#ship name dilemmas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 1 year

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summary | using your neighbors address for deliveries doesn’t seem like the worst idea until you find yourself with a world of dilemmas and a burgeoning crush on the single dad who lives there. [10k+]

pairing | pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, reader is a teacher (only for loose plot purposes) meet-weirds, a cliche stranger neighbors to pining lovers take on pre-outbreak joel, lots of sweet interactions with sarah, joel's internal struggles to be a good dad, awkward interactions & flirting, soft sexual content (oral, protected sex, joel talking you through it like a gentleman)

author’s note | this came from a prompt i saw (ignore that actual legality issues of this, it's just for fun) that was meant to be a quick blurb but turned into this monster of porn with plot…i regret nothing, enjoy! or don’t that’s fine

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

To be clear, this wasn’t the first route you took to avoid the problem. And for whatever reason, fate or be it some other evil, unseen force, it always stuck you in the awkwardest positions.

It also didn’t help that your mailman was probably the judgiest person on this earth, despite it not being his business, the suspicious amount of packages and content of said packages were enough to garner a few looks and even the occasional mumble under his breath.

So, when you start to put down your neighbors address for all of your future packages, it doesn’t seem like a problem.

He’s gone a lot anyways, his truck only pulling once the sun has already set and you’re laying in bed, bright headlights cascading against the walls through your upstairs window. His exhaust kicks off a couple times and it always rouses you from your sleep just enough to annoy you. He's hardly there, it's fine. You've got nothing to worry about.

You’ve only caught a glimpse of him in the morning, a young woman prancing at his side as she hops into the passenger seat. Her name is Sarah.

As for him, he was Dad.

You’ve been here for three months and haven’t made any attempt to be neighborly or make friends, yet you were brave enough to slip his address onto your order forms and go on about your day.

And, in your defense, it works well.

Packages always arrive around the time you’re pulling into your driveway, the perfect opportunity before the trail of buses traverse through the cul de sac and flush out the rowdy kids from their seats.

A quick jog over and you’re snatching up the package without any inclination that something is amiss.

Until again, it becomes a problem.

Not even a problem, really—but it’s still a weird conversation to have, standing at your neighbors doorstep with a package in your hand and looking like some porch pirate with bad manners, if that was even possible.

He was home, but that wasn’t the issue. It was Saturday, a small overlook when you placed your order last week that led you to the position you were in now, staring down the man with your package clutched in his hands.

“This yours?” He asks, an eyebrow raising inquisitively. The contents shake as he holds it up.

“Yeah.” You start, sounding unsure of yourself, “I accidentally gave them the wrong address, didn’t realize until it was already shipped and I’ve been waitin’ all week.”

He didn’t need the explanation, but he lets you speak until your heart’s content, taking a quick glance at the label on the box.

He says your name, double checking to make sure it was you. You nod, extending a friendly hand.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. It’s sweet, clipped, believable enough that he doesn’t try to implore further.

He finally hands the box over, not a word on your tongue as you fetch the package and retreat back to your home with your heart racing like it was going to burst out of your chest.

You’re already long gone by the time the smirk reaches Joel’s face, a sudden glance back at his daughter. Sarah is laughing from the couch, the noise muffled behind her hand.

“Maybe she’s flirting with you.”

Joel huffs at that, a warm laugh bubbling from his chest.

“Darlin’, I doubt that.”

“That’s the sixth package that’s been sent here.” Sarah adds, “I’m not orderin’ anything. Are you?”

Joel gives her a look that answers itself.

“Then?”

Things are smooth sailing for another couple weeks, but the shared secret between Joel and Sarah is unbeknownst to you.

So, smooth sailing for you, you think.

Joel drags it out until another day when he’s free from work, waiting for those footsteps to reach his porch, a quick nudge from Sarah that has him standing from his comfortable spot on the couch as she moves away from his shoulder.

But, they never come.

And Joel doesn’t know why that sends a surge of confused worry down his spine, but it’s out of the norm. He should check on you.

Sarah's the one to remind him of it.

“Take it over there.” It startles Joel, her ability to sneak up on him so easily. His brow furrows, flipping the package in his grip after he finally opened the door and gave in.

“Go.”

Sarah’s practically shoving him out of the door before he can refuse.

When Joel reaches your front door he can already see you, arm tucked under your head, resting over the arm of your couch as you napped silently, the soft hum of the television muffled by the front door. Joel knocks once, a softer and gentler attempt than he’d usually go for, and when that doesn’t work he goes for the latter, one solid knock that could surely wake you.

It doesn’t.

Joel leans over the trimmed hedge resting underneath the window sill and taps on the glass, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when you finally wake.

It takes you a moment to adjust, but your eyes are stretching like saucers when your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Shit, shit,” Joel hears the tail end of it as you open the door, “—I’m so—“

“Look I’m not judgin’” He begins, handing the package over without question, “but seein’ as you’re using my address, it would be nice if you clued me in.”

Your mouth opens slightly, wondering how in the hell you could explain this. Joel catches wind of your uncertainty.

“My daughter’s pretty observant,” He scratches at his forehead idly, shoving his other hand into his front pocket, “and I’ve noticed it for about a month now—m’just curious.”

“Uh, okay—how do I explain this?” You ask aloud, placing the package on a nearby surface. “I order a lot of stuff for work. Like, more than normal. It’s a bunch of different things, sometimes a little odd, I guess?”

Joel flashes a grin of amusement, subtle, but there. He nods, urging you to continue.

“Our mail guy kept giving me weird looks—not like it’s his job to judge but I haven’t been here long, the last thing I needed was someone spreadin’ word around the neighbhorhood.”

It was a small community, tight knit. It was a reasonable defense, but Joel kept quiet.

“I’m sure he thinks I’m a psychopath, but I figured maybe putting your address down and pickin’ them up after would help. I mean, it did for a while, but—It was a stupid idea, I'm sorry.“

“What’s in the box?” Joel asks curiously.

It catches you off-guard, blinking a few times as you glance over at the package.

“Uh, pipe cleaners. You know, the craft ones. All different colors.”

“And what about the other ones?”

It was justifiable, the questions he had.

“Huh, um—lots of paint, some rolls of tape, rope, these little face masks for the kids to work on for the town carnival next week. I can keep going but...I don't think you'd find it that interesting.”

“You’re…a teacher?” Joel assumes.

You don’t realize until half a second later that you’d slipped up so easily.

“Yeah, first grade.”

“Well, I don’t mind it, but don’t worry about that kid.” Joel tells you, “We’ve been workin’ on that street by the office for a few weeks and he’s always causin’ some type of trouble. If anything, I can talk to the boss up there, let ‘em know.”

“It’s fine, there’s no need for all that.”

“Well, just trying to be neighborly,” Joel shrugs, and the smile that breaks through, one that you can see, is something indescribable, “I can help you out and have Sarah drop the packages off when she can, unless I happen to catch it before she does to save you a trip.”

“You’re okay with me using your address still?” You ask, a little perturbed.

“Don’t see why not, it’s not hurting anyone.” Joel responds, “And if it saves you a few minutes of feelin’ embarrassed.”

“I don’t know, this is pretty embarrassing too.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered, shaking his head with the corners of his mouth downturned.

“You’re fine, again—it’s harmless.”

You nod slowly, relenting to his unusual politeness. You weren’t sure southern hospitality was a real thing, but there he was, standing on two legs before you.

“Thank you, uh—“

“Joel.” He answers for you, “Probably should’ve started with that.”

And putting a name to a face had never been more satisfying.

“Thank you, Joel.” You repeat once more, name rolling off your tongue foreignly, smiling nonetheless.

“If you need anything we’re just across the way,” Joel jabs his thumb in the direction of his home, “as much as Sarah loves the Adlers', she might end up clingin’ to you if you let her get to know you.”

Unfortunately for Joel, he’s sealing his own fate by speaking it into existence.

He leaves without a word, waving a quick goodbye over his shoulder as his boots scuff against pavement.

The deep, shaky breath you let out is a reminder that being in new places, trying new things, forming new relationships, wasn’t always a bad thing.

Sarah greets you with a big smile the first day she catches a package before you, opening with a line you don’t expect.

“Do you have markers, by chance?”

She’s all sunshine and adolescent innocence, eyes too wide and unguarded from the world—it’s an effect of Joel’s obvious overprotectiveness he feels toward her. He’s shielded her from so much, though if you asked Joel, not enough.

“I do,” You answer with an airiness to your voice, “whaddya say, fair trade—my package for the markers?”

“Sure.” She nods, handing over the box.

You disappear briefly, the heels of her converse teetering on your doorstep, a gentle rock back and forth as she curiously peers inside your home.

It’s fairly boring, but it’s home. That’s all that matters to you.

“Just try to get them back to me when you’re done?” It’s not so much a demand, handing the pack over to the young girl. “No rush, take them as long as you need ‘em.”

“Yeah, I will!” She responds cheerfully. “I’ve been reminding my dad for a few days but he works a lot, forgets things—are all adults that bad at remembering?”

“Some of us have a lot on our mind,” You shrug, speaking candidly, “You know what—just keep those.”

“Are you sure?” She asks warily, “I didn’t mean to, like, guilt you or anything—“

“No, no.” You assure her, “It helps you both out, that way your dad won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Okay.” Sarah responds wistfully, glancing back as the sound of Joel’s truck inches up the street. Joel is pulling the toolbox out of his truck bed when Sarah calls out loudly, “Dad!” shaking the boxed markers in the air.

“She hustle you for those?” Joel calls out, eyes connecting with you. “Sarah, we talked about this—“

“She did not,” Still, the implication earns a laugh from both of you, “they’re free, less for you to worry about.”

And it stings a little, but Joel hides it well.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Joel warns, “She’s just as evil as she is sweet.”

The smile that stretches across Sarah’s face is telling in its own right.

There’s a month of nice, minimal interaction with your neighbors. The Adler's bake too much, always offering up baked goods to the surrounding houses, yours included. You always end up with the extra oatmeal raisins because Sarah despises them and apparently, so does Joel.

Sometimes you catch Sarah at the front door or outside, kicking her soccer ball around or waiting on the steps for her father, even into the later hours of the night. Sometimes it’s Joel, who always ends up at your doorstep rather than you at his.

Joel likes to ask about your day, a polite but awkward attempt at small talk.

He hasn’t tried talking to anyone since Sarah’s mom, it felt forced—but he was trying, even if it was nearly impossible to get through some days.

Joel talked a lot about Sarah, or work, occasionally bringing up his brother Tommy—he works with him too. You’ve seen him a few times and finally put another name to another face, and he's younger than Joel by five years, closer to your own age. Joel opens up little by little, day by day, completely by his own doing despite how little you talk about yourself.

Joel enjoys the way you always have a smile on your face despite how your morning goes, always hanging on to his words like they're the most interesting thing you've heard in a while. He enjoys having someone to talk to that isn't family or people who he's obligated to converse with to get himself through the day. It's the first time he's really started to go out of his own way to get to know someone.

It’s late Friday night when you end up at his doorstep, dressed in some thin pajamas to combat that Texas heat and humidity—nighttime somehow felt worse, the bugs pricking at your bare legs and the material sticking to your skin.

Your package should’ve arrived today and you didn’t see it outside—but a quick glance through the open entrance, albeit guarded by a screen door, showed that it was sitting right there on their kitchen table.

You knock on the glass pane lightly.

“Dad!” Sarah calls out from somewhere you can’t see, “Door!”

“You can’t get it?” He shouts back, also nowhere to be seen.

“I’m busy!”

You chuckle to yourself, hearing Joel's gruff, “Like I ain’t!”

Sarah’s silence is answer enough.

“Shit—“ It’s a gruff noise, stuck deep in Joel’s gravelly undertone, “hold on!”

Joel’s pulling his shirt over his head as he rounds the corner, leaving you a small glimpse of the tan skin underneath. He relaxes when he realizes it's you.

“Just come in,” Joel says, “you’re probably getting eaten up out there.”

And truly, you’ve never been more thankful.

Joel opens the door to let you pass, the strong scent of fresh body wash invading your senses, his hair still wet from the shower.

“M’sorry, I was gonna bring it by later.” Joel apologizes, “I got off a little earlier tonight and wanted to grab a shower.”

He’s handing you the box with a calculated movement, flicking his watch over his wrist as he secures it, glancing at you briefly.

“Should I guess?” Joel asks.

“Uh—“

“The box.” He clarifies.

You decide to tease him a little, head tilted slightly as you grin, “You’d be guessin’ for a while.”

Joel hums a small noise, fidgeting with watch as he shifts it into place before standing with his hands resting against his hips.

“Uh, let’s see—clay?”

Not a terrible guess. An odd one to go for on the first try, though.

“God no, that would be everywhere.”

“Those creepy little eyes?”

“Googly eyes?” You correct with a faint laugh, “No, but that’s definitely been one of the packages I’ve ordered lately. The kids love them.”

“I give up.” Joel says in defeat, hands raising up slightly before slapping down at his sides. A rather quick win on your part.

“They’re seeds, for flowers.” You tell him, “We’re going over photosynthesis right now. All that boring stuff about plants and how they grow but the kids are more excited to play with dirt for a couple hours.”

Joel nods slowly, thoughtfully, top lip disappearing behind his bottom in a pout of thoughtfulness.

“Invite her over already!”

Joel sighs, rubbing his palm over his beard as he scratches lightly.

“If you don’t I will.” She adds.

You don’t have to see her face to know that smile. She was evil, and damn was she good at it.

“Right, uh—“

“No, please don’t feel obligated,” If anything, it made you feel like more of a bother, “my feelings won’t be hurt.”

“No, I was—I planned on asking.” Joel admits, “Just kept forgettin’.”

That and he didn’t know to casually bring it up in conversation.

Point one, Sarah. Joel, zero.

“They’re throwin’ a little party for my birthday. Just a cookout is all, gonna have food, beers—is that somethin’ you’re into?”

Joel feels ridiculous, a grown man in his mid-thirties and sweating over the prospect of inviting a woman over.

“I can be.”

Your smile is relaxed, reaching your eyes in the way that makes them squint a little.

You can smell the fresh soap and spice of his cologne from this distance, a welcomed change from his usual worn, dirty state—not that you hated it, but Joel did clean up nice.

“Great, tomorrow at 7?”

“6!” Sarah quickly corrects, sounding exhausted.

Joel rolls his eyes, a sign of an also very tired father.

The snort of laugh slips out before you can hide it, slapping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

“Uh, I’ll just show up somewhere in between, how about that?”

Joel seems unfazed, fighting against his own grin as he nods.

He forgets to tell you goodnight as you leave, something that doesn’t even cross your mind, but to him, feels like a missed opportunity.

“So out of your league, brother.” Tommy whistles lowly, shaking his head in disbelief as he flips the half-cooked burger on the grill. “Shit—explain it to me again, actually.”

“She sends her packages here,” Joel’s short, to the point. “s’not much to explain, Tommy.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tommy counters.

Joel shrugs.

“What the hell’ve you done with my brother?” Tommy jokes lightly, earning a half-hearted shove from Joel.

Tommy’s eyes flick toward you briefly, helping Sarah in the kitchen as she ices the cake. Sarah smiles at whatever you’re saying, your back turned to both of the men.

“Don’t act like you’d be lettin’ slide for just anyone. How well do you know her?”

“Well enough,” Joel shrugs, “Sarah likes her, probably a little too much.”

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know much about you at all. But, he wanted too. Tommy saw right through it, but he didn't push Joel. He knew better.

“Careful,” He warns with a soft chuckle, “once that kid sinks her teeth in, there's no way she’s letting her leave.”

Joel knows it’s too late—her eagerness to invite you over, always finding excuses to talk to you or force Joel to do the same. The kid was too smart for her own good.

Even after all is said and done, you decide to stick around to help clean up. Tommy nearly runs at the opportunity to skip out of the mess, waving a quick goodbye to three of you before he’s gone.

Sarah doesn’t fight Joel when he tells her to head upstairs to get some sleep, knowing that he could manage it on his own. He didn’t deny your offer to help either, taking the kind gesture in stride.

“How does it feel?” You ask, breaking the silence as you swipe up the dishes into your right arm, stacking the plates and cutlery with a careful movement. “35, I mean?”

Joel chuckles aloud at that, short and flippant as he turns his back, swiping the empty beer bottle from the grill.

“Old,” He answers simply, “and with Sarah getting older it feels like five years for every one.”

“You look like you’re doing alright,” You admit, but it feels like an overstep, your mouth backtracking before your brain can think, “at least, it seems that way.”

Joel smiles slightly, an emotion that only fills half of his face. He’s unsure of it all.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more cheerful kid,” You sidestep through the backdoor and into the kitchen, placing the dishes in the sink, “and she talks about you a lot.”

Joel drops the empty bottles into the trash, joining you by the sink before politely shoving you aside, “I got ‘em.”

You pull away begrudgingly, but it fades quickly.

“I’m probably the last person you care to hear this from, but I’ve met a lot of parents, seen a lot of different situations, families—she’s happy, so you’re doing somethin’ right.”

“I’m just tryin’ to keep things normal, I guess.” Joel explains with his hands halfway submerged in soapy water. “I’m all she’s got.”

A system flows smoothly as Joel passes off the wet dishes for you to dry, stacking them up on the counter.

The glaringly obvious lack of a second parent is not lost on you and if Joel didn’t want to bring it up, it wasn’t your business. But, his face reads guilt—it always does.

Guilty for working too much, guilty for forgetting things, guilty for making Sarah (and Tommy) worry about him so much.

“Enough about me,” Joel shakes away the excess water, taking the offered dish towel from your hands and patting his own dry, “you want a piece to go?”

The beautiful cake Sarah made, homemade and imperfect, nearly devoured by the four of you already.

“No, I’ll be okay,” You wave your hand freely before resting them in the back pockets of your jeans, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the flooring, “thank you for inviting me, by the way. Not that Sarah gave you an option.”

Joel laughs behind his curled fist, a finger scratching at the fullness of his beard before he’s rubbing his palm over the expanse of it and down his neck.

It doesn’t matter that Joel was the one to mention it to Sarah, wondering if it seemed to forward. The look she returned was typical of a teenage girl and nothing short of making Joel feel stupid for asking.

“You’re good company,” He compliments, “plus the Adlers might think I’m stiffin’ them if I don’t bring a plate over in the morning, so it’s probably best you don’t take that piece anyways.”

“Hey, they’re sweet,” You chastise him lightly, shoving him gently in the side with a finger, “— and those cookies, man.”

Joel smiles thoughtfully, glancing up toward the open front door, a windless night covered in a blanket of silence.

“Can I walk you back?” Joel asks, mostly out of his habitual politeness but a few more minutes with you would be nice.

“Joel, I’m practically in your backyard.” Your eyes study him shortly, the subtle shrug in his shoulders. It was a kind gesture, one that you wouldn’t expect from anyone else. “Fine, have it your way.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, hearing you giggle on the way to the door, his footsteps following closely behind.

And it feels akin to the awkwardness you feel after a first date, the will he won’t he, who should make a move—is there a move to be made? It’s the unspoken giddiness that terrifies you, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But, it also doesn’t surprise you when Joel does absolutely nothing—not that he needs to feel the responsibility too, but he always looks like he’s poised to say more, ask another question, and even now as you turn to him, fingers wrapped around the handle of your front door, he’s thinking.

