your clit, adding more fuel to the growing fire. Your cunt clenched around his fingers. The resulting moan, the sound and feel of it so close to where you needed him left you whimpering and desperate. Close, you were so close…You tried to arch up into his mouth but his other arm had resumed its task of holding you down. You whined in protest but Matt was unmoved.

"Tell me what you need," Matt whispered. "Another finger? My mouth? What does my sweet girl need to cum?"

"Your mouth," you whimpered. "Please, please."

Before you could get out a third please, he drew your clit into his mouth and began to suck. In a sharp contrast to earlier, the suction was gentle. A tease, if your little nub hadn't already been swollen and sensitive. But it was so almost immediately you were babbling out his name as the fire consumed you — body, mind, and soul.

You barely heard his responding moan but you certainly felt his tongue lapping at the fresh slick flowing around the fingers still buried deep inside you, pressing insistently against that spot that made you burn…

You had no idea how long the pleasure held you under. It might have minutes. It might have been hours. You just knew that, eventually, the pleasure began to ebb. You sank into the mattress, feeling boneless and warm as you watched Matt slowly kiss his way up to your mouth.

This kiss was closer to the gentle, sweet affair that you had imagined but the tang of yourself, the edge of hunger gave it an edge. One that, despite two orgasms, began to kindle renewed heat between your legs. A feeling that only increased when Matt sat up enough to finally take off those jeans. Jeans and boxers that you couldn't help noticing were wet, far too wet to simply be precum. Especially with his cock looking only half-hard…

"Did you?"

"Come just from the taste of you?" Matt said. "Yes."

Your cunt clenched. And, of course, Matt noticed. He chuckled. "That pussy still isn't satisfied?"

"No," you said. "Because that cock still hasn't fucked me into this mattress.”

The cock in question twitched which you took as a sign of interest. Judging by the hunger shining in Matt’s eyes, the rest of him wasn’t opposed to this idea.

“Good point, sweetheart,” Matt said. He leaned down and kissed you again, short but toe-curling. You almost missed the hand sneaking under your back but you didn’t miss the sudden loosening of your bra. Or the eagerness with which he stripped it off of you and cupped your breasts. You breath hitched as his fingers teased one already peaked nipple.

“I can’t leave my sweet girl wanting.”

Taglist: @bellaxgiornata, @pastafossa, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @justvalkyrie, @xoxabs88xox, @flynnethenerd

#daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #bella's 4k follower celebration writing challenge #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #ao3 link

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bloodied-blossom · 1 month ago

Text

What if you're actually just a stupid serial killer?

1.9k Words; Ronin x Reader

Killer Chat! Fanfic

Basically, what if mc was a serial killer who was one slip away from getting arrested (They're not good at hiding the fact they're a killer)

`don’t be so obvious smh`

`You’re Gonna Get Caught`

EXE | file.exe

`ReceivedKey:k!llrch8t_b00t.mango`

`here Ya go there’s your Key`

`Whenever you’re Ready`

You stared at the incoming message and thought about it. Shit you were being obvious, but maybe it could be played off? You groaned, wanting to delete your post.. But that would make you look suspicious. So, you left it up and reread the messages you received. Who was this? Was this an ip grabber? Maybe law enforcement? Whatever it was, why not test your luck with it. Because clicking random links that strangers send you is definitely something you should always do without a second thought. When you clicked it, a tab opened up asking for your key. You remember the message also had this specific key for you to enter, and so you typed it up. After you finished typing, an app opened itself on your computer..

SLAUGHTERHOUSE_LOSERS_v.4.4.4.mango

What the hell. You were taken to a server with very few people. What exactly was this for? People who had the answers for the questions you were asking? Or idiotic people who just need more people to talk to. Whatever the case was, you would sit it out and see what was happening. As you were having your debate, you received a message.

`<goreboy> [00:01]`

`welcome the Newly Christened @\user`

`<hitmeuppp> [00:01]`

`AAA omg omg!! Welcome to helllllll`

`<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> [00:01]

`WELCOME WELCOME HIIIIII`

`<felicite> [00:01]`

`Nice to meet you!`

`<Angelic> [00:01]`

`Hi there! Glad to have another one with us ♥️`

`<goreboy> [00:01]`

`make Sure to take a Peek at #rules`

`there is Barely Anything but You Never Know`

Okay what the hell was going on? You didn’t expect most to be online, let alone greet you. What was this server? Slaughterhouse was a strange name for it, who were these people? All these questions circled in your mind.. And then you turned your attention back to the server.. You should probably start becoming active if you want more intel on it. You checked out a couple channels, including rules. It was literally only two messages and both were short.. One was a response to the first.. Something stood out to you though, the first sentence of the first message. ‘Be a serial killer.’ Either these people were a bunch of roleplayers, or they were like you. And you needed an answer fast. You did something any logical person would do.. And ask the most important question…….

` <user> [00:02]`

`So… what serial killer are you? @\goreboy`

`<goreboy> [00:02]`

`I’m on the News if you Must Know`

The news? There are a number of murderers you’ve seen on the news and idolized.. The Butcher being your favorite.. But there was no way this random person would be them.. Right?

It was worth a shot.

`<user> [00:02]`

`That means you’re…`

`you’re the Butcher?’

`<goreboy> [00:02]`

`ding ding Ding`

Your heart started racing. Your idol.. Your literal idol was talking to you! He had to be the one who invited you to the server! But how could you be sure that it was him? Would he confirm it? Give you proof? More and more questions flooded your mind as did your excitement. You couldn’t leave the server now, not with the chance this was actually The Butcher you were talking to.

`it’s Uninspired but Alas`

`that’s the Price Paid for Letting the Media Name you`

`<Angelic> [00:03]`

`Like you’d choose a cooler name`

`<goreboy> [00:03]`

`Well`

`mine would At Least be Devil Related`

`You'd think they’d Get That from the Satanic Circles that i Curl the Bodies into.`

Your smile widened. It was him alright. Through some digging, you were able to snag photos of his murders, and the media never discussed the state of the bodies after a good while. Curled up and distorted in a sinister way.. Oh you had to stay on this server. But you didn’t want to just give all your information away at once. You were going to play it safe and silent, stay as mysterious as possible. This would allow for some leeway, you could be whoever you wanted to be here.

------

It had been a while, and you were genuinely enjoying the server.. You were.. More awkward than most of them, confused and wanting to say the right thing but it always sounded strange. You could tell a few thought that as well, but had not commented on it… except for Ronin . He had been the thorn in your side that would not stop prodding and poking and urging you to reveal who you are. You didn’t comply, threatening him all the while. Who did he think you were? Would you have to admit to who you actually are soon enough? This whole persona you’ve put on to hide your identity was going to come crashing down.. They wouldn’t judge you, why keep it up. You were conflicted. You were already sure they were serial killers now, you were all the same. So why was it so hard to come out with the truth?

Is it because you think they’d call you a liar? Hunt you down and murder you for hiding the truth? Lose trust in you? It could be a number of things that you didn’t want to experience. This was a dangerous game you were willing to play. Besides all that confusing, conflicting shit, you’ve been having a good time. You’ve been flirty with The Butcher , playing into his hands knowingly. It was nice. He seemed weirdly into the fact you’d want him, want to date him. That you would place your aorta, as he put it, right into his hands. It was thrilling, exciting even. You were playing with the devil , you were playing his game. And you could not be more happy with how it was turning out.

------

`<goreboy> [19:43]`

`come on Darlin’`

`i’m waiting on That Proof`

`<user> [19:43]`

`The devil’s an eager one, isn’t he.`

`It’s almost adorable.`

`<goreboy> [19:44]`

`can You blame me?`

`you refuse to tell me about yourself, so mean.`

`you refuse to Give me proof of your crimes.`

`Just give me a name darlin’ and I could Look you up.`

`<user> [19:44]`

`Why do you want to know my killer name so badly?`

`<goreboy> [19:44]`

`i thought I made it obvious that i don’t Exactly trust you.`

`come now, my divine darlin’. just tell me.`

He’s pushy, really pushy. But in honesty, you couldn’t blame him. You should have been honest from the start.. But why doesn’t he believe you? You talk like a serial killer, though that's stereotypical, you’ve talked about your past murders, and even your planned future ones! Why does he need to know specifically which you are? Why is it so important?

What if he’s in love~ and wants to track you down? Or maybe hunt you down to kill you off. Whichever it was, both filled you with excitement. Maybe you should finally admit to him who you are.. Maybe then you’d be able to romance him without the faulty sense of trust you both share. You stare at the chat bar, wondering how to admit it.. Before you begin typing. You spilled your guts to him, thankfully not literally. Told him everything.. You even provided photo evidence of who you were.

------

Ronin’s smile contorted into a twisted one, he thought you were some stupid writer who got themselves into a situation they couldn’t escape. You were.. Stupid, really stupid with your methods. You acted strangely in the server, off put by any conversation about murders and what not.. But he could see it all now, it all finally clicked. You were acting that way to stay mysterious, to not show your true self. He felt himself falling in love in a strange, sick way. You were so much more than he thought you to be. He was in love with his divine experiment, his twisted little angel. He was in love with you, but he wasn’t going to let you know that easily.

`<goreboy> [19:47]`

`oh the truth. The sweet, enticing truth.`

`And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.`

`John 8:32`

He leaned back in his chair, his smile never really fading. He was enticed by your true nature and wondered how you would react in the server from here on out. You were playing his game nicely, you were even a deranged serial killer like him, or at least a serial killer. Twisted thoughts filled his head, all the things you two could do together.. All the people you could hurt and kill.. He’d be your little shoulder devil, urging you to be his little corrupt angel. It was perfect. You were perfect. The perfect victim for his little fantasy.

`<goreboy> [19:47]`

`this is making Me more and More excited for the day we meet.`

`keep your eyes peeled, sweetheart.`

`once I get my hands on you, i won’t Let You Leave`

He watched as you reacted hurriedly, confused and questioning what he would do, if he would tell the others, but he didn’t respond at all. He only watched you spiral in your private channel while chuckling. You really were cute, something of his most disgusting dreams. He stood, taking off his beanie and stepping to his dresser. He needed his iconic little outfit. He was getting impatient waiting to get to you, he wanted to be with you already. He needed to be with you. It was driving him insane really.

