#(BUT NO THIS MAN IS HERE TO STAY IF THEY FUCK HIM UP)

[joecoolburrow]

Protection ~Joe Burrow x Reader

summary — Joe gets protected of you when you have to walk past paparazzi

The white flash temporarily blinded you. Even through a small crack, the cameras were ready to pounce. Joe slammed the door shut. Blinking a few times, your vision readjusted to Joe and the room around you.

“Shit, they’re out here too.” Joe sighed.

Paparazzi, Joe’s least favorite aspects of being a star quarterback. He hoped to avoid them by leaving out the back, but when you're at the biggest pre-Super Bowl party in the city it was probably unrealistic to hope.

It was fun, but you and Joe were leaving early. He’d had a long day doing press and you both preferred pizza and movie in bed over a party. Other NFL stars (current and former), musicians, models, and their plus ones could be heard partying on in the distance.

Joe gripped your arm tightly and positioned himself in front of you.

“Stay close to me, ok?”

You nodded.

Seeing Joe's usual calm demeanor laced with anxiety made you nervous. In the year you and Joe had been together, you'd never encountered paparazzi before. Not-so-subtle bystanders trying to snap a quick, unnoticeable pic was a daily occurrence. But these professional voyeurs were a new ballgame.

Joe slowing opened the door, shielding you between it and his body. Immediately, you were bombarded with camera flashes and clicks. An echo of yells rang in your ear as the over stimulation set in.

You tried to focus on just Joe’s grip on you. He stood between you and the paparazzi like a human shield, his hold of you never wavering. Soon, you'd made it across the sidewalk and started to get into the waiting car.

"HEY!" Joe yelled, starling you.

His rage filled eyes were staring at a pap who was kneeling, camera pointed up towards you.

"STAND UP!" Joe demanded.

He lightly pulled you back so you couldn't lift your leg and inadvertently give this creep what he was looking for.

When the pap didn't move, Joe repeated "STAND THE FUCK UP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Your heart pounded rapidly. You were afraid Joe and this pap might get into a physical fight. Of course, it wouldn't be much of a fight since Joe could easily take the overweight middle-aged man. But you dreaded the scene it would cause.

Security from the party (who you hadn't even noticed was present since Joe was guarding you so well) rushed over. They pulled the pap up and moved him away. His colleagues catching the whole incident with a million cameras snaps.

Joe ushered you into the car. He climbed in after and slammed the door. For a moment, you both sat in quiet solace of the car.

Peering over at Joe, you saw anguish on his face. You thought you could ease his tension with humor.

"I see why Britney chased those guys with an umbrella."

It worked. A smile crept onto Joe's face and he exhaled a little more forcefully. Then he looked at you apologetically.

"They're vultures. This is why I hate going out. I'm sorry you have to deal with it." Joe sighed.

"I'm fine." You assured him, rubbing his shoulder.

"Don't lie just to make me feel better."

Joe always saw through you.

With a frown, you admitted, "I'm a little shaken up. All the lights and yelling, it was sensory overload. I couldn't see where we were walking and I didn't even notice that guy trying to get an up skirt shot."

"I wanted to kick his fucking teeth in."

You laughed but knew Joe was serious.

"Thank you for looking out for me."

Joe pressed a kiss to your cheek, "Always, babe."

The car pulled away and you leaned your head onto Joe's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, his hand resting on your hip.

"I'm really sorry." He whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Logically, it was true, but it didn't fix the guilt you could feel Joe carrying. You took his hand.

"Joe, you are the most incredible person I've ever met. I love you. Nothing is going to ruin being with the man of my dreams, not even those creeps."

You took his hand and Joe gave you a little squeeze.

"You're worth it." You said firmly.

You pulled him down for a kiss, tender and comforting. Your lips lingered against one another's. When your eyes fluttered opened you were met with Joe's blue eyes making you a silent declaration of love.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your heels and Joe threw his jacket on the couch.

"I actually had a great time tonight." You told him.

"Me too." He smirked, "but I think the two of us can have an even better time alone."

You knew that was true.

"We can, if only this dress wasn't in our way." You pouted.

Joe pulled you flush against him.

"Don't worry, baby. I won't let anything get in our way."

[quarterlifekitty]

Thoughts on matrimony vs reality

Gaz spends a lot of his life thinking about what his image of a family is, and what it's supposed to be. Getting married seems inevitable because it's the done thing, so it must be good, right? But I think he may very well end up in a lifelong relationship that doesn't need a label or a legal binding. You just are what you are, and it's no one else's business. And he derives great pleasure from reminding people of that. Man's gotta have his secrets.

Price changes the most over the course of his life. He says he doesn't believe in divorce, says they promised for better or for worse until death, but he definitely can't hack it with the first marriage. Too young, too wet behind the ears, doesn't have his priorities in order-- he thinks of the relationship as accessory to his work, that he'd always want to be a hero above anything else. By the time the second rolls around, he's a much wiser man, not keen on the same mistakes. And he cherishes like you wouldn't believe. Nothing will drag him away. He's served the world long enough, it can wait. Phone is turned off and buried in a drawer once he walks in the front door.

Johnny fucks around a lot, but it's only because he's waiting for magic, for fate. He doesn't get serious with the people he fools around with because he knows one day he'll feel the spark, and that will be that. True love. Soul mates. The problem is that he's had false alarms. Too many to count. Too quick to read subtext that isn't there. So when he tells his mates about how you're the one, they really don't think you'll last for more than a few months. But he surprises everyone. Simon may be the best man at the wedding, but he only really realizes you're here to stay at child #2.

Simon does not think he'll ever get married because life has taught him that love and wanting are crimes that reap only punishment of the cruelest order. But one day, against all odds, he finds himself in love and in a bind. Some slight, some stupid mistake that could break what you have together completely, and it's his fault. He's always been one to let relationships go once they get too hard. But for the first time, he's scared that this could be the end. And that fear overcomes all others when he blurts out marry me, unplanned and with no ring, in the midst of a row.

[abrthephantomq]

:raises hand:

[tw: not a healthy relationship at ALL mentioned. our ex was the worst, basically, and divorce is why we're alive. and if we were to write a book about it and twist some details so we could claim that it was all fictional and that, y'know, any likeness to any real human being is "coincidental," well. This would be chapter one, probably.]

When we were 19, we got married to our high school sweetheart.

It wasn't the worst decision ever, but it was a pretty bad one. You see, our ex wasn't exactly.... the greatest.

We met freshman year at William Penn. Fourteen years old, 9th grade. We had Civics class together, first thing in the morning. Ex-husband sat behind us.

We noticed them right away. At that age, they were very deep in their emo-screamo stage. The swoopy hair. Jnco jeans. You know. That type of attire. We actually thought it was really cool but could "never find" anything in our size when we went to places like the Hot Topic at the mall.

[We weren't even big, back then. Like, a size 12-14? At 5'2-3 and always on the fairly muscled side of things? With wide hips? Tiny boobs? Like no, we were fucking adorable. We could've found clothes at the Hot Topic if we'd wanted to - we just couldn't afford to.

*snort* the hot topic... you're such an old man, uncle Jasper.

So our ex's actually fantastic taste in early 00 fashion sub-cultures aside, what exactly are you trying to imply here, Steven?]

Nothing, actually, damn. Chill out - I know that's how you would've dressed the body had we had the money at that age. When we were that size. Like, the size we were, not the size he --

(We understood, sweetheart <3)

Right.

Anyways, the point really was when we were in high school, the red flags were there. They were waived -

[You're spelling it with an "I" again, love.]

Yeah, sorry, I'm going to spell waive - wave - w a I v e like, until the end of time. that job broke the fingers, man. We talked about entering in waive fees so goddamned much that's the default way the brain goes to type it. -- but that's not the point.

Red flags. So many red flags. We had our future wife read our LJ entries from that time, years ago, at this point. She read them and was like damn, he was always terrible to you. Because he did shit like the silent treatment. My personal favorite is when he decided I hadn't come to his defense strong enough to his liking - and this was before we started dating - and he decided we were no longer friends and that he would never talk to me again.

And he did that the day before the day my mother went in to get a hysterectomy. Her uterus and ovaries were riddled with cancer. Stage 3 - now, I remember her saying it was ovarian. I've been saying ovarian since we were 15 years old.

Mom would later say it was uterine. Like a decade later, kind of later.

This man broke up with us at the beginning of senior year, too, by the way. Right around Christmas Break, actually. During Break we entered the Situationship Era - it was a whole thing. Before his 18th birthday, he shipped off to Parris Island.

A couple of months into bootcamp, he sends us a letter saying all sorts of things about how he prayed to God for an answer on what he should do etc, and apparently he wanted to get back together.

By the following Christmas, he asked us to marry him.

Not even 6 months later, in May of 2007, we got married. We were 19. He was 18.

He'd deploy for the first time less than a year later. When he got back, we bought a house and moved into it with our at-the-time best friend. He had plans to knock me up. He succeeded. We had to remain sober the day we turned 21, because we were positive we were pregnant, even if we couldn't prove that for like, another week. We just knew.

That child and I probably would not be alive today, if divorce weren't a thing. Because if we'd stayed together "for the sake of our kid," he would have for certain been responsible for my death, in one way shape or form, and who knows if he'd have been a safe parent for our kid without me being a lightning rod for his bullshit.

I don't mind being the fucking lightning rod. What I do mind is that even if all he ever does is hurt me, it still impacts my kid regardless. If I'm not doing well, that means I can't be the best parent I can be.

He doesn't understand that. Or should I say, he didn't understand that.

If only he had tried to.

i love divorce i love when people realize that they aren't a good fit for each other and get divorced about it. more people should get divorced

[girl-lostconnection]

i luv ur work and I'm just curious your thoughts on if bat reader got pregnant? Maybe a little clutch of 3 babies that are around 6lbs each so small but maybe most fruit bat babies are? Or since it's a hybrid of the one/all the boys maybe it's one baby but a little bigger and sweet reader is waddling everywhere constantly barefoot

Yk, anon, your idea is so cute I’m gonna give you a pass for pregnancy trope because god knows I’m not a fan of it. Don’t get me wrong, I have massive respect for people who decide to get pregnant but Jesus, if it’s not some prime horror material. Also I just personally don’t like pregnancies or kids

Okay, you will need to hold my hand with this one because the next thing will be wildly anti-scientific and borderline magical, but it’s fanfiction — we are gonna freestyle. No one can stop us from having fun, anon.

I can imagine Reader finding out they are pregnant and as soon as 141 find out, at least one of the boys is glued to their side.

Especially Price — Komodo dragons are incredibly protective fathers and he is no exception. The man would be patiently peeling and cutting all and every fruit, rubbing your legs and kissing your cheeks because you deserve it for working so hard.

Simon’s provider instincts would go haywire because your scent changes with pregnancy and primal part of him needs to make sure you eat enough, you are warm, you are safe, you are comfortable. He is slightly paranoid and doesn’t let you walk anywhere alone, just looming over your shoulder.

But he’s also the one who will relax once he sees that one of the lads actually come to take turn guarding you. Wolves separate responsibilities and in a wolf pack some wolves go hunting while others watch pups then they switch. So he’s okay if someone is nearby but he definitely feels more comfortable if he’s glued to your side and his hand is on your shoulder.

Man seriously doesn’t understand why can’t you all just move as the group of five if that would maximise the safety of you and the child. So what if it’s impractical? Doesn’t matter that he would look like he’s guarding a bloody prime minister, he will be advocating for you all to walk around together.

Kyle is relatively calm because he’s not velcro husband but make no mistake the man is velcro dad. Eagles are incredibly protective of their young and shield them from cold and heat and predators and literally chew food for them. Let’s hope Garrick holds himself together.

But he def would become more attentive, pecking kisses here and there, chatting you up before bed. I think it would soothe his human part that he can hear how calm and happy you are with everything and therefore it’s okay.

Soap is surprisingly the calmest of the bunch, he reads up a lot on bay hybrids and how long the pregnancies go and what to expect. He starts a journal with memories for the baby(-ies) when they grow up so they know how loved and cared for they were even before birth.

The man is there scratching and writing away, notating the side effects and doodling you devouring a melon all alone as he watches you in love. Soap would also be the calmest dad of them all but on the scale of 1-10 where 1 is protective and 10 is Simon Ghost Riley, he’s 11.

He’s all easy smiles and charm and then he just snaps his jaws when someone tries to touch the baby(-ies) or you without asking because hands the fuck off. Get your own, baby and mate, these are his.

He has no chill when it comes to this, I’m sorry.

And then there’s you, who starts sleeping exclusively head down and wrapping in your own wings and Kyle’s when he’s available. You get cold easier so you cuddle up to hot like furnace Simon and then you are too hot and snappy, scrambling back on your perch.

You start walking barefoot because cool is nice and because staying in half transformation is easier then wasting energy to be mostly human (Johnny blinks once, twice then his hind brain takes over and he’s grooming you for hours on end because omg, that’s fur, this is lovely, hen, come ‘ehe)

And then babies themselves arrive. In the scenario where there are multiple of them — like a clutch of 3 babies, they mostly all resemble only you in the first few months because they emerge as lil bat hybrids covered in bat fur.

They will loose most of it after the first year but before that — the only indicative of who might be the dad is the eye colour.

Doesn’t help that both John’s are blue-eyed.

In scenario where there is only one baby, which would be definitely rarer, I think it would be fun if the baby actually was a different hybrid, for example you have yourself a little seal!baby and Soap is ecstatic. I think his baby would be the oldest one and if you decide to have any more, the next would be Kyle’s, then Price’s and Simon’s twins would be the last ones.

[loafysainz]

🎥 HANDING MY BOYFRIEND MY PANTIES AT DINNER AND GET HIS REACTION

carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader! warn: 18+, smut, minor dni insp by this trend

Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz was a patient man.

But not when it came to you.

He had spent the entire evening watching you, his dark brown eyes tracking your every move. The way your lips wrapped around the rim of your wine glass, the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs under the table, the way you leaned forward just enough to tease him with the barest hint of cleavage.

Carlos had been holding himself back. Barely.

And you? You were about to push him past his limit.

The restaurant was elegant—low lights, soft music, the hum of quiet conversations surrounding you. Carlos sat across from you, dressed in a perfectly tailored black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, veins prominent as he lazily toyed with his glass. He looked so effortlessly sexy, so unfairly attractive, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far you could push him.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding, as you subtly reached under the table. You hooked your fingers into your panties, slowly, discreetly, slipping them down your legs, the cool air against your bare skin making you shiver.

Carlos was oblivious, swirling his wine, licking his lips as he studied the menu.

And then—casually, with a small smirk—you reached across the table and placed your panties in his hand.

Carlos froze.

His fingers curled around the fabric instinctively before he even realized what he was holding. He blinked, looking down at his palm.

A beat of silence.

Then another.

And then—oh, fuck.

His entire body tensed. His jaw clenched so hard you thought it might crack. His nostrils flared as he exhaled a sharp breath, his grip tightening around the delicate lace like he was resisting the urge to crush it in his fist.

Slowly—so slowly—Carlos lifted his eyes to meet yours.

Dark. Heavy. Predatory.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.

And then—his voice, deep, low, almost a growl—

“Dime que no hiciste lo que creo que hiciste.” (Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.)

You tilted your head, pretending to be innocent. “What do you think I did, cariño?”

Carlos inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing around the lace before he shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. His knee bounced under the table, his entire body buzzing with tension. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head with a dark chuckle.

“You’re testing me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sipped your drink, biting back a smirk. “Maybe.”

Carlos exhaled a slow, measured breath. His fingers tapped against the table, his eyes flickering down to your lap, realization sinking in.

“No panties,” he murmured. His voice was rough, thick with something dangerously close to desperation. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat like he was physically struggling to stay put.

You crossed your legs slowly, watching the way his jaw ticked. “Mmm.”

Carlos let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Eres un problema, ¿lo sabes?” (You’re a fucking problem, you know that?)

He adjusted in his seat, exhaling harshly. “Now I have to sit here. In this restaurant. Acting normal. While I know you’re sitting there…” His voice dropped, dark, his accent thickening. “All wet. All needy.” He licked his lips, eyes burning with heat. “For me.”

Your breath hitched.

Carlos saw. And smirked.

His knee suddenly pressed against your thigh under the table, firm and possessive, making your pulse skyrocket.

“I should drag you to the bathroom right now,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration. “Make you sit on my lap. Make you ride me slow. Until you can’t stay quiet anymore.”

Your stomach dropped.

Your entire body burned.

Carlos chuckled darkly at your reaction. “Oh, you like that idea?” He tilted his head, his fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “Would you like it, hmm? Biting your lip, trying not to moan? Knowing that if you make one sound, everyone in this restaurant will know what I’m doing to you?”

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, and Carlos noticed.

His smirk widened, his knee pressing even firmer against you.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You started this game, amor.” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Your stomach flipped.

Carlos sat back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, looking like the picture of relaxation—except for the way

his hands curled into fists, like he was using every ounce of self-control to stop himself from grabbing you.

“You better eat fast,” he muttered, his leg still pressed against yours, his eyes still devouring you.

“Because the second we leave this restaurant?” His voice was gravelly, dripping with hunger.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

—

Lewis Hamilton

Dinner with Lewis was always an experience. He had impeccable taste—whether it was in fashion, cars, or five-star restaurants with private dining rooms that catered to the elite. Tonight was no different. The restaurant was dimly lit, with an intimate atmosphere and a view of the Monaco harbor glistening under the night sky.

Lewis sat across from you, wearing a tailored suit with no tie, the top few buttons of his crisp shirt undone to reveal just a hint of his tattoos. He looked like a damn dream—effortlessly cool, his jewelry catching the soft candlelight, his full lips curving into a smirk as he listened to you talk.

And you? You were about to make things very, very interesting.

The idea had been teasing you all night. The way Lewis had kept his hand on your thigh during the car ride here, the way his deep, smooth voice sent shivers down your spine, the way he knew he was irresistible and used it against you. It was time to turn the tables.

You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your dress while slipping your panties down your thighs, letting the lace pool at your ankles before discreetly stepping out of them. You balled them in your hand, heart racing with anticipation.

Lewis was mid-sentence, swirling his wine glass lazily, when you reached across the table and placed the delicate fabric in his palm.

His fingers closed around it instinctively before realization set in.

He blinked, lifting his hand slightly under the table, his expression unreadable at first. And then—oh, then—that signature smirk spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly sexy. His tongue flicked out to wet them, eyes dragging from the panties to your face, amusement flickering behind the heat in his gaze.

“You’re bold tonight, love.” His voice was low, almost a purr.

You took a sip of your champagne, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Lewis exhaled a slow breath, shaking his head. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

His fingers tightened around the lace before slipping them discreetly into the pocket of his blazer.

He leaned forward, his gaze dark and smoldering. “So, what’s the plan, then? You expect me to just sit here, act normal, knowing you’re sitting across from me with nothing underneath that little dress?”

Your lips curled. “That was the idea.”

Lewis chuckled, the deep sound sending a shiver down your spine. He adjusted in his seat, exhaling sharply. “You’re playin’ dangerous, babe.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” You batted your lashes at him, knowing full well you were poking the bear.