You're quick to quiet his mind.

“Hey,” You call to him quietly, “I’ll give you a quick tour, if you want?”

It’s harmless, giving him a chance to get a peek inside your life, as hectic and unorganized as it was. You were single, alone, and didn’t have to worry about anything but yourself and the overload of things you’ve accumulated in your space, namely for your job.

But, despite the disorganization it’s nearly spotless.

“You still haven’t unpacked?” He asks curiously, tapping his fingers against a pile of cardboard stacked high, unopened.

“Mostly,” You answer candidly, leading him through the open floor of your home, doors wide open, the freshness of lemon lingering throughout, “living room, some of the kitchen, bedroom—it’s mostly done, it’s just the last room on the right that’s kickin’ my ass.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise in question, silently asking you to lead him further. He ignores how soft your fingers feel as they wrap around his wrist, shoving his watch a few centimeters higher as you do and pulling him down the hall with a leisurely stride.

He whistles lowly at the sight, a hoard of boxes and no homes. It was the perfect size for an office, probably what you were intending, a small desk buried underneath the rubble.

“No shelves, no storage?”

You point at a few larger boxes stowed away in a corner.

“I couldn’t build one of those things without breaking somethin’,” You admit with an aura of embarrassment, “plus I need a power drill and bunch of other shit I don’t have right now, so I’ve been putting it off.”

“I’ll help,” Joel suddenly offers, “Given I can manage a day off soon, but I can come over early and we can knock it out in a day.”

“That’s nice, Joel, but—“

“I don’t need your money and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.” Joel realizes how aggressive that sounds, quickly adjusting his manner of speaking, “You’ve been keepin’ Sarah company when I can’t, let me do this.”

Your eyes soften slightly, head tilted at an angle to admire the almost apologetic look on his face.

“You are too kind, Joel Miller.”

And if he could have the smile engraved into his memory, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I never told you my last name.” Joel looks at you quizzically, eyebrows furrowing.

“Got a piece of your mail the other day by mistake,” You admit, “s’kinda funny considering the situation. I was curious. You still trust me?”

“You are somethin’ else.” He grins. “Can I trust you?”

Flirty Joel was sweet, you liked it. But, it was gone in a flash. Too soon, too quick.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

The part of you that wishes Joel would’ve stayed a little longer that night aches as you lay in bed, dragging your fingertips lightly over your stomach, shirt pushed up near your breasts. It feels ridiculous, pining over your neighbor.

But, even as you fingers dip inside you, explore your body in all the ways you need, a steady pressure over your clit until you’re coming with a soft gasp, the only thing you can picture is Joel—his face, his hands, and the softness of his voice as he calls out to you, comforts you into that deep void of sleep.

Joel ends with a second shower that night when the world is quiet and everyone is already tucked away in bed, climbing into the brisk cold of the water before it even has the chance to heat up, hoping it calms him down. He ends up in a similar predicament, dragging it out until it’s nearly painful as he squeezes the head of his cock, your sweet smile still fresh in his mind. Joel calls out your name as he comes, just as quiet, and he knows he’s fucked.

You don’t see Joel for a couple weeks, outside of a few occasions where you’re greeting him from your yard, albeit taking out the trash or spending time on your front porch as the tail-end of summer was winding down and evenings were becoming cooler.

He seems more preoccupied than usual, smile not always reaching his eyes and you’re wondering if you’ve done something wrong, if he can read the guilt that oozed from you—crushing on a neighbor? Preposterous.

Most of Joel’s own guilt rides on the fact that he’s always busy, it never fails. A screw up at work meant another setback, setbacks meant longer hours and they had been experiencing far too many these days.

He’s stressed about work and bills and everything any normal adult should while also trying to maintain the balance of being a good dad to Sarah. He hates leaving her home alone so often, even though most of the time she would wander next door to the Adlers’ or over to yours, always supplying herself with the company when she needed it.

He greets you on a Sunday morning, mid-October when the Texas heat was still prickly enough to keep you in a tank top and shorts more often than not. He’s already dressed for the job, tattered jeans and an old shirt on his frame, toolbox clutched in his right hand while he rubs the fingertips of his left against the inside of his palm.

Joel looks a little cleaner around the edges, his beard was trimmed, the hair that started to curl over his ears was shorter and tucked behind his ears and he’s taken a shower despite how much work they had ahead of them for the day.

And, hell, it was work.

Joel made it look easy, but the sheer amount of energy needed to put all the furniture together was something you just weren’t equipped with. He’s explaining random things to you—the importance of anchoring things down, keeping things stable by balancing out the weight distribution and why he always marks and rechecks things twice before drilling.

It’s all a completely foreign language, but you can fake the perplexed look on your face as long as needed—you’d nearly mastered it being around an army of tiny children all day, fighting for your attention to show off their new tricks.

“You’ve been sittin’ on this stuff for how long?” Joel asks, eyebrows pulling together in amusement.

“A few months, maybe. Only a couple days after I moved in, really.”

“I work in construction, sweetheart. You could’ve asked.”

It’s the first time Joel lets his fondness slip, a little word that you skim over entirely when his eyes avert away at the realization.

“Well—I mean, you offered.” Like that wasn’t obvious as he kneeled crouch on your floor, jeans spread tight over his thighs, shirt riding up his back as he leaned in to twist the screw in at an awkward angle. His head is nearly touching your knee, legs tucked under you as you watch. “Seems a little too forward if you ask me.”

“And using my address for your packages don’t?”

He’s got you there, chuckling under his breath at your silence. He thinks back to Sarah’s constant nagging, pushing him to get over his own self-loathing and talk to you, or at least make an attempt.

“Sarah thought you were doing it for other reasons.” He admits, rising slowly to rest his palms against his thighs, sweat collecting around his neck, wetting his collar slightly. “Flirting with me, I guess.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” You answer honestly, “I mean, you’re nice to look at but—“

Joel’s eyebrows raise, intrigued.

You shrug, making a noncommittal noise as you hum.

“It’s the first time she’s been really eager about me getting back out there since, ever, I guess.”

It startles you a moment, the revelation, a small glimpse into his real life, the deeper parts—it’s the tiniest crack, but it’s there.

“Can I ask you somethin’, Joel?”

He nods slightly, stuffing away the screwdriver and lifting the stand with ease, resting his forearm against the surface of it.

“Has it always been—shit, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You huff softly, rubbing some sawdust between your fingers, “I guess I’m just tryin’ to say that even if Sarah’s mom isn’t in the picture, for whatever reason, she’s always welcome to come to me for stuff. I remember being that young and losin’ my mind when I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, she’s got you hooked.” Joel’s grin grew wide for a moment before softening, “Sarah’s mom, she—I’ve raised that little girl from birth on my own, so she doesn't know anything but her. She doesn’t ask, I’m not gonna force it on here either. But, I’m glad she’s found someone she’s comfortable with.”

There’s a moment of silence that feels like a new connection, a tether tying the two of you together—closer.

“What about you?” Joel asks suddenly, turning the topic of vulnerability and family back toward you. “If you’re comfortable sharin’.”

“Family moved around a lot, my parents traveled for work so it was just me most of the time—boarding schools, weeks by myself during breaks where I was fending for myself, really. My parents always kept me secure financially, but I raised myself.”

Joel sits on that, absorbing the information as you sit a little deeper into the floor, back resting against the front panel of your desk as you shift your legs in front of you, knees bent.

Joel mirrors you after a moment, the soft cream of the ceiling fan filling their air as he leans his head back, enjoying the faint breeze.

“Never wanted kids of my own, either.” You admit, “But, I loved ‘em when they weren’t my own—partially why I started teaching. I just don’t want my kids feeling the way I felt, so if I never have them then…”

Joel understands, fidgeting with his fingers as they rest over his knees.

“I was so young when Sarah came, I didn’t have a clue.”

It’s something you never really thought about, the quickness to grow up at such a young age—not quite a kid but barely stepping into adulthood.

“Well, it seems like you figured it out. She’s got a strong personality but she’s smart, that’s gotta count for something.”

Joel laughs a short, silent noise through his nose, shoulders shaking with the movement. You push away some of the mess from your bare legs, finding that building things was a lot messier than you thought.

“A wet paper towel or washcloth can help,” Joel adds, pointing toward the dusting of wood on the floor, “the rest,” he waves a loose finger toward your hair, pulling at a small piece and flicking it away, “a shower will do just fine.”

Joel glances over your frame briefly, but the gaze he holds is intense, the time that burns even when he finally looks away.

“I can clean this up for you,” Joel offers, “go ahead and take a shower and I’ll be outta your hair before you’re done.”

And you don’t put up a fight, as much as you could have.

The shower feels like heaven after a long day, nearly into late afternoon now and having skipped out on lunch completely—maybe you should offer to feed him as a thank you, knowing he’d never take any money. You hear him moving around outside the door, shuffling with tools, rearranging some of the furniture that was probably a little on the heavier side, falling silent as you finally turned the faucet off.

You should’ve wait a few more seconds, could’ve—you would have missed him completely by then, but you’re wrenching the door open in a hurry to the short distance to your room that was attached to your bathroom, but not before colliding with Joel on the opposite side of the wall as he dug through a cabinet, admittedly a little lost.

“There weren’t any hand towels in the kitchen,” Joel explains calmly when he turns to you, holding his gaze with yours, avoidant of your blatant nakedness as you silently reach for a towel, wrapping it around your frame without a single blink, “I figured—seemed like the second best option…”

He gestures vaguely to the cabinet full of towels.

You nod slowly, speaking evenly, to your own surprise.

“And I was gonna invite you over for dinner, or out—whichever, but that seems a little cliche now, seein’ as you just saw me naked, don’t want you getting the wrong impression.”

“Can’t have that,” Joel nods, agreeable, the remnants of smug grin catching the corner of his mouth, “can we?”

It takes every last ounce of self control to keep you from making a mistake, beg him to take you there—wherever, on the floor, the counter, the bed just some several feet away in the adjoining room.

“I’ll just…finish cleanin’ up and see myself out,” Joel nods, letting his gaze drag down slightly, fingers tightening around the towel instinctively—for your own good, “sorry ‘bout all this.”

You nod slightly in response, wracking your brain with any reason you could give to keep him here a second longer, convince yourself to stop being so scared of putting yourself out there.

It wasn’t lost on you that Joel seemed interested. He’s got that look that lingers when you’re around, always catching glances when he thinks your attentions drawn somewhere else—you see it in the early mornings when you’re leaving for work now, less before you had gotten to know him, and the soften in his voice when he talks to you lately, it’s comforting; he feels safer allowing himself to relax around you now, free of any judgment.

But, he’s also never made any attempt to cross those boundaries, polite to a default and sometimes his own demise—until now, something telling him to go for it.

“But, if you were wanting to treat me to a nice meal,” There’s a calmness to his tone, that same drip of snark you always had toward him but teasing in a way that made your body run warm all over, “Sarah’s spending the night a few blocks over with a girl on her soccer team, so—a little peace and quiet, some dinner,” Joel shrugs, arm raising up to lean against your frame of the door, palm pressed high and fingers tapping along the woods, “it does sound like a fair trade. For the work.”

And whatever he’s trying for, it’s successful.

Hell, you would’ve ended up finding your way over there somehow, but the fact that Joel’s reciprocating and in a way that almost seems playful, it’s too good to pass up on no matter how stubborn you wanted to be to cover the embarrassment you were feeling right now.

Sure, for the work.

“Deal.”

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to settle on something simpler than some meal that would take too long, too much work, and it was glaringly obvious from the moment you arrived at Joel’s front door that neither of you gave a shit about dinner or deals or paying him back for the work he did.

Whatever was lingering between you now was bigger, much bigger than it had been before and impossible to ignore.

But, the attempt at small talk is nice—a slice or two of pizza into dinner and you’re settled on his couch, legs crossed and facing him fully with his leg stretched out and resting on the coffee table settled a few feet away. He’s no more dressed down than usual, a pair of jeans (arguably one of his cleaner pairs) and a loose shirt that’s design had faded, probably from years and years of wear. You settled for something similar, comfortable, a knitted blanket slung around your shoulders for comfort.

“Cold?” He asks around a bite.

One word. A simple question, but it feels like an answer to so much more. An excuse, even.

“A little,” You nod, punctuating the answer by pulling the blanket over your shoulder more, knees rising to huddle your body closer to yourself, “it’s not that bad.”

“Let me turn the heat up,” Joel’s standing before you can respond, messing with the small panel on the wall, pointing toward the vent settled conveniently above the couch, “feel it?”

You reach a hand out feebly, waiting for the rush of hot air that never comes. You shake your head slightly, rising on your knees slightly, waddling yourself forward until it finally hits you, closer to Joel’s original spot as he returns, settling back in the same position as before, though you’re much closer in proximity now.

You snort softly, falling back on the heels of your bare feet, palms pressing into the tops of your thighs in an attempt to keep the height you had on Joel currently, the smugness in your expression unavoidable.

He’s got his left arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers curling and straightening in a subconscious movement, food forgotten on the table, his eyes dragging toward yours lazily, the buzz of the television filling whatever silence was settling between you two.

Joel is playing oh, so innocent—you can see right through it.

“Smooth,” You can give him some credit, he’s got you closer—not where he wants you or needs you, but he can touch you if he wants, right now, yet still, “how long did you think that over in your head?”

“An hour,” He admits sheepishly, eyes squinting with the half-hearted smile that stretches his face, “pathetic, right?”

You shrug indifferently, settling in deeper, more comfortably. The shift in your movements has your knees pressed against his thighs, hands settling in your lap and just a few inches from his own. There’s a small tear in your jeans that Joel can see, right against the bend of your knee—he’s got the urge to touch you, so he does.

His touch is rough, warm, all calloused from hard work but containing the hominess you crave so deep in your bones.

“I can let it slide,” You assure him, fingers inching closer to his, the width of his palm covering your kneecap now, a slow, precarious movement as your fingers slip over his own, wrapping around his wrist and feeling the faint thrum of his pulse as it quickens, “if you’ll do something for me.”

It's been weeks of build up, unnecessary tension between the two of you that threatened to spill anytime one of you moved to close to the other, a simple touch in passing or looks that dragged on too long.

“‘Course, anything.”

The admission comes quickly. He doesn’t even need to think it over. He’s staring more intently, the shadows of his face changing with every flashing picture on the screen several feet away.

“Stop torturing me,” You supply softly, guiding his hand between your legs until his knuckles bump against your center, a soft squeeze to your thigh as his fingers fit comfortably against your body, his brain mapping out how the levels of his touch affect you, “you take me to your room,” it’s your turn to reach for him, fingers leaving his wrist to trace alone his thigh in return, though stretching past the the button of his jeans to find the soft skin of his abdomen under his shirt and dragging over his stomach delicately until he can’t stand it anymore, using his free hand to lock yours in place, pulling your attention to his face once more and away from the slow rise and fall of his breathing, “and you fuck me.”

Joel frowns slightly, the creases in his forehead becoming a little deeper, the beginnings of his crows feet wrinkling around his eyes and he’s trading the spot where his hand is cuddle against the apex of your thighs to slip his fingers under your jaw, tracing the fragile lines of your face until he can cradle your cheek gently, using the pad of his thumb to press on your chin, guiding your face down to look at him, and somehow pulling you impossibly closer.

“Fuck you?” He questions, eyes searching yours briefly, tongue swiping at his bottom lip, “No—no, that’s not how I do things, sweetheart.”

You smile under his touch, watching as he mirrors those emotions and urges you toward him and over his lap, large palms holding steady at your waist. You filter your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing until you reach the shell of his ear, playing with the short tuft of hair that curls behind it, his eyes watching your movements carefully.

“Care to enlighten me?”

Joel chuffs out a laugh, short and brimming with a darkness that wasn’t there before, using the leverage he has to lean forward and secure you on his lap until you’re hanging by a thread over his knees, letting out a small yelp at the change in position that quickly dissipates into laughter.

“Darlin’, I’d rather show you.”

There’s a certain giddiness to your energies as you clumsily climb your way up the steps, Joel suddenly a lot more handsy than earlier as he grips at your hips, your thighs, pulling you in for quick, fleeting touches that tickle and have your breath catching in your throat until you can finally break away, nearly tripping into his bedroom before he catches you with a swift hand, shoving the door closed with his heel as he closes in on you, pulling your legs up around his hips in one heft of a motion, arm slung around your backside while the other paws at your thighs, make the small trek to his bed and resting you down slowly, chest heaving with a quickness.

A sudden dip in the bed has your ass nearing the edge but his legs are there to catch you, knees barely pressing against the end of the mattress while he reaches for the button on your pants wordlessly aside from the gaze he’s holding with you, his expression is rather flat (a little concentrated even) and he’s popping it open with ease, thick fingers sneaking around the waistband and tugging until there’s nothing left but a small snag at your ankle that he wrangles quickly, soothing the spot after with his thumb.

“M’sorry about earlier, again,” Joel finds himself apologizing, “never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

“I wasn’t—I’m not,” It’s something you’re sure of, more so that anything right now, “I could’ve cleaned up the mess myself.”

Joel shrugs, large palm spreading over the width of your hips, thumbs pressed gently into the ridge of your hip bones as he folds your legs in closer from where they’re hooked around his own waist, the soft cotton dragging against denim and igniting a deep yearning that could only be satiated once he was inside you—it’s what you were hoping for, urging him closer with your foot as you nudged him forward.

“And you were so respectful,” You comment coyly, tilting your head up at him as you reach for the fabric of his shirt, grinding the wet heat of your cunt against the front of his jeans for friction, bottom lip pulled between your lip momentarily when it feels just a little too good, “didn’t even try to take a look, did you?”

Joel laughs quietly, a short huff through his nose when he shakes his head, “I tried—god, did I try—”

His thumbs dip lower, under the waistband over your underwear while his fingertips slide under your shirt, rubbing against the soft skin of your belly, your own hands coming down to claim his, pulling them higher until they settle over your breasts, completely bare underneath.

“I’ve been picturing it since I got home,” Joel admits, glancing up at the ceiling briefly in a desperate plea when he touches the bare skin, nipples pebbling against his touch and he squeezes greedily before he finally has the courage to look at you, watching as you pull the top over your head casually, “you’re poisonin’ my mind, sweetheart.”

It’s a compliment wrapped in some form of emotion you can’t decipher as his mouth drops open an inch, rubbing his thumb over the soft bud of your nipple until you grow impatient, a small whine of protest leaving your mouth as you reach the short distance between your bodies to rub against the swell of his jeans, “Not just that I hope.”

“You really want me to fuck you?” Joel asks sweetly, a little condescending with the way it’s delivered as he glares down at you, his touching lingering from your breasts as he slides a thumb over your clothed cunt, a gentle pressure against your clit until your breath stutters at the sensation. He says your name softly, a warning for your attention to be brought back to him. “Hey, need you with me—you like that? Getting fucked?”

You squeeze him firmly until it forces a chuckle out of his chest, his hand squeezing around your thigh to pull you taut, rocking his hips into the touch before swatting your hand away and working at his belt, jeans, everything keeping him constrained until he can finally reach his cock, working his boxers half away down his thighs and reaching for your hand again, wrapping your softer, less overworked hands around his dick until it registers in your head what he wants, his hand a guiding light as he builds a slow rhythm, squeezing your grip until it’s just right.