He laid his outfit out, grabbing his pocket knife and placing it right on top. If you changed your mind, if you didn’t want him like he knew you did, he’d give you the chance to end it all. His smile fell slightly, sad thoughts trying to wiggle their way back to the front of his mind. He pushed them down quickly. He wanted to replace those shitty memories, those shitty fucking feelings with these new ones. He wanted new memories with you. The one he loved in the present.

He left you with one final message.

`<goreboy> [20:01]`

`one more month, my angel`

`you can figure out who I am by then`

`can’t you?`

By the time you could go to respond, get mad at him for not answering your other questions, he had already logged off and started getting dressed for bed. He finished changing rather quickly, tugging at his hair and chuckling quietly. You were going to be the death of him. He fell onto his bed, a hand holding the shirt he had on right above his heart. It was racing. His face was flushed. He was becoming manic. Thoughts of you, your pretty face, your stupid hair. Your dumb voice. All of it flooded his mind. One month. That’s as long as he needed to wait. He’d keep toying with you from then, hoping you’d grow irritated and angry. Hoping you’d want to kill him all while wanting to kiss him like there was no tomorrow. He wanted to drive you fucking crazy, he wanted to see you go mad. He was excited to see you break under his hold.

“Oh darling.. You’re driving me insane.”

#killer chat #ronin x reader #killer chat ronin #ronin #ronin beaufort #killer chat!#x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #writers on tumblr #🌸; cherry writes #🦴; ronin

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bluemantics · 2 months ago

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ficlet giveaway prize for @yuutsunaoi of klance "struggling to adjust with their new roles as the red and black paladin." i hope you enjoy!

Shiro was gone, and everything was going incredibly wrong.

"Pidge, go to sleep."

"I can find him."

"I'm serious. You need to sleep."

"You can't tell me what to do, Keith, you're not my mom."

"We need you well-rested for Voltron, and I'm the Black Paladin--"

"Isn't he your brother? Do you even want him back?"

Lance groaned, pinching his nose as he leaned against the wall. He had positioned himself just outside the Castleship's living room after he saw Keith go in, worried that the temperamental fighter would offend their youngest teammate. Lo and behold, it hadn't even taken two minutes before the two started to clash.

While Lance could appreciate how they normally melded, he knew that Shiro's... vanishing would trigger fight-or-flight responses in both of them. Honestly, it was a miracle that Keith hadn't spirited off to some random planet on a panic-induced sabbatical. Or maybe the true miracle was that Pidge hadn't ripped Keith's face off, he wondered, as he walked through the door and took in the scene before him.

Pidge had jumped on top of the couch, face contorted in anger, hands balled at her sides. Her computer was lying forgotten beside her feet. Facing her, Keith was entirely red, thick eyebrows pulled down in distinct rage. At least, that was what he wanted Pidge to think.

It was easy for Lance to note the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. Yeah, that comment about Shiro had definitely landed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance called out, raising his arms. Instantly, both heads whipped to face him, expressions unchanged. "Let's back it up, guys."

Keith straightened up and crossed his arms. "It's fine. Pidge just needs to listen."

"I swear to god," Pidge seethed, "I will tear your stupid hair off your stupid head."

Okay, Lance was always in support of a hair insult when it came to Keith, but he had to stop this.

"No one is ripping anyone's hair. Pidge, I admire what you're doing here. Really, I do," Lance began, gesturing to the computer. "No one else on the team can sort through all the data you're collecting from the lion and the Galrans."

"I know. That's why I have to keep working," she snapped. Lance approached her slowly.

"Okay, but what if I told you that's the reason you need to slow down?"

"That makes no sense." Pidge looked curious, though, and a soft smile pulled at Lance's lips. He'd caught her on the hook easily. Unlike the others, Pidge couldn't be persuaded with placating words or niceties. No, what she needed was a little bit different.

"Logically, humans can't operate at capacity for 24 hours straight. We don't have the brainpower." He knocked on his own head to demonstrate, aware of Keith's eyes fixating on his every movement. Good. Maybe he could take something out of this. "Brains need time to breathe, Pidgey."

"I know that," she huffed, but her eyes softened slightly.

"So, if you know that, you know you're likely not an exception." Lance reached over to her computer and plucked it up, closed the lid, and held it out to her. His heart melted a little at her frown. Pidge was far too young to be losing her family and Shiro at the same time, much less being burdened with their rescues. "You'll find him. I know you will. But you're gonna make a mistake or miss something if you aren't in tip-top shape while you search."

Hesitantly, Pidge's hand darted forward to pull her computer to her chest. Hugging it to herself tightly, she looked between Lance and Keith, apprehensive yet seeming more open than before. Finally, she gave Lance a sharp nod. It wasn't long before she jumped down from her perch and stomped out of the room, the automatic doors swishing shut behind her. Keith let out a sound that sounded like a mix between a sigh of relief and a groan.

"I'm shit," he mumbled, wiping his hands down his face. A chuckle pulled out of Lance's throat.

"A little bit," Lance agreed, turning to face Keith with amusement clear on his face. His lighthearted mood died down, though, when Keith moved to sit on the couch, elbows braced against his knees as he slumped over. "Oh, hey, buddy."

"I can't do this, Lance."

"What? Force Pidge to sleep?" Lance quickly took a seat at Keith's right, crossing an ankle over his knee.

"All of it," Keith muttered. His deep eyes looked thoughtful and weary as they stared straight ahead, fixed on nothing. "People wanted to listen to Shiro. Sure, sometimes they'd disagree, but they eventually came around. They trusted him to know more. I trusted him."

"Hmm," Lance nodded, thinking back. Keith wasn't lying; following Shiro had been natural. He was older, experienced, and had a solid balance of intimidation and empathy. "So you don't feel like you've got that same respect as Black Paladin?" Keith let out a broken laugh, shaking his head.

"Why would they listen to me? I'm a mess. I didn't exactly hide that."

"No, that's not it," Lance pressed. "They just don't think you understand them."

"I don't. They're right."

"Well, you can try," Lance said, gears turning in his head quickly. "Tonight was a good example. Pidge is angry, kinda like you, about a lot of stuff, but especially about losing control. She feels like she's entirely out of control with the loss of Shiro and all the changes in our lions."

Keith was watching Lance, now, eyebrows raised at his explanation. Hopefully, that was an invitation to continue. "So, meet her where she is. Relate to her. Explain things how she'd want to hear it, not in the way you think Shiro would."

"I'm not good at that," Keith responded, shifting uncomfortably. His hands twitched where they rested. "You do that shit way better."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to help you. Which is literally my job, by the way." Lance's hand moved between the two of them as he spoke. "I can help you meet them where they are, help them feel seen. I'll show you their communication styles. I promise, it isn't as hard as it seems."

"Okay," Keith agreed, unsure but still affirmative.

"But you have to help me, too. This is a partnership."

"A partnership?" Keith snorted in disbelief. "You hate working with me off the battlefield. You called me stupid at least five times in the last month."

Lance scoffed, waving the notion away. "Well, I'm a mature adult, so I can put aside my qualms with you despite your tragically dramatic hangups." That drew an actual laugh from Keith, oddly enough, sparking little butterfly flaps in Lance's stomach. Weird.

"What do you need?" Keith asked through the slight upward tilt of his lips. Shaking his head, Lance snapped back to their conversation.

"Teach me to fight."

"Fight?" Keith tilted his head. "You're our sharpshooter, though. You shouldn't need to do hand-to-hand." While that acknowledgment pleased him, Lance rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but clearly I'm occupying some different shoes now." He shrugged. "I need to be ready to fill any gaps on the team, now, with one of our close-range guys out of the picture. Plus, I can't always expect that the battles won't come to me, even if you guys try to protect me."

Without pause, Keith sat up, leaning toward Lance. His eyes bore into Lance's with an intensity and fire expected out of the former Red Paladin. "You'll take it seriously?"

A pang struck Lance's gut. "Obviously. I'm insulted you'd ask."

"Fine, then. It's a deal."

"It's a partnership," Lance reminded him, elbowing his side. A grunt of affirmation sounded from Keith, who shoved Lance away with an arm. Letting the momentum carry him, Lance flopped down onto the couch with a pleased sigh.

The whole team had been struggling recently, not just Lance and Keith. Pidge was staying up to run data on Black. Allura spent overtime poring over diplomatic records and contacting foreign planets. Hunk struggled to tamp down on his anxieties during group discussion, nausea clear on his face. Even Coran was less chipper and more focused than before.

But, just maybe, if Keith and Lance could lead the way, the others would fall in step. Together, they could... make it easier. Okay, even.

That was only his privately held theory, though. Voicing it aloud was unthinkable.

"Bedtime?" he suggested to Keith.

"Training," Keith shot back, heaving himself to his feet and yanking the couch cushion out from under Lance. Crashing to the floor with a yelp, Lance stared up at Keith, rubbing his leg.

"Ow, dude!"

"I'll meet you at the training deck in ten minutes. Get changed and grab water."

Lance smirked at his retreating back and shoved himself upright.

Yeah, they'd be fine.

#voltron #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #vld #lance voltron #klance fic #klance fanfiction #keith vld #fanfiction #bp / rp dynamics #black paladin keith #red paladin lance

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propertyofwicked · 1 year ago

Text

HOMESICK - LN

content warnings: just fluff really, mentions of anxiety, being far from family

2.4k words - lemme know if u want a pt2 for this one :)

masterlist

y/n hated new places, she hated change, and most of all she hated being away from home. y/n knew she would eventually feel a sense of comfort and familiarity in woking, but for now, her blood ran hot, and an icy sweat took over her body, her eyes tearful even though she couldn’t pin point why she felt so upset. the flat was silent, and yet deafening, every whistle of wind or creak of a floorboard serving as her constant reminder - you are alone, your are miles away from your family, everything is unfamiliar.

she found herself constantly shaking her head, trying to knock some sense into herself

you’ve done this before, you went to university even further from your family, you did this for 3 years, you can do it again. you are a grown woman now sort yourself out.

her thoughts battled loudly with each other, one side of her brain logical, the other trying to sabotage her.

it just didn’t make sense - she travelled across the world almost weekly, filming and editing content for the mclaren social media pages, working closely with the drivers, engineers and management and never once felt overwhelmed with the distance from home comforts. she supposed being constantly on the move, keeping her mind and body occupied with her work boded well in distracting her from feeling homesick. the close bond she’d formed with everyone in the garages probably aided her even further, provided her with a new sense of family away from home.

but for now, she sat cross legged on her desk chair, arms resting on the table, her head balancing precariously in her hands, deep in sleep. y/n had arrived at the offices at 10pm, unable to sleep in her empty flat, the feeling of constant nausea and upset overbearing, and deciding that being productive was a much better use of her time - a great distraction from her loneliness. she hadn’t intended to fall asleep, especially not in a position that put so much strain on her back, and yet here she was.