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back up. He lifted his glass, taking a slow sip of wine, his demeanor calm—too calm. That was the most dangerous sign of all.

The waiter arrived, placing your entrées in front of you, completely unaware of the silent war happening at this table.

Lewis picked up his fork, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

But then—oh, fuck.

You felt the softest brush against your thigh.

Your breath hitched.

Lewis smirked, casually cutting into his steak like he wasn’t dragging his fingers up the inside of your leg beneath the table, like he wasn’t making his way higher and higher with every passing second.

You shot him a glare, shifting in your seat, but that only made him chuckle. “Something wrong?” he asked, voice innocent.

Bastard.

His fingers brushed the apex of your thighs, barely teasing the sensitive skin, and you had to fight the urge to clamp your legs shut.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your fork a little tighter. “You’re really gonna do this here?”

Lewis tilted his head, lips curving. “You started it.”

His touch disappeared just as quickly as it came, leaving you throbbing, your skin hot, your body desperate for more.

And that’s when you knew you were in trouble.

Lewis sat back, stretching out his legs, the picture of relaxed confidence. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then leaned in slightly.

“When we get back to the hotel…” His voice was a dark promise, smooth as silk. “You better be ready for me, baby.”

Your stomach flipped, heat coiling low in your belly.

Oh, you were so screwed.

Dinner suddenly felt like a countdown to something far more delicious. And by the way Lewis kept stealing glances at you—like he was barely holding himself back—you had a feeling he wouldn’t be ordering dessert.

At least, not at the restaurant.

—

Lando Norris

Dinner with Lando was never boring.

He had a way of making everything fun—whether it was cracking jokes, teasing you, or finding little ways to touch you every chance he got. Tonight was no different. You were at a high-end restaurant in Monaco, overlooking the water, Lando sipping on his cocktail as he playfully nudged your foot under the table.

He looked good—hair slightly tousled, wearing a fitted black suit with no tie, the crisp white of his shirt accentuating his tan skin. The top two buttons were undone, just enough to tease you with a glimpse of his collarbone.

And right now? He had no idea what was coming.

So, you decided it was time to turn the tables.

The restaurant was buzzing with quiet conversations, the candlelight casting a soft glow over the table, and Lando? He was completely oblivious, sipping his drink, scrolling through the menu, looking criminally good in his tailored black suit.

You took a slow breath, pretending to shift in your seat, your hands disappearing beneath the table. Your pulse thrummed as you hooked your fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs, over your heels, and slipping them into your palm.

And then—casually, innocently—you reached across the table and pressed them into his hand.

Lando took them instinctively, still half-distracted, his thumb brushing over the fabric—soft, lacy, unmistakably not something that belonged in a restaurant.

He froze.

His blue eyes flicked down at his hand, then up at you.

His breath hitched. “No.” His voice was a strangled whisper. He blinked, like his brain couldn’t quite process what just happened. He looked back down at the lace, gripping it between his fingers, and then back at you—eyes wide, pupils blown.

“No fucking way.”

You just took a sip of your drink, acting

completely unfazed. “Something wrong?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his curls. “Are you—” He exhaled sharply. “You didn’t just—” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “Tell me you’re fucking with me right now.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head.

Lando’s jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His grip on the panties tightened before he hastily shoved them into the pocket of his blazer, his fingers twitching like he was fighting every single urge running through his body.

His leg bounced under the table. He dragged his hands down his face. “You—” He let out a low, breathy laugh, but it was strained, like he was hanging on by a thread.

“You little—” His voice cut off, his head tilting back slightly as he inhaled through his nose.

You could see it. The shift. The way his entire demeanor darkened. The way his hands clenched into fists like he didn’t trust himself to keep them to himself.

And then, he leaned forward, eyes locked onto you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

The waiter arrived at that exact moment, asking if you needed more wine, completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown Lando was having in real-time.

Lando barely glanced at him, his jaw clenched so tight his words were almost clipped. “No. We’re good.”

The moment the waiter left, Lando shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “I hope you realize,” he muttered, “that I now have to sit through this entire dinner with a fucking hard-on.”

You smirked. “Poor baby.”

His eye twitched.

His knee suddenly pressed against the inside of your thigh under the table, firm, possessive, making you inhale sharply.

Lando smirked at your reaction, his fingers twitching as if debating whether or not to reach for you. “No panties. Just sitting there. All pretty. Knowing what you just did to me.” His voice was dark. Husky. “You’re playing a dangerous fucking game.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly, pressing your thighs together, and Lando noticed. His smirk widened.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You think you’re in control here?”

He leaned in, voice dropping even lower, lips barely an inch from your ear.

“Just wait till we get back to the hotel, baby,” he whispered. “I’m gonna make sure you feel what you just did to me.”

Heat coiled in your stomach.

Lando sat back, stretching his legs out, exhaling slowly. His fingers drummed against the table, his eyes flickering over your body, taking his time, like he was memorizing you.

“Eat your dinner, baby.” he muttered, shifting in his seat again, adjusting himself. “After we done this. You’re mine.”

Your entire body burned.

And suddenly, dinner felt like the longest fucking event of your life.

—

Charles Leclerc

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Charles Leclerc was the perfect mix of sweet and sinful—soft when he loved you, but intense when he wanted you. He could melt you with just a smile, but when he needed you? When you pushed him too far? That was when he became dangerous.

Tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was romantic—low lights, soft music, a flickering candle between you. Charles looked breathtaking across the table, his white button-down slightly unbuttoned, his hair tousled in that effortless way that made your fingers itch to run through it. His green eyes sparkled in the dim light, his lips curling in a small, amused smile as he sipped his wine.

You wanted to see how far you could push him.

So, while Charles was distracted, you reached under the table. Your fingers brushed the hem of your dress, heart racing as you slowly—so slowly—slid your panties down your legs. The soft lace glided over your thighs, your knees, pooling at your ankles before you kicked them off.

Charles was still flipping through the menu, completely oblivious.

You swallowed a smirk, reached across the table, and—without a word—placed the fabric in his open palm.

Charles didn’t react at first.

Then—

His fingers froze.

His eyes flickered down, scanning the lace in his palm, his lips parting slightly.

Then—very slowly—he lifted his gaze to yours.

His breath hitched.

His jaw tensed.

His entire body went rigid.

“Mon amour…” His voice was a whisper, but there was something different about it. Something deep, something dark.

You tilted your head innocently. “Yes, baby?”

Charles exhaled sharply, his hand disappearing under the table as he shoved the panties into his pocket. His fingers twitched against the fabric, his entire body suddenly filled with nervous energy.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, you—” His voice broke slightly, and he cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“You are telling me…” His accent was thicker now, deeper, as he swallowed hard. “That you are sitting here. With nothing under your dress.”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

Charles groaned. His head fell back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he muttered something very fast in French under his breath.

Then he looked back at you—his pupils blown, his breath uneven.

“Baby,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but there was a raw edge to it. His hand found your knee under the table, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. The touch was gentle, but his grip was firm.

Possessive.

His fingers inched higher.

You gasped softly.

Charles inhaled sharply, his hand freezing before it could go any higher. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white.

“No,” he muttered. “No, I can’t—” He cut himself off, exhaling harshly.

His eyes were burning.

“You’re making this very difficult for me, mon amour.”

You smirked. “That’s the idea.”

Charles let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Incroyable.” (Unbelievable.)

Then—so suddenly—he grabbed his napkin and dropped it on the floor.

“Oh,” he muttered, completely unconvincing. “How clumsy of me.”

Your eyes widened. “Charles, don’t—”

Too late.

He dipped under the table.

Your heart stopped.

“Charles—” Your breath hitched as you felt the ghost of his lips brush against the inside of your knee.

Then higher.

And higher.

Your entire body tensed.

His hands rested on your thighs, warm and steady, his breath hot against your bare skin.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

“Charles,” you whispered, barely breathing.

His voice came from under the table, low and teasing. “What is it, chérie?”

Your hands gripped the tablecloth, panic and desire swirling together in your chest. “You need to come up.”

He hummed. “Do I?”

His lips skimmed the inside of your thigh.

Your breathing stuttered. “Charles—”

Then—

A loud noise from the kitchen made him jolt.

His head smacked against the underside of the table.

“Merde!” (Fuck!)

He shot up so fast he nearly knocked over his wine glass, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, his lips red.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Charles groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “I hate you.”

You giggled. “You love me.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, mon amour,” he murmured, leaning forward, his voice dripping with promise.

“You will regret this when we get home.”

Your stomach flipped.

Charles smirked.

Then he picked up his menu, casually flipping through it like he hadn’t just been under the table.

Like he wasn’t still rock hard.

Like he wasn’t about to absolutely destroy you the second you were alone.

You swallowed hard.

You were so screwed.

—

Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen was competitive in everything.

On the track, he was ruthless. In life, he always wanted to win. But in the bedroom?

He didn’t just compete—he owned.

And tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was high-end, filled with soft chatter and the occasional clink of wine glasses. Max sat across from you, looking effortlessly sexy in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, his strong forearms resting on the table. His blue eyes flickered up from his menu, locking onto yours with that signature intensity.

“Why are you smirking?” he asked, voice laced with suspicion.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached under the table, heart pounding as you hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties. Slowly—so slowly—you slid them down, feeling the lace brush against your bare skin.

Max had no idea what was coming.

Once the fabric was off, you balled it up in your hand and reached across the table. “Here,” you said casually, dropping the delicate lace into his palm.

Max’s brows furrowed. His fingers curled around the fabric, and then—

His entire body went still.

His grip tightened.

His jaw locked.

You saw the exact moment realization hit. His ocean-blue eyes darkened, flickering between the panties in his hand and you, sitting there, completely bare under your dress.

Max inhaled sharply. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was low—dangerously low.

You leaned forward, eyes playful. “Something wrong, baby?”

Max’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers disappearing under the table. He shoved the panties into his pocket so fast you almost laughed. His

other hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

“Tell me,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Are you sitting here, at this table, with nothing under that dress?”

You nodded.

His nostrils flared.

“Jesus Christ.”

You smirked. “Cat got your tongue, Max?”

His gaze snapped to yours, and suddenly, the air between you changed.

The playful energy shifted into something heavier.

Something dangerous.

Max leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. “You think this is funny?”

You shrugged, enjoying the way his grip tightened on the table, his breath growing uneven. “A little.”

He exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching so tight it looked painful.

Then—so suddenly—he sat back, a slow, wicked smirk curling his lips.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Game on, liefje.” (Sweetheart.)

Your stomach flipped.

Max shifted in his seat, stretching his legs

out under the table—until his knee pressed firmly between your thighs. Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as he applied the lightest pressure.

Your eyes widened. “Max—”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “What? Something wrong?”

His knee pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, your breath stuttering as heat flooded your body. “You’re evil.”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you get away with this.”

His fingers drummed casually against the table as he continued, voice slow and taunting. “You know, I was going to take my time with you tonight.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But now?”

His voice dropped even lower.

“Now, I have no choice but to ruin you.”

Your entire body shivered.

Max smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing.

His knee pressed higher, his strong thigh now between your legs, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Look at you,” he mused, his accent thick, teasing. “So quiet all of a sudden. Where’s that bratty attitude now, huh?”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost

when your breath hitched at the way he was touching you.

Max chuckled darkly. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Your mouth went dry.

Max picked up his menu, pretending to study it, but his knee stayed right where it was.

The worst part?

He acted like nothing was happening.

Like he wasn’t pressing you against the chair.

Like he wasn’t completely hard under the table.

Like he wasn’t planning a thousand ways to make you pay for this

the second you were alone.

You shifted in your seat, desperate for some relief.

Max caught it immediately. His grip on the table tightened, his breathing sharp.

Then—so quietly only you could hear—he whispered, “Do that again, and I swear to God, I’ll drag you into the bathroom right now.”

You froze.

Max’s smirk was lazy, but his eyes?

His eyes were pure fire.

—

Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri was a problem.

No, Oscar was a problem because he was impossible to read.

When he was mad, he didn’t explode—he got quiet. When he was turned on, he didn’t stumble over his words or blush—he became dangerous.

And tonight?

You had just challenged him.

The restaurant was sleek and modern, the

kind of place that matched Oscar’s cool, composed energy. He sat across from you, dressed simply in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms. His fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly as he scrolled through the wine menu, completely unaware of what was coming.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding as you reached beneath the table. With slow, deliberate movements, you slid your panties down, feeling the soft lace brush over your thighs, your knees—until they were off completely.

Then, with a calm smile, you reached across the table.

“Here,” you murmured, dropping the delicate fabric into his open palm.

Oscar didn’t react immediately.

His fingers curled around the lace, his grip firm but unreadable. His eyes flickered down, scanning the fabric like it was nothing more than a business card someone had handed him.

Then, finally, he looked at you.

And fuck.

His brown eyes were steady, calculating—sharp.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t smirk, didn’t blush, didn’t flinch.

He just… stared.

Long enough that you shifted in your seat, suddenly less sure about what you’d just done.

Then—slowly—he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

His voice was quiet. Calm.

“You’re not wearing anything under that dress.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “No.”

He hummed, nodding slightly as he tucked the panties into his pocket like they were nothing. Then he picked up his menu, flipping through it as if this was just another casual dinner.

Your stomach flipped.

That was it? No teasing? No reaction?

Oscar glanced up, catching your slight frown. His lips curled into the smallest smirk.

“You expected me to crack, didn’t you?”

You hesitated. “Maybe.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

You blinked. “I—”

Oscar shut his menu, setting it aside. Then—so suddenly—he reached across the

table, gripping your wrist. Not rough. Not forceful.

But firm.

His thumb brushed against your pulse.

You knew he could feel how fast it was racing.

His voice dropped, calm and cold.

“You think you can just hand me your panties and expect me to lose control?”

You swallowed.

His grip tightened.

“No, baby.” His voice was deadly soft. “That’s not how this works.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, sitting back like he wasn’t currently ruining your entire life with just his voice.

Then—just to be cruel—he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice so only you could hear.

“I’m going to finish my drink.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Then we’re going to leave.”

Your thighs clenched together.

Oscar smirked. He noticed.

“And when we get home,” he murmured, “you’re going to get on your knees and apologize.”

Your breath hitched.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip.

Then, just for fun, he tilted his head and smirked.

“Still think this was a good idea?”

You were so screwed.

—

George Russell

George Russell was a gentleman.

Polite. Well-mannered. The kind of man who held doors open, pulled out your chair, and kissed the back of your hand just to see you blush.

But there was a danger in that charm.

Because underneath all that posh, British elegance?

George was ruthless.

And tonight?

You were about to learn just how much.

The restaurant was candlelit, expensive, and filled with the quiet hum of conversation. George sat across from you, impossibly handsome in a tailored navy

suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone just enough to tease. His Rolex gleamed under the soft light as he picked up his wine glass, fingers wrapping around the stem with effortless grace.

You watched him, heart pounding, as you slowly—deliberately—slid your hands under the table.

George didn’t notice at first. He was reading the menu, his brows slightly furrowed, completely unaware that you were currently slipping off your panties in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

Your breath hitched as you finally pulled them free, the delicate lace pooling in your hand.

“George.”

Then, with a coy smile, you reached across the table.

He looked up, eyes warm. “Yes, darling?”

You placed your panties in his open palm.

George blinked.

His fingers curled around the lace, and for a moment, he just stared at you, completely unreadable.

Then—so slowly—his lips parted, his tongue briefly darting out to wet them.

His jaw ticked.

You smirked. “Something wrong?”

You saw the exact second realization hit—the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his grip tightening just slightly around the fabric.

George exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You are unbelievable.”

You leaned in, tilting your head. “Why? Is Mr. Russell flustered?”

His eyes darkened.

“No,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m just debating whether I should take you home right now or make you suffer first.”

Your stomach dropped.

You watched him, heart pounding.

George sighed dramatically, slipping the lace into his suit pocket like it was just another accessory. Then, as if nothing happened, he picked up his wine glass and took a slow, deliberate sip.

The way his jaw clenched as he swallowed. The way his fingers tapped against the table—controlled, measured. The way he refused to break eye contact.

Then—so suddenly you almost gasped—he leaned forward, his voice silky smooth.

“Tell me something, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Are you currently sitting there, at this table, with nothing under that pretty little dress?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

George grinned.

Not his usual, charming smile.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

George hummed, pleased with your reaction. He reached for his drink again, bringing it to his lips before pausing—his smirk deepening.

Then—so casually it ruined you—he whispered, “Spread your legs.”

Your eyes widened. “George—”

“Shh.” He took a slow sip of wine, eyes twinkling with pure amusement. “You wanted to play, love. Now be a good girl and listen.”

Heat flooded your body.

You hesitated for half a second too long.

George raised a brow. “I’m waiting.”

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts as you obeyed, shifting slightly in your seat, thighs parting under the table.

George’s smirk turned positively wicked.

“Such a good girl.”

Your entire body shuddered.

He leaned back, completely unbothered, pretending to scan the menu.

Meanwhile, you were a mess. Your skin burned. Your pulse raced. Your thighs trembled because holy shit—he wasn’t even touching you, and yet, you were completely at his mercy.

Then—just to ruin you—George tilted his head, voice smooth as silk.

“You know,” he mused, “I was planning on taking my time with you tonight.”

You clenched your fists in your lap.

He grinned. “But now?”

He placed his menu down.

“Now, I think I’ll take you home and remind you exactly who’s in charge.”

Your breath hitched.

George chuckled, reaching for his drink once more.

Then, with a wink, he murmured,

“Finish your wine, darling. You’re going to need it.”

END

hshshshsh idk why but my drafts keep posting themselves?? Like, I’m literally just editing them then it suddenly posted?!? And if not that, sometimes my drafts just disappear :( like wtf?? hshshshs its soooo annoying.

