#also yeah i have a terrible relationship with my mom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

futureman · 9 months

Text

switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so��good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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il-miele-che-scrive · 2 months

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Could you do something with Lewis, maybe reader and Lewis have been dating for a while but she’s famous too so they kept things really private, but they got married over the winter break and now the other drivers are finding out

Hello 🫶 lately I've been doing more smaus so I decided to make this one a smau also, hoping you'll like it 🩷

yourusername I still haven't gotten used to seeing myself on those huge ads

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georgerussell63 A supermodel and an actress not being used to seeing herself in ads? 🤨

↳yourusername When was the last time you were walking down the street and saw a picture of you casually hanging on a building? 🤨 Let me tell you it always takes you by surprise, George

carmenmmundt How are you so beautiful? 😭

↳yourusername I love you Carmen 😭

oscarpiastri Good job, Y/n👏

danielricciardo What an abundance of beauty you are

landonorris an amazing day to have eyes

charles_leclerc Can't take my eyes off you

zhouguanyu24 You haven't posted in months and that's what you decided to post?🙄

↳username1 AND SHE ATE

carlossainz55 See you in Vegas soon 👋

tchalamet You busy lately? We haven't been in a movie together for a while

↳username2 Co-star rizz lmao

username3 It's so weird to me how Y/n is the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen and she's SINGLE

↳username4 It's her choice

username3 And she made it while having f1 drivers and timothee casually flirting with her in the comment section

username4 Doesn't seem that much like flirting to me 🤷‍♀️ she's friends with Carmen and George so she's gonna have the drivers in her comments. And Tim is like her bestie

username3 Are you blind 😭 okay maybe Oscar's comment is friendly, but the rest is definitely flirting!!

username4 Whatever feeds your delusions I guess. I don't think she's single, she might just be keeping her relationship super private. Exactly because of fans like you

yourusername Nothing beats a date in Las Vegas

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username1 A DATE. IN VEGAS.

username2 Okay guys, which driver do we think took her on the date?

↳username3 I'm saying Lando, it's a very Lando thing to do

username4 imo he was too busy healing from this terrible crash he had lmao

username5 Plus Lando is too young for her, I'd say Danny Ric

username4 yooo y/n and danny would be a great couple, I hope you're right

username6 Do you guys remember what Carlos commented under her previous post?? "See you in Vegas" or smth

↳username4 yeah but it could be just because she was invited to the paddock

username6 Like usually. But did you ever see any driver say anything like see you there and there before other races?

carmenmmundt YOU WENT ON A DATE?

↳georgerussell63 @/yourusername reply immediately and say who took you

yourusername Mom, dad, I'm terribly sorry I didn't tell you 😭

carmenmmundt This doesn't answer our questions...

↳username1 Help even they didn't know lol

username7 It could be anybody, guys. Y/n has most of the drivers in her likes

↳username2 Then maybe it's someone who isn't in the likes? 🤭

username7 Well, then we have Alonso, Bottas, Hamilton and a few others, it doesn't make it easier

username3 She'll say who it is when they're both ready but I wish it would happen as soon as possible

username9 LMAO none of the guys from the previous post commented now

↳username5 She just subtly told them too f off cuz she's taken 😭

username8 I can't wait until the winter break, I know something is gonna happen...

yourusername He made me get my first tattoo lol

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username1 WHAT?? IS?? HAPPENING??

↳username2 idk looks like miss girl moved, got a tattoo and then decided to travel around 😐

carmenmmundt When are we going to talk about who is "he"?

↳yourusername When the timing is right ✨

georgerussell63 Whoever he is, he's a bad influence on you 🙄

↳yourusername Mom can you tell dad to quit my comment section @/carmenmmundt

username3 Y/n moved to Monaco 😭

↳username4 And how do you know that?

username3 Haven't you heard she was seen there?

username4 And? Celebs love Monaco

username3 Exactly. So she moved there. Possibly with her secret boyfriend

username5 Okay so what we know about Y/n's secret man is they live together in Monaco, he could be an F1 driver and he must have tattoos (because why would he make her get one otherwise?)

↳username6 IT'S DANNY RIC I'M TELLING Y'ALL

username7 Well there's also Hamilton who has quite a lot of tattoos

username8 And Alonso and Stroll, she didn't say how many tattoos her bf has, could be as well one or two

username5 Don't forget some drivers might have them hidden and never spoke about them

username9 To be fair she didn't say if he has any in general lol

danielricciardo What about a party in the new apartment?

↳username6 Yeah, keep telling me it's not him

↳yourusername Most likely when I'm back from my lil vacation

lewishamilton Winter break

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username1 EXCUSE ME

username2 SIR LEWIS HAMILTON, EXPLAIN THE LAST PHOTO

username3 Don't panic, guys, it is me in the 4th pic

username4 I know he's an almost 40 years old man but I'm still shocked

username5 ngl that woman's hand looks familiar...

username6 Not even a tag on the last pic? 😕

username7 Silly season starting early this year 😭

↳username4 Yeah, firstly he dropped the bomb about moving to Ferrari and now THIS

username7 Man said lemme dominate this winter break 🤠

landonorris congrats i guess?

carlossainz55 Unexpected but happy for you!

georgerussell63 I'm calling Toto, you're lucky he doesn't have social media

username8 I can't believe he kept it a secret from all the drivers lol

↳username7 And for so long too!! I mean, you don't marry someone you started dating a month ago, it could've been going on for YEARS

charles_leclerc When will we meet this mysterious lady?

↳lewishamilton I'm sure you all know her well

↳username7 Leclerc better stay away 🤺

username9 You guys don't ever know how sure I am that it's Y/n

↳username10 I won't believe it until they confirm it

username9 Yeah because it's a total coincidence Y/n recently moved to Monaco, got a tattoo because "her bf made her" and also went on a trip

yourusername Shik shak shok

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username1 I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

username2 The couple I never knew I needed

username3 Two fashion icons

username4 Honestly is anyone surprised? Like, okay, unexpected, but I'm not surprised Lewis is dating one of the most famous models/actresses in the world

↳username5 I am surprised tbh 😭 I think a lot of people expected DR3, not LH44

username6 rip to all the drivers who used to hit on Y/n in her comment section 💀

username7 So Y/n is dating LH44 and is best friends with the girlfriend of GR63?

↳username8 She copied her lol

username7 Except Carmen's bf hasn't ever won the world champion title lmao

↳username9 That's a real friendship. Going for drivers from the same team

username10 I need to know how did they mange to keep it a secret for so long 😭

↳username11 Yeah cuz I can't believe even Toto himself had no idea

username12 Something about them being married makes so much sense, I love them

username13 Imagine when we start seeing them doing ads together omg

↳username14 ads? 💀 now that they're out and married I expect lots of content together on both their accounts AND on Drive to survive and just anywhere

username11 tbh who cares about the races, they can just display Y/n on the screen for 2h and I'd watch

y/nhamilton btw we used to date but now we're just married (and thanks @/zhouguanyu24 for keeping our secret)

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carmenmmundt I was just as shocked as the fans

landonorris somehow I'm not surprised Zhou knew

↳username1 And he knew about both THIS and Lewis moving to Ferrari!! And kept quiet both times!

↳charles_leclerc I wonder what else Zhou knows that we don't

username2 Zhou Guanyu is officially the most trustworthy guy on the grid

↳username3 And I thought it'd be Oscar...

username4 Does it mean more iconic Y/n outfits on the paddock? 😍

↳y/nhamilton And matching outfits! 🤭

username2 Oh they're gonna kill it!!

username5 I need a friend like Zhou

zhouguanyu24 You're welcome 😌

↳y/nhamilton 🫶

↳lewishamilton 💜

username6 I never thought about Lewis and Zhou being friends, but...?

username7 in moments like this I go look at the old posts where other drivers would flirt with Y/n lmao

username8 This winter break belongs to Lewis

oscarpiastri Lewis' last name suits you

↳landonorris it would've been funny to see Lew change his last name to hers tho lol

carlossainz55 How long have you been together?

↳y/nhamilton Something like 5 years now

carlossainz55 And none of us knew all this time 😳

y/nhamilton Zhou knew... I've just said that

username9 All the other drivers immediately regretting everything they said under other Y/n's posts hahahah

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #F1 smau #Formula 1 smau #Lewis Hamilton x reader #Lewis Hamilton smau #Lewis Hamilton social media au #Lewis Hamilton imagine #Lewis Hamilton fanfic

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Note

Another lactation blurb for ymls would be amazing bestie! And I would also love to see them be all domestic and fluffy!

this is fucking F I L T H and I wrote it on my phone so I’m sorry if there are any typos!!!!!!

. . .

”My tits are so fucking sore.”

Harry chuckles gently, glancing over at Y/N as she cups her breasts through the soft fabric of her sweater. His smile quickly fades into a sympathetic pout, reaching over from the wheel to wrap a hand around her thigh, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, pulling into the parking lot of their destination, “You’ve been doing such a good job with pumping and feeding Clem, though. I’m so thankful for you.”

It’s hard to be grouchy and grumbly when Harry says sweet things like that. His gratitude quickly melts away the irritation sitting heavy in her chest so she purses her lips instead, breathing out through her nose in lieu of a response.

It’s only their second time out without Clementine, and it’s not even anything terribly exciting. They’re just going to get lunch at a cafe they both like — they left their three month old off at Y/N’s sister’s place, but neither of them liked being away from her for too long (Harry in particular). The first time they left Clem with his parents, it was two weeks ago and it was just so they could go food shopping. They made it through two aisles before he started flexing his fingers nervously, asking Y/N if it was too early to call and ask about how Clem was doing.

(Y/N pretended like it was, but in reality, she’d been wanting to ring Harry’s mom up for the past 20 minutes.)

But having a newborn and navigating a relatively new relationship was exhausting, and Harry was insistent that they spend time together outside of her place. (He’d apparently replaced his obsession with parenting books with relationship ones.)

And that’s how they ended up sitting at their favorite sandwich spot, making quiet conversation about Y/N’s maternity leave, Clementine’s next doctor’s appointment, and Harry needing to end the lease on his own apartment sometime soon.

Everything’s going fine as they munch on their food, sharing a plate of French fries between them. And then Y/N feels it — the familiar sensation of milk dribbling from her swollen nipples, and she drops her sandwich to her plate, her eyes bulging with annoyance.

“Fuck me,” she mutters, sighing out in frustration. Harry glances up with a concerned expression and she leans closer to him, “I’m leaking. I think I need to pump.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry mumbles, “You don’t have a spare bottle or anything on you?”

She shakes her head. “No. I left all the pumping shit at home. I think I’m just gonna go to the bathroom and, like… I don’t know. Try to clean up a bit.”

“I’ll come with you,” Harry instantly volunteers, sliding out of the booth. Her eyebrows raise slightly. “I know you’re in pain right now. It’s the least I can do.”

She doesn’t fight him on the offer, instead following him to the single stall bathroom. With an annoyed expression, she locks the door behind him and hikes her sweater up over her nursing bra. There’s already faint stains over where her nipples are, making her sigh. She goes to reach for some toilet paper to clean off her breasts when Harry’s hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, glancing down at her covered breasts, “Can I?”

They haven’t done this since she leaked for the first time, back when she was still pregnant. They hadn’t even really spoken about it, but if Y/N was being honest, she thought about it frequently. It had been one of the hottest things she’d ever been on the receiving end of.

Parting her lips anxiously, she nods, straightening her posture and subconsciously pushing her chest out. He smirks and unhooks her bra, a low groan sounding from his mouth when his eyes meet her milky breasts. It’s a mess he’s dying to clean up.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, “Let daddy have a taste, yeah?”

Maybe it’s the heightened post-pregnancy hormones or maybe it’s just Harry, but Y/N’s eyes flutter shut at the honorific, nodding quickly. It’s not a moment more before his lips latch around her nipple, sucking with an enthusiasm she’d only seen once before. Her fingers curl themselves into his hair, gripping roughly as she whimpers, her pussy instantly growing slick from the dirty sight.

“You’re so fucking incredible,” Harry mutters against her skin, nipping just below her nipple before switching over to the other one, “Feeding our perfect baby with this. You never let daddy have some though. Bit selfish, I think.”

“Y-you can have it whenever you want,” she mewls, tugging at his hair, “Fuck— touch me, please?”

She barely finishes her sentence before he’s pushing his hand down her pants and underneath the cotton fabric of her panties. They haven’t had sex since she gave birth, even though she’s been cleared. Harry still knows her body like the back of his hand, though, deft fingertips rolling over her wet, swollen clit as he sucks every last bit of milk she has to offer.

She doesn’t know what pushes her closer to her orgasm; if it’s the sight of Harry drinking her milk or the sensation of him rubbing tight circles into her clit, but it doesn’t take much for every muscle to clench itself, breathy whimpers falling from her lips as she comes all over his hand.

“There you fuckin’ go, mama,” he croons, glancing up to watch her fall apart. It’s his favorite view, but maybe he’s a bit more partial to the sight when her milk is dripping down his chin. “Cum for me, baby. Dirty girl, obsessed with daddy licking your milk up.”

He works her though it like it’s his job, her eyes only fluttering open when her peak has finally tapered off. The first thing she sees is Harry’s smug smile, an involuntary, shocked laugh sounding between them.

“You’re pretty kinky.” She teases. He rolls his eyes, clipping her bra closed and fitting her breasts back inside.

“Right, like you didn’t just come from all that.”

“Shut up,” she says, smacking his chest playfully. “I wanna finish that sandwich.”

#bestie asks #writing #ymls concept

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ghostfacd · 7 months

Text

jh86 — in your life, you’ll do things greater than, dating the boy on the hockey team.

au masterlist | hi guys! thanks for reading, make sure you look into my au masterlist for context on yn and jack’s relationship. this can totally be read without having context, but it’ll be much more enjoyable with, so make sure you check it out !! also livvy hughes is from my gabe perreault au which can be found here. this isn’t proofread yet but enjoy, muah & kisses

Jack Hughes.

Although he was known in your high school for being a handsome and incredibly athletic boy, you didn’t care much for him.

Besides, you had too many APs and Honor classes to be worrying about. Like right now; with your nose inside your AP Chemistry textbook, trying your best to not go absolutely insane. So far, it wasn’t working.

It had gotten to the point where you slammed your head against the textbook, making those around you turn to glare at the loud noise. You apologize profusely, deciding to go cry quietly in one of the study rooms the library had, not caring if you’d go home later with red eyes.

“Hey, you okay?”

A guy’s voice pulls you away from your textbook, your sniffles quickly filling the quiet room.

“This room is reserved, sorry.” You say, wiping away your tears with your eyes.