3am in the mclaren offices and all that could be heard was heavy, exhausted breathing and the soft whir of a computer fan that ran idly in the background.

this is something that lando found peculiar - who was sleeping in the office? and why were they sleeping here? he thought to himself as he and oscar snuck into the building from the side door.

as they rounded the corner, oscar’s mouth opened, starting to ask the same thing lando had been questioning, but was cut off by lando’s finger raising to his own lips, shushing the younger man before pointing to y/n’s desk, her head now resting on the table cheek smushing her forgotten glasses further into her face uncomfortably.

the two of them, stared at the girl before moving to look back at each other, a mix of confusion and amusement glossing their faces.

“wh- why is she here?” he asked, out of pure concern for the girl.

“i don’t know oscar, we walked in at the same time?” lando responds, taking long but quiet steps to stand behind her chair.

“didn’t she just get a new flat near here? why wouldn’t she go home?” oscar asked again, mindlessly, knowing that lando was also bewildered to the sight in front of them. the older man simply shrugged in response, moving to rest a hand on the sleeping girl’s shoulder, bending slightly till he was level with her face.

“y/n? y/n?” he asked her softly, moving her shoulder gently in his hand as to not startle her, “you need to wake up, darlin’, can’t sleep here,” he adds, noting her breathing change as she came back to reality.

“lando?” she asked, startled, despite his best efforts, “what are you doing here it’s like -” she wiggled the mouse on her computer to bring up the home screen, “3am?”

“what are you doing here at 3am? not to mention, fast asleep at your desk,” he retorts, standing back and crossing his arms over his chest. she finally clocks oscar stood awkwardly behind him, sending him a quick smile, before leaning back in her chair, looking at lando again.

“i asked first.”

“we’re breaking in to decorate zach’s office for his birthday,” he says as though it was obvious, laughing slightly at the thought of the hello kitty balloons stuffed into the bag oscar held behind his back, “now, what are you doing here?”

“working,” she replied, offering no more to her story.

“with your eyes closed? drooling on your desk? i don’t think so.”

“i was not drooling,” she argues, confident in her words despite the back of her hand moving to wipe her mouth just in case.

“you we-”

“didn’t you just move in to a new flat y/n?” oscar asks, interrupting what he was sure would be an entertaining round of bickering between the two.

“i did,” she says with a nod, “i just got so caught up in my work. didn’t realise what the time was,” she adds, dodging the subject of her empty flat. the flat so empty of life, but so full of overwhelming silence and dread, and yet she found solace in the silence of the mclaren offices.

“do you want a ride home?” lando asked, sensing there was more to the story, but leaving the can unopened, for now.

she shook her head, breathing out a long sigh as she did.

“no thanks, i might just stay here till the work day starts,” she adds, her hand rubbing her eyes slightly, feeling the exhaustion still looming in her brain.

“are you sure?” oscar asked, concern rising in his voice again.

“yep,” y/n replied, the ‘p’ exaggerated.

the boys looked at each other, a silent exchange of words between the team mates as they moved in the direction of zach’s office once again.

“we’ll come check in with you before we leave, yeah?” lando added, before turning on his heel and following oscar down the long hallway. she nodded even though they couldn’t see her, before pulling the hood of her jumper over her hair, and letting her head fall back onto the desk, using her arms as makeshift pillows.

it was nearing 4am when the two returned, once again guided down the hallway by the sound of y/n’s heavy breathing. they stopped just before they could see her, turning to each other.

“we gotta get her home. her back is gonna be ruined if she keeps sleeping like that,” oscar says, keeping his voice low.

“i know - she still hasn’t forgiven jon for letting her sleep curled up under a table a year ago. spent the whole week complaining about her spine aching,” lando replied, smiling softly at the memory of her trying to bend herself backwards over a chair to ‘reset’ her back, as she had claimed.

“how do we get her to leave? willingly? without the kicking and screaming?” lando asked after a moment of silence, the boys plotting their next moves.

“you’ll think of something, im sure. she’ll never say no to you,” oscar replies, his hands moving to grip his car keys in the pockets of his joggers.

“what do you mean? ill think of something? you’re not leaving me to deal with her on my own, are you?” lando asked, suddenly doubting his abilities to contend with the strong willed woman asleep not 3 metres away from them.

“i left lily sleeping 2 hours ago, and i don’t feel like explaining this,” he says, pointing at the room in general, “when she wakes up and realises im not there,” he finishes with a shrug.

“fine,” lando says with a huff, “wish me luck.”

“good luck. lemme know how she gets on,” the australian replies, walking away from lando slowly, but glancing into the office space to check on y/n one last time.

lando sighed again, before sauntering back into the room he had left her in an hour ago. he moved to crouch next to her again, his fingers moving to pull her hood back, tucking her hair out of her face as he did. she looked so peaceful like this, her eyes twitching slightly under the pressure of sleep, a lose strand of hair blowing with every exhale. he didn’t want to wake her, but there was no other option unless he wheeled her out on the chair she sat on.

“angel? y/n?” he paused, grimacing slightly at his slip up, “it’s time to go,” he said softly, stroking her arm gently. he hoped she was too sleepy to notice the pet name.

“go where?” she mumbled, in her half-asleep state, eyes opening to look at him.

“home, y/n. need to get you in a proper bed.”

“no, im fine here,” she said, quickly defending her choice of sleeping position, “you go, ill see you later.”

“nuh-uh,” he tutted, standing in front of her to grip both her arms, dragging her up from the chair, “you are going to go home and sleep in a proper bed.”

“i don’t have my car and there’s no buses at this time.”

“ill drive you home.”

“it’s out of your way, you’d be wasting a journey.”

“don’t care. you’re getting in my car and im taking you home,” he argued back, finalising the argument she knew she wouldn’t win.

“fine,” she huffed, still clawing for the last word even if she had lost the battle.

soon, they were stood in the car park, lando stepping to the side to pull the passenger door open, a hand firmly on her back pushing her into the car. she wanted to argue that she was fully capable of getting in the car on her own, but the pure exhaustion took over as she adjusted the seat to her comfort, clicking her belt in as lando started the engine.

the car was silent, asides from the fans that pushed warm air into the vehicle and the low humming of the engine. he tried his best to take the roads slow, especially as he neared her flat, fearing waking up the neighbourhood with the growling of his car when he accelerated.

“what’s the real reason you didn’t wanna go home?” he asked, arm coming to rest at his side.

“i told you, i didn’t realise what time it was,” she said, refusing to let her lie catch up with her.

“bullshit.”

“what?”

“i said, bullshit. that’s not the real reason.”

“im homesick,” she spat out, “ok? im an adult woman who can’t handle the prospect of being home alone, 200 miles away from her family. happy now?”

“happ- why would i be happy about that?” he asked, his tone softer than his previous outburst. they were now pulling into her apartment building, y/n still neglecting to answer him until the car pulled to a complete stop.

“you wanna come in, for a bit?” she asked, biting her tongue.

“do you want me to come in?”

“yeah, if you want to. only for a bit,” she said again.

“ok,” his response was simple, he didn’t really need to think it through. he glanced down at his watch, 5:15am, and yet, he could not feel more awake. he didn’t mind staying, especially if it gave her the comfort to move freely in her own home.

walking into her flat felt oddly natural to him, despite him having never been there. the two could be considered close friends, not that either of them would acknowledge it, but spending years working closely together, travelling around the world, tends to do that. they’d started working at mclaren at similar times, him as a driver and her as a content creator for the brand, the new job nerves acting as almost a trauma bond between the two. they’d spent many nights in each others hotel rooms, playing games, watching films, often with oscar in tow - anything to pass the time in between races - but the two had never crossed the personal boundary into each others homes.

and yet, lando strolled in, took his shoes off by the door, and threw himself down on the sofa as if this was a daily thing. y/n dropped herself down next to him, sighing as she did.

“you need to sleep,” he said, turning to look at her, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa where she sat.

“my brain is too awake now,” she said, voice never faltering despite her stomach turning as she realises how close they were sat, the way his warmth surrounded her as his fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the seat behind her head.

“you wanna watch something till you settle again?” he asked, tv remote already in hand.

“sounds good,” she replied, tight lipped, eyes focusing as he scrolled through her netflix, settling on a film she didn’t care to remember the name of.

before the opening credits had even started, y/n body slumped against lando’s, head dropping to rest below his shoulder. he tensed slightly, relaxing again when he looked down to see her eyes closed, chest heaving deep breathes once again. his arm resting on the sofa dropped behind her back, his hand moving to hold her waist gently, fingers drawing light circles on the fabric of her leggings.

a while later, he moved his hips slightly, trying to re adjust his position to stop his legs going dead. he feared he had woken her, when she mumbled something incoherent and began moving. lando allowed himself to let out a shaky breath as she twisted herself into his side, her arm moving to wrap around his waist, her leg bending upwards to rest on top of his.

he waited a moment, as if to check she was really sleeping, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“goodnight, angel,” he whispered.

lando told himself he’d leave when the film ended. in his silence he planned how to move from the sofa without waking her. but then his eyes grew tired, and he told himself he’d shut them, just for a moment.

the two of them lay on the sofa, fast asleep. his posture had sloped in his slumber, shifting their bodies into a recline, his arms wrapped tightly around her and she settled onto his chest. their legs entwined with each other, a blanket lando had attempted to wrap around her had fallen haphazardly to the floor.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #oscar piastri #LN4 #OP81

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

Note

Since you said Jack sometimes does a whistle to purposely get Arcee’s attention and Miko would try to, would these two take advantage of other human things bots don’t yet understand how it works? Like Jack telling Arcee that if Arcee don’t take him on a drive he might start aging much faster from being upset, and Miko telling Bulkhead that her brain will downgrade and go numb if she don’t get enough stimulation.