“Usually, yeah,” You nod, using your touch to admire every last bit of him, thumb drifting over the head of his cock as you squeeze tight, letting him buck into your touch impatiently—he’s breathing hard through his nose, eye contact more intense now that it ever has been, staring down at your over the bridge of his nose, all beautiful and godlike, sculpted to perfection, “feels good.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s been months. But it has. Almost a year, truthfully, and just by the quick glance you take at him—nothing compares. He doesn’t make a big deal about it, talk himself up like he’s everything you need. He wants to hear what you like, what you want.

“I can do that,” He obliges and suddenly his hand is hit against your folds, middle finger spreading you open gently, pressing against your opening testingly, “do what you like—or we can do things my way.”

“Your—your way?” You gasp softly, nodding without hearing what he has to say, “Yeah—fuck, your way is fine.”

“Didn’t even let me talk, sweet girl.” Joel remarks smugly.

But, it doesn’t matter. The second his finger breaches you fully it’s nothing but white noise, his thumb working just as tentatively at your clit.

Joel drones on anyways, his voice like a warm current as it guides you into a state of calm.

“I’ll get you there, real close, just like this,” He nudges his fingers against a soft spot inside of you that has your eyes squeezing shut, choking off a moan as you squeeze tight around his cock, hands moving a lot less now that he had you distracted, but Joel didn’t mind, “then I’ll fuck you, slow…hard, whatever you like, okay?” And there comes your name again, a bouy pulling you back to the surface as you nod, “But, fuck if I don’t take my time with you—I’m gonna save her for last,” He slips another finger in silently before pulling out and rubs the collected slick over your clit in a couple quick movements, “show her all the attention she deserves, right?”

“Joel,” You whine—a beg, a plea, just another reason to say his name so desperately, “Joel, please.”

“I gotcha,” He comforts, lifting a knee up to rest against the mattress, shifting your leg higher and switching up the angle entirely as it forces his fingers in deeper as he pushes back in, “relax, breathe, lean into it, baby.”

Letting yourself go, he means. The baby is an afterthought and maybe he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it doesn’t fail to send a flutter through your insides and somehow calm you in the same instance.

And really, nothing compares. He’s attentive in a way that’s new to you, never something you’ve experienced in the past and maybe it helps that he’s got a few years on you, or more experience, but it’s addictive—he’s got a hold on you that you can’t seem to break.

He listens to the way your breath buckles when he rubs your clit a little too fast, clearly nearing your edge quicker than he or you would like, but he knows just when to stop and slow down, fill you full of his fingers and keep you wanting more. He sees the subtle pull of your brow when he drags it on longer than you’re used to, that’s when he finally pulls away.

“Joel, can’t—“ You breath out tiredly, eyes closed and resting as you catch your breath, his hands nudging yours away from his cock as it bounces against his stomach, quickly shoving his jeans and underwear the rest of the way down, “want you inside, need you to fuck me like you—you said—“

He rubs a comforting hand against your stomach, up your sternum until he’s flat against the center of your chest and you’re looking at him again, more focused this time around.

“Scoot up,” He tells you softly, nodding while he reaches behind his head, yanking his shirt over his head in one fluid act, “get comfortable, sweetheart.”

He’s unabashed and cool in the way he holds himself before you, yielding a vulnerability that he never would’ve had with you if he hadn’t gotten to know to you more, if he didn’t have the chance to—he walks around the bed and to his nightstand a few feet away, admittedly littered in either dirty clothes or laundry he hadn’t put away yet, rustling through one of his top drawers for something you can only assume, his bare ass on display and in perfect view.

It’s something to admire, firm and toned from the heavy lifting and upkeep he kept on his body, through work and exercise, the muscles in his backs molding to each move he made as he stretched, rolling a tight shoulder as he closed the blinds a little tighter, turning to you then and switching on his bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow that leaves you nowhere to hide from him.

Not that you felt the need to anymore. Maybe a few weeks ago, but definitely not now.

“Here,” He’s adjusting a pillow underneath your head as you lean forward, assuring you’re comfort as you nod to his waiting look, eyebrow raised slightly, “do you—I can turn that off if you want?” He rubs a curious hand down your chest again, clambering to settle between your legs as he kneels, cock hanging heavy between you as he rips the foil open quietly with his opposite hand, the other again, curious as he palms your breast, pointer finger dragging along the swell of it as he traces down to the underside, “I just—I like seein’ you.”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You answer him, stalling his movements with your touch as you trap his hand, watching as he spits away the foil and rolls the condom over his cock with ease, stroking languidly until he feels secure, somehow making the moment even more tender as he winds his fingers through your loose ones, subconsciously asking for the touch as he smile when your eyes catch his gaze.

“You let me know what you need,” He orders kindly, though there’s a sternness behind it, “I’ll be damned if you’re not gettin’ what you want, alright?”

You nod, inhaling silently on the first press of his head against your cunt, his shaft sliding against the center and coating in your wetness before he’s pushing in with a carefulness that’s indicated through the tight grip you have on his hand, loosening when he finally bottoms out.

Joel groans low, quiet, savoring how tight you’re gripping him in the moment, pulsating with need from how hard he’d edged you to near orgasm. He’s thankful, for once, because he’s not sure he has much will power to hold off either.

“Slow,” He reminds you, a gentle rock of his hips as he focuses his attention toward the point where you two meet, watching the way you pull him in with greed, fingers once twisted between his fingers now clawing tightly at the sheets, “shit—it’s been too long.”

You nod knowingly, other hand shifting to put space between you and the headboard, placing opposite pressure against the wood with your hand, in turn allowing you to gain some leverage and work yourself easier against Joel, whatever slow place he was going for quickly dissolving into madness, hands wild and gripping at whatever flesh it could reach.

“Oh, hell.” Joel groans, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut for his own good, fingers digging into your thighs so he can fuck himself into you with fervor, your moans quickly morphing into pleas for, “more, more—please, Joel.”

“Gimme your hand,” He gruffs out, voice scratchy and raw, guiding your fingers until they lock around the back of your thigh, pushing until you’re spread wide and he’s guiding your other leg over his chest, ankle resting against his shoulder as he pulls out without warning to adjust himself, “you’re gonna hold yourself open, baby—keep yourself open for me.”

And then he’s sliding back in with no preamble or words of comfort, just a desperate slide of his body against your own, seeking to be back inside you.

The angle is almost unbearable this way, teetering on the edge of too much but whatever words you’re trying to form in your head aren’t making sense, eyes locked on Joel—all of him; his face and the subtle way his forehead creases, mouth dropping open wider when you clench down on him, gasping through every thrust of his hips, and his chest in the way it flexes as he pulls you tighter, biceps flexing as he strains, his own self control breaking down piece by piece. You’re mostly mesmerized by the way this angle gives an almost perfect view to watch him fuck up into you, the veins running along the side of his cock and how careful he is too pull all the way out before he’s driving you insane with the forceful thrusts he gives as he returns, his eyes flicking up briefly when he catches you staring.

“Oh, fuck—“ He huffs through a laugh, your name falling from his lips once more, “sweetheart, you’ve got no clue how good you feel.”

He moans a little louder, unrestrained and rough, almost like he’s growling with every sharp snap of his hips and it’s driving you insane, that subtle throb of need turning into an ache that had to be soothed.

“Joel…” You call out to him, sounding soft and broken.

He’s right there with you, ripping your hand away from where it’s latched to your thigh and bringing it between your legs, feeling exactly how wet you were for him, his thumb covering your own as he helped you start a steady rhythm against your clit.

“Look so pretty like this, sweetheart,” Joel notes, voice sounding even more strained, his grip growing tighter as he seeked to wrap you around him more, more, more, leaving your hand to wrap around the back of your thighs and push you apart, “I got you—come for me. Think you can do that?”

You nod absently, feeling like you were falling into a trance, a dark void that was just you and him and nothing else, touching yourself with an urgency that didn’t let up, fingers immediately speeding up when his hands moved away and he sees it, the desperation.

Joel chuckles to himself, a noise that breaks you from the haze as your eyes creep open, watching how he admired you openly with no shame, “Fuck—you really need it, don’t you?”

You can hear yourself, him—that wet squelch of arousal, skin against skin as he fucks into you with no restraint. You nod again, a quick jerky movement as you feel that familiar heat in your belly build, “Yesyes—god, Joel.”

And Joel soothes you every step of the way as it finally hits you, his hands giving your thighs that desperate relief they needed as he pulls you close, a hand cupping the back of your neck firm and tilting your chin up, lips dragging along yours without taking the step to press against them for a full kiss, a intimate moment of breathing against one another while Joel follows a few moments later, his hips rocking to a slow halt as he rides through the force of his orgasm, groaning deeply against your mouth as you feel everything calm around you, the soft hum of the fan on his dresser pulling you back to earth.

You want to kiss him so badly, watching him pull away for a brief second to check in with you, eyes scanning your face for anything—but you’re tired of overthinking so you do it, no second guessing, no worrying, cupping his face gently and pulling him in for a long, but simple kiss that feels like it could go on for eternity. He melts into it instantly, the firm grip on your neck softening to cradle your face, one of you (though, maybe both) eventually coming up for air with grins wider than you’ve ever seen.

There’s nothing left to do but feel it, both of you laughing into each other’s skin and that small snort of amusement slipping from you, feeling Joel mumble something against your collarbone but not asking him to repeat it, watching him smile to himself again as he rises on steady legs to dispose of the condom.

“How are you even—“ You giggle softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your face and through your hair, watching as he retreats toward his ensuite bathroom to retrieve something small, a tiny towel as he wipes up the last remnants of mess around you and his own body, but not yet reaching for you, “my legs are shaking, can you—“ You reach weakly for the towel.

But, he’s spreading out between your legs before you can protest, that smug fucking look on his face as he tosses the towel to the side and waits for you to finish.

You never do.

“Didn’t forget, did you?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised in question. “I’m takin’ my time, sweetheart.”

And the night lends all the time in the world, watching with a sated grin and tired eyes as Joel presses a kiss to your core and dives in, finding every last bit of you to taste, devour, savor in the off chance he never gets to experience this again.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” He murmurs—and how he manages to make that sound so endearing despite how depraved it actually is, you’ll never know.

He also really loves when you play with his hair, the delicate traces of your fingertips as you take through his soft tufts of brown and pull when things get a little too intense.

Joel brings you to a slow, but satisfying second orgasm that has you whining at how intense it feels after the first, gasping when his tongue works you through it and nearly has you cursing his name in a plea to stop, but he pulls away at the perfect moment, careful as he cleans you up now, not a word shared until he’s settled in the bed beside you, reaching to pull at the lamp string and let the room succumb to darkness.

Part of your brain thinks this should feel strange—screwing your neighbor after he’s been helping you out for weeks and building your furniture for free (technically), but Joel’s mind is elsewhere, rubbing softly at your side as he turns you in bed, pulling the sheets up over you both despite your obvious states of undress, clearly too tired to go searching for your clothes.

You want to make an excuse to leave. You do, but Joel quickly squashes that worry of making things weird by staying.

You can't see face but you hear him, lips brushing the top of your head as he speaks in a soft tone, “Sleep here,” He encourages you, but adding a quick, “if you want—only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Tommy’s pickin’ Sarah up for me in the morning,” He tells you, sensing your hesitation of an uncomfortable face to face the next morning, and you voice that to him softly, “don’t worry, I can sneak you out if it comes to that.”

Joel lends a soft touch to your thighs, still sore and shot from earlier as he squeezes the flesh gently.

“M’not gonna fuck you like that and let you leave,” and that shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, leaning into his touch a little further, wanting more, but it does, “somethin’ about you relaxes me, can’t put my finger on it.”

“The mind-blowing sex to start,” You joke lightly, speaking softly to him despite the empty house, “among other things.”

Joel’s laugh is the last thing you hear before you both lose the battle to exhaustion, curled around one another.

Tommy catches you in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee before you even realize he’s inside, quiet as a mouse as Sarah trods up behind him and beyond, waving a quick greeting with no outward comment or acknowledgement on why you were here, at the Miller residence, somehow stuck in the middle of their morning routine as they readied for work around you.

“My brother?” He asks with a smile, polite but amused.

“Bathroom, shower.” You answer, watching him nod, digesting the context clues and laughing to himself.

You hand him a cup wordlessly, filling the coffee for him.

“Didn’t think he had it in ‘em.” Tommy comments off-handedly, blowing out a faint puff through his lips as he shakes his head, dipping his head into the fridge in search of breakfast.

Joel saves you soon after, walking you back to your house without a word to his brother aside from a quick shared look, one that reads him getting teased to all he’ll later.

There’s a silent agreement that’s made as Joel backs you against your front door, tilting your chin up briefly to press a chaste kiss to the side of your jaw, not quite your lips, not quite your cheek, but still somehow more sensual than it should be.

“I’ve got a lot of fixin’ to do, still,” You admit, “could really use your help—if you’re still offerin’.”

“At your service, sweetheart.”

Tommy’s waiting eagerly in the kitchen when Joel returns, digging into a blueberry muffin like an animal.

“You are so screwed, brother.”

And Joel knows it’s true.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #my writing

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aurelim · 8 months

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As the Ocean Lures Intro Post

As the Ocean Lures is an interactive novel about being a Merfolk. You will go on hunts, learn more about humans, and perhaps explore the land above.

As the Ocean Lures is a 16+ game with themes that may be triggering to audiences. This includes drowning, murder, death, body horror, dark humor towards death, potential transphobia, and the MC will exhibit sadistic traits with certain choices. This will be updated as the game goes on.

This game is loosely inspired by the Little Mermaid, and has taken inspiration from games like Beyond The Waves and Abysm's Veil.

CHECK OUT THE DEMO HERE!

Everyone has heard of sirens. Mysterious humanlike beasts who use their powerful singing voice to lure sailors to their untimely death. However, the only thing modern mythology mistaked was the fact that sirens retained bird-like features rather than fish tails.

You, on the other hand, are a Merfolk. As a Merfolk, you maintain most of the qualities often associated with mermaids and "sirens". With your family, you work to bring down sailors using your voice and abilities under the sea.

But do you actually want this fate? Is this what you want for the rest of your life?

It was.

At least, that was what you had always thought.

When you meet a captain who is dead set on showing you everything about the surface, you are quite literally pushed into a whole new world. And you discover that perhaps the human world...is not as bad as you were told.

But now you have a dilemma. Will you question everything you know? Or will you remain a part of the ocean?

Customize who you are as a Merfolk, from gender, pronouns, looks and personality.

Helping your family to sink ships full of sailors (or not...)

Watch a captain drown or save them from certain death.

Maintain your relationships with your family—follow what you have been told your whole life or go against everything they have taught you.

Romance one of four characters: your best merfriend, the strange siren who assists your family on their hunts, the human captain you saved(?) or that royal who seems to love spending time by the sea...or no one since being a Merfolk is already hard as it is.

Will you live out of the sea or under the sea? The choice is yours.

Kai/Kaia (He/him or She/her): The Best Merfriend

Your best...er, merfriend. You have known them your entire life and they remain a constant in your life. K has always been interested in the surface, whether you agreed with them or not. If given an opportunity—any, really—to go on land, they would jump at the chance. Friendly and caring, K is loyal to a fault, never-ending when it comes to you and your family. But is there something underlying your friendship? Guess you'll have to find out.

Echo (They/them): The Siren

Echo is...in short terms, a mystery. They first came to your family's rescue during one of the worst hunts of your life, and has stuck around ever since. Your mother treats them like her sixth child, though you are sure the sentiment is not reciprocated. Despite knowing Echo for almost eight months, you have yet to learn anything about them beyond their name and pronouns. It seems like they don't want to get attached to you or your family. They are professional, keeping away from personal questions. Will you be able to break down their walls?

Louis/Eloise (He/him or She/her): The Royal

You don't know much about them, besides knowing they are the heir to the throne of Oceanic. They can sometimes be found standing by the ocean on their private beach, eyes closed as if they are in another world. They address the world with such maturity, garnering them fans across the kingdom. And it certainly helps that they are attractive. Many look forward to the day they take the throne from their father.

Anthony/Anne Maddox (He/him or She/her): The Captain

The captain who you (or someone else) saved from certain death. They once claimed mermaids existed, which brought a reputation that preceded them. To prove it, they recruited a group of sailors to join them. The day they sailed out was the day you found them, the only survivor. A has a knack for getting into trouble, as well as a sense for adventure. Now knowing you exist, they want to show you the human world. Will you let them?

#As the Ocean Lures #atol #if: intro #status: wip #status: demo #twine game #interactive fiction #if #twine if #interactive novel #merfolk #16+#romance #fantasy

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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 5 - Sans Y Penser

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... mildly angsty situations, some flirting and interesting proposals.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. HERE BE PLOT. A lot of things happen in this one afternoon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Le Havre, September 1939

The port city of Le Havre is bustling with travellers hauling suitcases and steamer trunks, all walks of life converging on this point of exit. You weave through the crowds from the train station as a trio, headed for the bright red awnings of the company sailing to the USA. Benedict and Eloise hang back as you approach the ticket window.

“Name?” the brusque man in the booth opens with a crisp American accent.

“Y/n y/l/n,” you smile politely.

“You are not on the manifest,” he sighs after a pause to scan down the paperwork, impatience colouring his tone.

“But I must be,” you frown, “I was given this here…”

You push your ticket under the window, clearly marked with today’s date.

“Fraudsters,” his economic response.

“But… they were from your company? Outside your offices in Paris? And wearing your company livery? They… They said I could bring forward my sailing date from August to today. They took my original ticket and gave me this! It looks the same!” Panic rises in your voice with each sentence, dread churning behind your ribs as you realise you have likely been duped.

“I'm sorry, ma’am, but that is not a valid ticket,” is his monotone reply.

“Oh god. What can I do? May I buy another ticket now?!?”

His responding laugh is a loud bark, “Hah! Ma’am, we are booked up for weeks in advance. There is a long line every day of people hoping for last-minute availability,” he signals to a line of weary-looking, luggage-laden folks under a makeshift shelter.

“But I….” you feel your eyes watering and dread in the pit of your stomach like you are falling down an endless chasm.

“Ma’am, please step aside; I need to ensure valid passengers can board this ship…” he warns in a tone that is wholly without sympathy.

With a weak nod, you stumble away, back towards Benedict and Eloise. As you draw closer, their faces are a picture of concern, realising something is amiss. As you tearfully recount what happened, Benedict seethes, and Eloise wraps her arm around you, looking pained.

“I’m going up there. This is unacceptable!” Benedict grits out, righteous indignation fizzing from his very being.

You have to hold out a hand to physically stop him. “It's likely no use,” you appease.

His ire deflates a fraction at your hold on his coat sleeve. “At least let me try, y/n,” he modifies after a few beats.

“Alright,” you relent, dropping your hand, “but I do not expect a different answer.”

You and Eloise cling to each other as you watch Benedict remonstrate with the same man and then a different one at the window. All the while, your stomach is in knots, equal parts fear and hope.

It's five or more minutes before Benedict returns to you, his face pinched.