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .ᐟ

summary — life had always been cruel to ben; littered with betrayals, heartbreak, guts & glory. somehow, despite it all, the one thing he thought he had lost and could never experience, turned out to be his saving grace. (inspired by this post)

cw — fem!reader x girl dad!soldier boy, 18+ (hints of sex, wrap it before u tap it) established relationship (married). soft ben, fluff, angst, kissing, daddy kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of daddy and mommy, mentions of ben's trauma and war, mentions of drug use.

word count — 2,138 words

ben couldn't count on one hand the amount of trials and tribulations he had been subjected to over his long, arduous existence, but he needed the other one to hold and keep himself anchored to you.

it had all started out innocently. much like the other members of the boys, you were indifferent to ben. but soon enough, you discovered that you two couldn't stand each other, let alone be in the same room without going at it and screaming about "the importance of having a moral backbone" while he told you to go "shove your fuckin' modern values!" in return. but as time does with most things, it eats away at anger and suddenly, after a long day at the office and going over missions, you would retreat to the roof together and share a cigarette between the two of you. words were rarely spoken, but you grew to understand each other just a little bit more with each inhale and exhale of your shared vice.

his complexity perplexed you and you found yourself wishing to understand the man under the armour. how ben had become soldier boy and lost himself along the way.

during one particular cold night, up on the flatiron building roof, he laid it all out to you. he had told hughie and butcher a few bits, here and there, but you got the full picture. all you did was nod in return, not offering any comments like others did. ben couldn't read you and it freaked him the fuck out. he had quite the knack for getting under people's skin and staying there, gnawing on their insecurities and break them down. but when you comfortingly laid your hand on his and he didn't flinch, he knew there was something about you that he possibly wouldn't find again.

within a few tough and challenging months, for both of you and the boys as a team, you and ben had turned to finding comfort in one another. each night, either at his place or yours, you would intertwine your limbs and entangle your tongues with no care for the world around you. he would get lost in your gentle mewls, your soft pleading as he would pound into you and fulfil all your dirtiest fantasies, without a second thought.

you managed to keep your... situation quiet for a while from the others, knowing that no one would approve of it; why complicate things when everything is a already a nightmare with vought and homelander? but when the boys abruptly came back from a mission and walked in on ben taking you from behind on your own desk; you knew you couldn't keep it under wraps anymore. hell broke loose. insults were hurled. computers were thrown, mainly by ben, and you were both told that it wouldn't last long. but you managed to prove them wrong; much to your own surprise.

loving ben wasn't a walk in the park. nothing about ben was ever easy. but when your fingers interlocked and he bared his soul to you, all his worst nights were worth it. the nights filled with long discussions, ingrained toxic reflexes, harsh empty words.

"you need to cut off the fucking pills, ben! i swear to god, i'm gonna flush them down the fuckin' toilet!" you yelled as you held the baggie over the toilet, shaking them, daring him to come closer.

"you're batshit! actually, insane! i should've listened to butcher when he said i shouldn't get involved with someone like you!" he pointed his finger accusingly, a deep scowl on his face.

always turned into...

"i'll never find someone like you." ben sighed as he cradled you close, your heartbeats in sync and your breaths shallow after you furiously apologise to each other. you peer up at him and caress his exhausted face, loving how he leans in and seeks your touch.

"i love you." you stated. his eyes flew open, revealing his moss-green irises as they softened at the sight of you. he exhaled as if the weight of the world fell off his shoulders and his usual scowl turned into a wide, toothy smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, sweetheart." he kissed the tip of your nose and nestled himself deeper into you. he loved you like he did everything else; fiercely and loudly and he was sure he could never love someone like he did you. until he met her.

for weeks and weeks, this was the moment it had all been leading up to this. the final showdown between ben and homelander. you had felt incredibly nauseous for weeks, watching ben the boys strategise and devise their attack plans. it must the anxiety, the fear of the great unknown beyond their fight. until you couldn't deny it anymore. three pregnancy tests stared back at you, the severity of the situation seeped into your bones and overtaking your senses.

you stepped out and admired ben's broad back as he pulled on his suit, buckled his knee pads and gave his shield the once over before sliding it onto his back.

"are you gonna stand there all day or am i a lucky enough of a bastard to get a kiss from my girlfriend?" he hummed before turning around and giving you that infamous smirk. his smile faltered immediately as he noticed your frail composure and the look of absolute fear etched on your face. "baby. don't be nervous about the fight, come on. don't you trust your old man?" he chuckles before dragging you in and kissing the top of your head as a gesture of reassurance. "i got the boys with me, don't i darling? they've got my back."

they definitely didn't have his back.

"when's your daddy coming, sweetheart?" the kindergarten teacher perched next to the pigtailed girl with those captivating green eyes that everyone couldn't help but compliment.

"sweetheart?" the girl giggled as she eyed the playground, waiting for her dad to appear at any moment, like mum had promised he would today. "that's mommy's name, daddy says so all the time. i'm athena!!" she flashed her toothless grin and giggled even louder.

"ah, yes. sorry, athena. i got confused!" the teacher shook her head and feigned confusion, returning the young girl's smile. as if on cue, the intimidating father figure entered the classroom and the young girl wasted no time sprinting and latching onto his leg as he lets out a low chuckle. he picks her up effortlessly and rests her on his hip as he looks apologetically at the teacher.

"i'm sorry, ma'am." his gruff voice filled the classroom which is usually filled with high-pitched laughs and soft tones. "i got.. held up at work." athena pats her father's stubbled cheeks and let out a shriek of laughter as his free hand pokes at her stomach, his eyes fully on her with a smile to match.

"mr. anderson, it was really no issue. i love spending time with athena, don't worry about it."

"ben. ben is fine." he corrects. "alright. well, say goodbye to miss smith, athena. time to go home to mommy." athena waves wildly as ben offers miss smith a curt nod before leaving the colourful classroom. miss smith couldn't help but laugh to herself; somehow the toughest man became the softest father.

the fight had taken a turn for the worst. everyone had turned on each other. chaos ensued and ben was left with no option to erupt and unleash himself on everyone. luckily, with shaking hands and a trembling voice, you had called grace mallory and begged for her help. for her to make you and ben disappear so you could start again, give him what he always yearned for a loving family. that's how you ended up in south philadelphia, ben's home state. despite his denial to face and confront his past, he knew it was something he needed to be able to become the father he wanted. the father he knew he could be. it wasn't hard to do a better job than his own father, but once he regained consciousness after the fight and you shared the news you were too scared to share before, suddenly... all of ben's betrayals, heartaches and suffering became obsolete. all that mattered was you... and her.

ben wasn't made to work under normal conditions, being in an office and stuck at a desk felt like a punishment. like a wild animal trapped in a cage. he wanted the normal life he knew he could've had if he never had become soldier boy, but no matter what, ben was a weapon before he was a man. while you and athena settled into a comfortable daily life, ben was sent on solitary missions by mallory and the CIA. it was the least he could do after the fuckfest that went down in nicaragua all those years ago, mallory had explained. it was the only way the CIA would agree to help him and his family, so he begrudgingly accepted.

you pulled a pink pyjama top over athena's wriggling form before pulling her in and giving her rushed kisses all over her soft face.

"mammaaaa!" she yelled in defiance as her giggles grew louder and pushed away at your quick, planted kisses. you pulled back, gave her a large smile and brushed her wet hair carefully after her nightly shower.

"mummy couldn't help herself. you're too cute, 'thena." you laughed in return before braiding her hair and tucking her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed teddy bears. the soft glow of her sunset lamp cast a warm, orange hue over her cherub face as you gazed into those eyes that you could get lost in.

"can you tell me about where i got my name again, mamma?" athena whispers into her hands, knowing it was already past her bedtime. you open your mouth to tell her no, but a gruff voice from behind interrupts you.

"daddy can do it." ben had been leaning against his daughter's door frame with folded arms and admiring the sight of the two of you, not fully believing how lucky he had gotten. he saunters in, gives you a big kiss on your lips (followed with an "eeew..." by athena) before he sits down carefully on her heart-filled bed covers and holds her tiny hand in his.

"when daddy used to be a soldier, many many years ago before he met you, daddy was in many wars. he worked hard to protect his country and he was always protected by athena. athena helped daddy when he needed to be brave and clever to get the bad people to go back home. like those fuc-." you let out a small cough. he pauses and his eyes flicker to you, as you offer him a warm smile; encouraging him to continue. you let your hand run up and down his back, relaxing him. "fudging commies." he continues. "athena was zeus' favourite daughter, like you are mine." he continues and kisses her small knuckles. "she was the wisest, bravest olympian god and she cared for people, like daddy, when daddy needed it most."

all soldiers need a war, but not the way that ben needed his little athena.

ben's smooth voice had lulled athena into a slumber, her eyes lidded and her lips in a natural pout as her head hung. ben tucked her in tightly and placed a brief kiss on her forehead as you turned off the lights.

"daddy loves both of his girls." he whispers into her hair before quietly leaving her room and joining you in the hallway.

"oh, daddy loves his girls, huh?" you wink and stretch your arms up around his neck. his hands fall naturally into place, on your hips, as you sway slightly together with identical smirks on your faces.

"if you're not careful, sweetheart, daddy will have to teach you a lesson." he gives your ass a light slap.

"how could i say no to you, daddy?" you hum as you bite your bottom lip.

"you're so fuckin' dirty. bet you've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?" he chuckles as you lead him into your joint bedroom, swiftly closing the door behind you and connecting your lips in a frenzied kiss. "daddy will take care of you, sweetheart. lay back and show daddy how much you missed him." ben mutters against your slick lips before throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you, his hands gliding across your form and grabbing you with a sense of urgency that you never got tired of.

after all this time, you were still into him, who you watched finally find himself amongst the chaos of his life.

a/n: in my mind, months pass between the boys finding ben and the showdown between him and homelander, rather than only a few days, so that's where this takes place. also couldn't resist writing a girldad! ben as jensen is just the best father ever <3 and still into you is my favourite lovesong ever. hope u enjoyed!

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[kazrz]

TEN YEARS TOO LATE ⛥ sirius black

ten years ago, bellatrix lestrange’s child was thrown onto your doorstep without warning. ten years later, you’re not sure if you’re living the life you’d wanted — but you do know that mattheo is your son, and no one else’s. [1.6k words]

TAGS: sirius is harry’s godfather, reader is a single mum to mattheo riddle, hurt/no comfort, angst, lovers to strangers/borderline enemies ngl, voldemort died after the first war, reader and sirius are both meanies

🐦‍⬛ — everyone say hi to my baby mattheo! I wrote this fic smiling and all but best believe I’ll never have a child in the future. too much work.

p.s. this fic is inspired by ‘he looks like his father’ by @/marauder-misprint! that fic changed lives and one of them was mine.

“He’s not your kid.”

You’ve endured many offensive questions about Mattheo’s parentage ever since you took him in. They sent you spiralling downward into the deepest depths of your mind, wondering why everyone needed to have their noses in your business. They made you second guess your parenting skills, doubting how you raised Mattheo and whether he truly is the boy you nurtured him to be.

While you weren’t normally so tongue-tied in these situations, it didn’t help that your old, repulsive Hogwarts fling was standing right before you — closer than he’d ever been in more than a decade — confidently claiming that your son wasn’t yours.

It was a huge, fucking relief that the kid had inherited his biological mother’s shamelessness.

Mattheo pushed past only a few irritated students and parents on his way to you. Sirius’ words were as clear as day to him. They ignited a flame that wasn’t known for its swift ceasing.

“Who are you to be the judge of that?” he gritted out, fingers clinging onto yours by habit. You smiled down at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “Last I remembered Mum telling me, you ditched her after graduation and never reached out. You have no right to even be speaking to her.”

Your son’s words sizzled a hole into your heart. You hadn’t expected him to remember the measly details about a man who was irrelevant in his life. The last time you’d mentioned Sirius, Mattheo was merely five. He’d asked, “Mama, why don’t I have a dad?”

How could you not answer him?

Eighteen years ago, you would have laughed if someone said you’d be a single mother. Sixteen years ago, you would have laughed, along with Sirius, at the prospect of being parents.

Ten years ago, you held in your distaste for children and took in a three-year-old.

And you wouldn’t let the man who’d left your heart in pieces disregard the hard work you’d put in.

Sirius’ dry laugh left you clenching your teeth, hands itching to curl into fists and punch him square in the face. “Stay out of this, kid,” he snapped, not even bothering to glance at Mattheo.

You sent him a right hook straight to his chiseled jaw, hearing a soft crack sound at the impact.

Silence fell over the courtyard like a thick, suffocating blanket, but not before gasps echoed from every corner of the open space. Sirius held trembling fingers to his left jawbone, lips parted in absolute bewilderment. He stared off into the empty space beside Mattheo.

A few rustles sounded as someone shoved past students clad in their black robes. Harry froze, halting just before he ended up in the middle of the ongoing catfight.

A dazed Remus materialised from behind him, eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“YN,” the lanky man rasped, eyes flitting between you and his best mate. Sirius still had his hand pressed to the side of his insolent-looking face, but now he was glaring you down, brows virtually stitched together. “YN, you’re here.”

Mattheo tugged on your arm and you stepped back, the greater distance between you and your ex clearing the haze from your mind. You tried not to roll your eyes at Remus’ quite apparent observation.

“Yes, I am, Lupin.” The edge in your voice gave way to pure rancour, eyes hardening when Sirius righted himself with a groan. You had half the heart not to utter the next few words. “You’re not the only one with a child.”

By now, the prying eyes of passers-by had redirected somewhere else, no longer interested in your dispute with two of the Marauders.

Remus’ gaze lingered on Mattheo — his dark curls, his defined brows, his nose, the scar that marred his cheek intimidatingly. He looked close to nothing like you, save for his body language, graceful yet sharp, and his clothing choices, casual yet sophisticated.

Even if the kid wasn’t your blood, it was painfully blatant that he was raised by you.

The professor swallowed the lump in his throat. “Riddle’s yours?” The question was stupid, but he was too dumbfounded to think of another one.

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. You relished in seeing him wince at the pain that struck his jaw. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to rip him apart.

“You might wanna stop there, Moony, or she’ll have you puking out your guts,” Sirius sneered, the unfamiliar sound sending a tremble down Harry’s spine. His godfather had never been so agitated before. It might’ve just been your presence that irked him, given the woeful tone Sirius would adopt whenever he shared stories about your relationship back then.

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone claim your son isn’t really yours, would you? Because Harry isn’t your son. He’s your dead best friend’s son.”

A brief flicker of hurt crossed Sirius’ grey eyes. It tugged at your heartstrings, but you shoved the feeling aside. You had no compassion for him. He’d shattered you — how could you possibly go back to him?

Mattheo turned to you with a plea in his eyes. While he normally would contribute with some snarky comments of his own, he didn’t want you getting into a brawl. Especially when this was the topic at hand.

“Mum,” he tried, voice firm but holding a semblance of vulnerability he’d only ever show around you. “Don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

At that, Sirius whipped out his wand and jabbed at your chest with the tip. Mattheo almost broke the man’s ribs, but you pushed him aside before he could get caught in the altercation.

The former Gryffindor looked nearly like a rabid dog with the way he snarled and growled, wand tip digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Not worth it? That’s what I was to you? What you told your son I was?” His voice sank deeper than the depths of the ocean. Harry didn’t recognise the man who looked like his godfather.

You gripped his wand tight, nearly snapping it in two if Sirius hadn’t yanked it away harshly. “The moment you abandoned me on my own doorstep, you became a stranger!” you raged, keeping your volume in check before another crowd formed. “When you didn’t call, or even send a bloody letter, I gave up waiting on you. What could I do? Cry all night because you weren’t there to hug me? Trudge around my house blindfolded because everything reminded me of you? I knew better than that. I moved away, and you weren’t there to stop me. So why are you here now, claiming my kid isn’t mine and acting offended that he thinks you’re of no worth to me?”

Mattheo held his breath when you spat the words you’d been holding in for years. He knew you were tenacious and resolute in all your glory, but he’d never witnessed you so livid. He had little to no knowledge of how Sirius had left you so wounded and exposed, though now, your words began assembling the puzzle pieces he’d collected over the years.

He noticed whenever you stopped for a moment, looking longingly at an object that meant nothing to him, but a lot more to you. You would sometimes, subconsciously, style his hair differently when it grew too long. Right now, as he glanced between you and Sirius with his waves, he realised why.

“Seriously, Sirius?” He heard the crack in your voice when your ex didn’t respond. Out of guilt or fury, he didn’t know. “You made your decision, and I have made mine.”

You shoved the dark-haired man off of you, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing. Remus darted forwards, barely managing to catch Sirius in his arms, sparing him from the unforgiving impact of the ground. Hushed whispers were exchanged as the latter righted himself, sending you a glare while holding his injured jaw.

It was only after a quiet, indignant huff that you turned to your son and placed benign hands on his shoulders.

Leaning down slightly, you brushed a stray hair away from Mattheo’s forehead, smiling as tenderly as you could. “Are you ready to leave, Theo?” you murmured sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous bite. The sudden shift in tone induced whiplash.

Mattheo flashed a charming grin that reminded Remus of your own. Whatever Sirius had said about the Slytherin boy not being your son was possibly the most erroneous statement ever uttered.

You mirrored his expression, though yours was gentler and didn’t reach your eyes. Your son’s enthusiasm flickered for a moment, but when you stood to your full height and led him away, Mattheo began cheerfully rambling about the recent happenings at Hogwarts and his own escapades.

Sirius couldn’t believe that he’d just seen you for the first time in more than a decade. He especially couldn’t fathom the fact that it had gone terribly.

He shouldn’t have said Mattheo wasn’t your kid. That isn’t something you say to your ex you’ve been thinking about for sixteen years after you ditched her. Now that he’d put it that way, he realised how horribly he had acted towards you and your son.

Your son. It was a foreign term to him, principally when it came to you. The you he’d known in Hogwarts had an unyielding repugnance for children. But, he figured, you were really only averse to the toddlers who didn’t listen. You must have raised Mattheo well.

“That was awful,” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow at his godfather. Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face and wincing when his jaw decided it was too much.

He sighed, brows stitched together. “I know.” But what did it matter?

Remus patted him on the back. “If you’re lucky, you might see her again,” he reassured his friend, though skepticism snuck between his words.

“If she even wants to see me again.”

Harry had a feeling that you didn’t.

navigation ⛥ sirius black

[tobeholyistobeempty]

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

so fucking obsessed with the idea of a you x ghost lovers-turned-enemies who just can’t stay the fuck away from eachother. it’s gross and it’s toxic and it’s brutal and it’s probably more insane than it should be but with all the war around you it’s one of the only fucking things left that makes you actually feel alive, so inevitably you end up back under him in new inventive ways each time you cross paths.

maybe you’re working for shadow company during the time graves decides to betray 141 - perhaps you didn’t know it was going to happen because you weren’t directly involved with that mission, after all, but with your rank, ghost has a hard goddamn time believing anything otherwise - no matter how many times he turns it over in his head.

so when he sees you - rather, when you all too conveniently find yourselves in the same map dot city, some shithole for some hellscape intel search while graves and his team are still actively after them - it’s all a little too much for him.

ghost doesn’t know who you’re serving, what your loyalty is, and decides that maybe he’ll just have to get that information out of you himself.

but that’s all little to your knowledge - because you don’t even know the fucker knows you’re here. it’s been a long fucking day. you’re already exhausted, graves has all but sent you to deathrow to chase dead end leads in circles, and everything just keeps getting worse with each passing day. but it’s late, and the motel that you’re staying in has a decent bar that you think you’d like to take advantage of.

you decide one quick drink can’t hurt, can it?

ha.

about as famous last words as any. because, turns out, it can. yes, it can hurt.

it can actually hurt real fucking good when the living embodiment of every mortal man’s nightmares decides (at the most convenient of times, because just so happens you left your gun back in your room) that he’s got questions for you, and isn’t too fucking keen on waiting for answers.

he strikes when the lights have gone out and the bar has closed. when the motel has fallen silent and the only noise is your footsteps as you creep down the hallway that leads to your door. you, however foolishly, drop your guard, thinking you have fuck all to worry about at this point - when suddenly the shadows by your door shift, and the owner of the hand that has the muzzle of a fucking gun pressed to the back of your head tells you that your mistake was waiting until so late, coming here so alone, and not realizing that the shadows in this place are not empty but instead filled with men that can see you just a little bit better than you can see them.

but when the voice sinks in, and you merely smile - dread subsiding as you ask him what took him so damn long to find you - he decides he isn’t too fond of the response. you’re inside your decrepit room only in a few moments after that, tied to a chair, and he’s just looking at you like he can’t quite figure out what’s so damn funny.

you let him have the win, you always do. you know that despite it all, when he’s infront of you like this, it’s never as ghost.

simon riley could never hurt you. not truly.