“Oh no, I know. I was just wondering if you were okay. I passed by and heard crying.”

Great. Not only did you look terrible at the moment, a cute guy just heard you crying. How embarrassing.

“It’s just chemistry,” you sigh, “I don’t know why I took it. It’s making me go insane.”

The boy laughs quietly, nodding to your words. “Yeah, I felt the same way about chemistry. Hated it.”

You noticed the equipment he had on his backpack, a long hockey stick and skates.

“You play hockey?”

“Yep. Jack Hughes, 86 on the ice.”

Your eyes widened, not expecting Jack Hughes to be right in front of you. Sure, you’ve heard about him endlessly, mostly coming from giggling girls in your grade, but you’ve never actually seen him up close.

Suddenly, Jack’s phone rang, and he picks it up with quite a bit of annoyance. “Yes. I’m at the library. The one next to the Starbucks, uh huh. Yep, I’ll be out now. Bye mom. Love you too.”

He turns it off, turning around to face you once again. “I have to get going,” he says, frowning. “But I’d be glad to help you with your AP Chemistry work. Here’s my number.”

You glance at the numbers, taking out your phone from your pocket, typing it into your contacts.

“Thanks Jack,” you say gratefully, “I thought you hated chem, though?”

“Oh I hate it.” He laughs. “But it doesn’t mean I’m bad at it. Just give me a call whenever.”

Jack Hughes walked away that day giddy that he had given his number to a cute girl, and you had walked away happy that you were finally getting chemistry help.

However, your happiness didn’t last long when you realized Jack Hughes had absolutely no idea what he was doing when it came to chemistry.

“No Jack!” You say bewilderingly as you watched him scribble a bunch of nonsense on your paper. “What is up with you?”

It was a week after you two had first met at the library and Jack was helping you out in the same study room he had walked into you crying last week.

“I’m sorry okay!” Jack panics, face in a red flush. “I have no idea what I’m doing! I don’t! I just said I did because you’re so cute and I couldn’t help it and I—”

Jack slaps his hands over his mouth before he could say further, shocked that he’s accidentally revealed to you how cute he thinks you are. “Oh my god.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but your stern look doesn’t last long before you burst out in giggles. “Why didn’t you just say so?” You ask.

He finally puts his hands back on the table, “I don’t know.. I guess I was scared of rejection.”

“You? Scared of rejection?” You raise your eyebrows. “Jack, you know girls in our grade and not in our grade would die to even be near you, right?”

Jack blushes at this, keeping his head down. “But those girls aren’t you, it’s different.”

Well goddamnit Jack Hughes, you really knew how to swoon a girl over.

"Really? And you're not just saying that to play me?"

Jack shakes his head quickly. "What? No Y/N, I would never."

And that was the start to yours and Jack's relationship. Although you still very much needed a chemistry tutor, you're glad the hockey player had somehow managed to sneak his way into your life, bringing joy and happiness while he was at it.

"Hey Rory, do you think this looks good on me?" Olivia "Livvy" Hughes, the Hughes' youngest child and also the only girl considered you as one of her best friends because you two were both girls. She was over the moon when Jack had brought you home, claiming she was going to finally have the sister she always wanted.

Needless to say, Quinn, Jack, and Luke were frowning that day at her comment.

The Hughes had started calling you Rory after Jack had. Why did he start calling you that? You really didn't know, but Jack had explained that the nickname was cute, and he had gotten it from your last name, which was Lerory.

"You look gorgeous Livvy!" You gleam happily, watching the younger girl in awe. "He is going to die."

"Who is going to die and why are you dressed up like you're going on a date Olivia Hughes?" The voice of your boyfriend makes you turn to face the boy, who had an unimpressed look on his face. "Who's the guy? Do I know him? I'm gonna kill him."

"Jack!" you scold, slapping his arm. "Your sister looks stunning, doesn't she?"

Jack mumbles something under his breath, to which you responded with an elbow to his side. "Fine. Yes Livs, you look amazing. Don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Livvy nods, before giving you a bone breaking hug for getting her brother off her back. She mumbles a love you thank you in your ear before running outside to Gabe, her date.

Jack places a kiss on your head, leading you to his room and placing a Netflix show on as background noise.

"I'm really glad you and Livvy get along," Jack says quietly. "I was worried you wouldn't for some reason."

"She's a great person J," you say, placing a peck on his lips. "And so are you."

The next time you're over at the Hughes house, there was a bunch of yelling and crying, much of which came from Jack and Livvy. Luke was on Jack's side, Quinn being gone in Vancouver.

"What's going on?" You mumble, feeling like you're an intruder coming into a scene that you were unwelcomed in.

"Did you know?!" Jack huffs angrily, now facing you.

"Did I know what, Jack?"

"Did you know she was dating Gabe Perreault? That kid who plays hockey for Princeton?"

So this is what this is all about. Jack was once again being his overprotective self.

"Yes J, I don't see the problem? He treats her well."

"Well I don't want her dating a hockey player! I know how they are! Luke and I know how they are!"

Livvy watches in tears as her brother continues yelling some more before making her way to you, practically falling into your arms.

"Jackson Rowden Hughes, you better stop yelling at Olivia before I do something about it. You are an adult, Jack. Livvy is an adult now, she's 18, she's allowed to date whomever she wants with or without your permission. Same goes with you, Luke Warren Hughes. You guys need to stop upsetting your sister! Just because Quinn isn't here doesn't mean you can corner and scream at her!"

Your words make Jack and Luke go mute, heads down in embarrassment when they realize how right your words were.

"Rory's right," Jack says awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry Livvy. I didn't mean it, I just don't want you to get hurt."

Livvy nods, breaking the hug with you to go hug her brothers.

Later that night, Jack slips under the covers of his bed, putting his arms around your frame.

"You'd be a good mother Rory." He mumbles sleepily.

"Hm?"

"You'll be a good mom. I saw the way you handled my argument with Livvy earlier, thank you by the way. It shows how amazing you truly are." He places a kiss on your bare shoulder. "And I can't wait to have a family with you Y/N Lerory."

His words make you pull him closer, placing small kisses around his face. "I can't wait to have a family with you too, J."

Although Jack's words weren't true, and he wasn't ready at all.

Which is why the both of you were standing in the kitchen of your dorms, mascara running down your cheeks while Jack ruffles his hair in stress.

"What do you mean you're pregnant?" he says, eyebrows furrowing.

"Well what does it mean Jack?! It takes two people to make a baby!"

"You don't think I know that?!"

"Well by the way you're acting, it sure as hell feels like i'm the one at fault here!"

"I don't know Rory, I don't know." Jack's face is in his hands now, which gives you deja vu to when he first blurted out that he had found you cute. "I need time to think. I can't do this right now."

"What do you mean Jack?" you say, voice cracking as you reach out to him. "J, talk to me."

But he shakes his head, "I'm a professional hockey player now Y/N, you're a college student. I can't be doing this right now." With that, he leaves your dorm.

The next few days are spent with you in your bed, crying into your pillows. Your roommate, Madison, frowns as she watches your depressed state. She leaves an ice cream in your fridge, telling you words of encouragement and telling you that you can come to her anytime about anything.

When the news reaches Livvy, she's absolutely fuming, immediately taking out her phone to call you. Seeing your puffy eyes and cracked voice, she dials Jack right after, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

What she doesn't expect is to see him equally broken as you, eyebags heavy and eyes red.

"I know I fucked up Livs. I know." He says, crying at his desk. Although he's got the NHL title, a bunch of girls who would die to be with him, he still feels so utterly alone without you.

"You know what's funny Jack? You always warned me about how shitty hockey guys can be, you threw a fit because I was dating one, but you ended up being the biggest asshole of them all."

And Jack can do nothing but cry, because his younger sister's words were all too true.

#ollie & daisy’s world! 🌎#livvyhughes!!#Jack Hughes #jack hughes au #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes angst #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes blurb #luke hughes

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relatableblorbopoll · 5 months

Text

Round 1 of preliminaries, group 11

The first two places get a place on the bracket

Little reminder: there will be 2 more rounds of preliminaries, the losing blorbos of this poll still have 2 chances of getting in the official bracket

Propaganda under the cut

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

"Spoilers! She's a college dropout in her early twenties, who suffers from untreated mental illness and dissociation and had a complete breakdown at college, causing her to come home. Now she's living with her parents again, but life in her dingy little hometown went on without her. Her friends are adults now - in a relationship and planning on moving to the big city, or having to waste away in a dead end job instead of following their dreams. Mae is the only one without a new adult role in life. She's not great with people either - she's blunt and often doesn't think things through, and in many ways just doesn't get the world of adults. She's also prone to petty crimes and general anarchy. She's kind of lost and purposeless, and trying to find meaning in life by desperately clinging to the past. Her decision to drop out of college probably saved her life, but it's also put her family in a tough financial situation and is viewed by most people as her just thoughtlessly doing whatever she wants. She's also kind of shamed a lot about not having a job or other productive role in life, despite the fact that her untreated mental issues are actually disabling for her. She also plays the bass real bad. Anyway, i love Mae a lot. Playing this game as a college dropout in my early twenties, sitting in my childhood bedroom in my mom's attic, back in my dingy little hometown, desperately missing my old friends who have all moved on to better, resposible things in life... yeah, it felt like the game was pointing dead at me. Given tumblr's general demographic, i figure i must not be completely alone in this"

Shigeo Kageyama / Mob (Mob Psycho 100)

"autistic. likes milk. if we reach a certain level of emotion we turn into a psychic bomb. cool brothers :)"

Barry the Quokka (The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

"Their only skill is working the microwave, they're non-binary, when seeing a trash bin their first instinct is to look through it, they're always the most normal person in the room, they can beatbox, and they were only hired due to being the only one who applied."

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

"In a fantasy world, be a guy with a regular profession losing his goddamn mind. Poor guy has a guilt complex, (so true) and a lot of deep embarrassment regarding his life.(ehe) He just wants to do what he's passionate about but capitalism is evil and also he keeps getting scammed. Claims to not want anyone to know Things, goes into depth about these Things anyway. Is probably most definitely gay. Can be found face down on a table lamenting his fate. Terrible sleep schedule. (HA) He is such a guy. Wants to believe the world is a good place and people are inherently good. And wants to help people and do good himself. It's just hard. [And he has a roommate. Oh my god he has a roommate]"

"He was, and still is, regarded a genius. He aced his Akademiya days, he has the admiration and appreciation of so many people because he is oh-so remarkable. But what for, when reality is that he sits at home depressed and with guilt consuming him, faking the image people have of him, not only broke as fuck but actually in debt, drowning his sorrows in wine."

Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5)

"highschooler who wants to spend the rest of his life doing what he loves. is obsessed with art and beauty and it's on his mind 24/7 received help from his now friendgroup to break from his abusive foster father who he still have complicated feelings with had to move into school dorms and am struggling to live independantly since he'd rather spend money and time on his art but he's still surviving and enjoying the good times id say also ends up saying whatever is on his mind and is pretty eccentric. very passionate about what he loves. doesn't want to do anything else."

Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

"Ex-salaryman, now jujutsu sorcerer. During one life-and-death fight, kept talking about how it was almost six pm with is when he is getting off work at 6pm no matter what because he hates overtime. While his opponent repeatedly almost kills him. Normalest adult in this shonen anime. Teen MC: "Let's go all out!" Nanami: "No. Where moderate effort will suffice, use moderate effort." Some of his quotes from the anime: "I studied at Jujutsu Tech and one thing I learned is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit! Then I worked at your typical company and one thing I learned is that work is shit! If both are equally shit I'll take the one I'm more suited to." "You've faced several life-or-death situations, but that does not make you an adult. Finding more fallen-out hairs on your pillow, watching your favourite stuffed bread disappear from the convenience store... The accunulation of these little despairs is what makes a person an adult." "I don't praise or disparage anyone. I adhere to facts and judge on that basis. That's who I am. There was a time when I mistakenly believed society operated the same way." "

#preliminaries #tumblr polls #tumblr tournament #character bracket #character tournament #mae borowski #night in the woods #shigeo kageyama #mob psycho 100 #barry the quokka #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #kaveh #genshin impact #yusuke kitagawa #persona 5 #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen

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inbarfink · 7 months

Text

I mean, the thing about Zim is that despite what he might say, he is absolutely capable of love and affection. It’s just that he only expresses it to a very select assortment of people.

First and most obvious one is probably his relationship with the Tallests. Which tends to be a lot less just a ‘loyal soldier duty bound to serve his leaders” and is coded a lot more like…. “Child overeager to please his neglectful parents”. I mean, the entire emotional crux of ‘Enter the Florpus’ is built on this.

Zim isn’t just motivated by a pure ideological belief in the Irken Empire’s conquest, or by the desire for the fame and accolades that come with being a successful Invader. I mean, those ARE factors. Zim is both a true believer in Irk’s imperialist ideology and very interested in feeding his ego. But he’s also looking for a more personal sort of emotional validation specifically from the Tallests. One that he’s desperate for, but we know that he’s never gonna get.

(And that’s not just because Zim sucks. Even if he could somehow stop being a walking disaster area and a giant millstone around the Empire’s neck, that desire for the Tallests’ love would still be a fool’s errand. We’ve all seen how they treat poor Skoodge.)

In addition to that doomed attempt at an emotional connection, Zim can sometimes be kinda affectionate with his various robotic minions, which obviously goes back to the whole…

Yeah, that.

And that same episode ends with him having a very similar sort of response to Robo-Dad and Robo-Mom picking him up.

And then there’s, of course, his M-Lab Robot Minions in 'Enter the Florpus'. All named - and all grieved by him.

His extreme reaction to Lawrence specifically dying shows he did apparently see them as individuals.

But as far as we can tell both the Roboparents and the Robot Army are not, like, sapient? I mean, AIs like GIR or the Computer are characterized as basically Machine People - but these robots barely seem more sapient than my laptop. And as much as I love my laptop it’s not gonna, like, love me back.

Speaking of GIR, he’s another example of someone Zim shows genuine care for. I mean… he can absolutely be pretty mean to him at times…

But any sort of kindness from Zim has to be graded on a Curve because he’s so terrible. ‘Hobo 13’ demonstrated to us very well just how horrible Zim can be to his subordinates - rude, inconsiderate, pretty much deliberately sacrificing them not just for his personal gain but also just for his own petty amusement.

And it’s notable that’s not how he treats GIR. Who he expresses actual concern for…

And he pretty easily acquiesces to GIR’s capricious desires even when he clearly sees them as Stupid and frivolous.