“I was not successful,” he screws his mouth, looking away as if he cannot meet your eye as he says it. “They don't seem to care that criminals are posing as agents for their organisation,” he rubs his eyebrow in irritation. “I would report it to the police, but it's not their jurisdiction here, and it still does not solve our dilemma…”

“Thank you anyway…” you breathe, “for trying at least…”

There is a long silence as the three of you stand there, stupified by the conundrum before you. The chime of a clock on the harbour building breaks your thoughts.

“It's 3pm. Your sailing back to England is in less than an hour. You should go. You two leave without me,” you demure.

“NO!” they both exclaim in almost comic sibling unison.

“I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’m not leaving you alone here for god knows how long until there is room on a ship to America. You can’t be alone. This isn’t Paris; this is a port city. It’s definitely not safe,” Eloise rattles off, looking at you imploringly.

“She’s right,” Benedict concurs. “You were safe in Paris together before the war. You are not safe here. A beautiful young woman. You are a target for thieves or even worse. You cannot stay here alone.”

You try your hardest not to let Benedict calling you beautiful derail your whole thought train, but it’s futile. Your mind is scattered like a pile of wooden toy railway coaches.

“I... I could return to Paris?” You finally suggest after what feels like an eternity of buffering. “I could call to check for last-minute availability every morning. It’s only a couple of hours by train. I’ll be always packed and ready to go…” you argue, not as yet realising the naivety behind your own idea.

“Paris will be the first target for Hitler’s invasion,” Benedict says gravely. “It could be much worse to remain there…”

“So what am I to do? I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t…”

“There is only one solution, and that is for us to remain here as well until you can secure passage out of the country,” Benedict shrugs.

“Agreed,” Eloise nods emphatically as you go to protest.

“There are many more sailings back to England, and tickets are easier to come by,” Benedict points out. “We can move our tickets up. At least by a few days until we can devise a plan.”

“Wait… if there are no ships to America, why don't you come to England with us?” Eloise pipes up in a lightbulb moment.

“I have nowhere I could stay…”

“Nonsense! You will stay with us at Aubrey Hall. Won’t she, Benedict?”

“Oh yes, of course. There are plenty of spare rooms,” he assures.

“Gosh, umm... Maybe? I…” you hesitate. The whiplash of the last few minutes and the generosity of their offer momentarily overwhelm you. “That's very generous of you. The problem is I don’t know for how long it would be, or even if I should. My parents only agreed to me living in Paris under the watchful eye of Solene. This… this is entirely other…”

You startle as Benedict places his hands on your shoulders, pulling your attention to his sincere expression. “Y/n, you need to worry less about what your family thinks and more about yourself - what you need and your safety. This is escaping impending war; it’s a completely different circumstance from how you arrived here. The decisions you make right now have to be selfish and unburdened by expectations. It’s easy for others to judge from the distance of safety. But look around you. This town is teeming with people clambering to leave the country before an invasion. We do what we have to in unpredictable circumstances to survive.”

“You sound like a soldier,” you murmur.

“It’s what my father was,” he replies, releasing his grip but not moving away. “As a very young man in The Great War. He was lucky to survive, being an officer away from the front lines, but he taught me many things before he died. And one was about always making the smart choice if you can see one, even if it feels uncomfortable. The smart choice here is to escape by any means necessary. We all know Hitler has his sights set on France, especially Paris, as the figurative and cultural capital of Europe. You must get out. You must come with us.” You are captivated by his hazy eyes as he speaks, your heart beating fast as his face and voice grow softer. “Please. I could not live with myself if we left you behind,” he admits in a much quieter tone, but the plea is no less impassioned.

You cannot help it. You stare up at him, transfixed. Stanley has never been so eloquent. Or indeed so invested in your well-being.

“Alright…” your hesitancy soft, “but you must let me pay you for my ticket…”

His face seems to light up at your acquiescence. “One day… maybe,” he smiles.

And so that is what he does - leaves you and Eloise ensconced in a nice bistro overlooking the harbour with a large bottle of white wine as he walks over to the ticket office for the ferry company and swaps their tickets for a few days hence and purchases an additional ticket for you, steadfastly refusing to tell you the cost for it even for many weeks hence.

While you are in the ladies' room, Eloise strikes up a conversation with a young man in uniform at the adjacent table; you fondly roll your eyes as you retake your seat and leave them be. Your gaze, however, is never far from the window, to where Benedict last left your line of sight, somehow anxious for his return. When he reappears, striding purposefully towards the cafe, your chest flutters hard, his coat swishing around his legs, his hat at an attractive slant. If there is one thing you swear you could spend a lifetime doing, it’s watching Benedict Bridgerton just… be.

“Any luck?” you ask as he arrives and doffs his hat, taking a seat on your other side, throwing an exasperated glance at his little sister and the uniformed man.

“We are set to sail Thursday,” he smiles and signals for the waiter, ordering a glass of Beaujolais. “I also stopped in the post office to call Solene. She has said we can stay as long as we need to at her sister’s cottage a few miles from town.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” your shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like hours. “But wait, I remember she said there is only one bedroom,” you point out. “You’ve been sleeping on our sofa for days now… you deserve a bed. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No. Also, I’m not sharing a bed with my sister,” he shudders, “she kicks in her sleep!”

“Oh, thanks. So I guess you want me to have bruised shins, then??” You laugh with gusto, the ricochet day making all your emotions heightened, seemingly bouncing from one extreme to another. Right now, a strange bubble of joy at this lighthearted exchange.

“Not at all. In fact, I’d happily share with you instead to save your legs from the abuse!”

You know it’s said in jest, the comedic relief of the moment evident on his face, but still, a shot fires in your chest at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You decide to make light of it, even as your heart quickens.

“How do I know this kicking is not a problem that runs in the family? And you’re way stronger than her!”

“You can tie me down if it would make you feel better!” he chuckles loudly.

You flush all over, the very thought so beguiling yet scandalous. And yet you cannot stop your mouth running away with you, this flirtatious banter too tasty to resist, the wine you’ve been drinking far too quickly for the last half hour loosening your lips.

“I think you would enjoy that far too much, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, raising an eyebrow with a giggle.

His cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink even as his eyes dilate rapidly, a corner of his tongue flicking out to pull his bottom lip under his teeth. It makes you want to sink your teeth right there, this impulse to be so physical with someone discombobulating. You've never had such errant, feral desires for Stanley.

“You're probably right…” he rumbles quietly after a pause.

You dare to hold his gaze even though you know it’s a mistake. This nightmare of a day makes you uncaring of propriety. He looks as wild as you feel inside, a glint in his eye that is at once permission and danger.

“Theo here has been telling me all sorts of helpful information,” Eloise leans in, breaking the spell between you, a slight slur in her voice from her wine.

Theo nods to you and Benedict. On closer inspection, he appears to be in a British soldier uniform.

“I have to get back on duty,” he explains apologetically as he rises from his seat, “but I hope the information I’ve provided to your sister here will help.” He adds with a tiny salute.

You look surprised at Eloise as she just shrugs. You thought her up to her usual flirtatious banter, not researching. Benedict looks impressed too. You both, however, don’t miss the note he slips to Eloise before he takes his leave. Perhaps not purely intelligence gathering, then.

“Theo is helping process entry to Britain for foreign nationals wanting safe harbour. The numbers have spiralled since the war was declared.” She begins to explain when he is out of sight. “There is sadly a waiting list. But there are a few ways to skip the queue…

“Those being?” Benedict prompts before you can.

“Having family relatives residing in Britain already or, top of the pile, being the spouse of a British national.”

You slump your shoulders. “I have no relations there. Uncle Robert was visiting, but he was already at sea returning to America when the war was declared,” you explain, wishing he had stayed a few weeks longer.

“I wonder if we can find any paperwork forgers around?” Eloise ponders aloud.

“Eloise,” Benedict's tone is one of brotherly warning and disapproval, “we will not be taking that route.” his tone striking a chord of finality.

“But… how else can we get her into the country without bending the rules?” she exclaims at him, frustrated, gesticulating.

“I’m thinking…” Benedict grouses back, rubbing his chin and looking deep in thought.

Eloise leans back in her chair and twists her mouth into a pout. She takes a swig of wine before twisting to you and casually making a suggestion that flips your entire being.

“You could marry this one,” she jokes, shrugging and gesturing at Benedict.

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. A tidal wave of a hundred different feelings crashing through you at once.

“I’ll do it…” he offers, quick and quiet.

“El, don't be ridic…” your denial, spoken over his, dies on your tongue as you process what he said.

You can't help it, you gape open-mouthed at him. As does Eloise.

“You would?” you stutter.

He nods, mien sincere, but you could swear there is more, too, a rousing intensity.

“I was joking, brother,” Eloise frowns.

“It's the only solution that guarantees her passage out of France,” he argues, “that's the most important thing here…”

“But marriage? That is such a sacrifice… I could never ask that of you…” you shake your head, even as your stomach feels like a rollercoaster.

“That's why I'm offering, so you don't have to ask,” he shrugs as if this is not a big deal. “It is not me who has to make the sacrifice. It is you who has an intended…”

Stanley.

Your face falls as you think of the consequences. Marrying Benedict, if only for escape, would wound Stanley beyond belief. Your father, both your parents, in fact, would vehemently disapprove.

“We can annul it as soon as we get to England…” he assures.

“French marriages can be annulled, brother, yes, but in France. Not in England,” Eloise pipes up, ever the font of knowledge.

“Then I will grant you an immediate divorce,” he amends.

“I can't believe you are taking me seriously,,,” Eloise mutters, but both of you seem to ignore it.

“I’d still be a divorcee, damaged goods as my father would say…” you wince at the phrase but know it to be accurate in Long Island, as much as you hate it.

“I don't know how else to help you escape, y/n,” Benedict implores, slightly alarmed.

“Keep thinking!” Eloise interjects hotly. “I won't have my poor best friend here shackled to a Bridgerton brother. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve such a sentence, however short.”

“Eloise!” you scold without thought, “don't be so rude about your brother! He's wonderful….”

You immediately flush with embarrassment as she looks at you suspiciously. You dare not even look over to the subject of your praise, but you can feel the weight of his stare.

“But umm yes, let's keep thinking…” you mumble, embarrassed, looking down and picking at your cuticles in your lap.

“I need a bloody cigarette,” Eloise pronounces, suddenly standing up, her chair scraping loudly over the tiled floor.

“Sister, you do not smoke,” Benedict frowns up at her, again with that air of elder sibling forbearance.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugs, her tone defiant, “and this situation definitely warrants one.” She jabs her finger by her side to emphasise her opinion.

With that, she marches up to the bar and orders one but does not return to the table, shooting you both a look before heading to the wall outside and sitting alone, staring out at the horizon and taking deep draws.

You and Benedict sit in silence, heads bowed in thought for what feels like an age, only interspersed with small sips of wine.

“I honestly can't think of another way out of this mess…” Benedict sighs, breaking the hush. “But I understand it's such an enormous decision; you need time to consider it.”

You are scared by how much your heart and mind are screaming, ‘I really don't, I will marry you,’ even if your gut churns with the idea of how you will explain it to everyone. You look up, and again, those blue eyes bore into yours. Sincerity, concern, empathy, and something that looks dangerously like desire. You could get lost in that look. Forever.

“I’ll do it…” you whisper, knowing you are playing with fire… and yet yearning to be burned.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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diazsdimples · 7 days

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hey james! for buddie or bucktommy. i’m making you choose jsdjskf “why are you looking at me like that?”

Hey Nolan!! I'm gonna do Bucktommy for this one, if you don't mind!!

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Tommy asks as he once again catches Buck staring. Buck flushes deeply, a pretty pink running up his neck and into his cheeks until he feels like his whole face is on fire. Never before has he been with someone so skilled at reducing him to a giggly, blushing mess like Tommy can. It's like Tommy has a direct line to the "Idiot Centre" in Buck's brain and can activate it with a simple look or a few well timed words. "I-I'm just - I mean, I wasn't - looking at you like what?" Buck stammers. Honestly, he's got no excuse for the way he was gazing at Tommy, all lovesick and dopey like a highschool girl. His boyfriend is hot and he's still a giddy that Tommy's with him at all. So he stares at him sometimes? Sue him! Tommy grins, his nose scrunching in a way that has Buck's stomach go all fluttery, and he rounds the kitchen island so he's no more than a couple of inches away from Buck. Close enough to have Buck's heart rate going up a couple of notches, but still too far. He needs him close, needs to be able to feel Tommy's chest press against his as he breathes, needs to feel Tommy's lips brush his as he speaks, needs to feel Tommy's co- Okay yeah, he's getting a little carried away. It's not his fault. "You were looking at me the way a 2000's teen girl would have looked at Justin Bieber whenever he flicked his hair," Tommy teases, and Buck wishes a hole would open underneath him and swallow him up. "I was just-" he begins, going redder still when Tommy crosses his arms and watches him with a half-smirk, his head cocked to the side. He looks far too adorable for his own good and it's not helping Buck's dilemma at all. "You're cute," he finishes lamely, unable to meet Tommy's eyes because he just knows Tommy is going to be looking at him with that soft, amused look on his face, like watching Buck bumble and ramble his way through their relationship is his favourite pastime - which, it probably is. "I'm cute," Tommy repeats, and Buck can hear the delight his voice. It's mortifying. It's humiliating. He's going to run away and live in the forest and become a hermit and - Suddenly Tommy's lips are on his and oh, yeah that's okay then, Buck can go with this. Buck can definitely get behind kissing Tommy if it means he doesn't talk and make even more of a fool of himself. Plus, Tommy's got this way of completely taking Buck apart with his lips, kissing him so thoroughly that he forgets his own name, forgets every little detail about himself except that he's kissing Tommy. Tommy pulls away and Buck pants, a little breathless from the kiss. Their foreheads rest against one another and their breaths mingle, warm and heavy and full of affection between them. "Well the good news is," Tommy says, his voice husky enough that it sends little shivers of joy down Buck's spine, "I think you're cute too." What else is Buck meant to do than blush once again?

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll finish it!

#james answers things #james writes #bucktommy ficlet #bucktommy wip #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 fanfic #911 abc #tuck #tevan #kinkley #poor blushy buck #hope you liked this nolan!!!

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 1 year

Text

A little character study sheet for sabo’s family so that i know what im doing when i start drawing them. Legit the entire time drawing this, i was physically restraining myself from yassifying them all. But i still needed yall to actually recognize them so i tried my best.

Im just not very good at drawing “ugly” people. Honestly i dont really think anyone is inherently ugly, but One Piece does have a way with drawing characters they dont want you to like. Idk, i think theres some kind of moral dilemma in there somewhere.

I find it very funny how there is like,,, at most 2 pics of serious fan art of stelly that i could find on google images. I didnt even bother putting my water mark on this, no one likes these shits.

Did you know Sabo’s dad is deadass named Outlook III??? 💀💀💀💀💀💀

Sabo’s dad b like:

Homie’s a mf Microsoft product 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Also, Stelly’s wife is named Sally. They are literally 2 letters off from each-other. Would their ship name be StAlly? Steally?

#my art #sabos family

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miindfucked · 2 months

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benedict bridgerton fic rec

nsfw fics are marked with🔞. all work has been credited to their respective authors.

It Had To Be You by @fayes-fics

Summary: Modern AU romcom. A love story heavily inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, (ongoing)

Whatever the Poets Say by @pagesfromthevoid

Teaser: “What if I wanted to wait for you, Benedict?” She repeated, finally using his name. The way it felt on her tongue was almost sinful; but she loved it. “What if I am willing to walk to the ends of the earth and back, simply to see if you could love me?”

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen🔞, eighteen🔞, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two🔞, epilogue.

Foolish Endeavor by @murdockparker

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was certainly no fool. Bad at cards, sure, a bit taller than most, that was a given, but he was seldom called a fool. Though, one could argue that falling for your best friend was a foolish endeavor, indeed.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven🔞, (ongoing)

Somewhere Only We Know by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

From A Father To A Son by @thebabblingbrookenook

Summary: Benedict has held his father’s words close to his heart for his entire life. The model of love that his parents provided set an uncompromising standard. All of the pieces to the puzzle didn’t fully align until he fell in love with you. Although his father is gone, Benedict gets to experience the love of his life through the lens of his father’s parting sage wisdom.

(Be)Longing by @fayes-fics

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

This Is My Idea by @theship-thewalrus

Summary: based on the song 'this is my idea' from The Swan Princess

This Book Is Dedicated To... by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. Benedict helps cure some writer's block.

to be loved and to be in love by @desertno3

Summary: You had been best friends with Benedict for as long as you can remember, your relationship forged during the years your mothers were preoccupied with the youngest children and your fathers were busy instilling leadership qualities in the eldest children. It seemed to be a perfect match for a future marriage, or so everyone had thought. However, your first season had come and gone and Benedict had not been as active a participant as his mother had hoped he would be. You had left London betrothed to someone else and that was that. But news about your disastrous betrothal reaches Aubrey Hall in the spring. And it changes everything.

When The World Is Free by @fayes-fics

Sypnosis: It is late summer 1939, when you arrive in Paris from New York to begin a year of adventure. A deal struck with your parents to see a little of the world before settling down and marrying your ‘childhood sweetheart’ Stanley.

You soon find yourself with a spirited young English housemate Eloise, enjoying all that the cosmopolitan European city has to offer…. Until a few weeks later when war is declared. In this newly uncertain world, Eloise’s mother dispatches her brother to bring her home. Your plan is to board a ship back to America… but circumstances conspire to leave you possibly trapped in France with no way home. Eloise refuses to leave the country without you, even as you secretly grow attached to her beguiling brother, Benedict, who is everything Stanley is not.

There appears to be only one solution to your dilemma to ensure safe passage out of the country as invasion seems imminent… but it will mean your life is forever changed, even when the world is free again.

Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, (ongoing)

Innuendo Bingo by @fayes-fics

Summary: Someone knows a LOT of stupid synonyms for orgasms…

Truth or Dare by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. A drunken game of Truth or Dare leads to an interesting development.

Rhythm by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. Filthy talking and dancing with Benedict.

All The Love (Under a Mistletoe) by @seasonsbloom

Summary: modern!au. you have been in love with your best friend's older brother for years. on Christmas eve, things finally come to a head.

Summer Nights by @murdockparker

Summary: Benedict was born to be a father, she was sure of it.

Waking Up by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU. What is the best way to be woken up…?

In the Oven by @murdockparker 🔞

Summary: She was never all that good at baking, so perhaps a bit of assistance from her husband would be a sufficient help?

Inspiration by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict just needs a little inspiration to complete his artwork.

Happy Birthday, Mr Bridgerton by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict's wife gives him the best possible birthday gift.

Transitions by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Modern AU, friends to lovers, it’s very distracting when a Bridgerton becomes a triathlete…

Breaking and Fixing by @fayes-fics

Summary: Benedict’s wife likes to fix things (and break them).

Mine by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Benedict's wife gets lots of male attention at a party and he gets very jealous.

A Treat by @fayes-fics 🔞

Prompt: “don’t be shy; come sit on my face, love.”

Acting Up by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Your husband Benedict gives you a treat during a Bridgerton family dinner.

Sonnet #29 by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Your husband Benedict and you have a late night tryst in the billiards room of Bridgerton House.

Lightening & Lilies by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Simply put, greenhouse sex during a thunderstorm.