“who knows you’re here?” he husks, pale eyes surveying the room in a quick sweep. for show, you’re sure. he mapped every inch of this room before he’d even stepped foot inside.

you suck your teeth, fighting to let that shit-eating grin spread. “you mean like, my mom? dad? sister—“

“watch it.” he cuts you off, and the muzzle made of cool steel is pressed at the side of your jaw, shifting your head, turning it away from his. “y’know how i feel about tha’ smart fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“stupid questions get stupid answers.” you reply back sweetly, tilting your head a little so the steel digs in harder, amplifying the ache for the hell of it. “you’ve got a gun at my jaw, LT. talk to me straight.”

there’s silence, until there’s a hum - he shifts then, crouching beside your chair, stalling at eye level with you. “talk t’ya straight, huh.”

“you act like i don’t know why you’re here.” your chest feels tight, with the way he’s looking at you. it’s a battle with an army of its own to push it down. “you’re looking for the big man, aren’t you? graves. heard he—“

the press of his gun softens momentarily as his free hand finds the other side of your jaw, tilting your eyes back to him, forcing you to look him right in that dead fuckin stare of his.

“y’best be real careful about lying t’me, princess.”

“you can kiss my ass.” you smile thinly, and in the darkness you think you see his eyes gleam, but whether it’s out of irritation or out of something else entirely, you can’t be sure. you exhale. “i had nothing to do with graves’ little villain arc. i don’t know fuck all about it, or where he currently is. you’re wasting your breath.”

the muzzle of his gun trails down, down along your jaw and throat, sparking gooseflesh to life.

“liar.” he rasps, and despite all your moral instincts screaming at you that this is all but a shade off insane, when it comes to this behemoth of a man before you your depraved instincts are just a tad stronger. and when your thighs tense, he notices. “what’s it gonna take, mm? t’get ya talkin.”

you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding - and ghost smiles. you see it through the crease in his mask - but just when he goes to speak again, your fucking cellphone, buried in your jacket pocket, starts to ring.

“well if that ain’t just my fucking luck.” you don’t need to see it to know who’s calling. you ignored check in twice already. too busy at the bar, drowning your sorrows. “ghost, listen—“

oh, he’s listening, alright. listening to the sound of that fucking ringtone filling the space between your words. you can’t tell he’s cocking an eyebrow at you, his eyes not leaving yours as he shifts a hand, reaching for your pocket. you open your mouth, but he’s already withdrawing your phone, snorting after a fleeting glance at the name lit up on it.

he turns it to you, and you try to fight it - but you can’t stop the deadpan. no matter how much you’d already known it would be him.

graves.

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

oh, dear go—

“this your fucking idea of a loyalty test?” you hiss, and you can suddenly feel your blood roaring in your ears, your heart hammering. “are you insane?”

that’s a redundant question, you think, and ghost must agree, because his only answer is to shift the gun in a way that allows him to press a fingertip against your pulse.

you swallow - he’s checking for pulse leaps like a fucking lie detector.

“mhm.” he purrs, absolutely loving this - before pressing a button on your phone, and a low rumble of anticipation rocks through you.

he’s put it on speaker - and the second it connects, graves is talking.

“sergeant.” he all but barks, and you tense, closing your eyes at the sound of his voice. he’s pissed. “where the fuck are you? you missed two of—“

“sorry, sir.” you say through your teeth, flicking your eyes to ghost. he just tilts his head, as if he’s saying go on, show me that you’re still mine. christ. “i uh, got a little…tied up.”

there’s a brief silence, presumably as graves just stands there (you can envision it in your head, crease in his eyebrows, hand clutching his phone - trying to determine what the fuck that means) before he eventually clears his throat.

“and what could you possibly have gotten yourself so tied up with that you can’t report in on time?” he asks, and you want to laugh, because if only he knew. your hands tense against the ropes, and he speaks again. “that was a rhetorical question, sergeant. you’d better have a damn good excuse for this.”

oh, you definitely have a good excuse, though you’re pretty sure that if you were to tell graves who it was that had you so very busy right now, he might just turn into fairy dust and transport himself through the phone to try and kill you both. (keyword, try.)

you open your mouth to answer but words disintegrate as ghost shifts, standing to his full height.

you look up at him, and the blood that rushes to your stomach is something catastrophic - so disarming that you almost forget graves is still on the goddamn line. you blink, and you’re about to say something, when ghost does something you don’t expect; he tucks the gun back into his holster, before moving to the buckle of his belt.

oh - oh.

“christ,” you breathe out, before you even realize it. and when ghost shoves the phone closer to your face, you realize you couldn’t give less of a fuck about graves at this moment. “sir—graves, i was fucking busy, okay? i had shit to do. you’re the one who sent me out here, into this goddamn nightmare, to do your grunt work. should i be really sitting around waiting for your call while you’re out sucking off the general?” the silence that answers you is deafening. and so is the rage you can suddenly feel permeating the air. you suck your teeth when he doesn’t answer. “right, well. if you don’t mind, i’d like to go the fuck to bed. i’ll call in first thing tomorrow.”

ghost’s fingers drift, starting to undo the latch and you know, with your heart and bloodied soul - that he’s smiling right now.

you hear a low, rumbling growl coming over the other end of the line - it takes you a moment to realize it’s coming from graves - and the next thing you hear is the dial tone as he hangs up, presumably plotting the ways he’s going to make your life hell for the next unforeseeable future.

but then, the belt buckle of ghost’s belt is undone, your phone is tossed somewhere behind him, and you find yourself smirking up at him with glistening lips.

“now, look what you made me do.” you whisper, a lazy drawl. “always doubting me, huh. insane fuck.”

and ghost just snorts at the insult, before taking off one of his gloves with his teeth and shoving it into your mouth. you groan at the sudden taste of leather and dust that touches your tongue - but when he leans over you, lips at your ear, it’s a little too easily forgotten.

“quiet now.” he murmurs, with an audible smile. your eyes close at the sound, and his breath against your neck makes you want to scream. “no more talkin’ less you’re good n’ beggin’ f’me put that mouth to proper use.”

you want to spit at him, just for the fun of it, but settle for biting down on the glove as you shift, trying to bring your legs together. but then he’s crouching between them again, pushing them back open with his bulk, and you can only groan as he rips the leather from your mouth.

“if he finds out,” the words spill out without much thought - as you stare into his eyes. “he’ll—“

“mmm.” he hums, leaning in to press his teeth against your jaw. “he’ll what.”

oh, the things your mouth should say. but if you’re being honest, the only thing you want your mouth to say right now is please.

“i’ll - i’ll be the next one getting shot at.” you hiss out as his hands find your thighs. “christ. untie me, asshole.”

“y’jus told the boss you’re tied up.” he mutters back, and from the heat of his breath alone, you know he’s smiling again. “wouldn’t’ wanna’ make a liar outta’ y’self now, would ya?”

————————————-

a/n: the way i would let this man ruin me is concerning.

[emmyrosee]

Please for the love of all unholy don’t read this (also if you do read it, pls bear in mind I’ve only watched the anime PFFFFFF-)

———-

“Whaddya mean youre not dating!”

You’ve been at this argument for what feels like hours.

Drinks with adolescent friends shouldn’t be this… harrowing, especially not with the friends you’ve decided to pick. After all you’ve been through, after the trials and tribulations, them saving your ass more times than you’ve known, you’d assumed that now you’ve reached adulthood, you can have civil conversations about work, childhood memories, the weather, anything other than your relationship status of yourself and the one and only Umemiya Hajime.

“Please, Sakura,” you sigh, massaging your temples. “I think the neighbors heard what you said.”

“YOUR NEIGHBORS SHOULD KNOW THAT YOUVE BOTH FUMBLED EACH OTHER!” He quickly barks back.

Suo takes a sip of his water, “be careful, neighbors might think you’ve caught feelings yourself, Sakura.”

He sputters in indignation while Neiri leans over to you, “he’s not entirely wrong, you know? Of all of us, you both managed to stay the closest, and it’s not like either of you hid your crushes from each other well back in high school.”

You roll your eyes and groan at the memories of yourself and the former captain of Bofurin, who indeed played many a game of telephone about your crushes on one another, but that stopped once Kotoha got fed up with it, and forced you both to awkwardly confess to each other. The fact that your friends can remember the cringiness of your actions with Umemiya is detrimental enough to your mental health.

But right now, Suo is smirking at you. Knowingly. He’s quiet, characteristically so, but it’s clear there’s something brewing in his head.

“You, im ignoring- quit smirking at me.”

Without a moment to spare, the door opens swiftly, revealing the one and only Umemiya, dressed down casually with a bag of snacks dangling from his arm. As all heads whip to the new arrival, you feel your shoulders relax, butterflies fluttering around your tummy as he cards a big hand through his hair and sighs dramatically.

“Sorry to be late,” Umemiya sang, making himself comfortable around the coffee table, working his way between you and Suo; even in his youth, he’d always had a pinch of jealousy for you and the other man’s dynamic, a slight hint of possessiveness that came from the fact that you and Suo were close, even though you’d spent hours yapping in Suo’s ear about Umemiya constantly- not that you’d ever mention that to him, of course.

And judging by the way Suo is currently chuckling at you, it’s obvious he knows the jealousy lingers as well.

“Traffic was a nightmare, why do you have to live so far away, when I-“

“Now’s not the time!” Sakura hisses, hands flat on the table as he looks at Umemiya. “How the sweet hell did you friend zoned! For fucks sake, you’re the great Umemiya, what kind of dickhead like you gets friend zoned!”

You bury your face in your hands as Umemiya slowly turns his head to look at you, “why’s he yelling at me?”

Sou shrugs, “that’s kind of what he does. Apologies.”

Umemiya returns a pleasant, nostalgic sigh and nods, “ah yes, I recall from back in high school.”

“DONT TALK ABOUT ME LIKE IM NOT HERE!”

“Why’re you still yelling in my house?” You hiss.

Amidst all the commotion of Suo’s sass and Neiri’s feeble attempts to quiet your mutual friends down, Umemiya leans closer you, his voice low and raspy as its whispered in your ear, “you told them we weren’t dating?”

You start to smirk. In your peripheral, his face morphs from his casual smile to return a cheeky smirk.

“They’re not ready for that kind of news,” you whisper.

“That’s fair.” He gently shifts his knee to nudge against yours, a symbol of secret affection to hide the true status of your relationship with Umemiya:

That being, absolutely smitten with each other.

[hannieoftheyear]

drinks or coffee (c.vn)

the bad party takes a turn when you end up competing in a game with the friend you've been secretly hooking up with

✧˖* pairing: vernon x fem!reader

✧˖* w.c: 5k

✧˖* genre: friends with benefits, porn with plot. MINORS DON'T INTERACT.

✧˖* content warnings: one use of y/n, vernon's a waist grabber, pet names, alcohol consumption, teasing, car sex | smut warnings: softdom!vernon (but lowkey a switch), public and semi-public shenanigans (club bathroom, parking lot and inside the car), mutual masturbation, desperate dry humping, fingering, choking, unprotected penetration, cream pie.

🎧: drinks or coffee — rosé

"standing in the corner of a crowded place this is boring, till i heard your name and now i'm staying for you, we're just friends it's okay we don't have to talk, i know that you want me"

✧˖* note: the second half was not proofread. also, this was supposed to be done for his bday, but hey, a few days later is not that bad!

dividers used

don't be shy! share your thoughts!

“This party's ass." 

You side eye your friend before replying, “I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…” 

“Fuck.” Chan sighs as he leaves his drink on a tiny table by his side. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” You chuckle and put your hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting him. “Wherever you go, I go. That’s our friend code.” 

When Chan asked you to be his plus one to his coworker’s birthday party so he wouldn’t be alone, you didn’t think twice about it. He’s done the same for you countless times. 

“Still, thank you. I wouldn’t have survived this long here without you.” He replies, defeated. 

“We’ve barely been here for over an hour.” You can’t help but chuckle at your tired friend. It seems even extroverted people have their limits. 

“What do you say if... in half an hour, nothing interesting happens. We’ll leave.” Chan pleads with his eyes that you agree with his escape plan, but someone gives you no time to. 

A shout from across the house draws both of your attention. 

“Who wants to play the jeopardy game Giselle made!? There’s a prize for the winner!” 

The interesting thing you were begging to happen calls you in the form of a deep-voiced frat boy, and you both lock eyes with raised brows, knowing how you’re going to spend the night from now on. 

Your competitive spirit takes over you as you walk towards where you think the game is being held. Passing between the sweaty bodies dancing to the terrible electronic music blasting from a speaker placed on the corner of the kitchen, you feel like the win's already yours, not even taking into consideration whoever you might be up against. 

It’s when you’re about to cross the door to the kitchen that you hear it. 

“C’mon, Vernon! Don’t be a chicken!” 

Your ears perk up at his name being called so close to you, there, at a random party. Neither he nor Chan had told you he was going to be there. 

A hand drags you away from the door you were obstructing and into the kitchen, where a cardboard box with blue pieces of paper sticking to it is clearly meant to be the game. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks with a slightly concerned face. 

“Vernon’s here.” Whatever excitement you feel bubbling up inside you, you try to hide as to not be too obvious to your best friend.

Chan and you are concrete proof that friendship between a man and a woman can stay purely platonic. As cliché as it sounds, it’s closer to a sibling bond than anything else. You’d trust him with your life, and he’d also trust you with his. Being friends with him is a constant in your life. He’s present even in your earliest memories, and you can confidently say that being anything more than that has never crossed any of your minds. That's not the case with Vernon and you. 

College allowed you to broaden your circle of friends, from being just the two of you to a whopping 14 people. The synergy is top tier, and all the different types of friendships within the group coexist to find a perfect balance. 

With a group that big, it’s normal for you to form small groups when all of you hang out together. Most of the time, you sit completely opposite to Vernon. You barely even talk to each other on nights like those. It just looks like you choose to hang out with other people in the group before one another. Secretly, the stolen glances from across the room tell otherwise. 

It didn’t start that way, your bond with Vernon. You first started talking more after being paired up together for a project in one of the electives your entire group decided to take for fun. You didn’t have the chance to talk much before, and working together, even if neither of you cared much about that class, really cemented your friendship. 

You always thought he was hot. The way he went on with life, so calm and sure of himself, really attracted you to him, but you didn’t expect it to go beyond that. A group of friends so big, even after surviving a long time and managing to stay together, is still fragile. The last thing you wanted was to make everything weird. 

But months passed, and the tension you felt every time you’d end up alone with him finally reached a peak where it was unbearable. Vernon felt it as well, and he decided he couldn’t resist it any longer. 

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t set any rules after the first time it happened. Neither of you told any of your friends, then it happened again, and again, and again, and it was clear neither of you wanted to stop it. He was irresistible, and you weren’t trying to find a cure for that growing addiction.

Vernon would be manspreading on a chair, paying attention to whatever anecdote is being told, so nonchalant one would think he doesn’t understand how hot he is. And from time to time, when no one was looking, he’d sneak a glance at you, catching you red handed with your eyes already on him –you’re sure you look at him more than he does. He’d raise one of his thick eyebrows ever so slightly, only for you to notice, and that feeling at the pit of your stomach would burst into flames. 

When the hang out stretched until it was too late in the night, he'd offer to take you to your place, using the late hour and your need to take the public transport as an excuse, you’d get on his car with no suspicions, and you’d always end up in the apartment that’s closer, ripping each other’s clothes off in between desperate kisses that you’d been suffering to hold out on.  

Other times, when instead of a chill hang out, the group decided to go out to the club, both of you would mysteriously disappear at the same time, hiding in any available toilet stall with no care in the world, moaning into each other’s ear hoping the music drowns out the sounds. 

Unless you’re just bad at disguising your meet-ups, Chan's the only one who knows of that other aspect of your friendship with Vernon. The only time he ever spent the night at your apartment, Chan showed up to your building unannounced and caught Vernon leaving in a hurry with the same clothes as the night before. 

“You asshole! You told me you had other plans tonight!” Chan sees him first, entering the very same room just behind you, and he goes for a man hug after raising his eyebrows at you. 

Chan had his concerns at first, same as you, about the wellness of the friend group, but he quickly realized nothing much had changed in the dynamics except your late night activities, so he just moved on to tease you about it any chance he got.

“Sorry, bro, I didn’t think it’d be the same party.” His low voice quickly stirs something inside you. The party’s not boring anymore and you’re staying until you get what you want.

“Good thing we know someone else here!” With your best friendly smile, you turn around to say hello. “Hi Vern.”

You’ve always greeted your friends with a kiss on the cheek, so it's not out of the ordinary to do it with him too. But when his hand tightens a little more than normal on your waist, and your lips remain a millisecond longer on his cheek, the temperature inside the room rises noticeably. 

“Are you guys playing?” Vernon asks after letting go of his grip on you. He looks at Chan to wait for his answer as well, but you want to believe the lingering of his stare on your form before turning to your friend means something.

“Of course.” The teasing roll of your eyes matches with the appearance of Giselle in the kitchen. “And I’m ready to beat whoever stands in my way.”

Noise erupts as Giselle begins drawing the names that’ll play against one another, and you and Vernon end up on opposite sides of the dashboard. 

“Sounds good.” The defying stares you share hold something behind them only you two, and Chan, know about. “Let’s meet in the final.”

Even Giselle, the birthday girl who planned the whole game, was impressed by the interest everyone showed in playing. After a while, even the people who refused at first started joining to watch the matches, whispering the correct answers to their friends and laughing at anyone who doesn’t know basic facts.

“What is the real identity of the Marvel character known as Deadpool?” Giselle reads the question under the last blue sticker.

“Shit, I don’t know! I don’t watch marvel movies!” The long-haired girl shouts, defeated as all of her friends boo her, losing at the last question.

“You can take it!” Giselle points to Vernon, who she was up against.

“It’s Wade Wilson.” Vernon answers with a smirk and nods while everyone claps at him, even the girl’s friends.

“That’s cheating! He didn’t say ‘what is’!” You’re pretty sure she’s Giselle’s girlfriend, judging by the way she grabs her hand and attacks her with puppy eyes.

“You didn’t say that for any of your questions, dummy.” Giselle kisses her on the cheek as she pouts. “Okay! Let’s see who’s the finalist against…”

“Vernon.” He chuckles, reminding her of his name.

“Vernon! Who’s going up against Vernon!” She reads her list, adding the points you hope she annotated correctly.

She looks around, drunk enough to have forgotten your face already. “Y/N?"

“Woohoo!” Chan shouts behind you, also too drunk. “Go crush him!”

Vernon throws Chan a look and he just shrugs, finishing the drink in his hand.