Oh heck yeah. The kids would absolutely abuse the bots relative lack of education and make the best of it.

Jack is by far one of the nicest in his manipulations and generally keeps it to things such as having Arcee take him to see cool new places with the groundbridge because, quote: "A human adolescent who doesn't travel and experience new things will have their brains begin to rot and turn into creatures we call ghouls."

Arcee has no clue what a human ghoul is, but she knows the stories of ghouls back on Cybertron. Flesh eating creatures that devour not only energon, but also organs and pieces of the frame. The idea that a young human may turn into something like that absolutely terrifies her, at least if that human were to be Jack. She makes it a point to take Jack out once a week with her on patrols around the globe in order to protect him from that fate. Ratchet and Optimus are fully aware of the fact that Jack is full of slag when it comes to that particular tidbit, but they let it be since it gets Arcee out of the base.

Miko abuses the ever loving crap out of the bots ignorance. She has firmly made Bulkhead believe that if she isn't allowed to fight, her instincts will deteriorate and she will become braindead. Bulkhead, terrified of that outcome, has now been forced to set up sparring sessions for Miko to compensate for lack of actual combat. Wheeljack for his part has been roped into believing that if Miko isn't allowed to use weaponry and train with it, she will quite literally become thin as a reed since humans need tools to grow (her words, not the wreckers). Smokescreen has also reached a point of fanaticism when it comes to one of Miko's ploys. She told him one time that if she doesn't get at least one lollipop a day, her blood sugar will drop and she will fall into a coma. Smokescreen carries around a bag of candy just to be safe.

Rafael is a little nicer, but he will fight for more screen time by making it clear to Bumblebee that computer lights actually help improve his vision. The more computer light he gets, the better his vision will be temporarily. Bumblebee doesn't know how that is supposed to work, but humans are weird. So he just kinda... lets Rafael abuse his computer rights in base since it supposedly does good things for his eyes. Ratchet hasn't caught on yet. Ratchet also hasn't figured out that Rafael is totally playing him when he asks Ratchet for stories in order to help him retain his memory. Rafael has woven quite that tale that essentially boils down to him needing stories in order to keep his memory top notch. Ratchet hasn't figured out its a bunch of slag yet.

Optimus is one of the few bots no one can pull any fast ones on...

Except Fowler

Fowler has convinced Optimus that he should be allowed to drive Optimus's alt-mode at least once a month in order to keep his joints from withering away. Optimus has wondered why Fowler can't use another vehicle to work his joints, but Fowler always says its easier with Optimus just because if his joints give out, Optimus will be there to help him out.

Optimus questions this logic more and more when Fowler urges him to drive FAR over the speed limit on back roads.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #arcee #bulkhead #wheeljack #ratchet #bumblebee #optimus prime #rafael esquivel #miko nakadai #jack darby #agent fowler #transformers shenanigans #team prime

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yaespook · 2 years ago

Text

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame.

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant.

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems.

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.)

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.”

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face.

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place.

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks.

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight.

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up.

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises.

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him.

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down.

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth).

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery.

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground.

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly.

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him.

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-”

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.”

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

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youngwonhui · 1 month ago

Text

✦ flying saucer

*•. member: hansol vernon chwe x fem! readers

*•. summary: universe conspire misery to love company. Hansol has his own fight within himself, you with your own. The probability is the spark that fuse the end of your night with the start of Hansol’s morning.

*•. genre: smut, MINORS SHOO, car sex, no protection, DONT DO THIS

*•. wc: 6705

*•. warnings: slight angst, depiction of failed dreams and overall feeling of being trapped, but they know better, they will do better, alcohol consumption, petty banter

*•. cross posted in AO3

Hansol loves his life.

He makes music, he do what he loves for a living, and he gets to party basically every night in the sake of getting inspiration.

As much as inspiration he could get from frequenting a club basically managed by his music label.

He practically knows everyone.

The bouncer, the bartender on shift, the cooks and even the valet driver.

Because one thing that Hansol loves from his work is it’s enabling him to fulfill his desire for anything money can buy.

Mostly.

“Alone again?”

Hansol laughs bitterly after a sip of whiskey. He’s immune to Mingyu’s teasing. beacuse who’s he to call Hansol bitchless when the man walk in alone just like every other night.

The same fluorescent lights running against the surface. Music blasting the latest pop or edm beats that runs like white noise to Hansol and his friends.

Yet they return like moths to flame.

Although Hansol hoped someday there’s something pull himself away and let him see the world apart of the flame.

As much as he loves to make generic music like his label has forced him to, the artist gene passed down from his father runs strongly through his veins. As much as he hated to admit it.

“You know you should look at the mirror.” The music blasting doesn’t deter Mingyu’s annoyingly exceptional hearing ability.

The tallest of the bunch throw a piece of grape to Hansol. His tumbler of whiskey already empty.

“At least one of us can get laid. You both has no right to bicker with each other.” Wonwoo quipped. Choosing to break his silence to manage the two for causing him more headache.

“I don’t know how you manage to find time time to drink with us every night? Aren’t you busy strategizing something on your little computer?”

Hansol earned himself a side eye from Wonwoo. From across, Mingyu who already topped up his whiskey glances at Hansol and Wonwoo interestingly. Something to distract his mind about to start.

Despite their age, and how serious job they have, Hansol and his friends aren’t above petty fights. Some nights they have Seungcheol to break it off when things when out of hands.

But tonight, their oldest friend is tending to his personal love life. Leaving the self-proclaimed miserable bunch to their own device.

“Don’t forget you works on that ‘little computer’ of yours, making some kind beats that teenagers use to dance on tiktok.” Mingyu snickers in amusement. He rarely sees his roommate spits some roasts to the younger one. And with sobriety out of the equation, the petty fights became their choice of poison to pass time.

“You can laugh when you get that Michelin star dude. How many years has it? Oh yeah, countless. And only surrounded by fans yet not even a bib gourmand in sight for consolidation.”

“Ooh burns.” Wonwoo muttered after sucking his teeth and then hiding his smirk through sipping his whiskey he’s been nursing.

Mingyu on the other hand. The words hit past his funny bone and straight to his head and rattles around with each drop of alcohol circulating around his brain. Fueling the gremlin that burns self-hate every now and then.

“That’s far out, Choi Vernon.”

Maybe it’s the darn place. The perfect mixture of darkness, noise, and lack of oxygen altogether. It wipes logical conversation out of the equation. Not that there’s many come to the club to do that. Most arrive with few things in mind. To distract them from it, or just numb it altogether.

Tomorrow when the friends see each other, contrition will be expressed with clearer minds. For now, its burning embers that spread uncontrollably.

Hansol decided he didn’t have enough alcohol in his body to fight with the people he can calls brother. A slight sick feeling in his stomach, not from the few sips of whiskey is enough to create a nauseous feeling in his mouth.

With a shake of his head and a bitter laugh, Hansol decided to step out for air. Maybe starts smoking, drive his beloved car, or just get some smoothie. Anything to calm his temper.

Climbing up the stairs, the fading out sound of drum and bass lowers his heartbeat just a smidge. Hansol thought to himself, maybe a drive with a window down will be enough.

The damp street outside greets him like an annoying gum sticking to his shoes. But the cold air hitting his face is painfully freezing. Hansol pulls up the hood of his jacket. His own decision to cut his hair short begins to feels like a regret.

But that one afternoon the thought cross his mind feels like the idea of a lifetime.

Fishing the valet ticket, Hansol handed it to absentmindedly.

“Hey bud, i don’t think i could hand you your key.”

That steals Hansol’s attention to you. The valet driver clad in your uniform but covered in a jacket to fight off the violent wind.

“It’s my car.” Hansol states matter-of-factly. Hand remained mid-air the wind hitting the valet ticket as it flaps against his fingers.

“Well you’ve been drinking. And i have obligation.”

“Your only obligation is kinda just to bring my car around though.” The regret came as quick as turning winds. Hansol notices how your face turns with a little disdain. Your body angled slightly away from Hansol as if the vicinity alone is repulsing to your body.

“You know what, i would let you knock yourself out. But i pity the beautiful car too much for you have to let it became a wreck.” Your fingers kept the key close to you. Far enough not to let Hansol snatch it from your grip.

“That flying saucer? I have a few in my garage.” Hansol scoffed. Squinting against the winds that picked up once more. You also tightened the jacket around your body.

Seeing you in clothes other than your uniform caught him slightly off guard. Hansol usually sees you when he dropped off his car. But rarely sees you when he walked out.

Maybe because usually Hansol has lost his own bearing when he stepped out of the club. Gets dragged out of the institution and responsibly driven back home by one of his friend or someone kind enough to call the service driver instead.

You scoffed at Hansol’s bragging remark. The better part of you decided that amusing Hansol’s banter does not worth the time and you should just handed him the keys and get yourself home.

Your shift ended moments ago.

Yet the other side is enjoying the time spent arguing with the famous music producer with selection of sports car you could only dreamed of.

As much as painful to hear Hansol disregard such beautiful car you came to admire, you caught how he acknowledge the nickname the special edition Alfa Romeo. Yet you doubt that Hansol appreciated it enough.

The sentiment might apply for some other aspect in his life too.

You known him for awhile, even before you bumped into him when he’s a new hot producer in town and you’re just taking gigs as valet driver because your latest rally team tanked.

Hansol was drunk out of his mind when you drove him home that first night. His friend, Wonwoo had kindly directed you to Hansol’s apartment.

“I doubt that you have another special edition car manufactured by Italian brand in collaboration with famous coachbuilder from back in the ‘50s.”

“An Italian wha-“ your words might have both stumped Hansol and amused him at the same time. A frown growing on his brows is accompanied by the slight curve of his smile. “You know what, keep the key. Keep the car safe, i’ll just walk home.” Hansol chuckled one last time before turning on his heels. Facing the cold wind of the night as he leaves you stumped in return.