Tell me (all the ways you missed me) by @fayes-fics 🔞

Summary: Having been apart for 3 weeks, you share an eventful carriage ride.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fic rec #farzana's recs

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chlorinecake · 8 months

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Love On A Leash | 심재윤 𓇢𓆸

summary • You offer to dog-sit Jake’s energetic pet border collie as a means to get closer to him. But how will he react when he finds out you forgot to feed her while he was gone?

pairing • next door neighbor!jake x reader • word count • 3.6k genre next door neighbor au, fluff • warnings language, jake and reader have a minor argument, suggestive themes, kissing

YOU FELT LIKE cursing your mother for making you do this.

It was currently 7am as you stood outside your next door neighbor’s front porch with a basket of assorted muffins in hand. The gesture was supposed to be a housewarming gift on behalf of your 'humble community,' your mother tasking you with delivering the treats while she got ready for work although she was already running late.

Your dilemma had nothing to do with her act of kindness, but everything to do with the very moment your dangerously lovesick eyes landed on your new neighbor, Sim Jake.

It goes without saying that he was good-looking, and attractive guys were no more to you than kryptonite is to superman; a crippling weakness. You were already whipped for Jake as is, creating a file filled with all of the things you either learned or observed about him over the past two weeks.

You hadn't even been standing at his porch for 15 seconds before your feet struggled to stay put, tempted to abandon ship and just tell your mom that no one was home.

Maybe he won't even answer, you tried comforting yourself.

What kind of a 20 year old guy would be up this early, anyways?

The door knob twisted as a muffled yawn met your ears, the door creaking open to reveal none other than Jake himself.

He was dressed in his pajamas, sporting a severe case of bedhead that he somehow pulled off.

“Hello?” He said with a groggy yet friendly accent.

“Hi! I’m your next door neighbor's daughter, ____. Here's a welcoming gift from our family to yours,” you forced a smile, handing him the basket.

“Wow, this is really sweet of you guys,” he thanked with a toothy smile, but you stood awkwardly.

“My name is Jake, by the way," he said while giving you a handshake, trying to break the tense physical barrier.

"Glad we could finally meet," you returned, "My mom talks about your family all the time. All good things, of course."

“Yeah, apparently she and my dad knew each other in high school… but now I’m curious. How much do you know?”

“Well, I know you’re from Brisbane and recently moved here for college! Oh, and you’re a huge dog lover, especially of golden retriever’s, like the one you have? Hmm, aren’t you an athlete? I think I’ve seen you in a tracksuit befo-”

“Those are all things about me, silly, not my family,” he giggled, running a hand through his locks.

Buzz.

Jake set the basket down on the table behind him, reaching in his pocket to analyze whatever just popped up on his phone screen. You wondered if he had a girlfr-

"Hm," he hummed, taking a step back into his house.

"I should get going now. Thanks again for the gift! I hope to see you around more often.”

“Well, its not like we can really avoid each other, anyways,” you said, drawing his attention to the brief distance between your two houses.

He blushed at the realization, "Give me a break, ____, I’m not usually up this early. And for the record, Layla’s a border collie!" He exclaimed before closing the door.

Updated Mental Note: (1) Jake’s dad knew your mom in high school, (2) Jake isn’t a morning person, (3) Jake’s dog is a border collie [confirmed].

Surprisingly, that interaction wasn't nearly as painful as you expected it to be.

Jake was chill.

Attractive, yes, but somehow, you survived. Trailing back from his porch to your house, you walked inside to find your mother fastening a pair of heels around her ankles before standing up to meet you. “How do I look? Is my hair okay? Wait, tell me, what did they say about the muffins?”

“You look great, mom! And their son answered, but he said he really appreciated it.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “Alright, sweetie! Duty calls! I’ll see you at dinner!”

“See ya,” you waved before closing the door.

JAKE’S DAD HAD started giving him a hard time concerning the dog. After summer, Jake was busy most of the time with soccer practice and school, and so with two working parents, it was hard to keep up with Layla’s random outbursts.

“You either find someone to watch her or she’s going to the pound!” His dad scowled while picking up a few pillows that Layla chewed holes into. “She’s been with us for years, and even now after the move, Dad! We can’t just give her up for acting like a dog! She’s getting used to this change, too,” Jake argued back while sweeping up a pile of kibble she knocked over.

“I hear what you’re saying, but make sure you consider what I’ve said. I’m not sure how much longer your mother and I can take this.”

A few minutes after their conversation, Jake decided to go and play catch with Layla in the front yard.

“Come here girl, come here! Stop? Sit? Good doggy,” he praised, ruffling the fur on her back before giving her a treat. You were walking home from the bus stop when Jake pointed to one of the tennis balls Layla forget to fetch which you ended up tripping over, the books you were carrying now joining you on the pavement.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay!?” Jake said running over to you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you spoke for your physical being as emotionally, you were an embarrassed wreck.

He helped you gather your textbooks and journals, “You’ll probably wanna put these in here.” He smiled, handing you the bag he used to carry Layla’s outdoor toys.

“No really, it’s alright, Jake. I should’ve brought my backpack with me.”

“No, I insist. Think if it as payment for the muffins,” he encouraged, neatly putting the books in the bag before tying it closed. Layla was busy bouncing around the two of you, trying to get Jake’s attention. A glint of playfulness sparkled in his eyes.

“Wanna try throwing the ball?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Last time I tried something like that, I ended up having to replace a few things I could hardly afford.” Jake laughed at your honesty, taking your hand in his before closing your fingers around the ball. “Just give it a shot. Prove me wrong,” he winked.

You looked down bashfully, giving in while warming up your shoulders, “You might wanna stand back a bit unless you like getting hit in the balls.”

He giggled again, walking back a few steps, “You’re being too hard on yourself, silly! Just throw it!”

Taking a deep breath, you launched the tennis ball an impressive distance away from you, the excited cream dog chasing after it. “Holy shit! You’ve got the arm of a pro, ____!” Jake exclaimed, giving you a high five.

“Now, when she comes back, you give her this treat.” “With my hand?” “Of course! Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite the hand that feeds her.”

In a matter of seconds, Layla was already running back to you, dropping the drool-covered ball from her mouth before eating the dog biscuits from your hand, the texture of her tongue tickling your palm. “Good girl,” Jake chirped as he met you and Layla on the ground.

“How’d you come up with her name?”

“Layla? Hmm. I’ve never had someone ask me that before,” he admitted, moving to sit crisscross applesauce. “Let’s see… when I was a kid, my inspiration was pretty corny.”

“Corny can be cute sometimes,” you smiled.

“Well, when my family adopted her, she didn’t have a name yet. One of my favorite songs back then was Eric Clapton’s “Layla,” so I figured that’s what she’d be called.”

“Aww! That’s adorable!”

“You probably think everything I do is adorable.”

It was like a cat caught your tongue, leaving you speechless at his comment.

“Kidding,” he smiled, nudging your shoulder before a sad look waved over his features.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “It’s my dad. He wants me to get rid of Layla.”

“But why? Isn’t she like family to you?”

“That’s exactly what I told him! But he thinks she’s only become a burden now that I’m not around as much,” he frowned, watching Layla chase herself around a tree. “The pound’s not a place for a dog like Layla.”

You sat in thought, thinking of ways to comfort Jake that didn’t involve touching him. Then it hit you.

“I can dog-sit her for you.”

His eyes widened in shock at your offer, resembling a cute puppy, “You'd seriously do that for me? Do you have experience?”

“Obviously,” you scoffed dishonestly, “look how comfortable we are with each other. I’m a natural at this.”

“Wow, I really appreciate this. I’ll pay you fifteen dollars per hour starting tomorrow from 11am to 3pm, and then-“

“Jake, I don’t want your money," you giggled, not even realizing that your hand rested on his exposed thigh, "I just wanna help.”

He smiled, “Okay, then. But if you ever feel like backing out, don't hesitate to let me know! Trust me, I won't be disappointed, Layla can be a handful.”

“Gotchya,” you replied, tossing another tennis ball for his dog to fetch, “How should I contact you?”

“Uhhh, I’ll just give you my phone number. Do you have a pen with you?”

“Yeah, right here,” you said, handing him the pen from your pocket.

Jake wrote his number on your wrist. “Perfect,” he chirped, rubbing a thumb over the writings.

“I’ll text you my schedule and everything once I hear from you again, see you around, neighbor!”

“See you!” You returned, both of you going back to your respective houses, the bliss of each other still fresh on your faces.

TO YOUR LUCK, your first day as a dog-sitter was going swimmingly well so far. Jake outlined a simple list of things for you to follow while he was away, tasks ranging from dog-walks to bathroom breaks making up most of the next few hours of your day.

Before Jake left, all you could remember was him saying something about a bag of dog food either in the fridge or pantry, but you were too distracted by the grey sweatpants he wore to successfully pay attention. So, you improvised by intuition.

What would I eat if I was a dog, you asked yourself, searching for any cooked proteins in Jake's fridge, only to find a pack of bacon bits.

Hmm, this could work.

Layla was waiting for her meal patiently by her empty feeding bowl as you moved to explore the pantry, pulling out a few marshmallows and graham crackers to add to the mix. Pouring the contents into her bowl, you gave her a few head scratches before she dove in, munching up every last bite.

"Looks like I've created a culinary masterpiece," you smiled, "I'll call it "____'s Canine Trail Mix," approved by the likes of Sim Layla and many more."

JAKE SHOWED UP about twenty minutes later, greeting you before asking about Layla.

"Everything went great," you beamed, taking him to the couch she laid tiredly on.

“What’s wrong with her? Did she just wake up from a nap?”

“I don't know, I just got out of the bathroom.”

“Did you walk her?”

“Of course, for two hours like you said.”

“Hmm. Did she play with her toys at all?”

“A little bit, but she didn’t seem interested after eating."

“Maybe you gave her too much food. How many scoops of kibble did she get?”

“What?" You asked, initially confused at the mentioning of kibble until you remembered what Jake was trying to tell you before he left: Layla gets 2 scoops of kibble for lunch with a few sausages from the fridge.

“How much food did you give Layla?” He repeated.

“Jake.”

“What?”

“I forgot to feed her.”

His jaw dropped, “You’re joking.”

"Well, I did feed her, but I forgot about the kibble. I gave her a bowl of bacon bits, graham crackers, and marshmallows instead."

Jake paced back and forth, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "What kind of a person with 'dog experience' decides to feed them marshmallows of all things? A whole ass bowl full?”

"I'm not following," you admitted timidly.

"Connect the dots, would ya?" He spat, trying to control his breathing.

"How was I supposed to know dogs can’t eat marshmallows?"

"Dog's don't eat common human foods, ____, that’s a no-brainer! I thought you said you had experience with this kind of thing," he frowned, meeting Layla on the couch to comfort her aching state.

You kept your distance from him, "I lied to you, Jake. I’m an amateur when it comes to this stuff."

He scoffed disappointedly, "Why would you lie about something like that, ____?"

"I- I just…I wanted to help you! You seemed really upset about the whole thing with your dad and I- it felt like the right thing to do at the time.”

"Well, for future reference, lying never helps."

You swallowed the dryness that grew in your throat, "I’m really sorry, Jake. Is there anything that I can do to help? Maybe get her some medicine?"

"No, ____, you’ve done enough already. I’ll see you around."

You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you simply grabbed your things and walked towards the door, the sounds of Layla's guttural wrenching making you cringe in shame and disgust.

Updated mental note: (1) Dogs can’t eat marshmallows, (2) Lying never fixes situations, (3) Jake probably hates you now [pending confirmation]

IT WAS A few days after the dog-sitting situation when you were studying on your front lawn, completely mesmerized by the view of Jake as he worked out in his garage. You felt guilty for ogling after everything that happened, but you couldn't fight your hormonally induced urges.

He was pushing out his third set of bench presses, fluffy brown hair framing his cheekbones. He screwed his eyes shut from the intensity, biting his lower lip as he tried to push through the resistance of his fatigue arms.

He glanced over quickly as sweat started to drip in his eyes. You stared back at him like a deer in the headlights at the realization that you’d been caught peeking. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, struggling to handle the weight. “__-____?!” He stuttered your name breathlessly, losing his grip. “JAKE!”

You ran faster than your legs have ever carried you, adrenaline kicking in as you slid the left weight off of the rod, jumping onto his lap to avoid the iron disc from smashing your foot. “Ugh,” he groaned in relief as you reached to slide the other weight off, unintentionally pressing yourself into him.

That sound might replay in your mind forever.

Gripping the rod in your hand, you looked down to see both your own and Jake’s veiny hands holding onto the pole for dear life. Then you looked down, realizing that you were sitting straight on his bulge.

“Oh my God, sorry!” You yelped, leaping off of his sweaty frame. He giggled at your apology, feeling embarrassed himself but for different reasons.

“It’s alright, ____, you probably just saved my life there,” he said, now sitting up on the bench. He gave you a look before continuing. “Why were you stalking me?”

“Me? I-“

“I’m not upset, or anything. Did you wanna tell me something?”

“No, I was just… I didn’t mean to-"

Layla's barking from inside the house cut you off mid sentence. You were just now noticing the pink paint stains on his shirt, a few drops decorating the private area of his sweatpants.

Similarly to a puppy, Jake forgot all about what you were just talking about, getting up to fix the equipment. “You’re really fast, y’know? What other secret athletic talents do you have?”

You smiled awkwardly, “Well, if you ever tried tickling me, I might become a professional kickboxer.”

Jake laughed at your joke like he always did. You swore that if he blessed your ears with his beautiful laugh one more time, you might explode.

“Maybe you should spot me sometime,” he said, fastening the ring weight back on the rod.

Your eyes fell to the paint stains on his paints. “I’m sorry?”

“Spot me. Like when I’m weightlifting. You seem pretty keen to watching out for me, anyways.”

You could feel heat rushing through every part of your body. “Of course, anything for a neighbor,” you smiled, trying to redirect his flirting for the sake of your own existence.

Layla barked even louder this time, Jake sighing before heading to his garage door. For some reason you followed him, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m washing white clothes, so if you have anything light colored on, throw it in the machine,” Jake’s mom yelled from the kitchen at the sound of him entering the house.

“Alright,” he called back, taking off his sweaty white t-shirt and tossing it into the washer. He reached over to press a few buttons on the machine, the muscles in his arm flexing with each movement. He trailed from the washroom, you still following closely behind.

“It’s a maze in here,” you said, marveling at how big his house was.

“I feel the same way sometimes,” he giggled, taking your hand in his to guide you.

You just remembered that he came in here to look for Layla, so you listened out, trying to help him find her.

“Oh,” you said, stopping Jake in his tracks as you pointed to a four legged shadow running around underneath a closed door, “she’s right here.”

He turned, “What? How’d she get in my bedroom?” Jake walked towards the door, twisting the handle to reveal Layla chasing her tail in a circle.

“You’re so silly, Layla,” he smiled, running a hand through her thick blonde fur. “She’s doing such much better now,” you commented, meeting Jake and his dog on the floor.

“Yeah, she was totally fine after getting that stuff out of her system. Don't worry, though, she told me she forgives you," he smiled.

"And what about you?"

"Of course, ____. I don't think I could over hold a grudge against you."

Layla hopped on your lap, licking at your hands. You would’ve been grossed out if it wasn’t Jake’s dog. Her tongue tickled your palms as she panted in excitement, “I wish I had this much energy on a daily basis,” you beamed, Jake returning a grin himself.

“I think she just really likes you,” he replied. “With all of those kisses, you must taste pretty nice.”

“Maybe you’ll have to try sometime,” you said, not even realizing how suggestive your comment was. Jake grabbed a random tennis ball from the floor before tossing it out of the room, “Go fetch,” he ordered, Layla chasing after the ball.

A sparkle twinkled in his eye before he lead your face towards his by your chin. He noticed that you looked nervous, but decided to take his chances and kiss you anyway, all of your nerves melting away at the softness of his lips. You felt his hand grip at the side of your neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Kicking your foot, you closed the door slightly, falling on your back for him to take the lead. His lips broke from yours with a pop as your cold hands snuck around his bare waist. He hummed at the feeling, leaning in to kiss down your neck.

His breath was so hot against your skin, sweet sounds escaping your mouth from all the action. That’s when you two heard Layla trailing back to his room, returning to the positions you were sat in before Layla left. She barged through the door, slobbery tennis ball between her jaws as she dropped before Jake. “Good girl,” he cheered, fluffing at her fur.

You felt the aftermath of your kiss like a wave, exhausting yet refreshing.

You felt Jake.

His kiss was like water, crashing and roaring, yet emotional and gentle. You couldn’t tell, but he still felt a wave that hit him, too.

He felt you.

Your hands modest and shy, yet your lips eager and passionate.

Layla barked for what sounded like her loudest one thus far. “I’ve gotta go walk Layla,” Jake said, sounding happy yet simultaneously like he’d rather be doing something else. Fastening a leash around Layla's collar, he trailed out of his room. You reached on his dresser and grabbed a shirt for him to wear on his way out.

His mom was no longer in the kitchen, but you decided to be polite anyways. “Bye, Mrs. Sim!” You could hear her returning the salutation from some part of the maze-like house, making your heart feel warm. Jake walked through garage and stopped at the driveway, having locked all the doors before exiting the house.

“Thanks for stopping by, ____,” he smiled, flashing you a look so intense, you might fall over. “Anytime,” you returned, handing him the shirt you’d been carrying. You don’t know when it happened, but you didn’t feel awkward in front of his shirtless frame anymore. “Aww,” he giggled, “I didn’t even realize I was still shirtless.”

He was so puppy-like that you couldn't help but adore him. Layla starting running, Jake loosing grip of her leash while distracted by you. “Layla!” He called after her before running to catch up himself.

“I gotta go now. Bye, ____!” He yelled as he ran after his excited dog. “Bye, Jake,” you called out while waving, even though he didn’t see you.

You walked back to your house, talking your shoes off at the front door before heading upstairs to your bedroom. You knew you didn’t wanna leave Jake's side yet, but you had other things to work on at home in the meantime.

Things like sharing with your diary that you and Sim Jake just kissed.

𐂯‎ This piece was created to mark TODAY, my official first month on as a Tumblr creator!!!! Thank you all so much for reading this piece! Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it :3

𐂯 Feel free to check out more fun reads on my enhypen bookshelf!