While Giselle tries to set up the last board on the counter, in between all the people doing tequila shots and others annoying her on purpose, Vernon rests his hips beside yours on the island, too close for it to be a coincidence.

“What do I get when I win?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath tingling down your neck.

“You mean when I win? And she said there would be a prize.” It’s been at least an hour since your last drink, but turning your face and seeing his so close almost makes you pass out.

“If I win, you’ll spend the night at my place.” The corner of his mouth lifting just slightly has something of a mesmerizing effect, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips.

“That’s no punishment for the loser.” You only reply, trying to keep going with his game.

“I didn’t say it had to be a punishment for you, only what I want.” There’s no arguing that logic, and luckily, Giselle calls your names before you have to figure out what to answer.

“Fair game?” You stretch your hand forward, and he shakes it slowly, electricity flowing through your veins as your cold skin melts with his.

“You haven't said what you want if you win.” Giselle's voice trying to get your attention is barely a murmur in the background.

“I'll think about it.” Now it's your time to smirk, registering Giselle deciding to choose the questions herself and asking Vernon the first one. “You should focus on answering correctly.”

“Game on, princess.” When he turns to answer, so fast he had clearly heard the question before it was repeated, you can’t help but keep your eyes on the side of his face.

“What song has spent the most weeks at number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100?”

“Old Town Road!” You hear his answer before you’re even done registering the question yourself.

It's ruthless. You both fly through the questions as if your lives depended on it. Every correct question you answer, you cheer as if you just won a million dollars, and everyone celebrates with you.

“Which country won the 2022 FIFA World Cup?”

“Argentina?” Scratching the back of your brain trying to find any clues, you’re pretty sure you remember seeing too many tiktok edits of Messi that year.

“You have to be certain!” Giselle helps you, not wanting a man to win.

“Yes! Yes, Argentina.”

The game’s head to head, neither of you answering anything wrong, until…

“What is the highest-grossing film of all time?”

“Is it Endgame?” Vernon thinks out loud after a few seconds.

“Wrong!” Giselle doesn’t give him a second chance, and you just scream.

“It’s Avatar!” With your hands in the air, you jump excitedly with Chan as he mocks Vernon. “How does a self-proclaimed cinephile not know this?”

He looks too relaxed to be losing, hands in his pockets as he just watches you celebrating the steal.

Between the two of you, you’re definitely the more competitive one, but it’s a little too suspicious for him to not even argue with your taunting. He’s getting his points back, and you have to get your head on the game again.

“What is Eminem’s real name?”

The question takes you by surprise, and not even your extensive tiktok knowledge is helping you with this one. Your eyes drift to Chan, but he seems just as confused as you.

“Is that not his last name?” You ask, knowing you just lost that question. Giselle says nothing and just stares at Vernon.

“Marshall Mathers.” The male audience cheers for him, seemingly a boy versus girls game now.

A hand pats your shoulder, and Chan spawns to your right, sighing as if you already lost. “It was a good game.”

“There’s one more question left, asshole.”

“Yeah and it’s his.” He says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no way he won’t know it.” 

Giselle doesn’t help the situation as she reads the last question and exclaims, “fuck! I left the easiest for the end!”

A choir of drunk shouts telling her to change it and others telling her to just read it out loud fill the room. From the corner of your eye, you see Vernon raising an eyebrow at Chan, feeling like he’s already won.

“Which Jonas brother has Taylor Swift dated?” All the boys around you cheer, knowing the answer and trusting Vernon knows it too. The girls ‘boo’ him as he’s thinking. 

“Nick?” Vernon answers doubtfully, scratching his neck and furrowing his eyebrows.

“It was Joe!” You don’t even let Giselle speak, rejoicing in your win and jumping excitedly once again.

Some people clap, some people go back to wherever they were in the house before they got called in to watch the game. Behind you, Vernon claps slowly, watching Giselle trying to get your attention to give you the winner’s prize.

A white thong as wide as a thread. So small, you almost don't notice Justin Bieber's face in the center. The cackle that escapes out of you jolts your head down, your stomach contracting as tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I'll make good use of it.” You tell Giselle, who finds it even funnier than you, between laughs.

Now that the game, your main reason to stay at the party, is done, you should be getting ready to run off the house and get inside your bed as soon as possible. But a pair of eyes staring up and down your body keep you from finding Chan and force him to drive you home. It’s that kind of look that your legs can barely handle before turning into jelly. A kind of look that leaves only one thought on your mind.

The kitchen clears out intimidatingly quick, the empty bottles and cups on the counter being the only company to the silence between Vernon and you. The white fabric in your hand serves as a temporary stress ball, taking your mind off the hot body hovering too close.

“What goes on the winner’s mind?” He turns to the side, hip resting on the edge of the island.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that last question.” A chuckle to hide the nervousness doesn’t really work with him.

A man of few words, but as observant as they can be, he realized your attraction to him before you could even think of the possibility that your anxiousness to sit beside him during class was because of something else than having a new friend. He reads your body language too well for your own good.

“Maybe, I just wanted to let you win.” He lies, the smile slowly forming at the sight of your frown telling you that much.

“If that’s what’ll help you sleep at night.” You feel his eyes on you even as you pretend to analyze the backsplash on the wall.

“Did you come here with Chan?” He doesn’t move from his spot, but you suddenly feel warmer, the kitchen too small and the air too thick.

“Maybe… Why?” The answer is obvious.

The answer materializes in the way he tilts his chin down so his eyes can rest on your parted lips, in the corner of his mouth lifting at your hitching breath, and in his hand scattering in his pocket to find his car keys.

“Just thinking he’s going to miss you when you leave with me.”

It’s always a different kind of anticipation when he talks about having you out loud. The little secret between the two of you being out in the open, even if it was only for you to hear, paints the whole of your cheeks a faint pink.

“This party sucks anyway.” You’ve started walking away from him, looking back to find him on the same spot behind you with a knowing smile. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll see you outside.” His free hand finds its way to the side of your waist, the flimsy fabric of your dress doing nothing to hide the heat emanating from you. “Let him know so he doesn’t worry.”

Vernon walks past your frozen body standing by the edge of the door, crossing the nearly empty living room, passing where Chan’s sitting with a couple of men you know you should know the names of, saying goodbye to him too.

“Should I ask?” Chan questions when he lays his eyes on you, with your jacket on and suspiciously ready to leave after Vernon.

“We're just getting more to drink! People drank everything already.” The dumb excuse gets past Chan’s friends, but he naturally doesn’t buy it.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive!” Chan shouts as you head to the entrance, mocking the blatant lie you told.

“We'll get some coffee then.” With your hands on the doorframe and half your body already out the house, you wink his way and he just rolls his eyes.

The parking lot beside Giselle’s house is full of her guests’ cars, but not a soul’s visible at this hour in the night. The music can still be heard even as you get further away from the source, searching for the familiar car and the all too familiar friend of yours.

“Lost?” Vernon’s voice reaches you from the side, and you turn to find him resting against his car, waiting for you like a gentleman.

“You should get a red car. That way, I can recognize it from further away.” The slow steps you take towards him cause no visible reaction. But when you’re within arms reach, he’s trapping you against the backseat door in no time.

“Duly noted.” Vernon’s hands wander inside your jacket, attempting to slip it off you without breaking eye contact.

“You really can’t resist me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he does his best to throw your jacket through the driver’s window and inside the car.

“I don’t try to.” His dark eyes hypnotize you into being unable to utter a witty reply, solely focused on his face so close to yours you could count his eyelashes.

But his lips go nowhere near yours, heading down your neck in a teasing trail of kisses leaving you gasping for air. You moan as his arms press your body further against his, as if leaving marks on your sensitive skin wasn't enough for him.

“You haven't told me what you want as your prize.”

His voice reverberates down your spine, followed by a groan as your fingers thread with the hair at the back of his head. You're a mess of tangled limbs against the cold metal of his car, his hands roaming your body in their quest to make you crave him even more.

“For you to stop teasing me.” At that, he halts his assault on your neck, raising his head to pierce through you with his fiery gaze.

“Oh,” he tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raised as he taunts you, “but you like that, don't you?” One hand slips between your chests, finding its way inside your dress to let his fingers feel the wet patch on your panties. “You like how it feels when I tease you?”

The back of your head hits the car window just behind you at his touch, and his fingers slide over your covered core, making you gasp over essentially nothing.

His body’s still so close you barely have to move to finally connect his tempting lips with your needy ones. Your lips melt instantly with his, moving over yours the way he knows will have you sighing in his mouth. One swipe of his tongue on your lower lip and you're done for.

The sheer lack of shame he has as he presses his body harder against yours, moaning against your lips when you tug at his hair, only burns the fire inside you hotter. It's as if he wanted for every stranger that dared to wander around to know you're his.

Vernon’s hand between your legs plays with you like his favorite toy, knowing exactly where to press, graze, and circle, but stopping the second you grind on his digits, asking for more. He makes it easy to want him, to render to his touch as the world around you dissolves into a meaningless void.

How could you care about anything else when his fingers sneak into your bare core, your dress hoisted up your legs far more than what’s considered publicly decent, smearing your arousal in circles as his mouth does a lousy job at drowning your sounds.

But Vernon’s no innocent man. He pushes you to the edge while the grind of your hips against his hand breaks down his calmness. His legs slot between yours in a desperate attempt to hold you closer, for you to feel his growing hard on the crevice of your inner thigh. He’s as hungry for your touch as you are for his.

His coated fingers tease your opening, ready for him since you heard his name, and invite you to do the same.

Somehow, between the pressing of your chests against one another, the frenzy kiss sucking all the air from your lungs, and your leg wrapped around Vernon’s hips to try and impossibly push him closer to you, your hand sneaks under the layers of clothes hiding him. Your fingers grazing his hot skin contract the muscles in his abdomen, preparing himself to be touched where he needs it most.

When he finally slips two fingers inside you and you wrap your hand around his length, both of your mouths stop working, parted lips soft over the other, in awe at the other’s touch. The rush of adrenaline dies down, time stopping as you each savor the other’s strokes.

It’s not long before Vernon decides he needs to be inside you or he’ll explode.

“I want you to ride me, princess,” his breathless whisper brushes against your gasping lips, “can you do that?”

Your answer comes in both of your hands rushing to unbutton his goddamn shirt and trying to zip down his jeans in one movement. Vernon just chuckles at your eagerness, dreadly removing one of his arms from your body to unlock the car and open the door you’re standing against.

The leather seat caves under your weight, Vernon sitting under you, his both hands feeling your back as you try to close the door for a silver of privacy.

He can't get enough of you, his hand slotting on the side of your jaw to guide your face back to his. You chase after his bruised lips, melting on top of him with your hands on his bare chest, soft grinds on his growing hard, making him groan against you.

With your hair a mess because of him, he brushes it back, making you halt your movements to see what he does next. You swallow hard as his hands drift down your body until they reach where you’re almost connected, where your wet panties are beginning to stain his lap. But he doesn’t stop at your core. Instead, he unbuckles his belt in record time, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his hard to spring out.

“You look so good on top of me.” He dares to say, and you might argue he looks even better under you.

Bloodshot lips from your teeth giving into their desires, shirt half open down to the buttons you never reached, slightly scratched abs that welcome the slap of his angry red cock. A sight you'll never get tired of seeing.

“I think I know what I want as my prize.” You declare, getting a hold of his length and lifting your hips to line him up with your entrance.

“Whatever my girl wants.” He almost stutters at your doing, his nonchalant persona faltering with your touch.

You ignore the butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach at his words, concentrating on sliding down his hard until you're sitting on him and his tip reaches the deepest parts inside you.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you whisper into his ear, the filthy words being a secret between you two, “fill me up.”

His hands squeeze your hips, urging you to move and get what you want, helping you bounce on him as hard as you can.

“How long do you think you can last?” You can feel the car jumping at your rhythm,  and Vernon fights to not let a loud moan get out as he asks. “Because I won’t last long if you keep going like that.”

The straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, hypnotizing the man below you and driving him to try and fix them, but he quickly finds his hand going up your neckline, wrapping his fingers around your neck as you moan at the stimulation.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath as your walls clamp impossibly harder around him, and he has to thrust his hips up to match your pace.

When he realizes the pressure of his fingers on your neck, he mumbles a quick apology, but you stop his hand on its way down.

“Do that again.” You see his lust filled eyes turn into something more, darker, as he understands what you want.

The air going into your lungs is quickly restricted, Vernon’s hand below your jaw applying the pressure that has another wave of arousal flushing out of you. The grind of your hips restarts as best as you can, as he keeps thrusting up with more force each time.

Every thrust, every touch, and every sound  from him combine to accelerate your pending orgasm. Your legs quiver with tiredness, and he has to let go of his grip on your neck to wrap his arms around your waist and finish the job.

With your chests flushed, his unrestricted moans right against your ear, and his cock hitting relentlessly that exact spot that has you screaming, you cream on Vernon’s cock as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight.” His hips stutter as you clamp around him purposely.

“I want to feel you, Nonie,” the nickname slips out of you, and judging by the guttural groan he lets out, he likes it. “Cum inside me.”

You always loved the feeling of him twitching inside of you, dizzying and addicting, and when he paints your insides with his cum at your request, you know you'll never want it any other way again.

There's a beat of silence after you get off of him and sit by his side, the ruffling of his jeans as he zips it back up, being the only sound filling the steamy car. And you can't help but chuckle.

“Are we always that desperate?” The casual talk comes out easy in the midst of your breaths regulating.

“I think we went all out tonight.” He turns his head to your side, and your laugh turns into a soft smile, replicating his.

It’s always a mess of different feelings running around your heart as your post-sex mind finally realizes what just happened. And you always hope that what you see behind his gaze is a similar thought process.

“Do you still want to get some coffee?” He asks, smile not leaving but definitely teasing you with an eyebrow raised.

“You heard that?” The pink blush comes back to your cheeks after being caught red-handed.

“I'm not the fastest walker, I was barely a few steps away from the door.” His admission is for sure turning your whole body red in embarrassment. “But I am down for a cup of coffee if you want.”

He shows that warm smile he knows can get him anything he wants, and you nod without even thinking.

“You can drop me off at my place after.”

He doesn't take you to your apartment after. His place is closer anyway.

thank you for reading! you can check out my masterlist for more of my works and my wips list to see what’s coming next!

and don't forget to leave your thoughts ♥︎

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This: Part Six

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: angst, mild violence

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: shits only going to get 10x messier from here 😭 if you would like to be tagged, please click here 🤍

“Roman, please don’t!” 

The situation was to the point of no return. Zoe watched in horror as Roman lunged at Daniel, spearing him to the ground. One thing she knew for certain, was that trying to get in between to physically stop them would be a stupid and unwise decision. 

Daniel used his arms to block himself as Roman began to repeatedly throw punches at him. “The fuck is wrong with you!” His attempts to get off the ground worked to no avail, because Roman’s size and weight had him pinned down. 

“You think this shit’s a game, I warned you to stay the fuck away from her!” Roman’s current demeanor was something Zoe had never seen before, it was almost as if he was taking out his pent up anger on Daniel. She could feel the air grow thick as the sound of his blows echoed through the quiet hallway.

“Man, fuck you!” Daniel elbowed him in the face as hard as he could, quickly scrambling off the ground as Roman briefly fell back.

“Please stop!” She pleaded. Zoe began to hear gasps and murmurs as people slowly began to surround them, it was the absolute last thing she fucking needed.

Tears formed in her eyes as the fight began to escalate, she felt helpless. Zoe looked down the hallway hoping to find any source of help and to her surprise she saw Bianca and Jade making their way towards the commotion. “Please get security!” They nodded and quickly took off in search of assistance. 

Out of nowhere a familiar voice grabbed her attention. “M—My tribal chief this isn’t w-worth it!” Zoe turned to see Paul Heyman, his chunky cheeks were bright red as he watched in disbelief. Solo wasn't far behind him, silently pushing past the nosy crowd of people who just quietly observed. 

He made his way over to Roman, wasting no time in attempting to restrain him. “This ain’t the time or place chief…”

“You better listen to your sidekick pretty boy, ‘cause you damn sure ain’t getting rid of me that easily this time,” Daniel sneered. 

And as if things couldn’t get any fucking worse, Daniel continued to poke at an already pissed off Roman.

“Seems to me like you’re an insecure bitch who’s scared your girlfriend might be getting a little bored of that weak ass tribal dick,” he spat.

What the fuck. Zoe felt her heart drop to her stomach, to say she felt embarrassed and humiliated would be an understatement. At this point she wondered if this man had a fucking death wish. 

Solo paused for a moment, ultimately deciding to move out of Roman’s way. In a matter of seconds Roman lunged at him again. Fortunately for Daniel, a few security members made their way through and began to create a barrier in between the two. 

But Roman was relentless, bulldozing past them making his way closer and closer to Daniel. More security began to flood the room to block his path, only further frustrating Roman.

“That’s enough from the both of you!” Triple H’s stern voice echoed through the hallway. He glanced at the staff who were now restraining both of them back, “Take Daniel to the medic and send some to Roman’s bus.”

He then turned his attention towards Roman, “After that, I need you to go home and cool off. We’ll talk later.” Roman didn’t even bother looking his way, let alone responding.

As Daniel and Roman were pulled away in opposite directions, Zoe had to quickly make a choice on which way to go. There was an immense pressure on her shoulders considering so many sets of eyes were glued to her as they watched her every move.

If she was being completely honest, she preferred not to see or speak to either of them. And while she did feel bad for Daniel, a part of her was rubbed the wrong way and felt disrespected when he brought her up as a low blow. 

But that was nothing compared to the anger and pain Roman has and continues to put her through. Whether people found out or not, was no longer any of her fucking concern. She wanted to hit him where it hurt, for him to feel an ounce of what she felt. 

As Roman was being ushered away he looked back at Zoe one last time, his eyes immediately finding hers.

And she could see it.

The silent and almost gutted expression etched on his face as she turned the corner towards the opposite direction, following Daniel.

Triple H turned towards the crowd who were still at a standstill, “Show’s over, you guys know where you need to be.”

……………….

“Oh my God…” 

After witnessing the fight in person, Zoe already knew Roman’s blows did numbers on Daniel. But in seeing the damage after, she saw just how bad it really was. 

Daniel’s lip was busted, and his right eye was almost completely swollen shut. Since he was now shirtless, she could see the bruises on his body that she could only assume were from Roman’s spear. 

Even though she was well aware the situation wasn't her fault, let alone in her control, Zoe couldn’t help but to feel so fucking guilty. She replayed the situation in her head over and over again, wondering what she could have done differently to prevent this. 

Maybe if she had taken the risk and stepped in front of him, Roman would’ve never lunged at him in the first place. Or maybe, if she hadn’t felt frozen in place for so long, she could have called for help sooner.

“I’m so sorry Daniel…” tears brimmed in her eyes as she quietly took in his state.

“I just… I just want to be left alone right now,” he kept his head down as his gaze stayed focused on the floor.

“I—I understand…” Zoe started to make her way towards the door, but paused before exiting. 

“Please let me know if you need anything…” after no response she walked out the room. She figured it would be best to respect his wish in giving him his space. 