A power move on his side.

But a dumb one as he remembers his house is not within a brief walking distance. His legs will be screaming halfway through. Hansol might have to take a break of nap on a park bench. Maybe at dawn by the looks of things.

No one truly recognizes themselves this night.

Words turned bitter, alcohol doesn’t work as it used to, bad decision was made one after the other.

And you are not an exception tonight. Because why are you, instead of slotting the keys to the beautiful car back to its drawer begin to walk to the direction where the car is parked in the valet area.

Turning on the keys in the ignition and feeling the machine rumble and its vibration purrs right into the expensive leather under your ass. The rush of adrenaline is pumping faster as you move the gear and begin to pull away from the lot.

A smile crept up on your face. The feeling of control under your palm, and the security of freedom lays on the empty street illuminated by moonlight and scarce neon from the shops that are closing for the night.

With a quick scan of the surrounding, you found Hansol’s hunched figure walking along the pavement. Slowing down to match his pace and lowering the window to face the rightful owner of the car you’re technically stealing right now.

“You’re stealing my car.” It was supposed to be a question, but Hansol‘s amusement outgrows his confusion. Yet the fact remained.

“Wrong, i’m driving you home.”

“Y/n you’re in my car with its key and engine running, and i’m outside being slapped by the wind.”

“Amazing observation skill.”

“I am quite literally sober now.” Hansol deadpanned. Waving the hands inside his jacket pocket. “And you’re still stealing my car. The fact stands”

“Then get in and i’ll drive you home.”

Wordlessly, Hansol feet takes him off the pavement and enters his own car’s passenger’s seat. Begrudgingly so, but an amused smirk grew upon how his night panned out.

“You know your friend let me drive you home sometimes.” You begins. It didn’t surprise him a bit.

Because sitting in his own car’s passenger seat and you on the steering wheel doesn’t felt uncomfortable at all. His sobriety being the biggest change is all. Somehow Hansol doesn’t have the confident to talk to you in this state.

He can embarrass himself when alcohol is running through his veins. Doing stupid shit and relying on other’s good-willing heart to help a miserable man.

Being sober and driven home by you sets Hansol an impossible standard of being a decent human being. A rapport he has to keep after picking a fight with his close friends back at the club.

“Thanks.” Hansol muttered.

You reply with a hum. Skilfully driving his car like it’s rightfully yours.

“Do you even know what car is this?”

“Nu uh.” Hansol couldn’t be bothered to think.

He got offered the car as a payment from an old acquaintance that appreciated his music back in the day. Being young and glittery eyes thinking every form of payment is cool enough for the ‘experience’.

“That’s what i thought.” Hansol chuckled at your reply. “The car is barely taken care of. No offense but this kind of antique car needs all the love and pampering to not let it deteriorate. All the checkup maybe every three months if you want to be diligent. I can give you a number of my friend’s autoshop. They’re magic at old cars. Aston Martin, McLaren, you name it.”

“I know you’ll send it to me anyway.”

“You know what? i’m surprised you saved my number.” There’s many surprises for you tonight.

“I might be a jerk, but i’m a grateful jerk.” Hansol looks out to the window. The passing lights of the city which he love and hate at the same time.

“Don’t expect me to hand you a medal for being grateful.”

Hansol always love when you never cut him some slack. Not the way his friends always tolerate his acts whenever Hansol needs to blow off some steam. Seungcheol though never forget to reminds him to take care of himself properly. And Hansol always absentmindedly agrees, yet returning to the club like he has nowhere else to go. ”Hey can you drive me to the hill park instead?”

“It’s 2 AM, and you’re starting to make me regret driving you home.” You sighed. Yet Hansol recognize the turn you take to reach the destination he just mentioned on a whim.

“You shouldn’t have steal my car then.” Hansol turns to you who gave him a side eye briefly and returned to focus on the road uphill.

“I kinda prefer when you’re almost passed out off a thousand bucks whiskey if you continues like this.”

“You prefer anytime you can drive my car. That much is i know.” Hansol crossed his arms and shifts on his seat to continues to look at you driving.

“Ha, that much is right. I love this car the most though.” You jokingly shot Hansol a look. Fishing a playful banter from him that you had surprisingly enjoy despite the prolonged night activity.

“I am not giving you this car.”

“Dude you said it yourself you have a ton in your garage, i know you don’t care about this beauty one bit and i’m half convinced you don’t even know the name of this car.”

“Why’s it only half?” You shot Hansol a confused frown at his question. “Why are you only half convinced that i don’t know the name of this car.” Hansol doesn’t know why he’s asking such. How your perspective of him piqued his interest at 2 AM when you both in a brief impromptu roadtrip.

“I don’t know. Hope for the better? If you don’t know jackshit then i should’ve known better.”

Hansol can hear your chuckle. The hum of engine serve as enough background to fill the silence. He couldn’t find any appropriate words to talk to you. Too scared to ruin the perfect moment. A rare silence where Hansol doesn’t feel too much of self-deprecation and guilt is not eating his heart.

The fact that his antique sports car that you love is not accommodating enough space for a sound system, that also one supporting fact of the silence.

For once, Hansol didn’t hate said fact.

“You know you call it a flying saucer earlier.” Your voice breaks the silence eventually. “I thought hey, maybe you’re not that ignorant and have some inkling of appreciation of this car.”

A chuckle escapes his lips. A shake of his head upon remembering his own words from just a moments ago. Amazes himself when you can look past him being a jerk and actually listens to his words.

“Disco volante.”

“Aha, so you do know your cars.” The small lilt of realization in your words amuses him more.

“Not as much affinity as you, but i appreciate the beauty.”

Your eyes are sets ahead, beside you, Hansol said the words with his eyes clearly pointed towards you. As clear as the night sky with its twinkling stars.

The same sky they about to witness in a few moments as they reach the destination. The park placed strategically on the side of hill road. The perimeter of said park with enough secluded parking lot that overlooking the city.

Once you arrive, you’re quick to turn off the car and leave Hansol to his own device. He sees you walking ahead and leaned against the hood of the car. Hansol sucks in his breath and contemplate his thoughts. Decided to follow the strange energy that has been flowing ever since he steps out of the club and remained sober as you drove him.

Closing the door behind him, Hansol joins you to sit on his car. Glad that the wind isn’t as violent as earlier.

“Why are we all ended up at that place?”

You didn’t even mention the club as context, yet Hansol knows exactly what you meant. The disdain in your tone isn’t hard to discern. Yet he understands completely of what you��re feeling.

It’s easy for him, each time he sees you sheer admiration for the cars that frequent the club. But each experience often tarnished by some rude clientele that’s insecure of their own self.

“It’s be quite miserable if we all can’t help it. But it cheers me up to see much of us so alike ended up the day there.”

“Misery loves company.”

“Yeah you could say that.” Hansol chuckled as he glances at you.

“I shouldn’t have take too many shifts there. Use my driving skill for something better.” You muttered, looking down at your worn out shoes. Kicking small unassuming pebbles. “Should i start crowdfunding for my rally car?”

Hansol chuckles, sniffing through the cold air. He rakes his brain for the memory of you.

He remembers the first time he met you. Paying you extra bucks to take Mingyu’s freshly bought Z4 on a joyride.

You are not one to brag of your skill, but Hansol was daring your side that often lives off of adrenaline. You take him on that offer before upping the ante to take the BMW on a donut at the empty valet floor of the club.

The laughs resounding at the end of that night filled his memory and he boxed it in a prettier ribbon than others. Strangely he hate himself less that day. Although the slight disappointment is apparent when at the end of the night, he exchange his valet ticket to another guy and not you.

He regretted his decision to ended up going home sober that night.

“How long has it been since you last race?” Your quick chuckle came as a reply. A shake of your head as if you really trying to pushed the thought away.

“Awhile now. No one is really funding for an undermanaged team barely have people to make a semblance of a rally car. I don’t know, my driving skills are probably rusty anyway after the team went under.”

“Hey, you want a rally car with my name as a sponsor?” Hansol’s word sent you laughing between your contemplating thought. “I’ll fund your car but you have to put my name. And i want it huge.”

The incredulous look with a side eye is enough to make Hansol almost topple over laughing.

“I mean as long as you’re funding me, i’ll welcome it. But i wouldn’t accept anything inappropriate.” Your words stop Hansol mid-laugh. Looking at you, as it determining whether the seriousness in your face will slowly fade and reveals your usual playful nature.

“Huh, you’re surprisingly civil of the idea.”

“Although, i also don’t want anything repulsive. So no placing your face on my car as well.” You ended up laughing while Hansol now in turn rolling his eyes.

He relaxes himself beside you. Gaze upfront to the still sparkling city although dawn almost break. Hansol took the serenity and odd silence of it all.

To no one’s surprised, the two of you retreated back into the car. The strong gusts of wind have picked up after the long silence of stargazing.

“Bet you didn’t thought the night would end up like this huh?” Hansol muttered, a small chuckle as he turned to you. Curious over your response.

“More like, i didn’t know i even would start another day with you.” You look back to Hansol. Seat leaned back and a casual relaxed looks on his face. Strangely enough, seeing Hansol in his passenger seat staring back at you is an odd sensation that spark an even stranger chemicals in your brain.

“What is so bad about it?”

Hansol whispers, you avert your eyes to the horizon afar. The dark void welcomes your sight, but soon discernible tinge of purple will fill the sky and morning will arrive.

Sunlight won’t arrive as fast as the nervous energy that burns through your vein. The long night is enough to take you to place you’d never thought would venture.

“I mean, i can make you a list to make things feel better.”

“Hmm, a list?” You nodded to Hansol‘s reply, an addition of smirk on his face. Piqued by the the slight enthusiasm in your words. “And what is on that list, pray tell?”

“Well, i could come over there to show it to you. I think that would be better.”

Hansol smirked, bit his lower lip before nodding towards his lap.

With as much grace as your body could manage, wriggling across the console of a vintage sports car, you eventually sat on top of Hansol. You had to admit, the enclosed—minimum space has heightened your senses towards your surrounding.

How the old leather left a scent reminding you of worn your out racing glove with a tinge of musk from Hansol’s body scent. You can smell it clearer now that he’s under your touch.