𐂯‎ Taglist: @fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @kaykay11sworld @yngwife @sussyjake @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @stinkoscope @03sunoos @4imhry @rickysblkgf

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ivryne · 1 year

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. . . ⌗ the aftermath ! 🔬

genshin smau | scaramouche x fem!reader

THIS SMAU IS DISCONTINUED!! BUT THE REWRITE IS OUT IN MY MAIN MASTERLIST!!!!

synopsis — the aftermath ! After a drunken night that resulted in some late night endeavors, you woke up in an unfamiliar environment. Looking around you in search for any familiarity, you spot a familiar tuff of violet hair beside you, hidden beneath the heavy duvet. Realization blew you over as you finally connected the scattered dots. Did you really just sleep with Scaramouche, your no.1 nemesis and rival? Well I guess all we can do is wish you luck to deal with the aftermath.

pairings. scaramouche (kunikuzushi) x fem!reader

genre. romance, crack, slice of life, rivals to lovers, modern au, college/uni setting, age 20-21

warnings. misunderstandings, slow burn, mommy issues, fluff, 16+ nothing too steamy. timestamps don’t matter just ignore them

status. [ 22 / 12 / 22 ] — disc (ONGOING REWRITE)

NOTE. hellooo! I’ve seen genshin smaus all over tumblr and I’ve always wanted to make one and I finally got the plot todayyy aghhh. Ty for those of u who hav clicked this!! Hope you enjoy <33

(🍬) means there r gonna be written parts ^^

NOW PLAYING . . .

starring . . . mentally un(st)able | need help asap

AND ACTION !

act one — too late to back out

episode 01 : wat did u ruin again lol

episode 02: stupid girl

episode 03: why is this kinda hot??

episode 04: i’ll bring the snacks (🍬)

episode 05: brainstorm or braindead (🍬)

episode 06: kinda ship it ngl (🍬)

episode 07: meant to be ig

episode 08: t-truce

bonus episode: hu tao’s dilemma

act two — never settle for less

episode 09: you’re staring (🍬)

episode 010: boytoy

episode 011: the hot one?

episode xx : extra scaraname snippets

episode 012: oh how the turns have tabled (🍬)

episode 013: name’s adrien agreste era (🍬)

episode 014: a new face (🍬)

episode 015: it’s called overthinking

IMPORTANT NOTE !!

episode 016: one goal in mind

episode 017: what are u implying?

episode 018: ur not the one i like

episode 019: that was quite unlikely

episode 020: called it

episode 021: are you convincing us or urself?

episode 022: why r u like this

episode 023: i guess this is it

episode 024: i am living for this childe slander

episode 025: the things i’d do for u

act three — above average

episode … :

tba…

CUT ! show’s over 📽

NOTE. this smau is discontinued ! I will be posting a rewrite soon so stay tuned!

do not repost, share, or copy ! Reblogs and likes very much appreciated!! Ty for taking ur time to read this. I hope i rlly get through w this bc i’m so inconsistent hehe.

#genshin impact #genshin smau #scara x reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin imagines

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idcallmyselfhuman · 6 months

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Xiao/Aether 👹⛅ Masterlist 2.0

A compilation of moments between Xiao and Aether through the years. The last revamp I did on the old post got nuked by Tumblr, so I just made a new one.

I tried to be as complete as I can, but there's probably some stuff I still missed. The shipping wiki is great for compiling stuff, but I felt it wasn't very detailed. Soooo here ya go

Lover's Oath (Lone Tower in the West)

Thank you @kristalijah for the reminder!

On Aether's journey through Liyue, he was tasked to inform the Adepti of Rex Lapis' "death". The Wangshu quest is the first time he meets Xiao in the game, and a certain detail didn't catch a lot of people's attention until the soundtrack got released a while later.

"Lover's Oath" is the song that plays in the background the very first time Xiao appears in front of Aether. On one hand, this could very well just be in reference to the place they were in, as the balcony of Wangshu Inn is known to be where lovers spend time together. However, this theme never plays for any other scene again, nor is it the background music for the balcony in general.

The only time this track is used again is during Tuned to the World's Sounds, an event in-game where Xiao and Aether duet this song on the very place they met, with Xiao playing a lyre, and Aether, a zither.

This theme has only every been used when they are together. So, Lover's Oath can be considered "their" theme. I adore this tidbit of information because it fits their future relationship so well, as the game constantly reminds us now of Xiao's promise to Aether.

Battle of Osial

If you're a fan of this ship, I'm sure you already know. This was the moment the fandom went, "wait a minute...", essentially the birth of the ship itself.

This cutscene is just [chef's kiss], its existence makes me so happy. The Aether community in 2020 has never been the same.

Aether's feet were already steadied. Xiao could have let go already, or let him fall as gracefully as Mountain Shaper did to that guard (I would have hated him). There was no reason to hold on. In fact, he had every excuse to release his hold the moment they got to safety because he was the one who kept insisting that contact with mortals, or even being near them was something he absolutely Did Not Want. But he didn't let go. No, even more— he tightened his hold, squeezing Aether's hand and telling him to be careful. HUH?!?!

Looking back on this scene also made me think of Aether's unique ability to purify things he touches, something that still hasn't been explained. I wonder if Xiao was already gravitating towards Aether because of it, finding comfort in his contact without knowing why, just yet.

Lantern Rite 1.3

I'm sure we're all familiar with this scene, right?

The very first time Xiao promised Ae that no matter what, as long as he calls his name, he will be there. I think the game showed how special that promise is really well.

Moonlight Merriment

On the same year, they released Moonlight Merriment. The first time Aether summoned him was here, when Xiangling was looking for a 'customer' with mild tastes. While Xiao told Ae to call for him when there's trouble, it's really cute that he doesn't really mind what sort of 'trouble' it is.

youtube

Whether it be actual danger, or a small dilemma that Aether needs help with, he's there. (Though I guess you can see it as anything that is bothering Ae is considered trouble enough, no matter the scale :))

This scene also clarifies that the promise was specifically made to Aether, and no one else, not even Paimon. The fact that they went so far as to have Paimon call for Xiao multiple times only for nothing to happen is... so fucking funny. Aether says his name once and he's already there.

Just... your commitment is really subtle, Xiao. Keep at it.

Baizhu's Story Quest

The second time Aether summons him is during Baizhu's story quest, and I think this part is what really cemented the weight of that promise for me.

youtube

Every single time Aether brings up that he can contact our resident yaksha so easily, they're always surprised. The adepti are known for wanting to keep to themselves that even Changsheng thought it would be impossible for them to meet, but here Xiao was, just one word away for one special traveler.

It's an oath that was made with such... devotion? Loyalty?

It would have been a little more distant had it just been for protection, something like "when you're on the brink of death, you may call for me." but it isn't. This was literally a promise that whenever Ae needed him, Xiao will be there, "Anywhere. Anytime."

It's also sweet how Xiao's departing words are always a reminder to call him whenever needed, to the point where Aether has to say "Yeah, we know." If that promise had an expiration, it sure as hell doesn't matter because Xiao keeps renewing it anyway.

Perilous Trail (Interlude)

Unfortunately, there was one time where Xiao failed to get to Aether, but only because he physically wasn’t able to. The only time he couldn’t fulfill his promise was because he was stuck in a different plane of existence. But even then, once he heard that Aether was in trouble, he was persuaded to cross a literal fucking spacerift to get to them.

You absolutely cannot tell me they aren't in love because you would be wrong.

Also Yanfei being perceptive enough to use Aether being in trouble to convince Xiao? Bless. Where else did we see someone pull out the 'Aether' card on Xiao recently...?

god he's so fucking easy and everyone knows

Anyway, this quest also showed how protective Ae is of Xiao, constantly asking how he is or if he was okay, ignoring Xiao's warnings entirely.

He even gets mad when Xiao brings up creating a will.

Just— a lot of things happened in this quest. While I can't add all of them, do yourself a favor and either play this or check it out in the archives. Yanfei knows what's up

Also there's a part where Aether looks over Xiao's sleeping face and wonders to himself if a person who's always wary is capable of dreams.

To finish off the Chasm segment, it ended with a conversation that had Xiao realizing a lot of things he was lost to because of his grief: that there are people who will always care about him, and in his words, "Even the darkest hearts have room for those they cherish.

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"Will Xiao be ravaged by the unending war he wages and be plunged into despair? Or... will he meet someone who understands his sacrifice, and can shine a ray of light into his dark world..." —Dainsleif, Collected Miscellany - "Xiao: Conqueror of Demons"

I think... it was important for him to have had this conversation with Aether. Zhongli acknowledges this as well in the most recent Lantern Rite, but the beginning of the changes within Xiao started because of Aether constantly pushing him to see the light.

Bonus! Xiao being a dumbass

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN "...Really..." YOU WERE JUST STANDING THERE?!?!!??!??

Companion Voicelines

Aether: "How do you like it here?", "Want to chat?"

To bring up Aether's ability to purify things again (Dvalin's Tear), it could be related to that. Or, maybe Xiao just gets so in his head about Aether in his presence that his Karmic Debt just gets insta-blocked. Who knows?

Aether: Is there anything you'd like to do?

For the first and second Lantern Rite, Xiao was still adamant on not even stepping foot in Liyue Harbor, declining every invitation to go there because of how much he disliked being near mortals.

Yet in his teapot voicelines, once you reach a high enough friendship with him, Xiao actually takes the initiative to invite Aether to go to the city, if only to understand him better. Xiao explicitly says that his willingness to go to the harbor was for him.

This isn’t the first time Xiao brings up his wish to get to know Aether better. At first, he kept saying that he has no interest in human affairs, but in his voicelines, as the two of them get closer and closer, he says that he would like to know more about Aether.

I also really like Shenhe's voiceline. Aether's effect on Xiao benefited not only him, but the people surrounding Xiao as well. It's shown in the way Xiao's become softer, and more open to being in social gatherings. We see it the most in Lantern Rite 3.4, Waterborne Poetry, and the biggest one that point towards the cause being Aether is Xiao's birthday letter of 2023.

Birthdays

If Moon Carver's reaction is anything to go by, the old Xiao doing this for his birthday was unfathomable. As Xiao allowed himself to open up to the world, the people around him were also able to enjoy their old friend's presence as well.

Dainsleif said that the cost of his duty was perpetual solitude, but it seems that that's no longer true.

Fun little note: The fact that he went to Moon Carver first is funny to me, since Aether and Moon Carver are both voiced by Zach Aguilar.

I was reminded by @comfortingnightmare that Aether was the first person to celebrate Xiao's birthday in a thousand years :>

Which brings me to another topic! Gifts!

Aside from the adorable fact that every character in the game gifts Aether something on their birthday, Xiao gives him a butterfly made from leaves in his voiceline.

From what I've read, butterflies supposedly mean conjugal love, freedom, and vulnerability of life in Chinese culture. I'm really no expert on this so take that with a grain of salt.

There's also the more obvious meaning, which is transformation in one's self. I really don't like tackling this kind of thing because it's very "the curtain was blue", but if we take their relationship in consideration, it fits.

Lucent Crescent

Big thank you to @spiderskull142 because I didn't even know about this.

In this year's TPRGT image, we see that Paimon is holding a red box—Aether's gift for Xiao. I didn't really pay much attention to it at the time since I thought it was just a regular gift box... and also because I was distracted by Xiao pretending to sleep. It's about the closest we can get to Xiao feigning illness to get pampered LMAO

Anyway, I looked it up and apparently those specific boxes are used to keep jewelry. I looked around Liyue to see if any other store used this box for anything else, but the only one that seemed to have it is Mingxing Jewelry, a boutique that specialized in an ornament called "Lucent Crescent".

Note: The closest I could get to a box that was similar-looking were the red stacked boxes outside of random houses. No other store seemed to have them, so I can only assume that's where the box was from.

When you interact with Xingxi, the person who runs the shop, she tells you about the meaning of Lucent Crescents.

Xingxi: Have you ever heard anyone mention our Lucent Crescent ornaments? They are especially popular with young people. We produce a very limited quantity of Lucent Crescent – only ten per month. People say that if you manage to purchase one of them, you are sure to win the heart of your beloved.

As we know, Aether is very mindful with the gifts he gives every year. I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to think he would order something as valuable as this for Xiao.

And speaking of Aether's gifts...

Teyvat Food Notes: Sweet Dream, Adeptus' Temptation, Mint Jelly, Unagi Chazuke, Satisfying Salad

Alongside Xiao's birthday art are articles from the Teyvat Food Notes, where real-life recipes of in-game food are made, and it also has interactions between XiaoAe on his birthday.

Sweet Dream (Almond Tofu)

Note: Both google translate and Papago seem to use Mandrill instead of Xiao, so... just know that’s who it’s talking about.

This is where we learn that Xiao didn’t even make Sweet Dream; this dish was Aether’s thank you gift to him. Xiao’s specialty dish is a gift from Aether. I’m—aGH! ANYWAY.

Sweet Dream also makes an appearance in Childe’s birthday art in 2022. And— I’m really sorry to Tartaglia, but seeing that dish stole all his thunder I just couldn’t get over it.

I like to think that Aether was so preoccupied with making Childe his birthday feast that he began to absentmindedly prepare Almond Tofu in the way he’s most used to (because of how often Xiao requests it.)

Additional:

Adeptus Temptation

This one in particular isn’t from one of his birthdays, but a special they put out for the first Lantern Rite, which includes every released Liyue character at the time. I was initially going to write it off, but I thought hey what the hell, what are the odds that there’s gonna be a XiaoAether moment in here?

Of course there was. With these two, I should have known.

Note: “Fairy/Buddha Jump over the Wall” is apparently an actual Chinese delicacy that the Adeptus’ Temptation is based on!

A little more additional context, I added the part where Zhongli was going full English teacher at the beginning because everyone was spouting poetry so passionately with every bite of the dish. That’s why Aether wonders, “Do all Liyue people eat like this?”

That’s also why Aether asked Xiao to give him an evaluation of the food, hoping he’d be the same as the others. I found it really cute, especially right now as we just finished Waterborne Poetry.

From the very beginning, Aether caught a glimpse of Xiao’s affinity to being poetic (Isolation does that to ya, who knew?), which is why in the event, he encourages him to write poems. With enough encouragement, along with Xiao pondering over Aether’s words and advice, he eventually does write a poem.

Frost-Coated Slime (Mint Jelly)

For this Teyvat Food Note (2021), Aether laments that he doesn’t really know Xiao very well when he realized that the only gift he can think of giving him is almond tofu.

“Although it is not impossible to continue to treat [Xiao] to eat almond tofu, there is a stubbornness in my heart that has been preventing me from continuing to serve almond tofu.

I don’t want to be the same as usual, I don’t want to give [Xiao] the same gift as everyone else.”

Aether realizes that almond tofu has become somewhat basic, since everyone else gives the same thing, and it’s no longer a gift he considers to be special enough. He then remembers the mint jelly he once tasted in Mondstadt, and thought it was similar enough to the texture and taste of almond tofu. He decides that that’s what he wants to give him.

Once he meets with Xiao, Xiao gives him the ‘butterflies’ he caught (I assume this actually refers to the crystalflies he gives along with the letter?) Aether thinks wearing [crystalflies] on his head doesn’t suit him, but Xiao seems to expect him to wear it judging by his silence. This also fits his letter that year, where he admits he was actively looking for crystalflies for Aether to put on his hair, thinking it would look nice on him.

The last part of the food note is so heartwarming. After Aether has him help prepare the mint jelly, they finally settle down to eat it.

Xiao: It doesn’t look like I want to eat it. I’d better order almond tofu.

[Aether] grabs Xiao and explained that it actually tasted very good, and the texture should be similar to almond tofu.

Aether: The most important thing is that for Xiao’s birthday, I want to make something different as a gift...

Xiao stopped.

Xiao: I don’t worry about the taste of the food you cook. I just want to collect it.

They are so cute?!?!?!?!

Later on, Xiao confesses that he doesn’t like almond tofu just because he likes the taste, but because of the memories that accompany it.

Aether then looks at Xiao, but Xiao doesn’t look at him. Instead, he says “The jelly I made today is a special memory. Thank you.”

Unagi Chazuke

Thank you @dragon-type-nuggetz for sending this one because this is what reminded me that the other teyvat food notes existed aside from almond tofu and adeptus temptation lol

Last one for the Teyvat Food Notes! There’s none for 2023, because they seem to have discontinued it entirely after 2022. This one’s a lot shorter than the other ones, but no less sweet.

Aether knows that with Xiao’s dedication to Liyue, he works non-stop to defend the nation and has never experienced anything as leisurely as going on a vacation for the sake of relaxing. So instead, Aether tells him stories of his travels, and he decides to cook a dish that gives the feeling of traveling with him.

Xiao also says something here that I found really funny.

“Let me start by saying that I have no interest in human food. Even if the food you make doesn’t taste good, I won’t eat it.” CAP. You’ve gone this long eating Aether’s food, who the hell are you trying to fool?

In the end, Xiao finishes the entire bowl to Aether’s shock, but he says he’s sorry as he can’t think of any words to praise the food.

Aether then says that the fact that Xiao finished it at all is the greatest compliment.

Satisfying Salad

This isn’t connected to the food notes this time, but just the dish in general. Satisfying Salad and Almond Tofu are the first dishes that Aether has ever given Xiao in-game to convince him to talk to them. I thought it was a pretty minor thing and didn’t think much of it at the time, up until Smiley Yanxiao brings it up again in Moonlight Merriment.

Everyone around Xiao thought that almond tofu really was the only thing he can eat, only for Aether to prove otherwise. While he claims that he has no interest in human food, and the only thing he can possibly stomach is almond tofu, he has never denied anything that Aether offers him, even when the two of them didn’t even know each other very well yet.

So, for all of Xiao’s talk, he has shown in his actions pretty clearly that Aether is and has always been an exception for him. Whether that be for food, or anything else...

Lantern Rite 3.4

I am here to remind you all of a beautiful scene that should never be forgotten for years to come.

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Regardless of Genshin trying to be mysterious and making us guess who saved Aether, the fact that they both came rushing over is incredible on its own. They know that Aether isn't a damsel in distress, and Paimon's acting was so on the nose, but they still couldn't allow even the slightest possibility of harm to come to him.

Xiao looking away and talking in circles just to say he really was worried is the funniest fucking thing.

As for the Lantern Rite dinner... well, first things first. We say thank you to Hu Tao for her services as a professional wing-woman (It's her side-job to advertise the parlor)

Moving on! Remember when Aether told Xiao he'll bail him out of uncomfortable social situations? (Companion voicelines)

There really isn't much I could say that I haven't already said before. For XiaoAether shippers, this was Hoyo spoon-feeding content on a silver spoon. It's Aether and Xiao at their most comfortable with each other, talking and spending time with the people they care about.

It's years of talking to each other, of Xiao realizing that he's at ease when he's speaking to Aether, of learning to talk more about himself to the point where he starts talking about his past and the people in it...

It'll be awhile until Xiao will ever be comfortable with large crowds, but as long as Aether's there who knows when it's becoming 'too much', he'll be fine.

Aether is also, in Xiao's eyes, the most distinguished guest among them all.

I couldn't add it but Xiao also says "I trust Aether's judgement." in this scene.

This Lantern Rite is also where Zhongli acknowledges what Aether has done for Xiao :")

(Suspiciously on the last screenshot, the perspective makes Zhongli look like a pastor wedding the two of them)

Waterborne Poetry

The catalyst for this post. The reminder of how lovely this ship is, and how far these two have come.

As we have all learned from Xiangling, Yanfei, Venti and Hu Tao, you only need to mention Aether's name to convince Xiao of whatever it is you're planning. The part where Aether and Team Chongyun were trying to convince him to come with them and touch some fucking grass was really cute.

This event and the previous Lantern Rite also had Aether and Xiao talking privately, only to get interrupted by Paimon/Xiangling (as well as calling them out lmao)

And, of course, the scene that everyone freaked out over,

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A short, but sweet moment where Aether looks at Xiao from afar and immediately gets inspired, performing a poem where the real meaning is shared only between the two of them...

And Xiao's smile.

An expression that Aether had done so well to bring out.

Xiao in a Commission

One last thing! Xiao appears in the Liyue Commission "Uninvited Guests". It's very short, but cute

Xiao: Oh, it’s you.

Aether: What brings you here?

Xiao: I encountered these monsters by chance and defeated them.

Xiao: This area is not safe. So...

Aether: I’ll be careful.