This scene is especially notable. I mean, this is Zim actually feeling bad about the fact that he made someone cry and trying to de-escalate the situation. Maybe for other characters a moment like that would be no big deal, but this basically the softest Zim has been through… all official IZ media. And it was a scene with GIR.

And meanwhile GIR himself… didn’t really register any of this - either Zim’s frustration or his attempts at sort-of comforting him, because he was only sad about having eaten his cupcake and not being able to eat it more.

Because that’s the thing, while GIR does have some level of affection towards Zim at times…

He doesn’t really show that same level of care. I mean, in pretty much all of these examples, GIR puts his own desire to give Zim physical affection over Zim’s clear discomfort and disgust. And in general, while GIR vaguely acknowledges that Zim is his master - he often disregards or ignores Zim’s orders and requests. And not just when it comes to being ordered around in yet another evil scheme -

But also when the situation is just clearly basically hazardous to Zim’s very life.

(Which is very much in contrast to Zim, who, again, is actually emotionally invested in GIR’s safety)

While some of GIR’s inability to fulfill Zim’s commands can be attributed to his lack of mental focus and general stupidity - his absolute lack of care and regret about these situations seem to imply that, like, GIR might follow some of Zim’s orders when they seem fun, and he might like Zim in the sense that GIR is generally incapable of genuine malice. But GIR is never going to care about Zim, as a ‘Master’ or as a friend, as much as he cares about his own hedonism.

And of course, we all know that if GIR was capable of actually focusing on anything and remaining grounded in reality - he would very quickly realize that he actually hates Zim quite a bit.

And that’s, like, the whole Tragedy of Zim. He is a being capable of kindness and friendship - but he always ends up only caring about beings who will never care about him back.

Due to Irken indoctrination and also self-inflicted due to his own ego (like, it is no coincidence that the People Zim Actually Cares About are the two beings Irken ideology obliges him to acknowledge as his superiors and then a bunch of robotic minions who are supposed to be 100% obedient to him.) Zim only loves those who will not love him back.

Except for Minimoose. That relationship is 100% wholesome.

#invader zim #zim #zim iz #iz zim #iz #the tallest #almighty tallest #invader zim tallest #the almighty tallest #GIR #iz gir #gir iz #gir invader zim #minimoose

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tricktster · 10 months

Note

how long have you been getting burritoed... i love the thought of you guys being together for five years and you still fall for it every time

Slightly NSFW warning but the full backstory for the burritoing is honestly very sweet and i can take absolutely no credit for it being so.

so it has not been five years, it’s only been five months, but given that my tolerance for being in relationships can usually be measured in weeks, five months with me harboring every single desire to keep this going is saying something. but rest assured the burrito thing has always been a threat in this relationship. lemme explain.

see, i met my boyfriend the most romantic way a person can, in that i hopped on tinder one friday when I was bored and he was the most interesting person that night to ask me to grab a drink with him the following week. I agreed, with every expectation that this was going to be a one night stand situation. This was because I had already concluded I would probably sleep with him since he was hot and funny over tinder/text but also, more importantly, because I had decided to plunge back into the dating world after several years of being resolutely single by having what my roommate described as “a wanton winter,” which is a nicer way of saying that I was here to sleep around without any strings remotely attached. I had every intention of this being followed by a slutty spring, sexually-available summer, and perhaps even a fuckboi fall.

All this to say, I was not looking for an actual relationship when I agreed to “grab a drink” with the man who is now my boyfriend. In fact, even though he was categorically hunky all-round? I was by this point in my wanton winter not even optimistically hoping for a good time. I had recently re-discovered that hunky meant absolutely nothing, and was still haunted by memories of sleeping with an extremely attractive massage therapist who was not only terrible in bed but also read me a very bad poem that he’d written afterwards and started crying about the state of his life at one point and also his mom called like 11 times while he was over. Like, my expectations were subterranean.

Now given this background, i presumed that this guy would follow the established pattern set by every other guy i’d hooked up with during wanton winter; we’d go back to my place, fool around, he’d leave, and i’d get occasional “u up” texts from him for the next few weeks until one of us ghosted etc. so like it was a surprise - but certainly not an unpleasant one! - when he asked (a little nervously) post-hookup if he could stay the night. he didn’t want to impose, he explained, but he had a day shift the next morning and it was really late and his house was 24 minutes away and while he didn’t want to be presumptuous he’d thrown what he needed in a backpack just in case and also he wanted to cuddle and be big spoon.

well. this was a deviation. this possibly suggested more interest than just a one night stand.

ideologically i was opposed to the threat this posed to my no commitments wanton winter lifestyle but given that he was significantly cuter and funnier in person than he’d been online and also that he had just absolutely rocked my entire world for several hours(!!!) i was just like “yeah homie you are more than welcome to stay,” and decided against issuing my standard warning whenever anyone proposes sharing a bed with me that “I do not tolerate people attempting to cuddle me in my sleep well so don’t be hurt when you find me as far from you as physically possible tomorrow, and also you may be kicked in the process of me rolling away, and my toenails are inexplicably sharp so you may bleed.”

and then, you know, suddenly the alarm was going off, and he was extracting himself, unwounded, from the big spoon position that I had not felt the unconscious need to escape from all night, and I was just internally like “haha! i might be in trouble!”

that mighta done it on its own, honestly, the whole bit about him being the sole exception i have ever encountered to my instinctual need for space when i’m sleeping. but he was not done. he quietly got ready while i was mulling this development over in a state of half consciousness, and then? instead of slinking out into the barely-morning, that motherfucker very gently rearranged the bedclothes to actually cover me, gave me a kiss, said he’d text me when he got to work, and then the bastard tucked me in.

he then left me, the victim of the cutest goddamn nonsense that has ever happened after a tinder hookup, to process this unexpected turn of events.

I concluded that I was, in fact, in trouble.

so like… needless to say, that act of tucking me in was the death knell for my wanton winter, as well as my adversarial relationship with the concept of developing feelings. I am an extremely crotchety housecat that doesn’t like to be crowded who has unprecedentedly fallen incredibly hard for a wildly enthusiastic golden retriever, and our relationship is foundationally based upon this man’s desire to make me all snug and cozy before he leaves.

the burrito aspect was merely an afterthought. it’s all about the tuck-in babey.

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ultfreakme · 1 year

Text

Okay I’m still on the verge of tears and can’t do this rn so buddy daddies ep 10 jumbled thoughts

Idk wtf anyone says anymore the entire kazurei relationship is queer there is absolutely NO denying it anymore. That scene where Kazuki is looking at kids with their moms, then it cuts to himself? Yeah that’s basically insecurity and feeling terrible he can’t fit their own family into societal standards. Yeah it’s about Miri missing Misaki, about how their careers aren’t meant to accommodate a child but its also about how society has made us all internalize that a ‘right’ family involves a mom, a dad, and a child/

Miri is absolutely sad that Misaki isn’t with her, but she’s never like, so upset she gets devastated. Misaki herself asks “do you like it here better than with me?” and what does Miri answer? She doesn’t says “yeah i like it better here”, BUT she also doesn’t say “I like it best with you!”, she completely dodges and says “I love you mama, and papas too”. Any time a situation involving a mother comes up, she’s like “would be nice if mama were here....anyways!” and doesn’t dwell on it.

I thought Rei smiling would kill me but Kazuki almost CRYING DESTROYED MY SOUL. It’s like watching either of my parents cry its heartbreaking and horrible and i want it to stop. He thought he’d never find that normal happiness, wanted it oh so desperately and then it’s....gone. The Ferris wheel symbolism was horrible I hate the OP for doing that to me. That opening where they’re in front of the billboards was just-- IT WAS IN FRONT OF US THE WHOLE TIME

I think even Rei almost cried. On the ferris wheel, when they focused on his mouth and it twisted downwards before Miri pointed to the city. Kazuki crying was bad enough and had me tearing up too. If Rei was added into the mix I’d have been in shambles

Misaki holy shit wtf, life hates her, cut the woman some slack wow. Throughout the show she was defined by her singing and they took her voice away. It’s horrible, but I’m glad she has parents to go back to. I’m not fully convinced she can take care of Miri, but if she’s being genuine I think she’ll be just fine and would learn just like Kazurei.

Rei sounded so devastated when he was like “you can’t do this when we’re all attached”. Yeah this was his glimpse at normalcy, the one time in his entire life he got to be part of something that didn’t stifle him and it’s gone now.

Kazuki wrapping the scarf around her- hey why don’t I just eat glass? Why don’t I just go on top of a cliff and scream?? Or set fire to my bed???

“I guess we can’t change” BABY NO YOU CAN. YOU CAAAN!!!

I thought Rei would defy the organization and say “screw it I want to protect this family I have”......but his most prominent memory of his mentor is him dying. How defiance led to his and his wife/gf’s horrifying death. In his head he’s probably thinking that’d be Kazuki and Miri if he doesn’t quit while they’re ahead. Alive and miserable, or dead while holding onto hopeless situations?

Kazuki.....idek.....just Kazuki baby I’m so sorry

#buddy daddies #buddy daddies episode 10 #kazurei #kazuki kurusu #suwa rei #unasaka miri #buddy daddies spoilers #kazuki x rei #unasaka misaki

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liquidstar · 1 month

Text

SEASON 3 TRAILER DROPPED HERES MY THOUGHTS (LN spoilers)

BROTHER AND SISTER OF ALL TIME THEYRE SO CUTE <3 love seeing how their relationship has progressed from beako literally throwing him out a window for stuff like this to her happily playing along its so so so so so cute. genuinely just one of the cutest and sweetest dynamics in the series

hi ram roswaal and fred :) this is probably all we're going to really see of you guys this arc lol

JOSHUA REAL!!!!! but not for long (also otto in the bg foreshadowing all the drinking hes about to do this arc. hes so stressed. poor emilia is trying her best)

julius looks so babyfaced here? they really emphasized his long eyelashes just like subaru has been on about every time he mentions him. they better include the scene where he checks him out, like, if they dont animate subaru looking dead at this mans ass im going to riot

i LOVE this shot of ana. you can really tell shes up to some corrupt capitalist bullshit as we speak. love her for that. wish i had this pic when i made that one money game anastasia video

the red dress actually does look really good on crusch like it compliments the green hair really well but also the crusch we know would not walk around in such a thing so its like. damn looks like the "memories are an important part of identity" story thinks memories are an important part of identity. who knew.

ALSO LOVE FELTS NEW LOOK SO MUCH! the only complaint is i felt (felt lol) like the red brought out her eyes more but the blue also looks cool. three primary colors all being used looks nice too

whatever who cares about all that THE CUNT!!!!!!! THE CUNT IS HERE!!! I CANNOT WAIT FOR ALL THE DRAMA SHE CAUSES TO BE ANIMATED FOR REAL

no fucking way... did they actually...

THEY DID! THEY CENSORED THAT HORRIBLE FUCKING DESIGN OH MY GOD. SHES WEARING SHORTS AND JUST A CROPPED SHIRT. AND CHAPS I GUESS? BUT ALSO A LITTLE SKIRT CAPE SO NO ASS SHOTS... THIS WILL MAKE WATCHING THE SEASON SO MUCH MORE TOLERABLE. i mean not perfect but STILL.

photos taken seconds before disaster lmfao. i still love how chin thinks subaru is a freak and weirdo for being so buddy buddy with him after he and his buddies mugged him. twice. (even more times from subarus perspective. hell he stabbed subaru once) genuinely cant wait to see more of this dynamic its so stupid.

THE FUCKING CUNT!!!!!! also the apples lol

oh you poor thing. you have no idea what next level family drama bullshit awaits. good luck. get ready to kill grandma AGIAN lol

:'( emilia still misses her terrible cat dad and its kinda sad when you know were not getting a resolution on that here either. they both look so sad :(

i cannot wait for garf mommy issues round fucking 2.

THIS CRAZY BITCH!!! I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE THIS CRAZY BITCH ANIMATED. I CANT WAIT TO SEE HOW THEYRE PORTRAY HER MANNERISMS. ESP W HOW WILD PETELGEUSE WAS ANIMATED IN S1. REAL LOONY TOONS BULLSHIT. AND HER POWERS ARE ALSO SOOOOOO MUCH COOLER I CANT WAIT

NO MORE DRESSES FOR CRUSCH YAY

he fucking bit it. yeah i guess thats what dogs do tho.

YOU. DIVORCE MAN. KILL YOURSELF. SLASH SERIOUS.

the empathy powers will have a glowing eye effect. very cool but i hope they dont show it too much in the first scene bc like in the LN i think its cooler if you dont know why everything is so... Wrong.

i dont rly have anything to say i just think ferris looks cool covered in blood. imagine being healed here like doctor catgirl will see you now

emilia be nice. that crazy bitch might be your mom. just like how the previous crazy bitch was in fact your dad.

THEY CHANGED UP CAPELLA'S DESIGN TOO honestly tho her being sexualized makes sense w a lot of the themes (the way its intentionally meant to be perverse and gross in a way explicitly stated) so i didnt mind as much and she still IS here but. this is still an improvement imo just a better outfit looks cooler. bug.

NAUR I DONT WANNA WAIT... OCTOBER.... AUGH

#re:zero #very excited even the things that i was the most unexcited abt and made me wary to watch have been fixed a bit yippeeee

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pineappleciders · 1 year

Text

sp main 4 with a reader who has an eating disorder; platonic headcanons

includes: stan, kyle, cartman, and kenny

A/N: kyles and kennys look so much longer than the rest oops LOL, also the ed is restrictive n implied as anorexia but others could fit it too 🤫

stan marsh

he notices when you don't eat your lunch, and how you tend to leave after meals. he doesn't think it's weird though, acknowledging that it's normal to have something not agree with your stomach or just not being hungry.

but, it started to worry him a little as it became more frequent, and how you were losing weight rapidly

he probably doesn't ask about it at first, but sometimes he'll mention little things or try to subtly express concern

"do you not like your lunch? you can have my fries, if you want."

he might confront you about it, and assumes that there's something else going on in your life that's been affecting you. he figures that would explain the lethargy, the dizziness, and how pre-occupied you are.

he has no idea what an eating disorder is.

you have to explain it, and he probably does some research online about what your disorder is and it just kinda. clicks for him. like the puzzle pieces snap into place

he thinks of all the times you've shown symptoms and warning signs, and he feels like a complete asshole for ignoring them

he keeps it in mind afterwards. he'll offer you pieces of his lunch, and invite your family over for dinner. he also reminds you that he's there for you, whatever that means.

he tries to spend more time with you, sort of as a way to ease his mind that you're safe. and he has his mom make your favorite snacks when you two hang out!!

stan tries to be more mindful of his words, and takes other peoples mental health more into consideration. it's kind of a wake-up call to him

"damn, Y/N, you got sand in your vagina? you look awful."