The short hair he’s sporting reveals the slight brownish glow to his hair. Which you always thought as dark midnight. Under the minimal light of blinking lamppost outside, you can discern the lighter glow of it.

You ran your hand across his head. To which Hansol’s eyes followed the movement of your hand, but quickly flutters close as he felt your touch.

When your hand rest on his cheek, you guide Hansol’s hovering hands to your hips. Which he shuddered upon contact.

You only chuckled lightly.

“Bet you didn’t thought the night would end up like this huh?” Hansol shakes as he laugh.

You reciting the exact words with the closeness the two of you are having now has tickled his funny bone.

Might also gave him one more bone.

“I know it could be better though.” Hansol scans your face, a smile shadowing his lips as he thought about what he wanted as of now.

The same one mirrored on your face. More like a grin. Recognizing the feeling from Hansol, now so palpable as he absentmindedly rubbing your still clothed thighs.

“You could be kissing me, for example.”

”I guess i’m not one to deny anyone of good example.”

“Please.”

You grin. Leaning down to press your lips to Hansol’s awaiting ones. It was brief a touch of lips on lips. Until Hansol’s entire nervous systems eventually sparked off and responded when you’re about to pull away from the kiss.

Hansol’s hand had traveled to your nape and gently pulls you back to a kiss. Now with a hunger he had unknowingly concealed throughout the night.

A tug on your lower lips lets you hum in reply, rushing the pleasure through your vein. Hansol skilfully took your lips between his teeth and lets you fight for what you want.

Maybe at this point what you both want.

As the kiss grew sloppier, Hansol tugged your body flush to his. A groan at the back of his throat resounding to your lips as you grind yourself to his tenting crotch.

“Fuck— Y/n.”

You didn’t let Hansol speak no more. Guiding his lips back to yours while his hands roamed your body. Familiarizing each plane and shape, memorizing the expanse of skin available to his touch.

His response spur your action more. After the initiative grinding, you angled yourself to continue the motion of even faster. The friction of your clothed cunt against the growing bulge under Hansol’s expensive jeans. It felt childish, grinding like a high school kids chasing the newfound pleasure in each others.

But you both said no complain, Hansol enjoyed all you can give. Although it left him wanting more, but he could not complain of how his shitty night has ended up.

Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up.

The words uttered like mantra inside Hansol’s head.

The moments passed with you growing more and more desperate for the hot burning pleasure in your vein. Deciding that dry-humping Hansol has lost its novelty and you searched for more.

In hurried hands, you tried to rid of your clothings.

“Help me Hansol.”

Fuck, she said my name.

“Uh- huh yeah.” Naturally Hansol stuttered.

Your shirt’s buttons are off. Exposing your entire torso, and Hansol didn’t hesitate to grace the newly exposed skin with a kiss. You smiled at the look of awe in his face before diving in.

He’s of no help yet you ain’t complaining.

As much as you love the Alfa Romeo, the interior of the two seater are not fully accommodating to the shenanigans you both about to embark.

You just felt thankful you’re not doing this with Hansol when he’s driving the Ferrari Spider. Exhibitionism is not on your list of kinks. Yet.

You bring Hansol’s lips back to you. Silencing the mumble his lips waste as the pleasure runs faster than his mind could comprehend. Your touch roamed the freshly trimmed buzzcut.

Hansol has managed to hid the result of his drunken shenanigan under his hoodie. In embarrassment after Seungcheol has gathered the group of friends and lectured them about enabling behaviour under influence.

Speaking under influence. Hansol has a smidge feeling that your touches has gotten him so. He felt half embarrassed that he just sat there and let you do all the works. Once his focus return to the present, he had found you rid of your pants and only leaving you sat on his lap with only your panties.

“FUck.” Was the only thing he muttered before his lips dive to devour your nipple. His hands roamed across the expose skin of your back and fiddle with the material of your flimsy underwear. He thought he might have to rid of it, feeling the damp wetness had reached into his own pants.

The rush of pleasure got you arching your back and revel at the mixture of pain and pleasure from Hansol’s ministration. You don’t know how long you can hold on until it’s not enough.

“Vernon-” You rarely called him by his middle name. He did not regret making it his stage name, but it became too familiar in the lips of the crowd. And the sound of ‘Hansol’ from your lips felt different and some kind of special too.

Now though, listening to the name Vernon adorned with the sigh and your little needy noise has just upped the ante in Hansol’s level of pleasure. He’d felt embarrassed because most of it is just you and the millions way you called his name. Through your lips and paired with the smile he had secretly adored but fear to admitted.

“Tell me what you want, please.” Hansol managed to mumble amidst grazing your shoulder and neck with kisses. His hands gripping your hips tighter. He needed so much but he just wanted you to say that you truly want this.

In slight annoyance and with displeased grunt, you pulls away a little but your hands remained circled onto Hansol’s neck. Your questioning gaze quickly snapped him into pumping blood to his brain, jolting it to work some sort of reasoning he knew he had, but his mind too clouded with having you on his lap.

“U-uh, i want this, i want you, believe me. I just don’t want things became awkward between us after this.” Hansol eyes ricochet among the micro movement of your expression. He didn’t regret saying all that. Now the jolt of anticipation now swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“We’re all adult here Hansol. I promise things won’t get awkward.”

In a clouded judgement, Hansol nodded to your promise. A tall shield of things you had chosen to left unsaid.

His hand flew to cup your face, bringing it down to close the gap between your lips. Desperate touches return and roamed your back. Hansol coaxed a moan and groan from you. Prompting your lips to open and eventually did so.

Your idle hands work blindly to unbuckle his jeans. Meanwhile Hansol’s tongue explore your mouth in careless abandon. Enjoying the jolt of pleasure you brought just from sucking his tongue. He fear for himself of what you’ll be capable of doing with your mouth.

Hansol gaze at you in confusion. You pulled away and took one look at the state he’s in. Drunk in something else than alcohol. Such a sight you had pitifully missed during the long time you had known him.

Hansol’s bubble of confusion ia quickly burst when you did an experimental stroke from the base to the tip of his cock. He moaned. Head thrown back to the old leather headrest as the pleasure run its course. Thrumming under his clammy skin with you in a proximity of needing to meld your skin to his.

He welcomes it all. Groaning your name like a prayer as you keep your hand pumping his cock. Red and ready. You keep your breath steady. Savouring the sight of Hansol completely surrendering himself into your hand. It clenched your heart a little, but you know that you couldn’t have it any other way.

To scratch the itch, you close your lips back to his opened mouth. Teeth almost clashing but Hansol is quick to catch your lips back to his. Reciprocating the euphoric dizziness that swims around his head.

Unable hold on any longer you unceremoniously sank down the length of Hansol’s cock. Sighing in pleasure once the fullness has put on a haze of abandon in your nerve.

Certainly making your guilt felt lighter. Just at this moment.

Hansol tightened his clutch back to your hips. He wants to chase his own release by slamming his cock up to your cunt with no regards. Paying no mind towards your own pleasure.

But he held back.

The sight of his cock disappeared into your warm enveloping wall as you bounced on his lap is worth enough to let Hansol stay put and put you on the wheel.

“Fuck, Hansol-“ you uttered hoarsely. Drowning in sensation of being fucked full. Hansol’s cock hitting enough spot that shakes your nerve ending every time you drop down to his lap for more.

Its warm, no, burning with engulfing fire of desire, as you exert every strength in your legs to bring your cunt down and chase the highest form of pleasure. Clenching the headrest behind Hansol’s head, you muttered incoherent words straight to his ears. An encouragement as Hansol helps to keep the pace. Knowing that your thighs probably shot.

The strong arms slid alongside your thighs and took over. You slumped forward a little, letting Hansol planted bruising kisses over the plane of your chest while his hands control the movement of the sloppy pace of his cock disappearing into your cunt.

You know he’s close. Hansol’s kisses stuttered. Lips agape and planted just for him to groan. Puffs of his hot breath hitting your skin. You’ve had your legs shaking for a while. The strings of pleasure taut in your stomach, as Hansol kept his cock pounding restlessly. Gravity is his best friend.

Your grip moved from the headrest to the base of Hansol’s neck. The unraveling jolt of pleasure break open the dam as you shudder through the orgasm. Flashes of white came to your view as you clutch harder to Hansol’s skin. Red marks visibly bloom on his skin. Eliciting a groan from Hansol as you unknowingly also tighten your vice around Hansol’s cock. Walls contracting from pleasure of his girth.

“Oh fuck- Y/n you’re coming so hard i almost bust.” Hansol muttered lowly. Sounded half muted in your buzzing ears. The slow rush of your orgasm clouded your senses in a burst of euphoric pleasure.

You haven’t realized Hansol was fighting for his life under your touch. The vein in his hand bulging as he kept the pace steady amidst your orgasm. Now, fully locked in you push your thighs once more. Bouncing up and down the length of Hansol’s cock in a new vigour.

The man throw his head back in the newfound pleasure. You smirk at the state he’s in. Taking in the rush of power you hold over him. Haven’t care less about your panties that only had pushed aside to let his cock slid in.

The sound of skin hitting one another, with a steady squelching sound of your cunt slapping into his balls. Almost too lewd for you but seeing Hansol’s expression and the pleasure you just came through felt fitting.

“Come on Hansol, i know you’re close.”

He groaned, then his lips morphed into a smirk. Partly in disbelief on how the situation has panned out between you and him. Beads of sweat forming as proof how you had him just within a hand clutch.

Pushing aside how his hand is partly numb, the sight of your marked up tits bouncing along as you fucking yourself into his cock is enough to let him burst. Hansol tighten his hold on to your waist and his hips raised to push into you one more time. Low groan filling the fogged up car as Hansol cum inside you. A few sloppy thrust just to drive it home.

You slumped into Hansol’s shoulder in a little fits of giggle. Hansol’s whole body shook. Jolted you back into upright position as your hands cupped the side of his face. You savour the sight of Hansol one more time. The faint marks of freckle adorned his face. The little scar barely visible under his eyebrow and the faint mark of his smile by the corners of his eyes. The same one which studied your every movement.