Xiao: Right. I have other matters to attend to. See you.

...There are still things I couldn't add, but that's okay. I got mostly everything this time so I'm satisfied. Very grateful to the people who reblogged the old post to add more stuff :))

Some things I didn't add were trivia from the shipping wiki. For one, apparently Xiao's JP voice actor was told by the director to be gentler when speaking to the Traveler. There's also a small part of the Lantern Rite animation where as Xiao and Aether watch the lanterns side by side, Xiao turns to look at Aether right as Paimon blocks his head from view :")

#genshin impact #genshitpost #genshin impact aether #genshin aether #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #xiaother #xiaoaether #aether x xiao #aexiao #Youtube

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year

Text

Good Guy, Bad Guy - Lloyd Hansen Series

Part 5

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Rich!Female Reader

Summary: Y/N got what she wanted. The status of CEO is in her hand. But the sudden confession from Lloyd made her think twice about the divorce. Did she make the right decision?

Words Count: 4,050

A/N: This chapter timeline is set after Lloyd confessed to the reader. This chapter will be focused on Y/N learning her feelings.

Hope you guys enjoyed it. Comment and Reblog from you meant so much to me. Thank you so much. 💓🥹

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 (Extra Story)

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

A fool in love.

If someone called him that last year, he would laugh because, to him, love is a joke.

Lloyd Hansen a sociopath and the most dangerous man; he is the type of man who eliminates everyone in his way. He never let any task or mission affect his feelings.

But now, he looks clueless, thinking about which plan to get you back.

After everything both of you've been through.

You tossed him after the contract expired. No one ever plays with him like this. He waited three months, thinking you regretted it and will call him back. But no, nothing, Nada!

At first, Lloyd thinks you’re not his type, but he likes it each time you catch him off guard with your crazy ideas; he likes it when you become annoyed every time he provokes you.

And your love for money is also up to his taste.

Right now, he looks out of place at Carmichael offices. Carmichael knew his long-time friend was a chatterbox. But something felt wrong because this sociopath was silent the whole time. "What's wrong,Lloyd? Is this about your ex-wife?"

Lloyd clicked his tongue and then punched the table "Wife. I never signed the damn paper."

“Hahaha.” That laughing voice already made Lloyd's ears itchy. Her presence already makes his mood get worse.

Susan's sudden appearance worsened Lloyd's mood because of what she would say. "Y/N already found your replacement."

'Ouch!’ her words just added more salt to his wound.

"What do you mean b**ch?"

Susan gave him a middle finger. "Let me just say he's so much better than you. Wow, he still related to the royal family."

Lloyd snatched the phone from her hand. When he saw the photo of you hugging another man, his mind had already planned 100 ways to get rid of that person. He opened the photo comment and found the name of the person hugging you.

"Where did you get these?!!"

Susan grabbed her phone because she knew he would have smashed her phone into the wall. "It's trending on social media. Your ex-wife became famous after the divorce."

The truth is, she followed your fans' account.

That's one of the biggest secrets she won't tell him.

Susan is one of your biggest fans. She applauds anyone who could tame Lloyd. And her favourite part is you made him in a dilemma.

It's her turn to laugh at his misery.

He gave her a side-eye. "She's still my wife."

Lloyd grabs a keyboard and use CIA database. Carmichael doesn't even want to know how Lloyd knew his passwords. With facial recognition favourite, he could find out who it was.

Earl Thomas Kimberley. Thomas is a top photographer, travelling worldwide, famous in design, and shooting in a country with a refugee crisis that can move everyone's heart.

After his step-brother humiliated the family name, Thomas became the CEO of the family business in a shipping company. They owned 500 vessels, including travelling ships, car carriers, gas and oil tankers, submarines, and cruise ships.

A successful man with a bright future.

Compared to him, Thomas came from a prestigious family, just like you.

A light hum resounded in the silent room. Lloyd looked at the computer with an expressionless face.

“Something is off.”

“What?”

“Nobody has a perfect life. He must have a deep secret.” He grabbed his phone to give an order to his team.

Carmichael patted his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

Lloyd told his IT team to dig deeper into Thomas. His habit of buying stuff online, his friends, his female friends, and even his porn history.

But after a few hours, they found nothing terrible about Thomas.

It made Lloyd anxious.

Looking out the window, where the sky is blue, Lloyd wishes it could calm his insecurity.

What if you like him? A good guy like Thomas.

Eight hours ago before the photo.

The sky is grey, and the strong wind gives the plane turbulence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing some turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

You were in the private jet on the way to England. Your former professor invited you to give a speech. Of course, you agree.

Even if you must defeat your fears, plane travel still brings goosebumps.

Your hands gripped the armrest tightly when the plane got turbulence.

“You should listen to music for distraction.” Jimmy was sitting in front of you, worried, looking pale, and he could see the sweat on your forehead even though the inside temperature was cold.

Jimmy sighed heavily; there's nothing he can do with your stubbornness. He knew you needed Lloyd but didn't know why you let him go.

It was Lloyd's job to make you at ease every time you travel by plane.

Before Jimmy, one of the people who disagree with your choice of a husband even though it's a contract, of all the men in the world, you choose Lloyd.

But now, he became the parent who was sad because his favourite son-in-law had left the house.

Even though Lloyd could be selfish and childish most of the time, at least when you were in trouble, he knew exactly what to do.

“If I listen to music, I will forget my speech.”

“Were you able to sleep last night?”

“Only for a few hours." You try to find a comfortable position to close your eyes, not looking at the window.

You usually get at least 6 hours of sleep when Lloyd is beside you. Since you moved back to your childhood home, the bed feels strange. And nobody helps to calm down your nightmares.

When you moved out from the house shared with Lloyd, you said this would be a new start.

You finally became the official CEO and could live alone without any worries.

But something unexpected happened.

‘My dear wife, I love you more.’

Lloyd's confession caught you off guard, and his words echoed in your mind, making you unable to sleep.

You’ve been pushing the divorce and moving out, mainly because you started to feel comfortable with him. It was supposed to be fake marriage, but you made a mistake with a sexual relationship with Lloyd.

‘Kill your emotion. You need to be a ruthless f*ck to rebuild L/N & Co.’

That’s your grandfather's last word to you before he died. You promised not to get f**ked by feelings and to prioritise the company.

You know your weaknesses. Good at business but stupid in romance.

But since you spend time with Lloyd. You kept thinking about him. And it's suffocating because of your ego; you held back from calling him.

That's why you said yes when your professor invited you to be the speaker. Remembering the youthful memories you had back in college was nice. If you go back, you could put behind all your trauma and ex-husband.

At the Debating Chamber.

In front of hundreds of people, you were relaxed while giving a speech and answering all the questions because your former professors and classmates were present to help you.

It felt like you went back to being a teenager again. There's no family drama because of your grandfather's will. You just focus on your study—simple time.

After the speech was done, you immediately rained with questions. Even with Jimmy beside you, he can't just push them away.

Until a blinded camera flash made anyone close to you feel uncomfortable. Somehow it worked to make people move away from you.

But the photographer keeps taking pictures of you. "Excuse me,sir, could you turn off the flash?"

The person behind the camera laughed. "I'll stop if you give me 100 dollars."

His voice sounded familiar. When the camera is put down, you finally get a closer look. You knew who it was.

Thomas Kimberley, your former classmate. It's been years since the last time you met. From everyone in your class, you are much closer to Thomas.

Probably because he also has the same family drama. He's the second son of Kimberley's family, but his mother is a mistress. He doesn't get along with his stepmother and step-sibling.

How did you know his drama? His stepbrother announced it inside the class to humiliate Thomas since he failed to become an Oxford student.

But you didn't graduate together. Last semester Thomas suddenly left and followed his dream to be a photographer. You heard this is his way to rebel against his father.

It turned out fine; he got what he wanted, travelled worldwide, and became a famous photographer. His appearance also changed.

Back then, he only wore a cardigan with a dull colour and jeans. But now his appearance has turned him into a good-looking man, especially when he wears black suits and thin gold frame glasses.

"Thomas. You jerk." You gave him a playful punch to his shoulder before you gave him a side hug.

You didn’t know some students took a shot the moment you gave a friendly hug to Thomas and sent it to social media.

Thomas laughed, “When they told me, you were coming, I thought you would buy this place.”

He linked his arm with you. “Ah, that’s our friend, let's meet them.” His act caught you off guard because Lloyd was the only man who could be this close to you.

And there it is; you thought you could forget him, but everything reminded you of Lloyd. You let this slide for once because you don’t want to ruin the reunion.

It was supposed to be a quick hangout at the pub. But one of your friends got this idea to visit another pub then another pub. You've never been this carefree and hungover. Looking at your friends singing at the karaoke and being happy. You suddenly have a thought.

After graduating, you couldn't hang out with them since your grandfather dragged you back to the States.

You were having a second thought. If you stay back then, do you still have a chance to have a normal life?

You stop daydreaming when someone hands you a glass of water.

"Thank you."

"When was the last time you drank after you became the CEO?"

You sip the water while thinking about the moment you get the position; you become more ambitious and almost sleep daily in your office. "Hmm, never."

You put down the glass and rested your head on your palm while looking at him "Thomas, are you happy after you achieved your dream?"

"Wow, wisdom time because of the alcohol." He chuckled and then was silent for a while. "To be honest, I'm not 100% happy. Because it ruined my marriage."

Your eyes widened when you heard his confession. You didn't know he got married. "You? Married? Divorce?"

Thomas nodded; he stared at the wall of liquors. "She doesn’t like my job."

"Because you always travelled around?" You put your hand in front of your lips. That was a slip of the tongue. You were too honest because of the alcohol. "I'm sorry."

Thomas doesn't feel offended. "That's right." He put down his drinking glass and turned towards you. "It's my turn to ask a question. I want to know how the famous ice queen finally fell in love."

You gulped. You will not tell Thomas how you met Lloyd when he was supposed to kill you. You waved your hand and acted shy. "He helped me deal with my family. That's why I…"

You were silent when you wanted to say the following words. Your mind suddenly recalled everything that happened between you and Lloyd. Both of you have been through heaven and hell together.

"...love him." Your voice became softer; maybe only you could hear it. Is it because of the alcohol that made you say those words or because of something else?

You suddenly stand up from your seat, making people beside you almost jump. "I… I think I should go."

Thomas looks at his wristwatch. "You're right. It's already late." He stood up to grab his coat and yours. "My driver will drive us both."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing ,Y/N compare how often you drag me every time I get hungover."

You hummed, remembering he always got drunk whenever he fought with his step-brother.

While in the car on the way to your hotel, Thomas saw you looking at your phone screen, not doing anything; he asked, "Is your husband still awake waiting for you?"

You shook your head. "No. He didn't come with me."

"What a pity. I want to meet him."

You wonder if you heard it wrong. He sounded sulking. Did your friend want to meet Lloyd?

You waved goodbye to Thomas when the car arrived at the hotel.

When you enter the building, Thomas' smile disappears from his face. He took out his phone to make a call. "Cancel it. We chose plan B."

The next day you woke up; you weren’t that drunk. You picked up your phone to check on your schedule. There’s nothing. You remembered last night you told your secretary you want a day off.

It was a sunny day.

You decided to take a walk from your hotel to clear your head.

You don’t have any plans. When you saw the nearest coffee shop, that became your first destination.

The coffee shop has a lovely aesthetic and is not too crowded. After you order a coffee, pick a seat at the corner near the window that faces the street.

While you enjoy your drinks and cakes, other customers keep coming; you notice the queue line getting longer.

When you look up, a man has his hands full. One hand holding a laptop bag and one hand holding a baby. His kid was uncomfortable with his arms, making him unable to make an order.

“Kendal, please hold on a second.” He tried to calm his baby.

“Professor Watson.” You greet him. He's one of the professors you adore because of his intelligence and wisdom.

He turned his head and saw you. Both of you met yesterday but didn’t have the chance to talk.

"Y/N. Haii…" He struggled to hold his daughter. You can't bear looking at your favourite professor looking like a mess.

"Let me hold her."

"Thank you, but I don't think,-" His daughter already stretched her short arms towards you. That was unexpected.

"Both of us will be sitting there."

After a few minutes, Professor Watson joins your table with his coffee and cake.

"Thank you for your help."

"No problem. What happened? You look… lost?" Every time you see him, he always looks like a perfect scholar. It's pretty difficult to approach him. Even though he seems scary, he will help his students.

After ten years, his style has become easygoing, and he is more welcome. He never smiled at his students. It's been ten years, and now you see the smile stay on his face.

"Haha, today is my day off. But my wife suddenly got called to the hospital. I thought it would be a good idea to bring my daughter to the coffee shop while I make new material for my book."

Wow, his personality completely changed. Before, he never shared his personal life. But now he still tells you about his wife working as a doctor and his son joining the football team even though you didn’t ask.

He seemed happy after he got married. If you get married, will your personality change too?

“You’ve changed, Professor. Back then, if we asked about your day, you would say ‘Nothing besides crying myself to sleep.”

“That’s true.” He laughed. “I used to be pessimistic about life, especially marriage.”

Kendall, the cute baby, is still sitting on your lap. She is fascinated with shiny things on your head, which as your hairclip.

"Wa, is?" Her chubby finger pointed to your hair.

"Ooh, this is a hairclip."

"Hai,- cip,-" Kendall keep mumbling, ‘Hai,- cip,’ for a long time. You are weak to her cuteness. You take off your hairclip and let her play with it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, she’s on the stage where she likes to play with sparkly things.”

“It’s okay.” You don’t mind if she breaks it. Anything to make her comfortable on your lap. The scent of a baby tickled your nose when you put her into your arms. Your maternal instinct suddenly kicked in.

“You’ve changed too Y/N.”

“Back then, we only talked about your assignment, but I could see that you carry an enormous burden. Right now, I can see that you have become more confident and brave.”

He pointed to your finger that was wrapped with a diamond ring. “Was it because of your partner who is the biggest support?”

After you heard his question, you remembered everything Lloyd had done to help you, guard you, and get your position right now. He didn’t ask questions when you asked him to do complex tasks. He just says yes and provides a great result.

Like today, you can enjoy your walk without worrying anyone could hurt you.

Even though you have to pay billions, with his help, you gain your freedom.

If that means excellent support, the answer is “Yes, yes, he is.”

You forgot about the time until Kendall made a fuss since it was her time to nap.

That means it's time to go back. You still carry Kendal in your arms until both of you arrive at Professor Watson's car.

On her baby seat, Kendal is still holding your hairpin, her father tries to open her palm, but she's persistent.

"It's alright Professor she can have it." You brushed her fluffy cheeks.

"Haha, you'll be a great mother, Y/N. Say, thank you to Aunty Y/N, sunshine."

Your body cringes when you hear the nickname. Damn Lloyd, for keep calling you that name.

He said while tightening his seat belt. "Let's meet again on your next visit."

After the car left, you went back to the hotel through the park. While walking, you sighed heavily. Your plan to travel so you could forget Lloyd failed. Because it seems like life doesn’t want you to move on from him.

“Did you enjoy your coffee sunshine?”

Your footsteps halted when you heard his voice.

He is sitting on the bench wearing a polo shirt, beige pants, brown loafers, and his favourite aviators.

"Lloyd?!!"

Lloyd followed you back to the hotel. When he entered your room, he jumped to the couch and rested his feet on the table.

He didn't talk on the way here; it's out of his character. If you look closely, he seemed to be sulking. After staying together for a year, you knew he would act like a child.

"Lloyd, are you alright?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "How can I be alright when I found my wife is getting close to her best friend?"

You were taken aback; did he just accuse you of Thomas?

"There's nothing between me and Thomas." You don't have romantic feelings towards Thomas even though he's a good guy.

There's a memory about Thomas that you buried.

Lloyd clicked his tongue. You are still clueless and dense with the opposite gender. From the photo, he could read Thomas' expressions towards you.

Lloyd took away his aviator and threw them on the table. He smiled softly, strode forward and stood in front of you.

You remained frozen, wondering what he was going to do. The next moment Lloyd stroked your cheek with his index finger and pulled you into his arms.

"Let's go to bed." He rested his head on your shoulder.

'Huh?'

Lloyd pats your back gently. "I'm tired. I haven't slept for 7 hours because I'm worried about you."

Without breaking the silence, you agreed with his request.

Inside the bedroom, you were nervous when you lay beside him. While you are anxious, the man beside you has closed his eyes.

You tried to twist out of his arms, but it was no use.

Lloyd brought your head to his chest. He held you tight as if to keep you from escaping.

"I missed my wife so much I thought I would die.”

You gently patted his back as if you knew what he was thinking. He buried his nose into your hair and took a deep breath.

"While I'm gone can you sleep?"

You sighed heavily. "No. Living alone made me more depressed."

He chuckled, "Stop pushing me away then."

You pinched his arms even though you knew it didn't affect him. Instead, he giggled more. But he was right; the answer for your insomnia is him.

But something has been bugging you for these couple of months. You break the silence by asking the big question.

“Do you think there’s something else after this?”

There was silence, but you felt Lloyd loosen his grip. "Like what?"

You gulped. "You know, like building a family?"

"..."

"Forgot what I said." You pulled your blanket and turned your body to the other side. But Lloyd's strong arm turns your position back to face him.

Lloyd didn't expect that question out of your mouth.

'Family.' Of course, that idea had crossed his mind. But the desire is getting stronger because of what he saw today.

He had arrived when you went to the coffee shop. From the car, he saw you talking with an older man; he didn't open the car door when he saw you holding a baby in your arms.

The image of you inside the house holding the baby. Their tiny hands touch your cheeks. And then you greet him with 'Good morning.'

He decided not to join your conversation and stay in the car. Looking at you holding the baby gave him a feeling of joy.

"Do you remember my confession?"

"Yeah."

You met his scorching gaze, and he smiled.

"The confession means I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sleep with you, have sex with you."

You remained frozen but still looking at Lloyd's gleamed eyes.

"It also means I want to get you pregnant, build a family with you."

Your heart began to race wildly inside your chest. Hearing his confession once again sounds completely different now.

Because you want to have the same goal as him.

It was dark inside the room, but Lloyd could feel your heartbeat.

"Tell me what I want to hear Y/N."

"I love you too Lloyd. I'll give you my everything."

Lloyd pulled you into his arms again, almost squeezing you. He finally found the answer.

The next morning.

The sounds of the alarm make both of you wake up together.

You grab your phone and see the notification that tells you the schedule for today. When you wanted to leave the bed, your waist suddenly got held.

"Don't go." Lloyd grumbled on your back while his eyes were still closed.

"I'm meeting the PM today. I can't miss it." Your finger tickled behind his ears. That's the sensitive part of his body. The technique makes you free from his hold. You immediately ran to the bathroom.

Lloyd growled while his hand ran through his face. He hates it when the quality time with you gets disrupted.

'RING.' He silently cursed; another interruption kept coming. He picked up his phone, turned out it was from Carmichael.

"Lloyd."

"Yeah?"

"I know you have plans to get rid of Thomas. But I suggest you don't."

"Give me one reason."

"Hermes."

Lloyd's breath hitched when he heard that name. Before he met you, he'd been searching for this weapon dealer called Hermes.

"The agency has been looking for this person for a long time. When you were looking for Thomas' flight schedule it's the same with Hermes everytime he made a deal and the description also matched."