"lay off, cartman."

"what?! i'm just saying! we were all thinking it!"

if you get really dizzy and nearly faint he gets really scared and immediately takes you to the school nurse. like he's very concerned that you're dying or something and falls asleep in the nurses office waiting for you to recover

he doesn't fully understand the disorder, but he still feels really bad about it!!!! he hopes that one day you'll have a better relationship with food. until then, he's happy to do everything he can to make it easier on you

kyle broflovski

he's probably a little ignorant of your symptoms at first, like he'll tell himself in his head that it's probably nothing.

in fact, he probably thinks you're sick. puking, not eating, always tired. he assumes it's just the common cold, and doesn't pry.

he can't help but worry though. bringing your own lunch with barely anything in it, never staying still, always drinking diet drinks. it was little things that added up and made him suspicious

he wants to mind his own business, but he figures he would be a bad friend if he just let you go through whatever you're going through on your own. he has to be there for his friends.

"Y/N? dude, can i talk to you? over here." kyle pulls you out of the hall into a secluded area.

"uhh, yeah, what's up?"

"uh, listen dude, are you sick or something? like, you haven't been eating any of your lunches, and to be honest... you look terrible."

"gee, thanks."

"ah, i didn't mean it like that. you look exhausted, i mean look at your eyebags! is.. is something wrong?"

you struggle to find words.

"yeah, no, i'm.. i've been fine. a cold, is all."

".. are you sure?"

"...yyyeah."

he keeps an eye on you after that, giving a worried look and furrowed brow when you refuse to eat, but you dismiss it every time.

he starts to research online about what could possibly be going on. not eating, always tired, low-energy, regurgitation...

he comes to the conclusion you might have an eating disorder, and he's honestly super lost on where to go from there. does he confront you about it? does he say nothing and leave you alone? is it any of his business?

he decides to start trying to ease his way into conversation by packing you a lunch one day. that way, you have to eat it!

he does little things like that, like following you to the bathroom after lunch or stopping you during laps around the school. it's... a little manipulative, trying to pressure you into cracking or stopping your bad habits. but, he really doesn't know how else to approach this.

once he talks to you about it, he tries his best to be emotionally available for you. he tries to keep his mouth shut and listen to you talk.

afterwards, he'll give you little pats on the shoulder as encouragement, or bring little chocolates from home for you in his lunchbox. he knows he isn't the best with stuff like this, so he tries to show his care by inviting you to play video games at his house.

to him, quality time can be one of the best ways to bond with someone. he's always inviting you to hang out or go out for dinner with his family!

eric cartman

"you gonna eat that?"

"like you need anymore food, fat-boy."

he's mainly confused on why you're acting so weird. it's sloppy joe day, dude. what the fuck are you doing staring at the wall??

most definitely takes the food you don't eat

"dude, Y/N, what crawled up your ass and died? you've been picking at your food all period."

"..nothing."

he huffs and turns back to his tray, mumbling under his breath. "well, fine, be a dick."

if you were to ever pass out, he'd assume you didn't sleep enough or have like. heart issues or something. which wouldn't be that far off

he only really cares if it causes some sort of medical problem or something. like heart disease, fainting and hitting your bead. then atp it gets him a little nervous. mostly because he isn't prepared to rush anyone to the er anytime soon

it bugs him. like it gradually gets more and more under his skin how you're obviously starving yourself. yeah, he knows. and he wish he didn't, because it's so confusing to him

why???? what is the purpose??????

honestly might subtly try to talk to stan or kenny about it. not cuz he cares. definitely not

"have you noticed Y/N lately??"

"what about them?"

he sighs. "god, you really haven't noticed? they're totally ana-recks-it or whatever it's called. they hurl in the bathroom after lunch every day."

it's kind of hard for him to grasp his mind around,,,, so he chooses to ignore it. it still pisses him off though to no avail

he knows a bit about eating disorders from the internet and stuff, and that you're probably doing it out of insecurity or something. he really doesn't care about that part, but your habits gradually annoy him more and more

sometimes he'll just. push food to you at the lunch table. and when you ask why he's like huffing and reaches to take it back like "well damn i'll have it myself then"

he does get actually concerned if you get super light-headed or something. like if you stand up from your seat and fall back gripping your head he'll look at you from across the room all curious

and might take you to the nurse if nobody else will. maybe

kenny mccormick

yeah, he notices. he doesn't bring it up very often, how you don't eat a lot at lunch, mainly to save you any embarrassment.

he honestly just assumes you don't eat around him in particular out of sympathy. he thinks that you see his measly sandwich and apple and don't eat out of guilt. which he himself feels really bad about

tries to ask you what's wrong and ask if you don't want your food,, but tries not to make a big deal out of it

observes you a little closer, taking mental note of your weird little behaviors. going to the bathroom frequently, always walking, never quite seeming comfortable at your lunch table. he couldn't put his finger on it!

it was one day when you fainted and had to be sent to the nurses office that he pieced it together. he hadn't learned a lot about eating disorders, only a few bits and pieces off the web.

he felt guilty, for some reason. like he had failed you as a friend

i feel like if he were to confront you about it, he'd do it in a subtle way, not like an interrogation. he already feels like he's invading your privacy by mentioning it!!

he might bring it up while you're playing video games in your room. "mmph, mmmph? mm mm mmph mph mmphph? (hey, Y/N? can i ask you something?")

you pause the split-screen game you two were playing and look at him. "sure dude, go for it."

he looks around a little before his eyes land back on you. "mmphh.... mph mmphph mph mmph mph mmph mmphph mppphpm mmph mmmph. (so, i wanted to talk to you about something really important.")

you raise your eyebrow a little. "ookay."

he fidgets a little. "mph... mph mph mmphph? mmph.. mp mmph mph mphph mhp mmfmf mmphph mmphph. mmph mph? (well... are you okay? i've noticed you've been kinda distant lately. what's up?")

you feel your heart drop a bit, anxiety starting to swell. "uh.. i've been fine, i don't know what you're talking about."

his eyes look a little rejected, but he keeps trying. "mm.. mphm mph mphph mmf mm mph mph mmph mph. mp.. mp mph mmf mmf.. mphpmf mphhfm? mph mmmphph?(uh.. i'm just gonna say it. do.. do you have like.. eating problems? a disorder?")

he appreciates that you're talking to him about it, even if you're being honest or not.

he won't treat you differently afterwards. he'll give you a good pat on the back and a smile (you can only tell by the crinkle of his eyes), but he treats you the same.

he'll point out your funky mannerisms even less, and reminds you that you can talk to him. he isn't great at talking but he's great at listening!!!! also tries to be nicer to you. but he doesn't do it consciously, he just feels more of an urge to help you out and even protect you. specifically from cartman.

#south park #sp x reader #south park x reader #sp fandom #stan marsh x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #eric cartman x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #platonic south park x reader #platonic sp x reader #sp headcanons #pineappleciders

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seungkwansphd · 2 years

Text

i think i need to shoot you

pairing: jeonghan x reader wordcount: 6.2k summary: so you’ve figured out how to get along with jeonghan. so what?! everyone at the office doesn’t need to know. it only gets in the way of life occasionally and it’s not that bad, right? genre/themes: fluff, smut, secret relationship at work, rivals to lovers (kinda), maybe some angst? basically i love jeonghan & yn and just want them to be kinda bickering but happy.

a/n: this is the pt2 to we get along infamously. i found it a little challenging to keep their tension, so i hope it was worth the wait and that y’all love it too :)

You chewed on the inside of your lip as you stared what you hoped looked like daggers at Jeonghan. He was wearing the black button down that you had gifted him last week and you were imagining how efficiently you could take it off of him, but you were also at the office so that was a nonstarter. Grumbling, you turned reluctantly to your monitor and tapped angrily at the keys.

“You okay?” your coworker, Vernon, looked at you with slight concern.

“I’m great,” you smiled at him with just your teeth and he shook his head at you, amused.

“I actually thought you and Jeonghan were getting along better lately, but I guess I was wrong,” Vernon mused.

“Vernon…I need you to know that I would never,” you placed your hand on your chest, acting aghast. “To my last breath I will curse his name.” You wondered if you were overdoing it, but Vernon didn’t seem the type to notice.

Jeonghan looked down to hide his smile as he listened to you pretend to dislike him. It should probably bother him more, but you were going about it in such an obtuse way that he found it terribly endearing. He’d never let you know, though. No, it was much more fun to tease you about it later.

[redacted]: ‘are you hungry? should i grab you lunch while i’m out for my client meeting?’

[yn]: ‘plz & ty!! where are you going?’

[redacted]: ‘i’ll send you a link to the menu, just lmk’

You did a little happy dance in your chair as you peered at the menu on your phone screen and made your choice. You eyed Jeonghan surreptitiously as he left for his meeting, you really had done a good job with the shirt.

“Should we grab lunch? I don’t have another call for an hour,” Vernon turned to you.

“Oh, I-, uh,” your brain stalled as you tried to think of a reasonable response. “I’m not hungry. My mom’s bringing me lunch,” you malfunctioned slightly. “I mean my stomach hurts so my mom is bringing me soup.”

“Oh…that’s nice of her,” he replied, but you could clearly tell he found your response odd. He didn’t press, though, and simply left to find some lunch for himself. Once he was out of sight, you rushed to text Jeonghan again.

[yn]: ‘nevermind, please bring me some soup instead’

“Clam chowder?” Vernon did a double take when he saw the soup container on your desk. “Is that helpful for your stomach?”

“Mhm,” you had to answer simply to prevent yourself from bursting out laughing. At this rate, Vernon was going to report you to HR for being unwell.

…

“How did your client meeting go?” you asked Jeonghan as you chopped up onions.

“Good! They said they’re happy with the progress and are considering bringing a second project to us too,” he smiled, pulling pork out of the fridge. He set it down for you and moved to boil noodles for the night’s jjajangmyeon.

“That’s so good, Hannie!” you beamed at him.

“Hn,” he nodded. “Did you enjoy your soup?”

“No,” you groaned, “I panicked when Vernon asked about lunch so I told him my mom was bringing me soup,” you laughed, still embarrassed at your inability to think on your feet.

Jeonghan burst out laughing as he finally made sense of your weird lunch order. “I see,” he nodded slowly, “I guess that’s the downside of people at work not knowing, huh?”

“Yeah,” you pursed your lips as you fried the black bean sauce in oil.

Jeonghan watched as you thought, trying to read your expression. He was ready, at any time, to go to Minghao and find out what paperwork he needed to file. You weren’t quite there, but that was okay. He could be patient. You were worth the wait.

“Mm, I overheard something interesting today,” Jeonghan remarked as he helped carry dishes to the sink.

“What’s that?”

“This developer was telling Vernon how she would curse my name until her last breath or something like that?” he raised one eyebrow at you as he caged you in against the countertop with his arms.

“Oh th-that’s crazy,” you stuttered, flushing at his hungry gaze.

“Especially because I really haven’t given you anything to curse about,” he leaned forward, breath tickling your ear, “Not yet at least.”

“Oh?” you squeaked, “Please elaborate,” you tugged at his shirt eagerly.

“With pleasure,” he laughed, grasping you just under the jaw to pull you into a kiss before popping you up onto the kitchen countertop. “Just so you know, you’re in for a long night.”

“Well fuck,” you weren’t able to stop yourself from cursing.

Jeonghan ran his fingers up your inner thigh, the material of your leggings dragging just slightly at his touch. He pressed two fingers against your clit as his other hand held you open to his firm and direct pressure.

“Jeonghan!” you gasped, head falling back, hair spreading across the kitchen countertop.

“That’s good, I want you to be loud tonight. If you’re going to curse my name, I want you to mean it,” his lips curled up as he worked his fingertips, pressing circles into you at a medium pace. He could feel you soaking through the fabric of your leggings, which always spurred him on.

“Hannie,” you squirmed against the countertop, simultaneously overwhelmed and wanting more. You clutched at his wrist, but he didn’t relent until you were frustratingly close.

“Stay put,” Jeonghan ordered before wandering off. You wondered what fresh hell this would be as you waited. “Is this okay?” he asked when he popped back in, a blindfold dangling off of his index finger.

“...yes,” you nodded after blinking a few times. Jeonghan asked you to get undressed before sliding the blindfold over your eyes gently.

“Okay?” his gentle voice asked, to which you nodded. “Good.”

He guided you into the bedroom, laying you back gently on the bed. The cool air pebbled your nipples and the deprivation of sight made your pulse race. Jeonghan watched intently as your fingers spread across the covers, orienting yourself. He stepped out of the bedroom again as inspiration struck and you laid on the bed, listening to him shuffle around. He returned shortly and trailed the fingertips of his left hand across your skin. The pressure was quite light, almost ticklish, and made you squirm under him. If you could’ve seen him, you would’ve seen a look of pure adoration as he watched the way your muscles jumped and twitched at his touch. He almost felt bad when he lowered the ice cube against your nipple. Almost.

“Hannie!” you jolted, almost sitting upright as you registered the freezing sensation. “Fuck!” your whole body clenched, hands gripping the comforter. Jeonghan grinned, holding the ice against you for just a few more seconds before pulling back.

“Mm, you seem to like that,” Jeonghan’s brows raised, seeing the way you were glistening.

You nodded, ears tuned in, trying to follow his movements around the room. Somehow knowing what he had at his disposal made the anticipation even more blissfully agonizing. You gulped audibly when you heard a now familiar buzzing kick on.

“Hannie, I’m sorry I said what I said!” you groaned, cursing your past self, knowing his penchant for torture.

“Are you tapping out?” Jeonghan asked, unable to read you properly with the blindfold on.

“...no,” you whispered sheepishly. It was a fine line between pain and pleasure and Jeonghan had such a skill at walking it.

“That’s my girl,” he patted your cheek condescendingly before he placed the vibrator just off-center, lengthwise against you. Your strangled cries and the way your hips hitched stroked his ego like nothing else he could even imagine. He continued, alternating between ice cube and vibrator, until you were begging desperately.

“Hannie, please,” you cried.

“Louder.”

“Jeonghan, please!” you repeated yourself, eyes squeezed shut behind the blindfold.

“Go ahead,” he nodded, bringing the toy to sit squarely against your now swollen clit. You let out a loud sob as your body shuddered and an orgasm rolled through you. “Another,” he insisted, keeping the toy planted as you continued to squirm. “Han, Han, Hannie!” you gasped, clutching his forearm desperately as another and another rolled over you mercilessly.

“Louder. I don’t think we’re done until you run out of breath,” Jeonghan snickered at you.