Hansol gaze up to you in an unimaginable feelings. Sets deep into his stomach as your face remain a perfect picture of sunshine. Hansol cannot bear to look at you long enough, lest he wanted to blind himself.

Hansol memories ran back to your promise, that it wont get awkward between the two of you. He hold it as close he’s able near his heart. He couldn’t know the fact that you are leaving the establishment.

After the sun rose high enough, Hansol drove you to your place. More like he dropped you into the closest block you had allowed him to. Insisting that you wanted to walk for the rest. Passing by Mingyu’s little restaurant. Hansol had recognize the building, the cozy place that had people flocking by to have a taste of the hottest chef meticulously crafted meals.

Hansol reminded himself to say sorry to him, lest that he want their next meeting to be awkward. Now that he paid enough attention, there’s a green Aston Martin Dbx parked outside. Hansol doesn’t remembered Mingyu getting one recently.

You stood outside Hansol’s car until he awkwardly wave to you and eventually drove away.

Truly you had kept your words. Things would not get awkward between the two of you. Because how could it be when you no longer work at the club.

You had submitted your resignation weeks ago. Last night, or morning had been your last shift at the club. You have had a sliver of plan, but something about having experienced broken dream had gotten you to push back trying again and had resorted to you picking up valet shifts at the club.

Now, you try again. Going to the rally cars meet-up and feeling out clubs that you deem fit with you.

Leaving the club, it had nothing to do with Hansol. Staying there though. He played a part of your pushed back dream.

Until one night, that had prolonged into morning. Then him dropping you a few blocks away from your home.

But Hansol didn’t really know that. He had excitedly turn to the familiar way to the club. Driving his Alfa Romeo, but the valet driver who welcomes him is a new face he didn’t recognize. Later at night, he had kept his sobriety, and half hoping you would emerge from his car. But met with the same face of the new valet driver.

“Where is Y/n? Is she not working tonight?” He eventually asks. Car door opened and the new valet driver stare back at Hansol.

“She’s gone. I’m her replacement.”

Hansol drove to his home in a bewildering state. Parked right beside the dusty Lamborghini, Hansol sat defeated by the fact you had lied. Or maybe not. Because how could things became awkward when the two of you would not meet again?

A laughter bubbled in his throat. Defeat tastes funny in his tongue. And bitter at the same time. Yet funny. So Hansol laughed until his legs felt numb for sitting in his car for too long.

Hansol had tried to accept the fact that he barely had any tangible memories of you to feel this betrayed. Yes, he had named the feeling as betrayal. His friends laughed amusingly, but none with surprise. They had bore witness to the weird dynamic between the two.

They’re either became sworn enemy of a destined lover. Either way one was obsessed with each other, yet unknown of how to channel such energy.

Wonwoo had offered he knew a few rally club just around the city. If you continues your dream, that’s probably where you would start.

Hansol had laughed and pushed the offer away.

Until he got drunk that night, and Wonwoo, who is sober had drove him home. The F1 strategist is met with a drunken plea of the old offer.

“Good news, we might be able to afford the new spare engine that won’t bust at finish line.”

Your ears perked up, putting down the damp cloth you had wiped your sweat with.

Race days rarely had unexpected news, other than regarding the race itself. But the day had been long and after streak of mediocre result within a sweltering summer season, a news of sponsor willing to take your team to another level was a breeze of much needed fresh air.

You were breathless off of your morning run. Going straight to the office that had connected straight to the garage where your car sit pretty. You have been complaining of needing a boost of power to might be able to feel the glory of a podium place. But the tightrope of balancing result and minimum sponsor have been hanging around your team all the same.

“That’s a very good news.” You paused to take a sip of a drink. “But why do i feel that there’s a bad news there.” You quipped curiously. Your team manager sheepishly scratch his temple in a mixture of confusion and blind hopefulness.

You notices it. Knowing full well the extend of deliverables that had to be given just have an extra cash to afford some basic things.

Although such basic things like an engine might cost above hundreds thousands.

“Come on spit it out what do the sponsor wants? a product placement? or their logo in every surface of our garage in each race?” You huffed tiredly. Both from physical fatigue and the familiar rodeo of receiving a sponsor with their ridiculously absurd request.”

“They want a decal of a face on the hood of the car.”

You blinked. A wash of reality shone over you. A feeling that guised as regrets but took form more like a guilt sparked in your chest. It wrapped taut against your heart.

“It’s not odd about wanting sponsor branding on the car. But a face?” Your team manager still in the pit of confusion only grew more so when they see you slowly smile. A bitter one at that. “I ask their team about setting up the meeting, but the representative only told me to ask you first. What do you think?”

You went silent for a while. Shaking your head at the childish behaviour happening in your very much serious garage. Then again, you were the childish one for disappearing without proper goodbye. Deep down you know you deserved this. Hansol was kind and humorous enough to not hunt you down in hate.

For that you could thank him. Maybe right after you ask for forgiveness. Either way you couldn’t avoid it much further.

“Tell them we should meet.” You said in confidence, maybe a slight anticipation. “So i can tell the sponsor myself i’m civil to all of his idea.”

a/n: this will be a part of sports car series, but i’ll organize it later akshabaj

#seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #vernon x reader #hansol x reader #chwe hansol imagines #j writes: oneshot #j writes: car series

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hughesyodaddy43 · 1 year ago

Text

Pizza solves everything ⎸ L.H

pairings: bf! Luke x fem!reader. Platonic!Ethan Edwards and Mark Estapa x reader Genre: fluff warnings: angst?,mentions of cheating, stressed reader, exam season synopsis: Lukes girlfriend gets worked up over finals. Ethan and Mark attempt to make her feel better. requested?: yes word count: 3.1k authors note: I am not from America so i don't know how exams and schooling work over there, i hope this still makes sense. i gave reader a nickname, 'missy' and will probably use that name for future Luke fics.

You groan as you type on your computer, sitting at your desk with mindless tv playing in the background. You currently live in a tiny apartment with your best friend, Ethan. It's a two bedroom and can only really house two people before feeling cramped. However it is right next to Umich and is far more convenient than living in the dorms.

You only started living with Ethan last year, after your previous roommate moved out and you needed someone to share utilities with. Seeming as though Luke was leaving for New Jersey and Ethan never left your house anyway - it seemed only logical that he started paying rent.

Having a boyfriend in the NHL is both a blessing and a curse, the blessing being the fact that your hot boyfriend is in the NHL and the curse being that everyone else thinks he is hot too.

You never were the jealous type, or at least not before you saw all the girls that crowded Luke when he went to parties. Something in you cringed when you saw how awkward he got when denying girls, it was common that you'd have to step in otherwise that man would have just stood there like a statue the entire encounter. It wasn't like he would ever cheat on you, you were confident that he wouldn't. However when your hair is fitted to a much darker shade then the girls he interacts with, it's hard to not think about him wanting a more ‘conventional’ Hockey Girlfriend.

Luke is always first to tell you he doesn't care about that stuff and you believe him, but when you haven't called him in days, sometimes weeks, it gets less easy to control the unsettling feelings.

Everytime you call with Luke, it's always cut short, whether it’s Ethan banging on your door at 11 o’clock for a ‘late night snack’ or Jack barging in to argue with Luke about something, you never get to talk about what you're really feeling.

Because of the distance and lack of communication, the relationship has been a bit strained, it's not like you could tell if luke felt the same since he's too busy sleeping or playing hockey to communicate that with you. You were so proud of Luke, no doubt about it, however something in you boiled when he only ever mentioned hockey during the ten minute phone calls.

Since the last phone call you had with him, you've only really exchanged small text messages every couple hours. It was upsetting that you couldn't talk to your boyfriend about everything going on but it was also a nice way to get away so you can finish up and focus on all the upcoming exams.

You had your next one tomorrow and really needed to knuckle down and get studying for it. You've managed to get what you needed done for tonight so you thought you'd call Luke for a final call before bed.

After wriggling comfortably against your pillows, you lean against your head board. bringing your phone up close to your ear, you press the dial on luke's contact listening closely to the ringing sound on the other end.

Ring

Your breath hitches as you hear Lukes voice on the other end, only this time it was his voicemail. You take one last deep breath before shutting your phone off and sinking into your pillows.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you view a message from your best friend and biggest hater, Ethan.

House rat: the team got too much pizza, if you're still up I can bring you some?

House rat : Silence speaks volumes missy

Pissy missy : no. i'm just asleep

Pissy missy : You're disturbing my slumber

House rat: oh well pizza is good for your soul. Mark is coming too ;)

Pissy missy: Fuck.

You sigh and put your phone back down, wiping your eyes, you sit up against the headboard once again and pull your computer onto your lap, Resuming your place in your essay.

“MISSY COME HERE GIRL” Ethan calls out from the front door, walking towards your room in long strides. He bursts through the door with a box of pizza in his hand and makes his way to sit at the end of your bed, Mark slowly entering behind him. Mark moves to sit further on the bed, next to Ethan, pulling out a piece of pizza from the box.

“How are you?” Mark asks as he stuffs his face with the crust.

You sigh, reaching to rip a piece of pizza from the rest, bringing it up close to your lips

“Been okay, I guess” you take a bite, avoiding eye contact with the two boys in front of you “are you sure? You've seemed a bit distant'' Mark asks “im fine.” you say, taking another big bite of the saucy crust “are you sur-” “I'm fine so quit asking” you yell, adding an edge of venom to your words. Taking the boys by surprise “wow, someones a bit extra pissy tonight” Ethan adds.

That's when something in your throat tightens, you feel yourself bubbling over. You don't understand why, your whole nickname stems from the fact that you get pissy from time to time but it feels like that was the last straw.

Tears begin filling your eyes, vision goes blurry as you feel your cheeks burn up. Sniffles are heard as the boys go silent before you. Tears drip onto the final bite of your pizza.

“Im-sorry-i-just-so-stressed-and-upset-and-luke-hasnt-been-talking-to-me-and-i-miss-him-and-i-think-hes-gonna-breakup-with-me-and-im-just-so-sad-and-i-dont-mean-to-be-mean-but-im-just-so-angry” you hurry through muffled sobs as your eyes go red and your sinuses block up.