Zoe has known Daniel long enough to know that he was embarrassed, hurt and angry. This is the second time a situation like this had occurred between the two. And although she was taken aback after hearing about their first altercation, she never really thought much about it. During that time, the tension between them was slightly understandable.

But not anymore. Roman crossed a line he had absolutely no damn right to. The audacity he had to even fucking put her in this situation in the first place, made her livid.

Zoe navigated through the maze of hallways backstage and outside to the parking area. As soon as she noticed his bus was still there she quickly walked towards it and banged on the door. Not having an ounce of fucking patience to wait, she swung the door open and stormed in.

“Seriously Roman, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

Roman glanced at the two medics who were assessing him, “Leave us.” They quickly stood up and scurried away.

As she waited for them to fully step out of the bus, she noticed how he practically came out of the fight unscathed. The only thing evident was a bruise on his cheekbone from when Daniel elbowed him.

“Attacking someone for simply speaking to me, as if you didn’t have your head buried in between my best friends legs, is fucking comical!”

Roman stayed silent, just like she knew he would. There was nothing he could fucking say. 

“Have you not embarrassed and humiliated me enough?” Her voice broke as tears began to pool in her eyes.

His eyes shut as he lowered his head, “Baby, I know that I hurt you… that I betrayed your trust. I’ll regret it every single night of my fucking life. I promise I’m not trying to make shit worse, but I’m not stupid, I fucking know his intentions.”

“You fucked my best friend, and you think you have the fucking right to be possessive over me?”

“Zoe, I didn’t fuck her.”

“Who gives a shit Roman! Am I supposed to fucking be thankful that you chose to bury your tongue inside of her instead of your dick?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Roman, I need you to understand this, you no longer have any right to tell me or anyone else shit. If I choose to fuck someone, it’s none of your damn business.”

Before he could speak, she continued, “You had no consideration for me the day you decided she was worth throwing all this away for. Be a man, and stand on that shit! You do you, while I do me. I’m sure your whores will be fucking delighted to have you back.” Zoe walked away without looking back, slamming the door shut behind her.

Every word she spoke felt like shards of glass embedded in Roman’s chest. There was nothing he could do or say to make the situation better.

One decision he made, broke the foundation of everything he built with her. The promise he made to her.

But he could see it. No matter how much she hated him, he knew deep down she still loved him. That’s something that would never go away that easily. 

He was going to fight for her, for them. There wasn’t a single fucking thing anyone could do to stop him.

…………….

Zoe brewed another pot of coffee as she waited for Naomi to arrive, her night was spent restless. Anytime she thought about the last conversation with Roman, she’d twist and turn unable to sleep. At this point, she was basically functioning purely on caffeine.

The sound of the doorbell snapped her out of her thoughts, once she reached the door handle she paused making sure to take a deep breath first.

“Hey Zo bug, what’s going on?” Naomi wrapped her arms around her resulting in Zoe instantly sobbing as she clung to the warmth of her tight embrace. Zoe had tried so hard to keep it together, but her tears and emotions clearly had other plans.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” Naomi set the flowers she brought for Zoe in the kitchen, and quickly went to join her in the living room.

As Naomi sat next to her and took in her appearance, she noticed how exhausted Zoe looked. Her puffy red eyes told her she’d been crying for a while now. Not to mention, how much thinner Zoe looked, the bright light in her eyes now seemed dimmed.

“How is Jimmy doing?”

“He’s doing good, surgery was a success. He’s already starting to do physical therapy so he should be back in no time.”

“That makes me happy to hear,” Zoe smiled.

Naomi placed her hand on top of Zoe’s, “Talk to me Zo, what’s been going on?”

Zoe chewed the inside of her lip and took a deep breath, “Roman cheated on me…”

“Wait… what?” Naomi quickly stood up from the couch in disbelief. She tried to convince herself that there was no way in hell she could have possibly heard her correctly.

Zoe sniffled and wiped at her eyes, “That’s not even the worst part…” 

Her voice broke as her bottom lip began to quiver, “It was with my best friend…and he fucking thinks just because he technically didn’t fuck her, it’s supposed to make shit better.”

“Oh my God,” Naomi was damn near rendered speechless, she walked back over to embrace Zoe as she began to cry her heart out.

“I heard about the fight with Daniel last night. I thought…I thought maybe you guys were just going through a rough patch or something.” This was the last thing Naomi ever expected to hear. Sure Roman has always been a hoe, but to her knowledge he was always honest and upfront about it. Cheating just seemed so…so beneath him. But that was an issue for another day, right now her focus was solely on Zoe.

“Do you want to keep this between us or—

“No. You can tell the twins or whoever, I couldn't care less anymore…”

“Okay, give me a second,” Naomi pulled her phone out and started typing, after a few minutes she put it back down.

“I just ordered us some food, I also let Jim know I’m going to be spending the night here.”

“Naomi it’s okay, you don’t have to—

“Zoe, you’re family. No matter what happens between you two, nothing will ever fucking change that. I want to be here for you, please let me.”

“T—Thank you.”

Naomi wiped some of the tears sliding down Zoe’s cheek, “I can tell you're holding a lot in Zoe…let it out. Tell me everything.”

…………………..

As the sun began to rise Zoe slowly began to stir awake, the low sound of the waves crashing against the rocks made her realize she fell asleep with the window open. The fresh breeze filled the room with a slight scent of the ocean.

It’s been one month since Zoe last saw or spoke to Roman. Since that awful night, he hadn’t come back to work. A part of her wondered if that was his choice or management’s. According to Naomi, he’s shut everyone out, keeping contact with Solo and the twins limited. 

Zoe’s tried her hardest not to think about him, but it’s rather difficult considering this being her last week living in this house that no longer felt like a home. Every moment that she spent packing, resulted in countless shed tears. So many beautiful memories that she held so close to her heart, now haunted her.

Being here simply wasn’t healthy anymore. She needed a fresh start where she wouldn’t be reminded of him everywhere she looked. Thanks to Naomi’s help, she was able to find an amazing apartment close in the area in a short amount of time. 

Zoe and Naomi have always been close, but during this rough period, she’s become like a sister to her. She truly doesn't know how she would have gotten through these past few weeks without her. 

As she was boxing and taping some of her last few items, she decided to text and check in with her mom. It’s something she’d been meaning to do for the past few weeks now, but since she’s been so consumed with her own personal problems, keeping tabs with her family hadn’t been on her usual basis.

Zoe: Been thinking about you mommy 🥺 how have you been? ❤️

Mom: I won’t lie sweetie, not the best… it’s been very hard. Two weeks from today makes a year since your dad passed…

I was thinking during that week, we could get together as a family for a few days at the lake house. Having each other’s shoulders to lean on during such a rough time, is something I think he’d want us to do. 

Zoe’s dad was her best friend, he was such a kind, loving, and selfless man. His values built the foundation of who she is till this very day. Losing him was easily one of the hardest things she’s ever experienced. Roman being her rock who never left her side during her grieving process made her eyes water. Never in a million years did she think just a year later she’d be seeing him in such a different light.

Zoe: Of course mom, wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll make arrangements so I can be there ❤️

Mom: Thank you sweetie, it would make me extremely happy if you could bring Ro too, you know how much your dad loved him. I know he’s a very busy man, but it would truly mean the world to me. ❤️

Fuck.

[rosenclaws]

So my birthdays around the bend (next week Saturday) and my sister just slept with the guy I used to like (ik, very messy) so I was wondering if you could write some sort of Wolverine revenge sex story cz I will not be participating in that !

Thanks 😭

a/n: omfg that's insane im so sorry adsfjlk; I got u babes and I hope u can go and celebrate ur birthday and try not to let it ruin ur big day. I hope it's okay I wrote the reader with fem anatomy because I wasn't sure if that's what you wanted. I hope this cheers you up a little bit <3

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, rough sex, unprotected, dirty talk, creampie, fingering

You were certifiably pissed. I mean you had every right to be. You stormed through the mansion and everyone seemed to get out of your way.

"What's wrong with you?" Logan asks, the only one who doesn't seem afraid to poke the bear.

"Fuck off." You grumble. Throwing open the fridge to search for wine or beer or literally anything at this point. Logan rolls his eyes and watches you angrily move things around the fridge.

"Jesus just take it. Looks like you can use it more than I can." He hands you the rest of his beer which you take from his hands. You take a long sip, wiping your lips as you sit on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. The anger slowly dissipating into sadness.

"My sister slept with a guy I used to like." You mumble. Logan raises his eyebrows but stays quiet.

"It's messy I know but like, it just feels like such a betrayal." You were really hurt. I mean of all people it had to be the two of them.

"I was supposed to spend my birthday with my family but I think I'm just going to cancel." You say bitterly.

"That's really shitty." Logan leans on the counter, his arms flexing as he rests his heavy body on the marble.

"You shouldn't cancel your birthday because of her."

"Well what do you think I should do?" You huff.

Celebrating your birthday sounds miserable if you were being honest. Maybe you could just do a small thing here at the mansion but most of your friends were out on a mission right now. You glance at your phone and see a text from your sister. Rolling your eyes you place your phone in your pocket, not wanting to even deal with her right now.

"If I were you, I'd fuck someone else. You know show her that she can't get to you." Logan suggests casually.

You scoff at first, of course Logan would suggest that. That man brings home someone new every time you go to the bar. But...he's not wrong. It's petty yes but you know what, fuck it. You smirk, looking at Logan who narrows his eyes cautiously at you.

"Logan..." You put on your best puppy dog eyes and he just chuckles.

Your sister has always had the hots for Logan. The one time she visited the mansion she couldn't stop talking about how hot he was. Did she have a crush? Who knows but you do know it would be a massive ego blow to her if she knew you were hooking up with the Wolverine.

"Yeah sweetheart." Logan purrs. Logan would be an idiot to not be attracted to you, but relationships weren't really his thing. In the sense that he's bad at them. So keeping things casual is simply just what's best.

"You wanna help me get revenge on my sister?" He smirks and leans closer to your face, his presence is overwhelming as his pretty eyes stare into your own.

"You know what you're asking for? I don't play nice." You shudder at his words. Your legs pressing together without even thinking.

"Neither do I." You whisper back.

Without another word Logan smashes his lips against yours. Groaning into your mouth as he pulls you into him. Your hands brace themselves on his toned chest. The white tank top does little to hide his muscles. With ease he hoists you over his shoulder and carries you to his room.

You're practically buzzing with excitement as he kicks his door open and places you onto his bed. His sheets smell like him and you just want to curl up in the soft fabric. Logan wastes no time in shedding his clothes, pulling tank top over his head and unbuckling his jeans at lighting speed. You lick your lips at the sight of him. Fuck he's like a Greek statue.

"Take em off. Now." He commands and you don't hesitate to obey. Your clothes are thrown without a care somewhere in his room. You'll find them later. Your phone is tossed onto the bedside table before Logan can throw it across the room. He looks ready to pounce. Logan crawls between your legs, his lips sucking on your neck harshly.

"Fuck!" You hiss as he bites down on your collarbone, his tongue coming to soothe the slight pain as he feigns a sad look.

"Sorry sweetheart, just wanna leave a few marks. Right where anyone can see." Oh god you don't even want to think about what your neck will look like after this. Though you quite liked the idea of showing them off. A reminder of the amazing sex you're about to have with Logan.

"Normally I'd take my time with a someone as pretty as you." He purrs. His lips tracing down your chest and stomach.

"Start with an appetizer," He spreads your legs as far as they can go.

"And feast until you're screaming my fucking name baby." He slips his fingers inside your warm cunt, groaning at the feeling.

"So fucking wet already? I've barely touched you." His fingers are like magic.

Soft whines are pulled from your lips as he fucks his fingers into you. A rough but steady pace. One that has you going insane. As much as you want to take your time, you need him bad. You want it hot and dirty.

"Logan please, just fuck me already!" You snap, the pleasure twisting in your body is almost unbearable.

"Bossy." Logan teases as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt. Sticking them in his mouth to clean them up.

"I'll have my taste next time." Your heart leaps at next time.

Logan strokes his cock slowly, pressing the tip into your cunt. Fucking hell is he big. With one thrust of his hips he slots himself fully inside. Your back arching as you try and get used to the feeling. Hands clawing at the sheets trying to ground yourself.

"Easy, I got you. Just breathe." Logan whispers in your ear.

His elbows keeping him above you. His words may be sweet but his actions are devastating. His hips pounding you into the mattress. Barely giving you a second to breathe. Your head is in the clouds. Logan pins your wrists to the bed, it's the only thing keeping you grounded to reality.

"Fuck fuck." Logan groans, his tongue sticking out a little as he chases his high. He was right. He doesn't play nice.

"Logan!" You cry as he sits back on his knees, pushing your legs up to fuck you in a new position. You asked him for help and he was going to give you the best fuck of your life.

"That's it baby, can feel you squeezing me real tight." His hands wrap around your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

"Don't fight it." Logan growls, he can see the way your face twists in pleasure, your body is reacting before you can even think about it.

He's silently begging you to come. He's close and he can feel the animal coming out in him. The pleasure seeping into his bones. Your nails dig into the sheets. Vision going blurry as Logan pulls the most intense orgasm you've ever felt. Your legs shake as pleasure explodes through you.

The feeling of your own orgasm triggers something in Logan. He lets go of your thighs and grabs the headboard. Splintering the wood with his strength. He grunts as he powers his hips recklessly. Chasing his own pleasure with teeth bared and eyes clouded with lust.

"Fuck!" He growls as his hips still. His eyes rolling to the back of his head as he comes inside of you, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"How was that for revenge? Gonna show off my art to her?" Logan asks with a smirk, his fingers tracing the hickeys he left on your skin.

"Maybe..." You mumble.

Logan lays by your side, sitting up with the sheets covering his lower half. You move to rest your head on his chest, his arm coming to rest on around your back. This was meant to be a revenge fuck, something you can rub your sister face in. But you're already craving more. As if the universe was listening you hear your phone ding. Lazily you reach for it. A text from your sister.

Can we talk??

A devilish smirk crosses your face as you open the camera and lift your phone up. Angling it so that she can clearly see the hickeys on your neck and Logan's bare chest.

"Really sweetheart?" Logan asks, amusement in his voice.

"What?" You say innocently. Logan finds it very hot, this side of you is new to him and he likes it.

You type a few words before pressing send.

Sorry! I'm busy 😜

[one attachment sent]

Shutting off your phone and tossing it onto the floor.

"Now," You sit up and crawl on top of Logan, straddling his waist. His hands grab your hips, a curious but interested look on his face.

"Does that super healing of yours work on everything?"

[dailydoseoffanfics]

⭐️ SELF AWARE FORSAKEN AU (GENERAL HEADCANONS PT. 2)

⭐️ a/n: DARLINGGGGG GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM JAILLLLLLLLL /silly ASDFGHJKL ANYWAYS THIS IS PART 2 TO MY PREVIOUS HEADCANONS ! FEATURING ELLIOT, SHEDLESTSKY, GUEST 1337, 007N7 AND BUILDERMAN !!! I'LL LATER DO THE KILLERS PART !!! (FEATURNING ALL 4 :3)

⭐️ warnings: possible ooc

reader is gender-neutral so they/them pronouns are used !

(1) (2) <- you're here!

You're a really normal fan about a Roblox game called "Forsaken".......yeah.....totally a really normal and sane fan about that game. But lately, you've noticed something weird about the characters you're playing.

The characters have varying reactions into finding out they're being controlled by something....or someone (you).

⭐️

ELLIOT (MY SHAYLAAA)

Elliot was going on his way to confront Noob about their sudden increased weariness when he noticed Two Time walking down the hallway as Elliot was approaching Noob's room.

Elliot noticed Two Time looked....deep in thought. They aren't smiling, and their eyes are narrowed, looking down in the ground. It feels like they didn't even noticed Elliot bumping into them.

....Elliot just decides it's best to not disrupt them, and shakes his head. C'mon, focus Elliot!

Back to his original mission, Elliot goes to Noob's room, and asks them what's going on, and cracks some jokes here and there to calm Noob down a little.

Something's controlling Noob, and they know by feeling a type of warmth?

That's......concerning.

Elliot's concern grew when he noticed Two Time being....more unusual. Elliot would catch a glimpse of Two Time looking at nothing in particular, their face looking like they're deep in thought. Two Time isn't the only one deep in thought though, Chance seems to look like he's in the clouds as well.

Elliot frowns about his observations of his acquaintances. What is going on? Why are Noob, Two Time and Chance suddenly acting...off? Did it had something to do with this warm, controlling thing going on????

........Speaking of this controlling thing.

When a new round started after observing his acquaintances' weird behavior, which is just, y'know, the usual trying to restrain himself when any of his teammates ignored the pizza he threw at them, he immediately felt something.

The warmth. His arms losing control and a muffled voice.....are those white strings around his arms???

Elliot felt his soul left his body for a second before immediately snapping back. My man is trying SO hard to stay focused and calm, but right now, his mind is having a mantra of "WHAT THE FUCK".

Annnnd when the round ends, Elliot is still having his mantra of questioning what the hell just happened and who was that person as he lays on his bed. Holy shit, he just wants to reunite with his family and make customers happy again. WHAT MORE CAN HE ASK FOR?????

The more Elliot thinks about who was controlling him, the more sleep he loses.....well not like Elliot has a sleeping schedule, he usually just stays up at night, so I think you just made his insomnia worse 💀(Random head canon I have for Elliot is that he's insomniac. He just wants to see his father and his sister again. He's fr trying his best 💔💔💔)

Elliot is SPOOKED about that incident. And then he quickly realizes that "oh shit am i going to be controlled by some kind of person EVERY. SINGLE. FREAKING. ROUND?????"

Yeahhhh, Elliot's kinda scared of you, but that's only because he doesn't know if you're good or not. And if your behavior seems alright so far, Elliot still got some doubt inside of his mind, but his heart is telling him to trust you.

He could even throw a smile at you for your helpfulness! He noticed that he's getting less hits and stabs from the killers so far, and he shows his appreciation by looking at the screen, and giving you a warm smile. He even thanks you for your help.

.......The response was Elliot immediately losing the warmth. Elliot is caught off guard by this, but is immediately sad about it. Awh man, did he scare you? He hopes you'll come back soon.

Overall, the most STRESSED about this situation (for a while). When he first felt some type of force controlling him, Elliot is sweating BULLETS. But later, he appreciates your hard work and also wants to know you more. Even if he's still a little scared of you....

⭐️

SHEDLETSKY

Being a former admin, he noticed that something is off about his teammates.

Noob was usually scared, so Shedletsky didn't mind. But now? Noob is acting like the boogeyman actually got them or something!

Two Time? Creepier than usual. One time, when Shedletsky went into Two Time's room to ask them if they want to eat dinner tonight, he saw piles, and I mean, PILES of papers being everywhere. It looked like a tornado struck Two Time's room, and one of them has .....a person in it? With the other half of papers being filled with.... undecipherable handwriting. (But that's only because Shedletsky immediately shut the door the moment Two Time's eyes locked with his. So uh, he didn't had enough time to read about what Two Time's writing about.)