“Hannie, I can’t, no more!!” you eventually squealed, tapping insistently at his forearm with two fingers. Jeonghan nodded, recognizing your signal for release, and pulled away. He pulled off the blindfold and gathered you into his arms, spooning you from behind, and stroking your hair reassuringly.

“So good, so good. Thank you for indulging me,” he murmured appreciatively against the top of your head. You relaxed, melting into him and beaming under his praise. You adored the way he took such care of you.

“What about you?” you asked, turning your face towards him and rolling your hips gently against him.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” he asked, knowing he had already asked for a lot.

“Mhm!” you nodded, “But maybe instead of fucking the living shit out of me, you could be a little gentler?”

“Of course. I’m multi talented after all,” he laughed. You rolled your eyes at him as he ground himself against you. He finished undressing and pulled your back against his chest before sliding into you.

“I don’t think anything beats having you inside of me,” you sighed dreamily, twining your fingers with his as you pushed back against him.

“You’re such an angel at times,” Jeonghan remarked at the way you were able to work him up so easily. With one arm wrapped around your waist, he stroked into you, deep but at a leisurely pace. The way you wrapped around him made his brain feel like a melted slushee in the best way. “Fucking christ,” he cursed, arm tightening around you.

“So good, so good,” you moaned appreciatively, “Will you cum in me?”

“I can indulge you in that,” Jeonghan chuckled, trying to stay composed, but his voice cracked slightly which ruined the effect just a bit.

“Fill me up,” you begged, “Deep inside of me,” you babbled, not really caring what kind of embarrassing shit came out of your mouth as long as you got what you wanted.

“You-, you’re-, fuck,” Jeonghan tried and failed to reprimand you before his hips bucked, shooting his load deep inside of you. You giggled, always proud when you were able to make him the one at a loss for words. He clicked his tongue at you weakly, more than spent.

…

You blinked slowly, trying to mentally orient yourself as you woke up. That’s right, you had stayed the night with Jeonghan, which was why everything seemed out of place. Turning, you couldn’t help but grin as you saw him, still asleep to your side. He was drooling slightly, his hair was defying the laws of gravity, and you weren’t sure if he’d ever looked cuter than this. Glancing at the clock, you let him continue to sleep for as long as time would allow.

The pair of you moved through the morning with ease. Brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror, making coffee, and helping him pick out a shirt. It was a good thing you liked him so much, otherwise it would’ve been sickening.

“You’re really not going to eat?” Jeonghan looked at you, almost horrified.

“I don’t usually get hungry until later!” you waved at him, sipping your coffee.

“You should eat,” he grumbled, but dropped the subject for now. Grabbing his plate, he sat down next to you, tugging your chair towards him. Grinning, you hooked your right leg over his left, enjoying the closeness. The morning had passed quickly, but you had to admit it was nice to start the day with Jeonghan.

“Do you want to go to happy hour?” Jeonghan asked you as you walked towards the office building together.

“I was planning to, unless you had other thoughts?” you nodded.

“No, just curious,” he shook his head, “Do you want me to fall back a bit so we can walk in separately?” he offered, eyes scanning the area for coworkers.

“That’s okay,” you shook your head , “We can say we ran into each other on the sidewalk.”

“Okay,” he smiled at you, maintaining a professional distance as you swiped in.

“Morning, dearly beloved!” Minghao greeted you happily when his eyes landed on you. His eyes flitted to Jeonghan before his brows lifted just slightly.

“Morning Hao,” Jeonghan waved to him before everyone piled into the elevator.

“Everyone coming to happy hour today?” Minghao asked, observing the two of you out of the side of his eye. You tolerated an atypically small distance between yourself and Jeonghan and hadn’t actively picked a fight yet. Interesting.

“Yes, you know Seungkwan will beat our asses if we don’t,” you laughed genuinely.

“This is true,” Hao nodded, “Ride over together?” he asked you as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Of course!” you nodded. You could feel Jeonghan’s eyes on you, but you resisted the instinct to turn to him as there were still others in the elevator and walked to your cubes in silence.

A few hours into the day when you returned from a bathroom break, you spotted an out of place object on your desk. Cocking your head to the side, you realized it was an egg kimbap with a sticky note placed on it instructing you to ‘eat’.

…

“I’m-, are we late?” you turned to Hao with a confused expression as you walked in on an already drunk Seungkwan singing incredibly loudly.

“I-,” Hao stopped in his tracks, slightly surprised, “It’s only six thirty.”

“How long have you been here?” you turned to Hyemi.

“Since five thirty,” she flushed, “It’s been a lot.”

Your eyes flitted to Jeonghan, who shrugged defeatedly. He sat on the couch nursing a beer while Jae and the interns talked at him about something or the other. You could tell he needed extraditing, but weren’t sure how to manage it. To top it all off, Seungkwan’s voice permeated your brain and made it even harder than normal to think through it.

“Narcissistic, my god I love it!~”

“Let’s get a drink and then figure out how to wrangle these cats,” you laughed with Minghao before searching out some soju.

“Did something happen? Or is he stressed? He is way more drunk than usual,” you whispered at Hyemi as she poured shots for you and Minghao.

“I think he’s fighting with Seyoon?” she guessed, already flushed high in her cheeks.

“Ah,” you nodded. That made a lot more sense. Sipping quietly, you took inventory of the room. Seungkwan had momentarily surrendered the mic to someone else, Jae still clung to Jeonghan like a moss to a tree, and Hyemi was…making eyes at Changkyun? From finance? “Um,” you turned to Minghao, jerking your head subtly at the pair.

“Interesting,” his eyes lit up, “Very interesting.”

Jeonghan watched you watch the others. A big part of him wanted nothing more than to go home and take you with him, but he could already tell that you were committed to a night of being the mom friend. When your eyes finally met his briefly, his brows quirked up just slightly before anyone could notice and he delighted in the smile that lit up your face.

“Okay, everyone know how they’re getting home?” Minghao helped to herd the small crowd out of the establishment. A chorus of yeses rang out and he nodded, somewhat satisfied.

“Okay, subway gang follow me,” you announced and the interns fell in line behind you and Jeonghan like a group of ducklings. In lieu of holding hands, you hooked your pinky into his until he reached his stop.

…

“Yoon Jeonghan,” you held your left hand up in front of you, eyes wide and voice calm, as if you were negotiating a hostage situation. “Jeonghan, please,” you implored.

“I’m so sorry, but I think I have to shoot you,” Jeonghan grinned mischievously, his paintball gun trained carefully on you.

“I’ll make it worth your while if you don’t,” you stepped forward, tongue tracing your lips in a way that you knew your boyfriend found incredibly distracting. He didn’t shoot, so you took another step and grabbed him by the tactical vest, pulling him in. He couldn’t help it. Confused that you were doing this during work hours, his grip on his paintball gun slackened and his arm dropped, making him the perfect target for Hyemi to shoot in the back.

“You!” he pulled back, eyes narrowed accusingly at you as he touched the neon green paint dripping down his back, “Oh you’re done!” he pointed at you with a threatening chuckle before walking towards the bleachers where the other out players were.

You laughed it off, running towards Hyemi for a victorious high-five before setting off to find your next target. You scanned the bleachers and noticed that Changkyun and Mingyu were still at large. Noted.

“How did you do that?!” Hyemi asked, high on the rush of taking down the Yoon Jeonghan. “I thought he would’ve shot you right away!”

“I have my ways,” you laughed, turning to her. “Shall we go get your man? I know you guys just recently started dating, so I don’t know if you have the stomach to betray him just yet.”

“Apparently my cat, Natto, prefers him to me, so Changkyun is dead to me as of now,” Hyemi turned to you. A laugh burst through your lips when you saw her deadly serious expression and you nodded firmly before setting off to find him.

“Okay, let’s go!” you pumped your fist, breaking into a jog through the obstacle course.

Jeonghan fumed on the bleachers as you and Hyemi carried out your mission. He wasn’t actually mad, of course, but his competitive nature got the best of him at times. Even more than that, however, he was surprised at how attractive it was to find out that you could be just as ruthless as him when it came to games.

“Ya, Mingyu!” he gestured to one of the junior developers when he spotted him.

“Yeah?” the large man loped over.

“YN and Hyemi are going for Changkyun, so tail them. You should be able to take one or even both of them out while they’re focused on him.”

“I feel like I’m not allowed to take your tip since you’re out,” Mingyu hesitated.

“Don’t care. Do as I say,” Jeonghan waived off his concerns and pushed him towards the field.

Mingyu shrugged and crept through the course, keeping an eye out for you and Hyemi. He ducked behind some netting when he spotted you cornering Changkyun, as Jeonghan had described. Taking aim, he fired off a shot, taking you out of the game. You shook your finger at your boyfriend as you approached him on the bleachers.

“Why do I feel like you had something to do with this?” you rounded upon him, suspicious.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, a picture of innocence, which more or less confirmed your original thought. You reached around him to grab a bottle of water. “I’m not gonna lie, that was kind of attractive,” he leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“You’re terrible,” you flushed, stepping away from him bashfully.

“Not yet, but I will be later,” he whispered under his breath, eyes full of dirty promises.

Reminding yourself that you were at a work event, you turned away from him for fear of overheating.

“We were right not to let YN and Jeonghan be on the same team,” Vernon laughed as he grabbed a fresh water bottle. “Just separately, they’re both menaces. Can you imagine their combined powers unleashed upon us?”

“I actually think I rank YN higher on the menace list than Jeonghan right now,” another one of your teammates, Miseon responded proudly to Vernon. “She did manage to coordinate Jeonghan’s takedown, after all.”

“Yeah, how did you manage that, actually?” Vernon wondered aloud, fixing you with a confused stare. Jeonghan had been extremely well positioned before Hyemi had managed to hit him. It didn’t make a lot of sense.

“Keep underestimating me, Vern,” you crossed your arms as you looked on at the remaining players with interest, “That’s how I like it.”

…

“Hannie?” you called, realizing it had been a moment since you’d last had eyes on your boyfriend. Poking your head into a few rooms, you jumped slightly when Jeonghan appeared next to you, a finger gun pointed at you. You were a little confused, but played along.

“C’mere you traitor,” he ordered with a straight face.

“Traitor? We weren’t on the same team!”

“Traitor of my heart,” he pulled you against his chest, acting wounded.

“Tch,” you rolled your eyes, but allowed yourself to be folded into him.

“I didn’t realize you were so competitive,” he looked down at you, his expression surprisingly soft and full of admiration.

“You didn’t?” you narrowed your eyes at him in confusion, “A year and a half of working together hasn’t made you realize that I’m competitive as hell?”

“I meant more like in games,” he clarified.

“If I’m being honest,” you cocked your head to the side to try and organize your thoughts, “It’s really just something about you that brings it out of me. I’m generally quite easygoing.”

“Hn,” Jeonghan blinked. He supposed it made sense, he did seem privy to a much more difficult side of you than most others were. “I have an idea,” his eyes lit up.

Your eyes widened at him, a bit surprised at how excited he seemed.

“What do you think about cockwarming me?”

“Oh?” you blinked rapidly as you considered it. One the one hand, yes. But on the other hand, no.

“I’m just curious which of us will cave first,” Jeonghan explained, knowing it would egg you on.

“Well it won’t be me,” you bluffed, “So sure!”

“You’re sure?” he smirked at you amusedly.

“More than,” you rolled your eyes at him. Jeonghan scoffed. His toxic trait was that he actually liked it when you acted like this.

Moving to the bedroom, you and Jeonghan decided on a TV show before climbing into bed. It took a few tries, but ultimately you decided that spooning on your side was most conducive to the task at hand. Jeonghan pulled himself flush against you, sliding between your thighs and tugging the sheet up.

“Not fair!” you protested as he rolled his hips and his shaft grazed you, coating himself in your wetness.

“Sorry, you’re right,” he patted your head before sliding into you, bottoming out easily. You exhaled sharply as he filled you up. Maybe your confidence had been undeserved. “You haven’t watched any more of this without me, right?” he asked as he pressed ‘play’.

“No?” you tried to clear your head. You felt so full.

Jeonghan’s arm was looped around your waist and fingers laced between yours. You were surprised at how still he was able to be as you watched most of an episode. Towards the end, you started to get a little bored. Ever so slightly, you started flexing around Jeonghan. You hoped to be almost imperceptible and you thought you were achieving that until the episode ended and he put it on pause.

“You’re misbehaving,” his voice was gravelly as you felt him twitch inside of you.

“Am I?” you wondered aloud. “Were there rules?”

“No, I guess not,” he shrugged, realizing you were right, and pulled you down against his hips, hard.

“Han!” you scowled at him.

“Hm?” he hummed lightly as he continued to drive into you without ever pulling out.

“Not fair,” you bemoaned as you realized your inner thighs were completely slick.

“I don’t really feel like playing fair,” he tsked at you, hand moving to tease the underside of your breasts. Your nipples puckered at his touch and your mouth hung open in disbelief. You’d fucked up, truly.

You folded at the waist, as if it would provide you some relief, but it didn’t help even a little. Jeonghan continued to grind into you, stroking you deeply as little whimpers and cries escaped your lips.

“You could end this,” he goaded you, laughing cruelly, “Just be a good girl and cum for me.”

“No,” you frowned, even though you wanted nothing more than that. You were still holding onto your stubborn pride, but your grip on it was slipping.

“I can hear how wet you are. I can feel how close you are, baby,” Jeonghan continued to needle at you with his words. “Just cum.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm ripped through you. A mangled cry managed to escape your throat as you clenched hard, triggering his own orgasm. If you’d had the presence of mind, you would have heard him cry your name out, but you weren’t exactly all there.

“I really do hate you,” you grumbled, after pulling yourselves together.

“You’re just mad you lost,” he fixed you with a shit eating grin. It was big talk for a man whose bones felt like jelly.

…

“Hao, I genuinely need to file a formal complaint about all of these workplace bonding activities,” you griped to your favorite HR manager. Today was community service day, so a group of you were headed to a local food pantry in embarrassing, matching t-shirts.

“I am once again asking you to remember that that is above my pay grade.”

“What’s the point of being your friend if I can’t use it to get the things I want?” you leaned against him affectionately.

“Yeah, the ROI is dismal, isn’t it?” Minghao laughed.

“Oh! Actually that reminds me. I have something to ask you later, in private.”

Minghao’s brows disappeared into his hairline, but he nodded. His curiosity burned, but the volunteer coordinator arrived to walk the group through the tasks for the day. It was a pretty straightforward boxing of groceries to be distributed later. You settled in between Seungkwan and Hao and were responsible for adding carrots. Jeonghan worked at the end of the line, next to Vernon, on the opposite side of the table.