“Woah hey hey, Missy i didn't mean to make you upset.” Ethan says , leaning forward to meet your eyes

“Yeah, talk to us..but a bit slower please” Mark says softly, careful to not make you cry again.

You take a deep breath, lifting your head up to see the two young hockey boys worried faces, your lip quivers slightly as you breathe in and out, ready to spill out what has been hurting you.

“I don't know, I'm just so stressed with these exams and I think I'm gonna do fine but I'm just scared.” you start, trying to get one problem out at a time

“I know for a fact that you'll do fine in your exams and assignments” Ethan comforts “yeah! you're like the smartest person i know!” Mark chimes

“Thanks.. It's not just that tho” you say, sniffling a bit as tears continue down your face and onto your swollen lips, the taste of salt sinks into your mouth. The Hockey players stay silent, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Luke and I haven't really been talking and I think he wants to break up.”

The boys share a knowing glance but say nothing.

“And you know i've seen all the girls jack brings home, the pretty blonde girls i mean what if luke met one of them and they fell in love” you say, growing more and more hysterical as each thought processes through your head.

Logically you new Luke would never cheat but with your emotions running high you couldnt help but think that Luke had fucked the entire female poplutation of new jersey ranging from 18-25 by now.

“And all he every talks about when we do call is stupid fucking hockey” you rise your voice slightly before looking at the boys

“no offence” you add, placing your hands in your lap and finishing your pizza

“ he didn't even answer my call tonight” you finish, the last sentence being muffled as you swallow your food.

To your surprise the boys stay silent and stare at each other with Ethan looking down at his phone then back up at mark then sharing a look back to you.

“OMG SO HE IS GONNA BREAK UP WITH ME” you scream, tears streaming down your face harder

“WHAT NO NO NO” the boys choir, eyes wide.

“Then why are you looking at eachother like that? And who the fuck are you messaging at 12o’clock at night???” you yell pointing towards ethan.

“No-no one” ethan adds, throwing his phone away to the end of the bed.

Mark moves to sit next to you, throwing an awkward arm around you in a comforting embrace

“missy, he's probably not gonna break up with you'' Mark adds

“PROBABLY??” you cry

“NONO he means he is NOT going to break up with you” Ethan interjects, throwing a pointed look at Mark “oh yeah sorry that's what i meant” Mark stuttered

You groan loudly as your head flys back onto your pillows, you bury yourself into your blanket

“Okayyy so you're tired so we're gonna get outta here” Ethan says, dragging the pizza off your bed with Mark sliding off behind him.

“Good night, Missy'' Mark says, patting your head, peeking out slightly

“Good night!!” Ethan yells from the kitchen with a mouthful of pizza.

You wake up to the blaring sound of your alarm, you look at your phone that reads ‘7 am’ and still you have no response from Luke. You sigh and remove yourself from your bed, making your way towards the shared bathroom you have with Ethan.

You walk down the hall and pass Mark who is sleeping soundly on the couch, you continue walking and stop by Ethan's room, you peer in to see him sprawled out on his bed, keeping note that you should keep quiet as you get ready so you don't wake the two up prematurely.

You take time in your shower to clear your mind, enjoying the warm hug as the water runs down your back and soothes your sore neck. You recite in your head that everything will be okay and to just focus on your exam first, then worry about whatever bullshit Luke is pulling.you finish your shower and get dressed in warm attire. You pair your favourite long sleeve shirt with your fav baggy sweats and continue on with your hair and makeup. Finishing up, you leave the bathroom and are met with the inviting smell of fresh breakfast.

Walking down the hallway you are met with Mark and Ethan who have both woken up and are now stuffing their faces with every breakfast food you own.

“Good morning” you say, giggling slightly

“Morning” Mark says, eyes still drawn to the tv

“Heyy, do you want a bagel?” Ethan asks, walking over towards you “you're gonna need some brain food” he adds

“Maybe not, i'm too nervous to eat right now” you say

“Hmm, are you sure? What about I make you one for later?” he asks

“Maybe next time” you say as you turn on your heels back to your room, rummaging through your cupboard you find a comfy hoodie to throw over your body to keep you warm and toasty throughout your exam. You pack up your bag and walk back out into the kitchen. You then return back to your room, retrieving your charging phone.

“Missy, do you need a ride?” Ethan asks

“Nah, the walk will be nice for me, good way to clear my head” you add, walking back out of your room.

You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulders

“Thank you by the way, for last night” you add looking back towards Ethan and Mark

“No problemo, i'm sure you'll feel better soon” Mark says, turning his head to give you a cheeky wink

You giggle a bit as You look back at ethan confusion still evident in your face

“Don't listen to him, he's weird” Ethan adds as he walks towards you to give you a pat on the back “you'll do great”

“Thank you” you say as you move out the door and towards school.

The timer blares through the room as everyone stands , making their way towards the teachers desk to send off their papers. You sit there for a minute, staring down at your paper, revising everything you wrote down. The girl beside you nudges you out of your trance as she waits for you to stand up and hand you paper i with her. All you can do is quietly walk your way down the daring stares that lead to the front of the class. You hand in your work with a deep breath and make your way back to your previous seat, ready to go home and eat your feelings.

“How do you think you went?” the girl beside you asks as you both walk out of the room,

“Um i think i did okay, passable i hope” you responde

“I'm sure you did great, you wrote a lot more than i did”

“Hmm how do you think you went?” you ask

“Good.. i hope”

“You did good, i know it”

“Thanks, missy. I was gonna ask before but how's everything going with Luke? Are you gonna see him soon?” she asks

“Maybe, idk. We haven't been talking too much recently”

“Aww thats a shame well i hope all goes well”

“Yeah, thanks”

“Bye missy” she exits the conversation, making her way over to her next class

“Bye” you add, thankful that this was the only class you had scheduled for the day.

The walk home was calming , the cold breeze blowing on your face created a refreshing cooling to your hot body as you walked through the campus, passing a couple friends and saying hi briefly before separating.

You make your way to your apartment, trudging up the stairs in a final burst of energy. Unlocking the door you walk into your heated apartment, looking down as you remove your bag, take off your hoodie and hang your keys up, not making note of the tall figure sitting on the bar stools next to your kitchen.

You turn around and are met with Luke - your boyfriend. The man who you love. The man who's been ignoring you.

“Hey baby” he says, standing up to walk towards you

You take a step back, anger and confusion plastered on your face

“Well at least you have the courtesy to do it in person” you say, crossing your arms over your body, sliding your sleeves over your knuckles.

Luke looms over at you, he stares in confusion, trying to read your emotions.

“What are you talking about?”

Your gaze leaves the floor and meets his, anger bubbling inside your stomach

“You wanna break up?” you say bluntly, mono toned and unnatural

“What?? No ??Why would you think that?” Luke argues, voice becoming higher and his breath itching slightly at the information that his girlfriend thinks he drove 9 and a half hours just to break up with her.

“Are you serious? No call? no text? no nothing, not even a stupid instagram reel and you think my mind wouldn’t wander to that?” you say, stepping forward at each word, announcing your words with a spit of fury.

“I did call and I did text” Luke defends, hands slapping against his sides.

“Barely, Luke we only called for ten minutes a week and all you talked about was stupid hockey and I love hockey but that's all you would talk about. And not to mention the dry messages I mean we barely even talked like normal people, just robots with no love for each other.” you rant on, eyes feeling heavy as tears glistened in your sockets, afraid to let them fall you do your best to blink them away before luke notices.

“Missy” Luke whispers, snaking his hands to your forearms

“I was only trying to give you space, I knew you would get stressed with your upcoming finals so I wanted to give you as much time as you needed to study. I didn't mean to be dry and unloving towards you” his voice was soothing and calm, his fingers brushing lightly on your clothed arms.

“Well it was a dumb decision” you grumble, earning a snicker from luke

“yeah , it was and I'm sorry.” he agrees

“So why are you here then? If you aren't gonna break up with me?”

“I was planning to come down after your finals were finished, I was originally driving in tomorrow but Ethan messaged me last night telling me to come early”

“Oh. so that's why they were acting weird” you say, reciting the events of last night in your head.

“Yeah, Do you know why he said that?”

“Well i was a bit emotional last night, i was crying while stuffing my face with pizza” you laugh looking back up at luke.

“Oh my, so is that why Ethan sent me 43 messages at midnight?” Luke adds, smiling to himself before pulling up his phone to show you the absurdly concerning amount of texts from the boy.

“I'll take it that Ethan and Mark were not very good at comforting you?” he says, sitting back down on the bar stool and pulling you to stand in between his legs

“They weren't too bad , maybe not the best tho” you say, giggling slightly at the situation

Silence fills the room for a bit before luke speaks up

“I'm sorry I caused you so much stress, I love you and I wouldn't trade you for the world. Maybe I should try and talk to you more and not just about hockey, hm?” he speaks, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear

“Yes please” you smile before leaning in to give him a deep kiss. You both pull away before going back in for a warm and comforting hug, swaying slightly.

“I don't know about you but i'm starving, do you wanna go get some food?” Luke asks, speaking into the crook of your neck

“mhm, exams make me hungry and that breakfast bar Ethan snuck into my bag wasn't very filling” you add, moving so you can look at Luke once more, placing a delicate kiss on his lips

“About Ethan, should I talk to him about how pizza doesn't solve every problem?”

You giggle at his comment, staring softly into his muddy blue eyes before being interrupted by Ethan opening his door

“PIZZA SOLVES EVERYTHING” he shouts just before slamming his bedroom door closed.

“He's been home this whole time?” I ask Luke

“Who do you think let me in?” Luke chimes, smirking down at you.

wriggling out of his arms its not long till you're pulled back by a gentle hand on your wrist

“Wait, I gotta ask how your exam went” Luke asks, hands sneaking around my waist and resting on my lower back.

“It went okay, i didn't give up so that's good” i say, shrugging.

“Mhm good, never give up” he says, finishing his comment by patting my head.

Silence is left between us once again, eyes frowning as he tries to read my expression

“I missed you, Lukey. Don't pull that shit again”

“I missed you too, and judging by how angry you were when you came home i definitely won't” he says as we both make our way out the door and down the stairs.

#nhl hockey #nhl imagine #ethan edwards #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes imagine #mark estapa #Lh43

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