So the agency finally got the answer. Thomas Kimberley is Hermes. He is hiding in plain sight using his famous status. No one would think a charities photographer was also a dangerous weapon dealer.

"You were right. He's not a good guy. But,-"

"What?"

"He seems pretty close with your wife."

Lloyd clenched his fist. “Don’t say anything that makes me want to kill you.”

Carmichael was silent for a while until he said “Be friends with him and make Hermes the agency's asset.”

A/N: Wow, Carmichael is heartless towards his friend, does he? What will Lloyd go to do? Is he going to help his friend or not?

Wait for the next chapter.

If you want to be tagged in the series, you can tell me from the comment. 💓💓💓

And if you have any questions or want to send any prompts and drabble, you could send them to my inbox. I'll be happy to answer.

This chapter is from Lloyd Hansen's Series - 3 Billion Divorce.

Check out Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,-

And check out my other stories from Masterlist.

Taglist:

@motivation-idontknowher

@evansce1

@chibijusstuff

@jasminxts

@alchemxx

@imsolatetothegame

@thorinmistress

@bree-lyrie

@another-tblr-fangirl

@buckysteveloki-me

@cherrybubblebullet

@supraveng

@avery-1999

@ridingthehotmessexpress

@hoely-maria

@katymae12344

@g-c-e

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@sebsgirl71479

#lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #soft!dark lloyd hansen imagine #soft!dark lloyd hansen x y/n #soft!dark lloyd hansen x reader #soft!dark lloyd hansen #chris evans characters #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x reader #the grey man #3billiondivorce

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leggalese · 1 month

Note

You've been asked about Dahlia twice... But what about Iris? We can't have one sister without the other ofc

*breathes in*

Iris just really fell flat to me as a character okay. The twin dilemma kind of came off as a cheap cop out. I'm sorry.

*breathes out*

I know there are people who really enjoy her and more power to them. I'd loathe to be painted a person who dislikes a character just because they get in the way of their ship and I'm trying to approach this in the correct way. But the thing is I can't tell if my dislike of her is caused by ship bias or the game's writing. She was just so ehhh.

I don't want this to come across the wrong way towards the Fenris shippers tho because they have a hard time enough as it is (please continue doing what you enjoy).

EDIT: coming back to this post almost a month later realizing I didn't even tag her name correctly, y'all I'm fucking rock stupid.

#ace attorney #ace attorney fanart #fanart #ask #iris fey

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Shipping and Handling | Ch 1: Vicinity

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | NEXT

Summary: There's a chance you and Steve aren't the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what's happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head-- not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes.

The interference/involvement of Mistress has complicated everything. It may have also awakened something lovely enough to make navigating the ethical, emotional, and physical dilemmas worthwhile. Length/Warnings: 3,487 / sexual situations, male masturbation Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 (had a little hiccup with duplicated names that aren't in my backup, and some not linking, sorry about that)

Excerpt:

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

He’s not good with slow stress. Emergencies, yes. Slow-rolling catastrophes with no clear path for remedy? Not his thing, particularly not when he can’t use his strength, use his hands to make things right.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Chapter One: Vicinity

He’s falling, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You wake up in the proverbial cold sweat, startled enough to remember only snippets of the bizarre dream-world you’d been caught up in. As if it were a natural thing, you’d been on a spaceship staring out at a planet-sized giant head, and while you were processing that part of the dream, an energy beam had struck your oval-shaped ship, cracking it apart like an egg. Because Steve had given up his buckled seat for you at the start of the voyage, he had nothing to anchor him in the emergency, and he’d been sucked out of the breach. All you could do is watch him fall away from you, knowing that you’d make things worse if you followed your instincts to rescue him.

The phone at your bedside buzzes, and you pick it up-- it’s Bucky, one of two people who bypass the Do Not Disturb setting. Despite not having performed last night, you’ve slept in, which is unusual.

“Hello?” you answer, cringing as soon as you hear the sound of your sleep-graveled voice.

“I woke you up? It’s past nine!”

You’re glad it’s Bucky and not someone who would be actually mad at you for sleeping in, but still. Not cool. “You think I keep Day Worker hours unless I have a show? Be real, Bucky, that would be annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Is there one tonight?”

“No, rehearsal from lunch to four for tomorrow’s, though. Nineties Night. I’m thinking I might spike my hair to match the choker I’m going to wear, what do you think?” Not really, but you apparently woke up spicy.

“Don’t, I like your hair.” Bucky’s voice is gruff, and he clears his throat with a cough and continues like he’s said something out of line. “Come to my place after and we’ll get take-out. Steve says you two have to see each other once a day anyway.”

You’ve done take-out at your place multiple times with Bucky, but you have only been to the tower once.

“It’s a-- that sounds good,” you say lightly, shifting away from ‘it’s a date’ language. It feels off to use that phrase when Steve’s involved. “What time?”

Bucky’s sigh tells you his invitation had been impulsive, and he’s annoyed to be asked about logistics. Something about knowing that without being told floods you with affection for him. “Whenever? After four, I guess.”

“Dress code?” you tease.

“Wear clothes, please. My roommate’s dealing with some things and I can’t promise he’ll--”

You nearly choke on your own spit at his audacity, but the distinct sound of Steve’s voice in the background of the call startles you into sliding your knees up to your chest, awareness prickling all over your body. It suddenly strikes you as maybe inappropriate to hear his voice while you’re in bed, like it’ll screw up Banner’s test results, or something.

The conversation you’d had with Bucky last week about not wanting to ignore the Mistress thing in conversation with each other had clearly prompted his cheeky comment, but it sounds like Steve didn’t appreciate what he’d overheard. Ordinarily you’d call for him through the phone, but that feels possibly inappropriate too. You’re very aware of the open window’s drift of cool morning air on your bare arms, of the way the fabric of your nightgown feels on your naked body underneath. Chances are you’d be activating similar feelings in Steve, too. Just from hearing you.

The power in that knowledge is kind of intoxicating.

You decide to compromise, because the raised male voices on the other line have ceased, replaced with silence. “Bucky?” you hiss-whisper into your phone.

“You didn’t hang up? Give me that!”

Steve’s yell is loud through the phone, and you clamber out of bed, the neckline of your summer nightgown shifting over in the process, exposing your left shoulder.

“Dee?”

It’s Steve. Across from you, your dresser mirror shows a reflection that’s almost more disheveled than the day you’d met the man. The whole situation is so absurd that you actually take a second to hold up your phone and snap a picture, thinking you’ll joke about this someday, when it all blows over.

“Dee??”

“Shoot, yes, sorry Steve, I’m just--” Mixing that image with the distress/concern in his voice has tuned your mood in a dangerous direction, and your smoky tone of voice is on board. Clearing your throat and avoiding the mirror, you say, “Sorry, go on?” The line is silent for a long few seconds.

There’s no way in hell that calling out his name right now will do him any good whatsoever.

You kind of want to do it, though.

Finally, Steve returns, and he opts for his Captain America voice. “Bucky dropped the phone when I caught him joking about this whole situation. I think the three of us might need to set some boundaries during your visit. He said around four. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before you can respond.

You’ve been horny all day, but helpless to do anything about it. The problem is, you’ve got Rogers on the brain, and his shift to Cap mode on the phone made crossing the boundary to think of him as Steve feel wrong and uncomfortable. The good news is, your mood worked really well for the songs the band practiced all afternoon. Unfortunately, the heat of the day and the fact that the boiler’s still on in the building had all of you hot and miserable.

It’s 4:17 when you finally get out of there, sweaty blouse stuck to your back. You feel like a wilted flower, so you decide to call up a taxi service to the tower instead of walking.

As you wait for your ride to arrive, you wonder if Steve’s day was similar to yours. The good news for the evening is that the two of you shouldn’t be as keyed up as you were yesterday. Banner’s explanation of his pheromone theory had been confusing and hard to pay attention to with Steve right beside you, but you recall him saying the longer the two of you stay apart, the stronger the compulsion is.

The taxi arrives and you get inside, giving the destination as Avengers tower. Speaking the location aloud brings up something else you’ve been avoiding. Bucky’s ‘someday I’ll introduce you to my best friend Steve, we’ve known each other since he was little’ is a far cry from the reality: ‘my best friend Captain America has been famous for longer than whole generations of your family have been alive.’

For the first time, you realize that ‘since he was little’ has a vastly different meaning than the one you’d been assuming. Bucky really is an infuriating, lovable shit sometimes. It’s with that combination of low-level sexual frustration, amused annoyance, and bedraggled appearance that you arrive at the tower. The guy at the security counter calls the apartment with a dubious expression that makes you worried he's judging you, but the man eventually nods and directs you to an elevator.

“He’ll meet you in the hallway,” he says, leaning into the elevator car once you’ve boarded to call out a code phrase to the AI that controls the elevator. The guard gives you one last once-over and adds, “It changes every week,” confirming your suspicion that their floor is restricted.

When the door closes, your imperfect reflection in the silver coating has you scrambling to adjust the moist cling of your blouse on your breasts. Unkempt twists of hair are glued to your cheeks and forehead with perspiration, and you’d completely forgot that for an easy ego boost, you always apply performance-quality red lipstick for final rehearsal.

In short, the security guy had a point.

The doors open before you get a chance for a last once-over after your adjustments. The best you can do is a weird crossed-arms stance with your hands spread wide to obscure just how lovingly your damp red top is cupping your assets.

Thankfully, the man standing in the hallway is Bucky Barnes.

You rush out, dropping your hands to gesture at yourself. “Do you see this? Mirrors and I are enemies today,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I guess I’m lucky the guard downstairs didn’t call the cops instead of the apartment!”

Bucky trails his piercing blue eyes along your outfit, his expression impassive at first. For the first time ever in his presence, you feel a little objectified, but you shake that off. After all, you told him to look-- and given the growing appreciation in his gaze, he’s at least giving you a bit of a self-esteem boost. When Bucky’s finished, having followed through by taking in your pencil skirt and crimson sandals with his head tipped to the side, he finally looks you in the eyes.

“Nice toenail polish,” he smirks.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” you gripe under your breath. “Please tell me you have a shirt I can borrow? They still have the heat on at the venue, Babs is tearing out her hair. If the forecast is right about how hot it’ll be tomorrow night, we’ll have to hand out free cups of ice to keep an audience.”

“Yeah, but we got a gauntlet to run before that,” he tells you. The apartment door’s open, and he stands to the side, gesturing for you to precede him.

“If it’s related to another set of metal doors and a scary British voice telling me to hide, I’ll just walk home, spring heatwave or not.”

“She’s here?” Steve says from inside. He comes out right as you walk over, and both of you stop within inches of each other. “You’re late,” he says-- but the tone of his voice is the exact same stressed, desperate, needy one you’ve tried not to fondly remember.

You almost respond with, ‘Oh, Steve, if you’re going for ‘stern,’ be careful, but you can’t imagine saying that in anything other than your flirty lounge singer persona, and that would cross too many lines, especially today.

“I got here as soon as I could!” you tell him, drawing yourself up indignantly. Steve opens his mouth to respond, but his gaze is caught first by your lips, then your shirt. You’re confronted with the effect you have on him-- a short, pained breath leaves his lips when his eyes drop to your chest and then quickly back up. Steve’s eyes dilate, and his throat works as he swallows, twice. He’s as handsome as anyone you’ve ever met, and you’ve done more than meet. An errant (exciting, ridiculous, improper) thought rises to the surface.

This man is your lover.

You suck in a breath, unable to avoid the flood of heat you’re struck with, and your reaction breaks the spell.

“I thought we agreed on four?” he says plaintively, as though somehow you wouldn’t look like this and he wouldn’t clearly like it as much if you’d only been on time.

“All right, none of this shit needs to happen in the hallway,” Bucky says, shouldering his way past you to spin Steve around with a hand on either shoulder. Embarrassment spurs you to quickly follow, and you shut the door, leaning against it with your arms and hands once again trying to cover your clinging blouse. “You: grab the fliers from the kitchen,” your best friend instructs Steve, shoving him in the right direction. He points at you and jerks his head toward the hallway. “You: follow me.”

“Shirts. Why is it always shirts?” you ask.

“Indiana Jones, right?” Bucky says, walking into the room at the end of the hallway. He whispers something you can’t hear, because you’ve stopped at the threshold. Bucky turns around and frowns at you. “I’m not looking to ramp him up, so will you please come in here?”

He seems pretty stressed, so you swallow your worries about being trapped in yet another room in this particular apartment, and walk in a little ways. It’s not enough for Buck, whose ‘hurry up’ arm gesture doesn’t look very non-threatening with his metal arm.

“What are you--” you begin, but he interrupts from over by the closet, sliding a chunk of wire hangers over with a scrape of protesting metal.

“I said what color… undergarment? So it doesn’t show through.”

“Shit, good point, thanks,” you say, coming over. “It’s red, to match the blouse.”

To your surprise, you can see his ear turn red as Bucky coughs and fiddles with a few hung-up items out of your sight.

“This work?”

He hands you a medium blue button-down, long sleeved. “There’s, uh, a bathroom through there. I can sit on the bed, in case you’re freaked to be stuck again.”

Bucky looks like he’d gladly crawl out of his skin to avoid this entire conversation, but there he is, offering to let you change clothes in his private bathroom while he stays close enough to break you out, if need be. You’d go over and hug him if it wouldn’t make ‘awkward’ into ‘unbearable’ for him.

You nod, rushing into the bathroom to change. There’s a basket with towel rolls you’re certain a housekeeper put there, and you grab one of the washcloths to clean up with before buttoning on the shirt. It’s long, so long you spend most of the time rolling up the sleeves and trying to figure out how to tuck the tails into your skirt without looking dumpy.

Steve’s outward appearance of calm is deceptive, but he can’t risk hinting at the turmoil he’s going through, so he’s trying to focus solely on gathering up the take-out menus.

It’s… not going well.

Steve groans aloud. Everything slants sexual lately. Everything.

Leaving the stack of menus on the counter, he rubs the back of his neck and paces the kitchen. In a way, he’s in an immediate emergency right now, albeit a private one: he’s turned on, has tried to ignore it all day, but then you’d shown up late looking like that. It had taken him back to the weeks of staying away, when he’d woken late at night awash in guilt and arousal after yet another dream of the time together in his bedroom. In most of them, he’d stalked over to the light switch and flipped it on so he could see you, sweat-soaked and needy.

He sticks his head into the sink and uses the sprayer on himself in a vain attempt to cool his ardor. All that does is get water in his ears.

From the other room, Bucky says, “Steve?”

“Hang on,” Steve calls out, blindly grabbing for the dishtowel draped on the oven door. When it doesn’t come right away, he yanks at it-- and the entire door of the oven comes off.

“What the hell?” Bucky’s standing in the doorway, and you’ve crowded in beside him to see what’s going on.

“I’m not sure what happened. I just wanted to grab a towel.” Steve’s shoulders are already soaked from his wet hair, and somehow the cloth in his hand is still connected to the detached door at his feet. At least the tempered glass is still intact.

You squeeze past Bucky and come over, gently freeing the towel from Steve’s hand and crouching down to mess with the underside of the oven door. He closes his eyes tightly and starts focusing on his breathing. It’s all he can do to keep still and hide the effect of seeing you sink down to the floor, but he’d forgotten you’re not the only other person in the apartment.

“Steve.”

Steve’s eyes pop open at the menace in his friend’s tone, but right then, you stand back up, the dish towel in your hand and an amused look of confusion on your face.

“It looks like someone reinforced this crochet clasp with metal thread!”

Both of Bucky’s fists are clenched, and Steve has no idea what you’re talking about. Then he looks over at you.

You’re wearing his shirt. It’s hanging loose, and the hem extends past your hips. It’s so easy to picture what you’d look like wearing it some morning after spending the night.

“I-I need a new shirt,” Steve stammers out. Bucky has just enough time to sidestep out of the doorway, and once through, Steve runs.

He manages not to slam the door, but the way his head clunks back against the wood is probably audible in the kitchen. Pulling in huge breaths, he ignores his wet shirt and starts fumbling at his belt.

It’s wrong, he knows, but the way you look wearing his shirt, seeing you practically kneeling at his feet --Steve can’t hold himself back. He’s been on edge all day, and he’d only understood why when you’d walked back into his home in all your sexy, sweaty glory. Anticipation. Whether or not it ought to have happened, the two of you have a bond, one that includes permission for all sorts of things his mind dwells on at the most inconvenient times.

The door rattles in the jamb as he shoves his trousers and briefs out of the way. There’s no way he wants Bucky to have any idea what’s going on here, so he thumbs on the lock (it’s a fig leaf, but one that might give him a few seconds to hide what he’s about to do, if need be) and fall-walks over to the bed with his pants around his ankles.

Seconds later, Steve has slicked up his hand, collapsing back onto his pillow with a heartfelt groan that’s as quiet as he can make it. Mistress is ruinous, because this devastating pleasure is almost rewriting his DNA as surely as the serum did. Two months ago he would never have pictured himself doing anything like this, but now he’s fucking his own fist in the same apartment as someone who could be his best friend’s girl.

Steve’s touching himself while he’s thinking about you, and he can’t-- he won’t stop. Indulging in this glorious, delirious pleasure has got to be the lesser of two evils.

Despite that conclusion, guilt wars with lust as his hand speeds up, hoping like hell that he doesn’t make too much noise. It’s maybe better than before the drug, as though his body has been rewired, away from heroism and into hedonism. Every little movement ratchets him further toward ecstasy, so much so that Steve tortures himself with variations; a twist of his hand here and there, thumb swirling the head of his cock. He's got the fleshy part of his palm crammed in his mouth to remind himself to be quiet.

Just as he wonders how much more he can take himself apart, Steve feels his peak rising, and he’s disappointed, which brings up more guilt. You’re a real person, someone he’s laughed with. Someone he could really like.

The thought occurs that if he’s going to train his aroused brain, guilt is the worst possible catalyst.

Steve forces himself to still, to breathe.

“Change it or stop,” he whispers to himself. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

He casts around in his mind for something different, but stubbornly, not something that would force him to stop. Your body’s sated, exhausted curl on his old bed in the time before the two of you had been rescued. The way your weary, heat-tired expression had combusted into frustration at him in the doorway to his apartment. You, simply wearing his shirt.

You’ve wormed your way into intimacy with him in more ways than Steve had realized, ways he likes.

Need overcomes his willpower, and he gives himself permission for a single gentle stroke. The intense sweetness of it gives him an idea, one he’s entirely certain he might go to hell for.

Steve moves his hand slowly, tentatively, and oh fuck, he could picture you doing this so easily. What would your face look like if you could touch him with ease, with patience, without urgency?

Ironically, this sends him into a rough, mindless frenzy, the white-hot pleasure reinforced by flashes of you in scenes of a possible future; furrowed brow cooking while you complain about how inconvenient the broken oven is, stepping out of the shower in a ratty old bathrobe, hair wet, your skin freshly scrubbed.

In his mind's eye, you're clasping his hand palm to palm, lifting your head to kiss him as he moves slowly inside you, unhurried, loving.

As his orgasm barrels through him, Steve realizes this is far, far worse for his relationship with Bucky and his fledgling something (friendship? More? Does he deserve more?) with you than simply rutting out his sexual frustration with the entire focus on his filthy, unworthy thoughts about your red blouse.

Next Chapter...

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