“Hey y’all!” a new voice arrived in the room, “I’m Kim Yejun, the executive director here, and I wanted to stop in and thank you all for your time today! We really appreciate the extra help.”

The group went through introductions around the table. You thought you were imagining it, but it seemed like Yejun’s eyes lingered on you just slightly longer than needed. You realized Seungkwan had picked up on it too when his head turned towards you, eyes like saucers.

“May I join you?” Yejun approached your table during the lunch break.

“Yes of course!” Seungkwan nodded furiously, pushing things away dramatically to make room for the executive director.

“Thanks,” Yejun laughed, taking a seat almost across from you. “How are you finding things today? Any questions about our organization?”

“It’s been great,” you nodded at him.

“I do have a question,” Seungkwan raised his hand, “How did you come to be in this line of work?”

“Me? Ah, well, actually when I was young, my family was not always food secure. We relied on food pantries, like this, and when I got older, I wanted to make sure I could give that positive experience to others as well.

“That’s so admirable!” Seungkwan fawned. “And do your family and children ever come to help out as well?”

“Ch-children? I’m not married, I don’t have any children,” Yejun blinked.

“Ah, I see,” Seungkwan nodded, clearly scheming.

“How about you all? Do you have families?” Yejun asked, eyes meeting yours with interest.

“Ah, well,” you stammered, not sure how to answer. You weren’t single or interested in this man, but no one at the table knew that and it wasn’t really the time for a big reveal.

“She’s single,” Seungkwan filled in the gap seamlessly.

“Ah,” Yejun nodded, not really listening as the others shared their marital statuses with him as well.

Jeonghan eavesdropped on your table’s conversation, chewing angrily. He trusted you, but that didn’t make him wish that he could vaporize Kim Yejun any less.

“You okay, man?” Jae noticed Jeonghan’s sour mood.

“Yeah, just ready to be done with this,” Jeonghan grumbled.

“Same, this is so lame. We should go out afterwards and pick up chicks! I’m a great wingman,” Jae boasted, wanting to stay in Jeonghan’s good graces.

Jeonghan wanted to bang his head against the table. There was almost nothing he wanted less than that.

…

[yn]: ‘should I still come over?’

[🥰]: ‘please’

You smiled, tucking the paperwork that you had gotten from Minghao into your bag. You were glad Jeonghan still wanted to see you, as he had seemed a little moody earlier. You couldn’t blame him though, Seungkwan really had been pushing the YN & Yejun agenda today.

Jeonghan stewed as he waited for you to arrive. The day hadn’t been completely horrible, but it had certainly snapped things into perspective for him. He had genuinely been okay waiting for you to be ready to go public, but today had dislodged an ugly, jealous piece of him that he did not like at all. He wanted desperately to bring the topic up with you, but was also worried about pushing you too too far and too fast. What a dilemma.

“Hannie!” he heard you calling as you opened the door. For a split second, he forgot everything that had been bothering him as you ran over to him excitedly. “I brought you snacks!”

“Ooh!” his eyes creased into a smile as you climbed onto his lap , kissing his nose sweetly. His hands naturally found their way to your hips as you tossed off your bag and settled in.

“Sorry about today,” your lips drew into a straight line as you played with his hair.

“Sorry?” he cocked his head to the side at you.

“Seungkwan was on another level today. I don’t imagine it was fun for you to see him try to set me up with Director Kim?”

“No,” he shook his head, but the knot in his chest loosened and was replaced by relief.

“Actually, that’s why I was a little later than you today,” you held up a finger before reaching for your bag to rifle through it. You retrieved the handful of papers and started reading from them, “There shall be no policy prohibiting peer coworkers from dating, although HR must be notified via form 0526-15,” which you presented to Jeonghan with a flourish. “What do you think? I know we’ll have to give up our tough, intimidating personas, but-”

Jeonghan cut you off with a kiss, before beaming at you. “You have no idea how ready I am to file that damn form,” he enthused, almost exhilarated.

“Oh!?” your eyes popped open, “Really?”

“Yes, you dunce,” he tapped you on the forehead impatiently, “You’re mine, I want people to know.”

“Oh,” you flushed. It wasn’t like it was a total surprise, but to hear him say it so simply made your heart swell.

“I also want Seungkwan to repent. He’s already a little scared of me.”

“You’re a big softy though,” you giggled, kissing across his jaw contentedly. You felt Jeonghan swallow as his hands tightened around your waist.

“Oh yeah?” he queried, and you could already feel him hardening against you. You grimaced at his bad joke, but couldn’t help the way your body reacted so readily to him.

“I retract-, redact,” you tried to say, but his hands were guiding you along his length and you lost the ability to form thought. “Help,” you whimpered, clutching the front of his shirt as your clit throbbed.

Jeonghan smiled. You were so responsive to him, it was one of the many things that he had come to adore about you over the past months.

“Princess can’t think straight anymore?” he teased, pulling your chin down to meet your eyes as he let you work your hips by yourself.

You pouted, pupils dilating as your mouth fell open with little gasps and whimpers.

“My princess,” he corrected himself, grinning up at you. You were so pretty when you were speechless for him.

“Yours,” you nodded, loving this soft, possessive side of him.

“Take this off for me,” he tugged at your shirt lightly. You were more than happy to comply. “Mine, mine,” he repeated as he kissed each of your palms before threading his fingers into yours. His lips sought out the sensitive skin of your breasts and nipped gently, continuing this ‘mine’ mantra as your hands clutched his for support.

“My turn,” you decided, standing up and pulling him into the bedroom. You pushed him onto the bed and helped him undress. Settling between his legs, trailed gentle kisses from his knees to his upper thighs. You could see the sinews of his muscles tense as you moved close and closer to his cock. “Mine,” winked at him before closing your lips around the head, lapping your tongue against the underside.

“OooOoh,” Jeonghan’s voice wavered as you massaged him. You giggled around him as you manipulated your lips up and down leisurely. You watched intently as he gripped the sheets, a sure sign that he was unraveling quickly.

“You’re so cute, all worked up like that,” you pulled back, teasing him slightly.

“Shut up,” he glared at you weakly.

“Will you cum in my mouth?” you asked politely, hand stroking him as you waited for his answer.

“This time, yes,” he nodded.

Your eyes creased into happy half-moons as you worked your mouth back around him, swallowing deep. You applied a gentle pressure as you milked him, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

“YN,” he warned, hand hitting the mattress as he tensed and unloaded. You showed him your tongue proudly before swallowing.

“You truly are filthy,” he shook his head appreciatively as he pulled you against his side. There was no use denying it, it was very true.

“You like it.”

“I love it,” he corrected you without thinking.

You froze for a split second, surprised to hear him use that word. Did he? Did you? You weren’t sure, but the way it made you smile like a fool to hear that probably meant something, right?

“When do you want to file that paperwork?” Jeonghan asked, cutting off your mental spiral.

“Oh! Um, maybe tomorrow?”

He smiled the brightest smile you thought you had ever seen on him. “I can’t wait until everyone knows that you’re mine.”

Damn, if that didn’t make your heart swell and your pussy throb.

“Say more stuff like that,” you insisted, clambering on top of him. Jeonghan had to laugh, that might’ve been one of your most reasonable requests.

“Oh?” he drawled, “I can’t wait to show up to happy hour with you, hold your hand in front of everyone,” he nuzzled you as you played with his hair.

“Hold my hand? You’re gonna get us fired,” you teased him playfully. It really tickled you to hear that such seemingly small things were what he looked forward to most.

“I have lots of ideas that would actually result in that,” Jeonghan grinned impishly up at you, his erection pressing against your inner thigh.

“Of course you do,” you chuckled as you lowered yourself on him. You rode him lovingly, from hilt to tip, and observed him.

He looked up at you, adoringly, hands resting loosely at your hips allowing you to set the pace.

“You feel so good and you look so pretty,” he pulled your forehead down to his and whispered. He looked directly into your eyes and his blown out pupils made your breath catch. You really did like him.

“Hannie,” you whined, hand tightening at the back of his neck.

“All yours, princess. Cum on my cock for me,” he whispered encouragement at you as his balls tightened.

“Cum with me?” you asked, doing your best to hold off.

Jeonghan nodded, bucking his hips up into you just slightly as he complied, emptying himself into you as you came around him. You cupped his jaw and kissed him deeply before slumping over him, pulling him into an embrace.

…

“Minghao?” you knocked on the wall of his cube as Jeonghan stood behind you.

“Yes?” he turned, a little surprised to see the two of you there together.

“We have our form 0526-15.”

“Oh. Oh!” He did a double take. “I hate to have to tell you this, but we also need to follow policy. Seungkwan would be the person to process that. I can pass this along,” he offered.

You and Jeonghan looked at each other for a moment before shrugging. You were ready.

As you walked back towards the main staircase, you heard Seungkwan let out a strangled yelp after reading the paperwork.

“HELP!! POLICE?!”

...

part 3 is here, if you’re so inclined!

#jeonghan smut #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #kpop smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #jeonghan scenario #jeonghan imagine #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt fanfic #we get along infamously #seungkwansphd:writes

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Promise

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc isn't taking you on a date. At least, he's pretty sure he's not.

Tales Untold; Part VI - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings (this chapter): fluff, Marc Spector’s terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, mental health issues, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past child abuse, a touch of angst

A/N: Hello! As always, thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated! If there are any additional warnings that need added, please let me know. If you want to be added to the tag list, you can do so from the series masterlist!

VI.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 3:16 PM

“Is that the last one?”

Marc nods, examining the side of the last window box.

It’s still a bit rough around the edges, but you seem to enjoy sanding them down yourself before you paint.

“You did a good job,” Elias says, approaching Marc where he stands at the workbench. “I’m sure it’s appreciated.”

Marc’s guard snaps up at the praise, shoulders raising around his ears, before he takes a breath, nods, and makes an effort to relax. “Yep. I think so.”

His father lies a hand along the wood, his fingers tracing the curved back edge. “I wonder whatever happened to that birdhouse we made.”

He freezes, not expecting his father to mention that. “You…don’t know?”

Elias shakes his head and tucks both hands behind his back. “I’m not sure. We never put it in the backyard.” He frowns and Marc glances up to meet his eyes, “Why didn’t we?”

Marc sucks in a breath and diverts his gaze again, turning back to the bench to clear away the mess he’d made. “Probably because of mom.”

The silence that follows his words lasts more than a few minutes while Marc works. He carefully puts the tools away, then clears away the leftover wood and sawdust. When he’s almost finished, it becomes clear his dad isn’t going to answer him.

Marc turns to Elias. “I gotta go,” he says, because he’d rather not think about it. “I was supposed to be over at Tales Untold a couple hours ago.”

And he misses you. Every second he’s away he thinks about you, and he’s not sure if that’s normal or not.

“Well,” Elias clears his voice, “At least it's over now.” He gestures at the flower box, but Marc is fairly sure he’s talking about something else.

It hurts.

Maybe it's over, but he lives with it everyday.

“Yeah,” he answers. “It’s done now.”

Elias pats his shoulder gently and then turns to walk back up the stairs. Marc doesn’t follow, staring at the last window box, wondering what it meant that it was done.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:36 PM

Marc can hear you talking to a customer as he comes down the steps.

At the foot of the stairs, he steels himself for any social interaction he might have to participate in.

Usually, the customers ignore him.

But some of them are chatty and others, the regulars, have started to recognize him. He knows they feel rude not speaking to him when they know him, but he’d prefer not to have to talk.

He pushes aside the curtain that you pinned back in the evenings when the shop closed, and steps through.

To his surprise, you’re the one that turns to him excitedly. “Look Marc! Isn’t this perfect?”

You hold up a vintage Cubs t-shirt with a smile. “Cool,” he comments mildly, approaching the counter where the customer stands.

“You guys big Cubs fans?” She asks, her eyes darting over him.

“Marc is,” you answer for him, folding the shirt up carefully on the counter with a smile. “But we’re going to a game soon.”

“Yeah, well, those have been in the back of my closet for years. Can’t keep up with it anymore so it’s time to go.”

You nod knowingly. “Yes, they are ready for a new home.”

If the customer thinks anything of your phrasing, she doesn’t mention it.

Marc tunes out of the rest of your conversation, patiently waiting for you to finish up, and only filtering back into the conversation when he notices the woman inching closer to him. You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t care, but if she steps any closer, her arm is going to brush into his, and he can think of nothing worse.

He moves to trail around the counter, leaning next to you on your side of it. He should have started there in the first place. He fingers the edge of the clothing stacked on the counter, a couple of t-shirts, a sweatshirt, and beneath that a couple of records.

You finish with the woman and follow her to the front of the store to lock the door behind her and flip the open sign to closed.

“Y’know I’m sure I’ve got some vintage stuff somewhere if you want it,” he says when you find your way back to him. “Stuff from when…from before I left.”

You ignore him to note, “She seemed to like you.” For one delusional moment, he thinks you might be jealous, until he looks up at you and catches the expression on your face. You’re trying and failing to suppress a smile. Your tone is teasing.

Marc rolls his eyes.

“Do you want what I have or not?” He huffs.

“Sure,” you step up to the counter to grab the sweatshirt and t-shirts. You leave the records where they lie. “C’mon. I wanna try them on.”

Marc follows you back upstairs anxiously.

You’re talking, something about the weather predictions for the day of the Cubs game - supposedly it was going to rain that Saturday - when you pause at the top of the stairs. “Oh, my god. Marc?” You turn to look back down the steps at him, still halfway down the staircase. “Did you cook dinner?”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles, tromping up the rest of the stairs to stand beside you in the doorway, “you usually cook for me.”

Your eyes sparkle, something gentle and infinitely fond resting in your gaze. “I didn’t realize you knew how,” you tease.

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, glancing away, “hilarious.”

You nudge your shoulder gently into his and then step into the apartment. His breath catches as you walk away, the scent of you and the heavy cut of your gaze lingering with him.

“You’re too good to me, Marc. How am I ever supposed to pay you back?”

Something inside him twinges. These are things he never wants paid back to him. “You don’t gotta. Just eat.” Then he adds, “You do a lot. For me. Don’t worry about it.”

You hum and tuck the shirts you carry into the hamper just inside the bathroom door. “I always do. You’re much too good to me, honey,” you say with a soft smile. “I mean, without you, the storefront would still be a disaster. You’ve done so much.”

“Don’t cut yourself short, you help all the time” he rumbles, moving back to the stove. You helped too much, like you don’t get why Marc does things for you. “Thought you were gonna try ‘em on?”

“Should probably wash them first,” you amend yourself, washing your hands in the basin.