Elliot? Normally, Elliot was happy-go-lucky and always smiling. And now? Elliot seems to always have his mind somewhere, with a blank face on his face. For Robloxia's sake, he even forgot to make dinner one time!! (..Ehhhh, it's not like he was actually starving, he totally didn't eat some fried chickens earlier.)

Chance also seems to have their mind occupied with something. Yea, he's still smiling and having a big ego, but Shedletsky also noticed Chance looking at a window, thinking about....something.

Shedletsky's confused, and frustrated about the sudden weirdness of his teammates' behaviors. Seriously, what's going on with these people?

Shedletsky talks to Builderman about what's going on lately. Turns out, Builderman also noticed as well, but he also doesn't seem to know WHY his four teammates are acting like this.

Shedletsky's stumped about this. But depsite this, whatever's going on, Shedletsky WILL find out about it sooner or later, and Shedletsky WILL find a solution to whatever this problem is.

.....That's what he thinks at first. Because during a new round, while Shedletsky is brainstorming a plan about stunning the killer, he feels....warm. And his arms go limp before being picked up by....white strings?? And Shedletsky thought that somebody laced his fried chickens with some kind of drug, because he heard a voice, despite the voice being....far away.

At first, Shedletsky tried to ignore it by saying some few jokes. Something like, "oh hahaha can't be that bad...." until his legs jerk forward, a movement that was NOT something he was in control of. Shedletsky got GOOSEBUMPS after that. Bro went "OH HELL NAH I'M NOT DEALING WITH THIS 😭😭"

Would try to cut off the strings with his sword LMAO. Meanwhile in your POV, you're just wondering why Shedletsky is trying to cut air.

When the round ends, Shedletsky wastes no time into checking his admin logs, yes he still has the commands. He's searching the logs PRECISELY, wondering who was controlling him, thinking you're some kind of hacker or exploiter.

Despite his bestest efforts, Shedletsky found nothing. Shedletsky lets out a groan of frustration, and immediately reports this encounter to Builderman.

Yeah, no. Whoever you are, Shedletsky is gonna FIGHT BACK. He thinks you're up to no good, and doesn't trust you AT ALL....at first.

For some reason, Shedletsky decided to do some kind of test of just letting you do whatever you want with him, and yea, he knows this idea has high risks, and pretty dumb, but he's going to only do this ONCE.

And YOU'RE actually......somewhat nice? Your voice is still muffled, but he could've sworn he heard a "sorry" when he got hit. You found a medkit, and even healed him.

.....Yeah he still doesn't trust you. What if you're just doing to make him trust you? So that you can betray him and torture him forever?

But eventually, if you still continue to be nice to him, his doubts will slowly melt, and he'll trust you eventually. He'll say some dialogue about thanking you for your hard work if you stun a killer (which you question if that dialogue was official or there is something wrong with your device) and when he's feeling goofy, he'll look at the screen with his epic face, while having finger guns pointing at you (or so what it looks like since he technically doesn't have fingers).

BRUH, WHY ARE YOU STILL PLAYING THIS GAME DESPITE THESE CHARACTERS SAYING THOSE THINGS THAT YOU SURE AREN'T IMPLEMENTED??? You thought to yourself as you saw what Shedletsky did, instantly leaving the game.

....Well damn. But Shedletsky knows you'll come back eventually, so he waits for you. And when you come back and play as him, he's going to ask some questions here and there.

........You meekly replied to some of his questions. Honestly, you're already mentally unstable in a way, so I guess there's no harm into answering these questions???

Even if your voice is muffled, Shedletsky turns his head away from your view, as he quietly cheers. "Score!" He says in his mind.

Overall, I think Shedletsky's mind will be between "Hahahha what will this person do i ain't scared (he is..kinda) 🤣🤣🤣🤣" and "oh shit what if this person is actually bad....", so erm, yea, he will be ON EDGE with you at first. But over time, he wants to know more about you, so he starts making jokes and casually talking to you like you've been his best friend for 10 years. He's definitely gonna yap about you to Builderman, and tells Builderman to trust you since he's CERTAIN you're a good person!!! (Builderman ain't buying it 💀)

⭐️

BUILDERMAN

Shedletsky's been talking about you for a while. Builderman wouldn't really mind if he knew you actually had, y'know, GOOD INTENTIONS.

Builderman reminds Shedletsky to not trust too easily, you never know. Shedletsky would agree....and then the next day talk about you again. Builderman would sigh at that.

Yeah, Builderman had been noticing something was going on with his teammates. It seems that Shedletsky seems to be under your influence as well.

Even if Shedletsky reassures him that you're a good person, Builderman is the boss of ROBLOX after all, so he'll be stubborn and won't trust you. He ain't budging.

....That's what Builderman thought at first. He knows the drill by now. He knows that the player is controlling someone by the strings (I'll make a separate post about the white strings cuz y not) and feeling a strong warmth, so he prepares for you to control him.

No matter how mentally and physically prepared he is, he still feels his skin crawling when his limps are wrapped around the white strings and hearing your voice that sounds mumbled. All of it just feels.....alien to him. So foreign. So.....unusual. So he doesn't try to resist you.

He wants to trust you, and I guess he is, kinda? I mean, he still would be on edge around you, but over time, he'll be more.... neutral about your presence. He guesses that Shedletsky was right after all. You don't seem too bad.

As long as you're nice and you showed that you have no harmful intentions, Builderman will be chill about you, and throws you a quick smile at your screen if he survives a round.

....You don't close your game this time. You've just....kinda accepted it at this point. (Builderman is secretly giddy about that, but he won't let you show his joyful face.)

Overall? Builderman WILL be more skeptical of you than Shedletsky, but don't worry, he'll be comfortable in your presence eventually. (Man, I think Builderman has like the least amount of headcanons... 😭)

⭐️

GUEST 1337 (i'll just call him by Guest in this post) (also fun fact: i actually had to watch the movie for the first time to try to make him more in character.....yeah i know, i missed out 😭)

Guest will eventually found out about this "controlling force" going on. He gets along with all of the survivors, so he's bound to know about it.

Initially? Guest is immediately on guard. What do you mean there's someone out there that is controlling them? How are we even certain that they're even good?

NGL, I feel like he would disapprove of Shedletsky and Builderman seemingly being positive towards you. C'mon, both of them are like, the higher beings of ROBLOX. But he keeps it to himself and doesn't say anything.

But what do you expect from a man who witnessed his parents get killed by one of the members of the Bacon Terrorist Organization, was in military, and had to sacrifice himself to defeat the Bacons? He doesn't even know if he'll ever see his family and his friend again. He's canonically stated to be the "no-nonsense type of person". He WILL not trust you in the beginning.

That's just because that's how he is. Adding on from what I said earlier, he learned that naivety will get him nowhere, so he'll always be on guard whenever he meets someone new.

He also already knows the drill by now. He overheard Shedletsky talking about feeling a strong type of warmth when you're being controlled, so he's READY.

And when he DOES feel the strong warmth and his limbs being wrapped around by the white strings, he.....surprisingly doesn't try any attempts to resist. He's just staring at the ground, and later looks at your screen.

...Well, Shedletsky did mention you didn't seem to be a bad person, so he'll let his guard down...for now.

So Guest just lets out a sigh and tells you to do whatever you want with him. And you obliged.

And...oh wow. Not even one teammate died. Even if one of them got injured, he could sense that you're genuinely trying your best, with the evidence being your voice letting out quiet squeaks of "sorry" and bodyblocking Elliot.

Guest feels......relieved in a way, and also feels a bit of happiness....but those emotions immediately dissolve when his paranoia logical side reminds him that you could be tricking the survivors, including him.

....And he's immediately on guard again. When the round ends, he's standing near a wall, with his arms crossed and his eyes gazing at the floor. You were truly an enigma. How would he exactly sure that you're a good person? And what even exactly are you?

Ehhhh, he's just generally protective. He'll learn to not hold grudges against you and will warm up to you. That's what you expected after all. But you were kinda expecting Guest to continue not trusting you, so this was a pleasant surprise for you.

Overall? Yeah he would definitely be the LEAST trustful about you in the beginning, so also give him some time to trust you. But like the other survivors, he'll warm up to you eventually. Might even defend you if anybody's talking shit about you.

⭐️

007N7

He already knew everything. He watched everything from the sidelines. He saw how his teammates were talking about this "person". About how they're controlling them.

However, 007n7 seems to be a special case. His first thought of you wasn't fear or distrust, it was....interest.

As in like, he was at first curious about you. I feel like he would be the person to ask the most questions. He's definitely going to yap to you A LOT.

However, he noticed that you didn't even try him once. So naturally, 007n7 just feels.....insecure. He thinks that his skills are "useless", which is why you don't play him. Or you might even hate him. Yeah, it's probably.

He's trying to think positively, reassuring himself that you don't seem to be the type of person to say like that. He's heard of the survivors talking positively about you!

But considering that he's an outcast of the group.....yeah, I don't he'll hold up these positive thoughts for long. The negativity will get to him 💔

BUT ONE FAITHFUL DAY, where a new round started, and during that round, he expected you to not play as him, so he just walks around, searching for a generator.

But his walking suddenly halts. And he feels....warm. And---oH SHIT, HE'S GOT STRINGS ON HIM.

007n7 was alarmed at first, but it quickly turns into disbelief.

But not in a way "OMG PLZ DON'T HURT ME 😰😰😰😰" it's more in a "....you actually wanna play as me??? fr"

(GIVE THIS MAN MORE LOVE HE'S BEEN THROUGH A LOT 💔💔💔💔💔)

His mind is running around circles about you actually playing as him, while you wanted to try something new, so you decided to play as 007n7 for a bit.

When the round ends, he runs off to the ocean where the fisherman resides, as his brain keeps replaying that interaction he had with you.

He knows that he's being too hopeful, too..... delusional. But despite these thoughts, you actually made him happy in a way, so yey :D

Overall? 007n7 the second chillest about this situation. He also wants to interact with you more, but sometimes, his insecurity will get the best of him 💔

[dancingtotuyo]

2. climbed a mountain

Landslide | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you spend the next day with Joel and Sarah

Chapter Tags/Warnings: age gap (approx 13 years), past baby sitter, consumption of alcohol

Notes: Welp... i didn't anticipate a 6 month hiatus but here we are. Thank you for your patience and your love of the small fraction of this story you've read!

Shout out to @guiltyasdave for beta reading!

Words: 6048

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket with a pretty red ribbon tied around it and delivered right to the front gates for good measure. There’s no doubt about it. 

His entire life, Joel has prided himself on being a decent guy. He does the right thing. He married Pam when she got pregnant, working himself to the bone to provide every opportunity for Sarah. He holds doors open for strangers. He doesn’t take advantage of his clients who are always suspicious of contractors. He’s an overall decent guy. Until today that is. 

He tells himself it’s just out of concern that he watches you until you’re safely back into your parents’ home. He doesn’t look at your legs in those sinfully short shorts or the thin tank top that exposes an inch of midriff. He doesn’t see what his old eyes pin as a tattoo on your lower back. You didn’t have that last summer and- fuck, he shouldn’t even know that about you or remember last summer, the Randolph’s pool party.

He doesn’t just feel like a dirty old man. He is one, because a decent guy doesn’t let his eyes roam over the swell of your breasts in that flimsy tank top when he pulled that blanket over you earlier. A decent guy doesn’t feel relief when you decline the offer to stay the night because the moment it leaves his mouth, the picture of you sleeping in his bed fills him with desire, and a decent guy definitely does not replay the feel of your lips against his. 

Joel Miller wants to be a decent man, so he pushes the thoughts out and goes to bed. He takes a cold shower in the morning because a decent man doesn’t jack off to images of the 23 year old across the street. 

Sarah has the griddle already warming up when he makes his way downstairs. He heads straight for the coffee pot, the one he preps every night before heading to bed so it’s full and freshly brewed when he wakes up. “Sleep good last night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says. She smiles at him as he fills the coffee mug. “You look like shit.”

He narrows his eyes at the 15-year-old. “Aren’t you a little too young to be using that kind of language.”

“What age did you start?”

Joel rolls his eyes as he sips on the coffee. He doesn’t say a word. Sarah smiles back in victory. He doesn’t actually care if she curses. He’s surprised she hasn’t started sooner. He curbs his tongue around her to an extent, but Tommy sure doesn’t. 

“Do you want the pancakes plain or with blueberries?”

“I think some of Denise’s peach pie filling is in the fridge,” he says. Your mom’s peach pie is legendary throughout the neighborhood. 

“Do you know how much sugar is in that? Too much.”

“Do you know how good Denise’s peach pie is? Too good.” 

And he wins this one as Sarah is already reaching into the fridge to pull out the reused cool whip container because even Sarah and her tireless pursuit to improve their diets can’t resist it. 

She pours the filling into a sauce pan and sets it to warm over the stove top. Joel’s mouth is watering at the sight of it. Before Sarah can dump the first scoop of batter to the griddle there’s a knock on the door. She looks at Joel. “Who’s that?”

“Go answer it and see.” Joel motions toward the door with his head. 

Sarah side eyes him but goes to answer the door. Joel takes this chance to top off his coffee without the watchful eye of his daughter. Sarah squeals out your name making Joel jump, almost spilling his drink down the front of his shirt. He survives with only a couple hot dribbles. Your laugh floats in with her excited voice. He can’t help but smile. Sarah always lights up when you come to visit. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I ran into your dad yesterday. He invited me over for breakfast.” 

“I just started warming your mom’s pie filling for the pancakes.” Sarah drags you into the kitchen. 

“That sounds amazing.” You say. 

Your eyes land on Joel the moment you round the corner, and Sarah drops your hand to tend to breakfast. He’s patting spilled coffee off his shirt like he’s still half asleep. Knowing Joel, he likely is. The man isn’t functional in the morning until he’s started on his second cup. You knew that better than most from the summers you started at 5 am so that Joel could finish up before the Texas heat got too bad and his afternoons were free for Sarah. 

Before you can look away, Joel’s eyes flicker to yours. You’re not sure what to expect. He was so kind and assuring last night, but in the morning your embarrassment has only grown. You swear you imagine his eyes flickering over your form, one of your mom’s shirts tucked into the cutoffs you wore yesterday. 

Before you can find judgment in his eyes, he looks away. He fills a second mug with coffee and sets it on the counter toward you. He pushes the sugar jar next to it but never looks back. You ease in just close enough to pull the offered items to the farthest point away from him. The awkwardness is better than the alternative you think. 

Sarah’s back is to the two of you as she works on preparing breakfast. The space slowly fills with the scent of cinnamon from the warming pie filling and sizzling pancake batter. 

“Would you like some help?” you offer as you fiddle with your coffee mug. 

Sarah shakes her head. “No, I’m treating both of you today.” 

She turns to face you leaning against the furthest point of the counter and Joel leaning against the sink. She doesn’t seem to pick up on the rigidity etched into Joel’s frame or the tension across your shoulders. 

“Go sit down. Both of you.” 

Joel opens his mouth to protest but Sarah cuts him off. “Sit down, old man.”

You laugh slightly moving to the table in the corner. 

Joel rolls his eyes, following his daughter’s orders. He comes to a standstill when reaching the table. There are two options, sit next to you or sit across from you. You pretend not to notice, staying engaged with Sarah while Joel contemplates his options, but you do. It only solidifies the mistake you made last night or rather early this morning. 

“Oh my god, Dad. Just pick a seat.” Sarah seems to notice his indecision. “I swear he’s going senile.”

“He must’ve stayed up past his bedtime last night?” You chime, pulling your coffee to your lips. 

His eyes snap up to yours and you realize your blunder, suddenly feeling that insecurity creep back in. Sarah throws her head back in laughter. He squares his shoulders, sliding into the chair next to yours as if defiant about it. It’s far enough you can’t feel his body heat but your body aches for it, knowing what you’re missing now. 

You keep your eyes averted, pinned to Sarah in the kitchen or the coffee mug in front of you. “When do you go back to school, Sarah?”

“Three weeks.”

“Got your class schedule yet?”

“Yup.”

“All AP and honors,” Joel chimes, a proud grin on his face as he leans back in his seat. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, but you catch the embarrassed grin on her face before she can turn her profile out of view. 

“Way to go. I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Sarah shrugs, putting the warmed pie filling and whipped cream on the table. She hands each of you a plate as well. 

“That’s a lie,” you say. “It’s a huge deal, but we can change the topic if you want.”

“I want.” Sarah says.

You shake your head with a smile, taking another sip of your coffee. It feels so easy here with them, especially in the moments where you forget how much you screwed up the night before. 

Sarah sets a stack of pancakes in front of the two of you, pride gleaming on her face. “Dig in!”

He looks at you expectantly, as if to say, you first. You nod at him, wordlessly telling him to take what he wants first. His eyes met yours, putting you in a position you’ve been trying to avoid, locked in a silent stalemate with Joel Miller and his dreamy brown eyes. Your heart beat picks up, and you feel the familiar heat climbing up the back of your neck.  

Sarah’s brow furrows, looking back and forth at the two of you. “I promise, they’re not poisoned.”

It seems to snap the two of you out of wherever you were. Joel gives Sarah a sarcastic smile as he reaches out to take two of the steaming pancakes. “No egg shells?”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Only in yours.” She sticks out her tongue before walking back into the kitchen. 

“Real mature, kiddo.” Joel chuckles as he begins to assemble his stack. 

You smile softly, before preparing your own plate. Sarah slides into the chair across from you a few minutes later. “So what are we doing today?”

Joel shrugs. “Need to run to the hardware store at some point.”

Sarah looks at you. “What do you want to do?”

You freeze, coughing a little. “I’m just here for breakfast.”

“Do you have any plans today?” she presses.

“Well no…”

“Then you can hang out with us. I feel like I haven’t seen you much. You’re all fancy living in the city now.” She wears a teasing grin that looks exactly like Joel’s. 

You flick whipped cream from your plate toward her. She gasps as it lands over her left eye. You feel smug, quirking an eyebrow at her. Next to you, Joel lets out the biggest, warmest chuckle that has your insides constricting and melting simultaneously. 

She wipes it from her face, barely keeping the smile from her lips. “That’s so not cool.”

“I never claimed to be-” you’re cut off by a blob of whipped cream to your face. Sarah loses it as Joel wears a smug look on his face.  

You turn to him, mouth agape. He smirks, licking the cream from his fingertips. You wish you could resist the way you zero in on it, catching the flick of his tongue as he wipes his thumb clean. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time. For the first time, you wonder if he is flirting with you. Your pulse quickens in your ears. 

“Am I the only mature one here?” Sarah shakes her head. 

Joel’s attention snaps back to his daughter, hand dropping as he’s back to the Joel you’re used to seeing. Your brain refuses to stop replaying the moment in your head. 

“In your dreams, munchkin,” Joel says causing Sarah to wrinkle her nose. 

Sarah turns back to you. “I still think you should come with us.”

“I don’t think you two want me tagging along.” You take a sip of your coffee. 

“I just invited you.” Sarah crosses her arms. 

“Actually, we’re going cause I need paint for your parents’ project.I could use some help pickin out paint colors,” Joel interjects, surprising you. “Your dad told me to ‘just pick something nice’.”