The water shuts off and silence fills the air.

He’s aware that you’re behind him, moving slowly closer, and he has to repress a smile.

You’re not very stealthy anyways, but the scent of your skin gives you away even if you were. He turns and beckons you closer, reaching out to tug you close into his side.

“How do you always know?” you gripe. “I’m not a loud person.”

He kicks out a foot behind you, hemming you in between him and the stove. Really, it's just so he can touch you. “Go ahead and take a look,” he bumps his chin into your jaw, directing your gaze and not answering your question. You turn your head to meet his eyes instead, the look in them softened and content.

“I stand by what I said. You do too much for me.”

“Well,” he tries to joke, “You are behind on your painting responsibilities.”

So far, you’ve painted two of the three window boxes. You haven’t even considered how you want to paint the sign.

You wrinkle your nose at him and turn to lift the lid on one of the pots.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 1:13 PM

“I forgot how much I missed this,” Marc says, twisting the tag off the new Cubs jersey. “Haven’t been to a game in years.” He tosses the tag into the trash and rolls his shoulders. The fabric is a bit staticky, which he doesn’t love.

He fidgets with the hem of it, trying to decide if he should wear something under it so it doesn't stick to him. “Marc,” Steven pipes up, “Bit of water will do the trick to get rid of the static.”

Jake tilts forward, examining the shirt. “We look good,” he comments, oddly mild in tone.

If Marc didn’t know better, he’d say Jake was nervous. “It’s not a date,” he answers as he yanks the shirt off and turns on the tap to run cool water onto a washcloth.

“Well, we can’t be sure since someone didn’t fuckin’ ask,” Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc runs the cloth on the inside of the shirt and then over his skin before putting it back on. It’s much better. He adjusts the collar, decides it would have to do. “I didn’t ask because we’d sound like fucking idiots.”

“Remember to take those shirts with you, yeah?” Steven reminds him, cutting off whatever Jake was about to say that would invariably escalate into an argument.

“Got it,” he says, tugging his Cubs hat on before reaching for the bathroom door.

Marc grabs the shirts that he’d dug out of the back of his closet from the hall side table where he’d left them. He calls out a goodbye to his father but doesn’t pause to listen for a response before he’s out the door and making his way to Tales Untold.

He’s not sure you actually want them, considering you now have a collection of two t-shirts and a sweatshirt of a sport you don’t pay attention to.

Still, he wants you to have them.

He wants you to have them because they used to be his. Maybe it's a tad possessive, but he hopes you’ll want his things over a stranger’s.

Marc had considered briefly if he should give them to you at all, stalled in the mouth of his childhood bedroom’s closet, his teenage wardrobe staring back at him.

He’d been worried about what you might feel or see if you touch them.

But baseball was a balm, a savior in his childhood and teenage years, so he figures their energy must be like the piano’s. Warm and sun drenched and good.

When he thinks of baseball, he thinks of summer, miles of green grass in the park, warm days with his dad, melting ice cream.

It has to be good.

And this is something he wants to share with you after all. This is something that’s important to him.

Halfway down your street, Marc makes a split second decision, and ducks into the florist next to Tales Untold. He’s immediately overwhelmed by what he sees, rows and rows of flowers and arrangements, a riot of color that makes him want to shut his eyes for a moment.

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter straightens and smiles at him.

“Good idea,” Jake muses from the glass of one refrigerated case. “Flowers are always good.”

Marc relaxes a fraction, feeling less stupid than seconds before. Still, he has no idea what to get.

It’s not a date, he thinks, and he can get you flowers for no good reason if he damn well pleases.

“Yeah,” he turns to the woman and steps closer. “I think so.”

“What are you looking for? If you don’t have an idea, I can help if you let me know what occasion you’re buying for.”

Occasion? What the fuck was he supposed to say? A maybe date? A baseball game?

You like purple though, that he knows, and tulips.

“I’m, uh, looking for something purple. Or tulips. Whatever you have.”

She smiles and rounds the counter, leading Marc deeper into the shop. “Well, I have either, or both.” She shows him a bouquet wrapped in paper. Purple tulips. “I also have pink or yellow tulips. Or, I have some options that are purple but not tulips.”

Marc glances at where she points and decides to stick with what he knows. “Purple tulips are good.”

“What’s the occasion?” She asks as they move to the counter and Marc pulls out his wallet. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not actually sure,” he grumbles.

She smiles to herself, like she’s heard that before. She makes sure the blooms are securely wrapped before handing them and the receipt over. “Well, good luck then.”

“Thanks,” he manages, feeling odd.

He’s never bought anyone flowers before.

“Not a date,” Jake scoffs, “Who are you kidding, hermano?”

Marc grits his teeth and doesn’t deign to respond.

The shop’s door is unlocked when he tries it, and Marc wishes again that you’d stop doing that. He could knock, he could wait for you to come answer the door.

He finds you upstairs examining yourself in the mirror by the door. “I think I like the vintage t-shirt look,” you say by way of greeting, not glancing at him as you turn and watch your reflection.

“Looks good on you,” he answers, holding up the shirts he'd brought you. “Brought you mine. Washed ‘em and everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you smile and turn, grabbing the keys to your truck and the canvas bag you carried everywhere from the side table under the mirror. “Put them there,” you nod toward the counter with your chin, adjusting your shirt again.

You haven’t looked at him properly yet, and he feels the tiniest stab of jealousy when it's clear you probably aren’t going to change, that you’ve settled on the shirt you have on. He crosses the counter to set them down before turning. “Where do you want these?” He brandishes the flowers at you, Jake cursing at him that he’s going to damage the stalks.

You frown and glance at him through the mirror. “Wha- Oh!”

A surprised look pulls over your face and you turn to face him. “Did you get me flowers?”

Marc grits his teeth, wondering why this felt so weird. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Oh,” you say again, smiling this time as you move toward him. “That’s - that’s so kind of you.” You take the flowers from him, pressing your nose against them for a moment as you close your eyes and inhale, “I haven’t gotten flowers in forever.”

Marc watches you, watches the sun catch in your lashes before his gaze slips to the shape of your lips. “When was the last time?” He asks, eyes flicking back up to yours in time to see your eyes flick open again.

“My dad got me flowers when I dropped out of college,” you laugh, a bright expression on your face. “It was a joke, y’know. Because people usually get them when they graduate. I’ve never gotten them from, uh-,”

You don’t finish your thought, abruptly hugging Marc instead. It's so sudden and so quick, he doesn’t get to hug you back. He turns, his body automatically twisting to keep you in his eyesight when you slip past him. He watches you pull down a vase and stick them in, still wrapped in paper. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll fix them up properly later,” you say, stroking one petal lightly. “You got my favorite and everything.”

You almost leave them sitting on the counter, but seem to think better of it. You carry them across the room to the window and leave them there, directly below one of the more recent stained glass creations.

“‘Course I did,” he says softly when you just stand there staring at them in the afternoon sun. “We gotta go.”

“We do,” you say excitedly.

Your energy is infectious and Marc finds himself smiling as he follows you down the stairs.

Wrigley Field, Chicago 2:45 PM

Marc is easy for you to read most of the time. But you can’t decide on what the flowers mean, on the slightly nervous way he’d held them out to you.

The whole drive to the stadium, all you could think of was the way he almost kissed you, the way you thought he almost kissed you in the truck at the hardware store, the anxious way he’d asked you if you still wanted to go to a baseball game with him. And now, the flowers before said baseball game.

Was it possible…that you were on a date?

Probably not. You were reading into it too much.

But, you had said it’s a date, the day you first talked about going to a game. Had you accidentally asked him on a date?

It makes you giggle a little.

It’s stupid and funny, and you’re a little bit giddy that he wanted to go on a date with you if that’s what had happened.

Marc’s hand is at the small of your back now, gently but pointedly moving you through the throngs of people already inside the stadium.

“I had no idea so many people liked baseball,” you remark lightly.

Marc snorts. “You think you’re funny.”

“I am funny. You laughed.”

He rolls his eyes, guiding you into line at a concession stand.

If it had been anyone other than Marc, you would have been annoyed at the hand against your spine. But you like his touch, the warmth of his palm soaking through your shirt, slightly possessive and entirely protective. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s more for his benefit, to ground himself in the crowd, than anything else.

You watch Marc’s eyes scan the crowd, before they snap back to you. “So,” you start, Marc’s hand finally dropping from your back. You immediately miss the warmth of his touch. “Steven told me he works at a museum in London.” He’d also told you a funny little half story about how he’d been fired from his other museum job, so many details left out it hardly made sense. Something about a bathroom, something about security cameras.

Marc goes still at your words, like he knows what you’re going to ask next.

“But you never said what you do. Or is Steven the breadwinner?” You nudge your hip into his side. “Military?”

“How-,”

“It’s in the way you stand. It’s in the way you watch the crowd.”

He scoffs at you but there’s no malice in it. “Think that’s just the general PTSD.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a laugh as you inch forward in line. Marc tugs you out of the way of a group of drunk friends, already swaying and boisterous, cups of beer sloshing in their hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He sighs, hand retreating once more. “It’s a little complicated.”

You shift closer to him and loop your arm through his, tightening your fingers on his bicep. The muscle is firm beneath your touch, skin hot under the soft fabric of the Cubs jersey. You glance at his hand, wondering how weird, or how obvious, you might be if you tangled your fingers with his.

You push down the urge, instead watching the twist of tendon in his forearm, the vein that runs to his elbow, the shape of his hands. He has beautiful hands, veined, the skin darker than when you’d met him from hours spent outside over the last weeks and months.

Just like when you’d first met him, you get the sense that he doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t think about, how beautiful he is. Unfairly gorgeous, really.

“But you were in the military,” you glance back to his eyes.

“I was,” he answers and avoids your gaze, raven eyes focused on the cement beneath his feet, brow furrowed.

You let it drop after that, when he seems uncomfortable with admitting it. It’s quiet for a moment, but Marc reaches up with his other hand to lie his fingers over yours. He squeezes your hand. “So, what did you do? You told my dad you were a server.”

You grin and try to hide it by pressing your face into his shoulder. “Can you believe,” you murmur, “that we know so many things about each other and not this?”

You think Marc will just roll his eyes, but he chuckles lowly, fingers tightening on yours before he lets go. “So?”

“I tried college. I hated it. I tried working in offices. I hated it. I didn’t like serving but I also didn’t mind it as much as the other things. Less monotony with it, I guess. So, that’s what I did.”

You reach the front of the line then, and Marc insists on paying for what you order. He carries your drinks while you juggle the food. “Do you ever wish you’d finished school?”

“No,” you tilt your head as Marc navigates the crowd. “I would have been miserable. I know I’m lucky to have ended up where I have.” He’s slightly ahead of you, leading more than walking with you.

A smile tugs at your mouth when he seems to realize it, slowing his pace so you can walk next to him. “I’m lucky you ended up where you are.”

The words are weighted, though Marc tries to assume a casualness about it.

Your heart gives a strange little pulse, and you remember again the way he’d almost kissed you outside the hardware store. The humid, sun warmed little world, the push of his skin against yours.

Or, maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you were just hopeful and willing to believe what you wanted to be true.

Certainly either Steven or Jake hadn’t been too thrilled about it. Your stomach clenches when you remember the violent way he’d jerked away from your hand.

Or, maybe you were reading into that too, and Marc hadn’t wanted to kiss you.

You’d rather not risk what you have with Marc trying to decipher it.

You’ve still even yet to meet the elusive Jake.

The air is sticky with moisture, but not hot, and when Marc leads you to the mouth of the stairs that lead down into the seating, a warm breeze blows over you that alleviates some of the mugginess.

On the horizon dark clouds crowd the sky, fat, and heavy with rain. “Think we’ll get rained on?” You ask Marc as you descend the steps carefully to your seats.

Marc reaches out to steady you, setting the cups aside so you can balance one hand on his arm and take some of the snacks from you with the other. “Nah,” he answers when you’re seated. “I won’t let it.”

“Oh, you control the weather now?”

“No,” he smirks, “But this is the midwest and the weather reports are never right. It won’t rain.”

You nudge your shoulder into his, “Okay, I think I might agree with you.” Marc's mouth twitches again into what you’ve come to realize is a smile, more relaxed now, and hooks his arm behind your shoulders along the back of your seat.

Immediately you’re overwhelmed by his scent, the clean soapy smell of him. He’s wearing his usual cologne, earthy with sage and bergamot.

Despite your best intentions, you lean into him a little while resisting the urge to just press your face into his shoulder, his neck.

It doesn't help that he’s unfairly handsome. No person should look that good in a baseball jersey. He’s looking out at the field, a muscle jumping in his cheek, sharp jaw flexing every few seconds with lingering anxiety. The tendons stand out in his neck and you wonder again if Marc is ever at ease.

The top few buttons of the jersey are undone, the smooth expanse of skin beneath enticing. You catch the glitter of the necklace that always hangs around his throat. You’ve yet to see it in its entirety, curious as to what hangs on the end or if it was only a chain.

He’s beautiful. And it makes you sick with longing. He’s too pretty for his own good.

You clear your throat, shaking yourself a little.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on to me?” You ask, plucking up the basket of french fries you’d ordered.

He glances over at you in surprise and you have to resist the urge to reach up and pull his baseball cap off. His eyes are shaded, darker than usual in the shadow of the bill. You want to see the shades of brown in the sun, you want to see his dark curls slip across his forehead and his brows to wrinkle in irritation when they do. “You’ve never been to a baseball game.”

“This is my very first,” you confirm.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“Well,” you shrug, “because it didn’t matter. I wanted to go. With you.”

Marc rolls his eyes at you, “Right, but I woulda done more if I’d known, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your lungs at the endearment on his tongue. Marc seems surprised too, but you brush past it quickly. You call him honey, afterall. “And what would you have done, Marc?”

“Gave you a lesson on baseball,” he deadpans, not looking away from you.

“Glad I didn’t say anything then,” you note and Marc’s face breaks into a half suppressed smile. He looks away from you, shaking his head. “So, are you gonna explain what’s going on to me?”

“Of course I will.”

You try to hide your smile and fail, instead offering the basket of fries to him as you wait for the game to start. “Okay, so go ahead.”

Wrigley Field, Chicago 5:53 PM

Marc makes a fairly funny companion for a baseball game.

You usually don’t witness such intense displays of emotion from him. You’d expected him to watch with his usual passive grumpiness, but to your surprise, he’s on his feet and shouting along with the rest of the spectators when it's called for, tugging you up with him.

You’re a good sport about it, cheering along with him.

It’s funny and very endearing and incredibly fun.

The people sitting next to you make conversation with you when they notice your vintage t-shirt, which you’re very proud of, and find out it's your first game. Marc’s mouth only twitches when they endeavor to make your first game memorable. They buy you a cup of beer and make enough noise to get you on the jumbotron once.

Marc even chats with them, pokes lightly at you with them for not being a lifelong fan. He seems at ease talking to them, either because they’re also native Chicagoans or because it's the familiar subject of baseball, you aren’t sure.

You like how open he is, how he doesn’t try to hide anything in those moments. You wonder what he’d be like if he weren’t always so self contained, if he didn’t feel like he always had to hide.

He periodically hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you close so he can explain what’s going on, his mouth pressed against your ear.

You catch onto the rules pretty quickly but you don’t tell Marc that. You like the way his arm feels around your waist too much, the heavy warmth of his touch.

Even when he lets go of you, one hand usually stays hooked into the fabric of your shirt at your waist. Marc doesn’t seem to realize that he’s doing it, fidgeting with the material in a self soothing way and inadvertently keeping you close to him.

When those heavy clouds on the horizon eventually obscure the sun as the game nears its end, Marc takes his cap off and you get the very real pleasure of seeing his loose curls flop forward. “I love your hair,” you tell him before you can stop yourself, reaching up to tug on the end of one lock.

“You’re supposed to be payin’ attention to the game,” he grumbles as he tilts his chin down, letting you brush them back into place for him. “Not me.”

“Can’t I do both?”

Marc shakes his head, looking faintly amused. “What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his gaze not wavering from yours as the game ends and the crowd erupts in cheers.

“Cubs won,” you say, finally glancing away over the excited crowd. The purple clouds have rolled ever closer, darkening the stadium as people begin moving en masse towards the exits. “It’s gonna rain.”

“It’s not gonna rain,” Marc says, and this time when he leads you into the crowd, he reaches down and tangles his fingers with yours. “It’s gonna blow over like it always does.”

You snort but don’t contradict him.

The fork of lightning that cuts through the sky makes you laugh, and Marc squeezes your fingers in response.

The air has that sweet, sharp smell it always does right before it rains. When you reach the road, the clouds overhead look like they’ve settled in, heavy and stormy, over the city. A distant rumble of thunder makes you lift your brow, but Marc pointedly avoids your gaze.

You glance at your companion, the sharp cut of his jaw, the line of his nose, dark eyes that scan the street around you, tugging you a bit closer whenever anyone invades the little bubble Marc seems to create around you. He has an intense stare that keeps most people at a distance.

But he seems calm now, despite the crowd, the tiny smile he tries to suppress is still pulling at his lips.

It makes you happy, and you wonder again about how he’d asked you if you still wanted to do this at all. You wonder again at the flowers. You wonder again at what you think was a near kiss.

Maybe, that day in the truck, he’d questioned himself, thought he was misreading you, like you had with this.

You’re fairly sure you’re on a date.

You certainly hope you are.

Marc is so unsure of himself, questions and questions, not only others, but himself and how he interprets what others say to him. Reality is fluid to Marc, like things might change at a second's notice. “Marc,” you tighten your fingers around his. “I’m having a really good time,” you assure him as you walk. “I’m happy we decided to do this.”

“Glad to hear it,” he hums. You’re a couple blocks from the stadium now, nearing the lot you’d parked in.

You open your mouth to say more, when the sky suddenly opens up. The rain you had warned against, slams down on you in an instant.

The shock of it is cold and uncomfortable but you laugh anyways. “Ha!” You shout over the din, thunder following in the distance. “I told you it was gonna rain!”

Marc is scanning the street again, “Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he yanks you along, not unkindly, until you’re sheltered beneath an awning of a shop along with other fans departing the game.

It’s uncomfortable and close, but you and Marc end up shoved into a corner, against a brick wall. Marc turns his back to the people behind him, curling an arm around your waist.

Your entire world is subsumed by Marc.

He smells like rain, the coppery scent of bare skin, the usual scent of him washed away. You reach up and swipe some of the rainwater off of his face. “I was right.”

“You were right,” he concedes, only slightly grouchy in tone. “It’s raining.”

A man bumps into Marc, jostles you a little, and he slides closer to you with an irritated growl. “Where’s that pizza place?” You ask to distract him. “Do we need the truck? Can we walk?”

“You wanna walk in this?”

“No, honey,” you roll your eyes, “but if it's like a street over-,”

“We were headed there,” he interrupts. “It’s a couple blocks over. Not worth it to move the truck.”

The air is warm and humid, the brick walled corner you’re backed against, chilled. Marc is so close to you, that you would only need to tilt your head a little to brush your forehead against his.

His fingers tighten on your hip, “Y’know,” he swallows, head tilting to the side, listening to voices you can’t hear. “Steven and Jake have been hounding me to ask you if this was a date.”

Your belly lurches, heart in your throat. “Oh?”

Marc’s chest rises and falls quickly, the sound of the rain and the chatter so loud it makes him hard to hear. “Yeah.”

“And is it?” You lean closer, heart pounding a hard rhythm against your sternum.

Marc blinks at you. “I-,”

“Can I be honest?” You ask, raising one hand to balance on his shoulder. Marc gives a tight nod of his head, his guard already up, shoulders hiking up around his ears. “I didn’t think this was a date.” Marc ducks his head at your words, opening his mouth to say something you’re sure is going to break your heart, but you don’t let him speak. “But I would be…really, terribly, overjoyed if it was.”

Marc only looks up at you when you push a gentle finger beneath his chin.

You smile at him, then laugh when his frown deepens. “I mean it.”

The rain is still bucketing down, the pocket of people you’re sequestered behind not paying you any attention, and you suddenly can’t stop laughing.

You fall forward into Marc, locking your arms around him tightly. “Don’t think about it too hard. I meant exactly what I said,” you chuckle into his ear. “I want this to be a date so bad, honey.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, one arm still around your waist while the other hangs loosely at his side.

When the silence shows no sign of ending, you start to pull back, worried you’d severely misread the situation.

But Marc doesn’t let you pull away, his free hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. He searches your eyes, fingers slipping back behind your ear, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, the touch possessive and desperate.

He’s the only thing you can see again, wedged between the corner of the wall and the solidity of his body.

“Marc?”

“This is a date,” he says, his voice quiet, eyes drifting to your mouth. “It’s…yeah. It’s a date.”

You laugh again, the sound a little wild. He looks a little feral, water webbing his lashes together, his curls standing out more than ever, eyes hooded and focused entirely on you. His skin is still damp and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re going to say when you open your mouth.

But it doesn’t matter, because Marc leans forward and presses his mouth to yours.

You suck in a shaky breath as Marc releases your waist, his hand pressing to the other side of your face to mirror the first.

For a long second, you can’t catch your breath, overwhelmed by the suddenness of it, the elation spiderwebbing across your chest. Your heart feels like it may actually stop, the gallop of your pulse loud in your ears.

He starts to pull away when your mind catches up to the moment. You fist your hands in the smooth, damp fabric of the jersey against his ribs, steadying yourself against him. You kiss him back, moving your lips with his.

He tastes like rain, and like the lemon chill you’d shared during the seventh inning stretch.

Marc’s kiss is slow and steady and deliberate. It pulls you apart, sends sparks skittering along your skin. He tilts your head back, skims his lips across your cheek, nose brushing yours when he moves back to your mouth.

The inky umber of his eyes lock onto yours for a moment, his breath fanning across your lips. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs before he kisses you again, his tongue briefly teasing at your bottom lip. He only tastes you for a moment, meeting your tongue, before he pulls back, aware of where you are, that you aren’t alone.

He releases your face to wrap his arms around you, tucking you close to him, face buried against your neck as he breathes you in.

Your breath comes in little pants, your body only realizing then that it needed oxygen, like Marc would have been enough to sustain you if he just kept kissing you.

You peer at the people behind Marc, but none of them are paying you any attention, their backs turned as they huddle in their own little groups, their own little worlds.

“I didn’t know if it was a date either,” he says when he pulls back. His gaze is oddly light, a weight that was usually settled in them gone.

“Yeah,” you tuck a loose, damp curl back from his forehead. “But you’re glad it is?”

He laughs.

It’s not a low chuckle or a snort, but a full, loud laugh.

A few heads turn your way at the sound and you grin so big your face hurts. “Yeah. You could say that.”

The rain begins to slow then, and some people brave the wet, giving you a bit more space. “Good.”

Marc loosens himself from around you, taking your hand to fold between his fingers. “Wanna go get that pizza now? We can still make the reservation.”

“You made a reservation?”

“Yeah,” he rumbles, glancing out at the raindrops still falling. “You need one after a game. Too many people.”

Something about it, the thoughtfulness, the little things Marc did that he hardly saw the value in, makes your throat close. “Okay. Yes,” your voice cracks.

“You okay?” His voice is low and concerned.

You nod, and tug on his hand. “I promise. Let’s go.”

He searches your eyes, and you reach up to lie a hand on his cheek, pressing a kiss to his mouth carefully. “I said I promise.”

“Let’s go,” he agrees, fighting another smile.

Tales Untold, Chicago 1:15 AM

The storm clouds haven’t quite left the area when Marc parks your truck at the curb outside Tales Untold.

He comes to the door with you but says he should go home. You step up to the door while he remains on the sidewalk, several paces back from you.

You don’t argue with him, sliding the key into the lock and twisting it, before you turn back to him. Marc’s usual frown is in place beneath the street light, the divot between his brows deep. You reach for him and Marc immediately steps closer to you, taking your hand.

You tilt your head down to kiss him again, thumbing at the line between his brows until it dissolves beneath your touch.

Marc moves up onto the step with you, cages you against the door.

His kisses are still slow and deliberate, laden with a quiet passion that makes your blood sing.

You bury your hands in his hair, the strands soft and loose in the humid air. “I think I like baseball.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “We’ll go again. Sometime. Before the season is over.”

You smile and Marc pushes his forehead against yours briefly, the act strangely intimate, before he pulls away entirely. “Goodnight, honey,” you say, reluctantly releasing him.

“‘Night, baby,” he steps back onto the sidewalk.

You’re not sure your heart can handle any more surprises. Certainly not him calling you baby.

Marc turns and starts to walk away when he pauses and pivots back. “Go inside,” he juts his chin toward the door.

You know he’s not going to budge while you’re still on the street. “Only if you wait ‘til I’m upstairs so I can watch you walk down the street.”

He rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands in his pockets, feigning annoyance, “Fine. Go.”

You hastily pull the shop’s door open, making sure to twist the lock back into place so Marc won’t have a cow about safety again, before you dart through the dark shop. You feel giddy, filled to the brim with nerves.

You trip up the steps and throw open the window to search for him.

He’s still standing there, arms crossed over his chest now, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smiling. “Okay,” you call down, propping your chin on your hand on the window sill. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

You watch him walk down the street until he turns down an alley to cut through to the next street.

The road is quiet after that, but you don’t move for a long moment, letting the warm breeze kiss your skin.

Your clothes have long since dried and are now oddly stiff. You feel sticky and gross all at once, from being in the sun and then rained on before spending way too much time in a pizza place. “Made sure they have vegetarian shit,” he’d said as you sat down, his voice gruff.

And once again, you’d been shocked by the thoughtfulness, the way he considered things carefully where you were concerned.

The pizza was good, the ice cream you went for after even better.

He’d tasted like chocolate when you kissed him in the truck, awkwardly making out over the center console like teenagers afraid of being caught by their parents.

Marc kisses like a man starved though, like it’s his last night on earth. He left you breathless.

You smile, feeling stupid with affection as you stand and shut the window. The tulips are perky and beautiful in their vase, a lovely reminder of the day. You take a mental note to save one of the blooms to press and preserve, as you carry the glass to the sink to fill with water.

You remove the flowers and unwrap the paper, cut the stems and put them back.

When you turn to place the tulips back in the window, you spot the shirts Marc had brought you.

Vintage t-shirts from his teenage years.

You smile and place the vase on the kitchen island instead, reaching for the shirts.

He’d said he washed them for you, and you can only hope they smell like him. Maybe it's pathetic, but you want to sleep wrapped in his scent. You want to feel like he’s there even if he isn’t.

You wish he would have stayed the night, but you haven’t been able to convince him to stay since that night you fell asleep together under the piano.

You have a suspicion that Marc is still worried he’s taking too much from you.

You’re distracted, still thinking of Marc, when you absently touch the shirt.

When you touch the folded shirt, you don’t recognize the feeling that ripples through you, completely at odds to your mood. And then it hits you. An intense pain and grief rocks through you, a confused swirl of emotion that’s impossible to decipher.

It fucking hurts.

Touching things has never hurt before.

You let out a scream no one will ever hear and drop to the floor, yanking your hand away from the fabric.

It’s too late, because the memory hits you a second later, and the pain doesn't fade from your mind for hours afterwards.

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:13 AM

The door is locked.

Good. Maybe you were finally learning to keep it shut.

The sign is flipped to closed.

Not unusual. You don’t open until eleven on Sundays.

Marc knocks.

And you don’t answer.

“Marc,” Steven points from the reflection in the front window. “Left a note, I think.”

He leans forward, squinting against the glare. Your handwriting is scrawled across a sheet of notebook paper, the edges roughly ripped.

Marc,

If you come by and see this, I’m not feeling so well. Won’t be opening the shop today.

You sign the note with your name with no further explanation.

“Not feeling well?” Steven asks, sounding confused.

Marc feels confused.

His heart sinks into his gut. It’s too much of a coincidence. Today, the day after he’d finally fucking got it together and -

He pulls out his phone. He has your number saved from when you’d insisted he have it.

Why hadn’t you called him?

He presses your contact and lifts the phone to his ear, glancing up at your apartment window. The call goes to voicemail after two rings and so it's obvious you’ve declined his call.

He tries again, but this time it rings into oblivion, until your voicemail message trills out. “Hey,” he says into the speaker, voice creaking. “Hey,” he clears his throat, “I - uh - I saw your note. If you need anything - just - text me. Text me anyway. Lemme know you’re okay.”

He winces, he’s never said the words text me in his life.

“Or call me. Look, I, if I did something wrong. Tell me. I’ll fix it. I hope you’re okay.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else, anything more pathetic.

Still, it’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow around the knot of worry in his throat.

He watches your window, then blinks down at the bag of pastries he’d gotten from Flour Up. He’d almost stopped for coffee too, but he much preferred it when you made it for him, when he got to use that white mocha whatever in his coffee.

Marc’s phone buzzes.

I’m okay.

Buzz.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Buzz.

I promise.

He waits for another message that doesn’t come.

Marc looks back up at your window, but the curtains don’t so much as twitch.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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