You can’t help the smile on your face and huff of laughter as Joel captures your father’s cadence perfectly. “Sounds about right.”

“See, now you have to come with us,” Sarah grins, giving you her signature puppy dog eyes. “Pleaseeeee.”

“Wow, are you four again?” You roll your eyes, uncertainty tightening in your chest. 

“If it gets you to come with us, yes.”

 You dare to glance Joel’s way, still affected by the whipped cream incident, the question evident in your eyes. Are you sure?

His eyes are soft and warm, the same way they drew you in last night. Your heart skips a beat and you want to curse yourself out. You need to get past this. You HAVE to put it behind you. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You know you’re imagining everything. It won’t ever happen. 

Joel gives you the briefest nod, unnoticeable to Sarah. He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to make you feel better about the whole thing, but he does. You feel like you can breathe again.

Your head falls back to Sarah, smile already spread across your face. “I guess I can come.”

She squeals, wrapping her arms around your neck. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

“We’re going to the hardware store. That’s it.” Joel picks up his coffee cup. 

Sarah’s eyes narrow at him as if to call him out on the obvious bluff. They both know she could talk him into a prom dress if determined enough. “I’m going to get ready.” 

Once Sarah is out of the room, you feel the tension grow again. At least, it does in your body. Joel seems just as relaxed as usual. Upon finishing his coffee, he leans over, stacking your plate on his as he cleans up the dishes. 

Your back is turned to him as he washes up. The running water and clinking correlle the only sounds filling the space as you look out the window. You shift in your chair, slowly gaining the courage to speak. “I can make an excuse to get out of today. It’s not a big deal.”

The facet cuts off. You hear a plate slide into the dish drainer. “You should come if you want.”

You circle the rim of your mug with your pointer finger. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not.”

You shift, not quite believing it. 

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have asked you over if it made me uncomfortable.”

You suck in a breath, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Promise?”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the sincerity in his voice. “Promise.”

Sitting shotgun in Joel’s pick up with Sarah leaning up between your seats from the back feels more domestic than you’d like to admit. The windows are down, the classic rock station playing on the radio. Joel’s left bicep rests along the open windowsill, his hand casually slung over the steering wheel as his right hand taps the beat against the center console. The AC blasts even with the windows down. Your eyes keep darting over from behind your sunglasses, mouth watering at the way his bicep pulls and stretches at the sleeve of his tshirt. All you can think about is having more, more of these moments. More of Joel. 

Sarah blabbers on, catching you up on all the summer gossip you’ve missed around the neighborhood and among her classmates, many of which you also babysat for. It’s mostly about who's dating who now. One of the 10th graders cheated on his girlfriend. There’s a rumor that Anna Hanes, who turns 17 in December, is dating a college boy. 

You scrunch up your nose. “That’s concerning.”

“Her dad lets her get away with everything.”

You turn, back pressing into the center console as you peer at Sarah over your sunglasses. Your shoulders brush against Joel’s arm. You ignore the thrill that shoots through you. “You ever do something like that, I’m locking you away in a tower and castrating the boy.” 

Sarah lands somewhere between a scoff and a laugh of shock. 

“I know how to do it too.”

“I don’t doubt you do, and where are you finding this tower?”

“I’ll build it,” Joel chips in and you can’t help but smile at him. 

“The dynamic duo,” Sarah remarks as Joel pulls into the hardware store.

“What about this?” Joel pulls out a paint swatch in shades of beige. 

You make a sound of disgust, ripping it from his grasp. “No way. My mom isn’t getting her dream updates after all this time for you to paint it renter’s beige.”

Joel shakes his head. “And that’s why I brought you with me.”

“It was my idea,” Sarah interjects, looking through paint colors more for herself than the task at hand. 

You shoot her a smile, moving to the blues, thumbing through the wall of color. Joel stands behind your shoulder. You feel him watching you, just close enough to catch the faint whispers of his breath against your neck. Heat crawls up your back. You cock your head away from him to avoid the temptation to look back at him.

“Can I help you with somethin?” you say. Why is he standing so close? After last night, he should have enough sense to know what he does to you. 

“No, just supervisin.” 

“Supervising?” Your head swings around, meeting his eyes. He’s closer than you thought. “So closely?”

“It’s my name on the line, Sweetheart. Gotta make sure the job is done correctly.” There’s the briefest ghost of a smirk on his face. 

You knit your brow together before rolling your eyes, both in annoyance and to break eye contact. It’s wild the way his eyes cut through you, driving all sensibility from your body.  “Here,” you pick out a final swatch, pushing the cards into Joel’s chest. “Get samples of these.”

He grabs your wrists, keeping your hand pressed to his chest. “Sure that’s enough?”

Your heart leaps in your chest. His thumb runs over the pulse point in your wrist. Your body reacts, hair standing on end, nipples tightening against the pads of your bra. You bite your lip. It’s not fair. Doesn’t he realize even a fraction of what this does to you, what he does to you. 

You’re not sure what he’s trying to accomplish here. He can't be flirting with you, but you’re not sure what to call this. It leaves you searching for answers, grasping at straws of understanding. You can’t escape that nudging in the back of your mind that there’s no other reason for him to be acting like this other than to tease you. 

You square your shoulders with his. Yanking your wrist free, you grab a final swatch without looking. It slaps against his chest with more force than you intend. Joel raises a brow. You don’t care. You need to escape from his personal bubble.

Sarah’s head snaps your way, confusion painted on his face. “Y’all good?”

Your hand drops as you take a step back. “Yeah,” you put on your best ‘everything is good’ smile. “Your dad is just being annoying.”

Sarah shoots a glare at her father. “Be nice.”

Joel shakes his head, handing the swatches to the employee at the paint counter. Sarah shakes her head in a very similar manner. “I swear he has no manners. We’re working on it.”

You laugh, throwing your arm over her shoulder. You pray it seems natural, that she doesn’t pick up on body’s heightened state.  “It’s not his fault he’s old and senile.”

Sarah’s sigh is overdramatic, mimicking a gossiping old woman at the weekly sewing circle. “Some people just never change.”

“You know my hearing still works.” Joel says over his shoulder. 

“Oh look, he remembered his hearing aids today.”

Joel sighs, turning and resting against the counter. He crosses his arms against his chest, once again pulling your attention to his bulging biceps. You force yourself to look away, realizing that the sooner you’re out of Joel Miller’s proximity, the better. You need to go home, back to your apartment, but even the thought of getting in your car, leaving the safety of your childhood home, spikes your anxiety. 

“Can we get ice cream after this?” Sarah says.

“We haven’t even had lunch yet,” Joel says. 

“Then we should get lunch and ice cream.”

“We have lunch at home.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, looking at you. “That’s a yes.”

You laugh. “Didn’t sound like one to me.”

“But it is.” Sarah plasters a smile on her face, that irresistible one, for the second time that day. 

Joel scoffs, turning around to pay for the paint samples as they’re set on the counter. “Believe it or not, I know how to say no to you.” 

“But you won’t.”

Joel shakes his head, keeping his back turned to the two of you. Sarah winks at you, full of confidence, mouthing, watch this. 

When Joel turns around, Sarah’s puppy dog eyes are on full display, the same ones she used this morning to convince you. 

“No.” He says, plastic bag rattling in his hand. “Let’s go.” He starts for the door. 

“Please, Daddy?” She stops in her tracks. You stifle laughter. 

Joel sighs, pinching his brow. “Sarah.”

“Come on.” You join in. You’re playing with fire. You know you shouldn’t, but your self control comes in waves. You don’t want to be alone. “What’s the harm in lunch?”

“See! Pleaseeeee, Dad!”

“Yeah! Pleaseeeee, Da-” Your lips instantly zip before it can slip out. You pray that Sarah doesn’t catch it, but the way Joel’s eyes narrow, you know he does. You bite your lip, eyes darting to the floor. 

Joel lets the silence sit for a few calculated seconds. Sarah bounces on the balls of her feet, curls bouncing in anticipation, hands clasped in front of her in a silent plea. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Providing you don’t have anywhere you need to be, Sweetheart.” 

There’s an emphasis on the previously innocent endearment that sets your insides clenching. It’s almost threatening, but in the most delicious way, like you’ve reached the end of his control, the threads of it fraying until it splits.

The heat of it is gone in a split second, turning his attention to Sarah. “Where do you want to go?”

And just like that, you’re wondering if you just made everything up. 

Joel knows he’s playing with fire. He knows he’s walking in dangerous territory, but the part of him that cares, the part that sets off sirens has been gone since you crawled into his truck, sitting shotgun with your legs exposed in short cutoffs..

You’re the one who kissed him. You’re flirting back, pushing at his buttons like you know exactly what drives him crazy. Better yet, you’re enjoying it, that easy smile on your lips. He knows it’s likely just a distraction for you, a way to make it through the day after the tumultuous couple of days you’ve had. He likes being that distraction, distracting you, making the heat of playfulness and annoyance, desire, spring to your eyes. He’ll do anything to make you feel better, to make you smile.

Joel opens the truck door for you this time, his hand at the base of your back as you step up. It burns all the way to the diner. He slides into your side of the booth, shoulder brushing yours as he flips through the menu, knee pressing against your skin as he shifts in his seat. You can smell his comforting scent, dirt and sawdust and hints of irish spring soap. It’s all Joel, all around you. You can’t even process the menu, he’s so distracting. When the waitress comes, you order the special without even knowing what it is. 

Sarah and Joel chat back and forth, but you lean back, taking it in, trying to get your wits about you. It’s not fair the effect he has on you. Just as you think you’re starting work through the intoxication of him, Joel leans back in the booth, arm stretching over the back of it, millimeters from touching your back. The heat from it grazes your skin.

 When you dare to look at him, his eyes are on Sarah. You want to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, demand answers. There’s no world that Joel Miller would ever consider you with anything other than the utmost propriety. It’s what you’ve told yourself for years, the only way to keep a handle on your feelings. It doesn’t stop the fireworks going off in your chest, but it does keep you restrained, from making the same mistake you made last night. 

Throughout lunch, there’s a couple times Joel’s fingertips brush against your thighs. The first time is when he reaches for the napkin in his lap. He apologizes the first time when your head snaps toward him. The second time feels more deliberate, there’s more pressure in it. Your fork tumbles out of your grasp that time. There’s a deep rumbling in his chest that time that only you can hear. The third time, he’s reaching for his wallet to pay the bill once again leaving you to wonder if you imagined the intention behind his actions because you wanted it to be there. 

Sarah talks you into a game of monopoly when you get back to their house. It rolls right into dinner time. The three of you are ruthlessly competitive. Even with you and Sarah merging your assets into a super corporation that has Joel grumbling about the rules, he beats the two of you. Joel offers up grilled steak for dinner and you can’t refuse, and then a movie is slipped into the DVD player.  Before you know it, the sun has set and you’re stuck on the floor well past the ending credits as Sarah meticulously paints your toe nails. 

Joel laughs, walking into the living room with two beers in hand. He holds one your way. You mouth a thank you, making him chuckle as he leans over. “That’s not the color you were using earlier.”

“It didn’t look right,” Sarah shoots back, hovering over your feet with the utmost concentration. 

“I think she’s just holding me captive.” You tease, taking a sip from your bottle. 

“Am not.” Sarah scrunches up her face at you, but you see the smile in her eyes. The one that tells you she’s been caught. 

You simply shrug at her. “Better make sure they look professionally done then.”

Joel chuckles, setting his beer on the coffee table. He leans back, pulling his guitar from the corner. You avert your eyes as his t-shirt rides up, exposing a flash of his happy trail. You don’t notice it, you tell yourself. Apparently, you’ve taken up trying to lie to your own brain now. 

Joel plucks haphazardly at the strings. You’re intently watching Sarah work at your feet, ears picking up on the music. Your heart warms up instantly and before you know it, you’re drawn in, watching his fingers glide over the worn frets. There are several scratches along the body, some deeper than others but non affecting the tone and sound. It’s the same one you’ve memorized over the years, the same one that feels woven into the fabric of your soul. Joel looks at ease with the instrument as if it’s an extension of himself. Sarah sways lightly, careful not to let it mess up her work. 

Your eyes drift close. You’re glad you stayed, exhausted from the day in the best kind of way. Sitting on the living room floor with two of your favorite people tops it off beautifully. 

Joel plucks at the strings, creating a familiar melody. Your head snaps to him with a slight look of disbelief that bleeds into amusement. He lifts a brow at you and winks. Sarah shoots up with a gasp, attention flickering between you and Joel. Excitement flickers in her eyes, and you know what’s coming next. “You have to sing!”

“No, not happening.”

“Come on! It’s our songgggg.”

“I’m not Stevie Nicks.” You laugh.

“No, but who is?” Sarah says very matter of factly. “You’re good enough and you should sing.”

“Good enough?” You hold back your laughter. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She shrugs, capping the nail polish container and fanning at your nails. “Don’t move until these are dry.” She stands, stretching out her back after being in the same position for well over an hour. “And sing.”

“Or what?” Dry laughter shakes your chest. 

“I’m locking you in a tower,” Sarah says with a proud grin, disappearing into the kitchen. 

You look over at Joel who wears laughter in his eyes. “If I’m found dead in a ditch somewhere, it was her.”

Joel fully loses it, his head tipping back as the laughter bubbles up from his stomach. “Afraid you have a stalker?”

“Did you see the look in her eyes?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make her release you eventually.”

“Tired of me, Miller?”

“Not yet.” He winks at you and your stomach dips as butterflies erupt. 

“Hey, old man, why’d you stop?” Sarah walks back in with a full glass of milk and oreos. 

“Old man? What happened to your manners?” Joel looks at her incredulously, but the humor underlying all their interactions is evident. 

“Never had any.” She teases, popping a cookie in her mouth. “Now keep playing.” She says mouth full. You hop up, snatching one of the oreos from her grasp. “Hey!”

“You got awful ornery all of a sudden,” Joel says.

“That’s cause I’m the princess, you’re supposed to listen to me. Now play.” She turns around, looking you right in the eyes. You flashback to when Sarah was much younger, ordering you around in her princess dress. It’s not as endearing as it was when she was 5, but at least you catch the lilt of humor in her face now. “Sing.”

Joel starts plucking at the strings again. Sarah watches you expectantly. You shake your head at her, already swaying to the music, letting it permeate your bones. You let Joel play through the chord progression once and then twice, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, letting the long memorized lyrics to Landslide pour out of you.  

I took my love, I took it down

Climbed a mountain and I turned around

Sarah joins in on the next line. You smile, opening your eyes as the two of you serenade one another. Joel smiles as he watches you together. He loves the way Sarah lights up around you, like you’re the sister he could never giver her.

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

The guilt topples over him, causing his fingers to stumble over the strings before finding his footing again. All that flirting, toeing dangerously close to the line earlier in the day, it had to stop. Even if he went against his better judgment, ignored the year on your birth certificate, it would jeopardize this for Sarah. He refused to let that happen. 

Oh, the landslide will bring it down

You catch his eye at the end, probably linger a little too long. You smile at him, but the one he returns seems forced. Something’s shifted again. He’s probably remembering last night. Probably changed his mind about letting you hang around today. 

Joel continues to mess around on the guitar. Sarah smiles content to listen to just the instrument now. Her head rests on your shoulder and you lose track of time like that. Sitting like this, your brain shuts off, anxiety melting away. There’s no right or wrong or mistakes here. It’s okay to sit and stare and listen. 

After an indiscernible amount of time, Joel lifts his head from the guitar, smiling in your direction, but his eyes motion to Sarah. She’s asleep against you. You smile, feeling the sleep in your own eyes, the way your muscles have stiffened as you sat on the floor motionless for so long. 

“Some things never change I guess.”

Joel smiles, setting his guitar to the side as he stands. “She can still fall asleep anywhere.” 

He leans down, and you're shocked as he proceeds to lift her into his arms without waking her. He grunts softly. 

“I can’t believe you’re still carrying her to bed.” You laugh. It’s a good disbelief. “You’re going to throw your back out.”

Joel shrugs. “I can’t bring myself to wake her up.” 

He takes Sarah upstairs and you finally rise from the floor, muscles aching in protest. You gather the dishes that scatter the coffee table, taking them to the kitchen where you fill the sink with warm water and soap. It doesn’t feel right to just leave yet, and you’re not ready to return to your parents’ empty home across the street. 

“You don’t have to do those,” Joel's voice holds a sleepy raspiness. It sends chills down your spine. 

You shrug, trying to ignore it, but your body ignites, engulfed in everything you fought off throughout the day. “It’s the least I could do.” 

You set a plate in the dish drainer to your right. Joel eases in on your left, hip resting against the counter top. You take a second before you look at him, but it doesn’t prepare you for how close he is, how close his brown eyes are. His lips. God, he’s beautiful.

You swallow, taking a steadying breath. It’s impossible not to catch the drift of his eyes down to your lips. You know you’re not imagining it this time. You wonder if he’ll actually do it. You remember the feel of his lips from last night as you lick your bottom lip. It lures Joel in a little closer. Your heart rate jumps. Is he- he wouldn’t- your brain short circuits, not letting any thoughts fully develop. Every interaction from the day floods back to you, everything you told yourself you misread. The flirting in the hardware store. When he brushed your thigh at the diner. Did Joel Miller actually want you? It was the first time you let that thought exist. 

His fingers brush over your temple and behind your ear. Heat sears where he touched. He tucks the knuckle of his pointer finger under your chin, so much flashing behind his eyes. It’s like he’s weighing his options, the risks. You want to yell, to scream at him to throw caution to the wind, but you stand there quietly watching him instead, waiting for whatever he decides to do. 

His forehead tilts toward you, almost pressing against yours, hot breath meeting your lips. Your eyes dare to flutter and then he’s gone, on the other side of the room letting out a ragged breath. 

Disappointment fills your body, but you can’t help but be a little relieved. At least it’s over. At least he’ll let you down easy and you can move on with your life now. You look away, submerging your hands back into the soapy water as you pull the plug. The water gargles as it disappears, leaving only suds behind. You use the sink sprayer to wash those down the drain as well.

“The offer still stands, you know.”

You furrow your brow, looking at Joel whos still across the room.’What are you talking about?”

“If you wanted to stay here tonight. I can take the-”

“No.” You cut him off rather quickly. “I’m fine at my parents.” That’s only half true. You reach for a towel, drying off your hands and then grab the keys that sit on the counter top. It's the only thing you brought with you this morning. “Thank you for offering though, again.”

Joel nods. You can tell he feels guilty, but you can’t decide exactly what that is. Was if for almost kissing you? Or for not kissing you. You want it to be the latter. “I’ll be there for a couple days yet, but don’t let that stop you from working.”

“I’ll be there Monday to paint.”

“Sounds good.”

Joel walks you to the door without another word. It feels cold and awkward. Joel shoves his hands into his jean pockets as he opens the front door. Another almost. Another encounter to add to the quickly growing pile. 

Your two steps out when his voice reaches you. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Your heart clenches as you hesitate, turning around just long enough to say, “Goodnight Joel,” before you’re darting across the street under the cover of darkness. Once again Joel watches your fleeting form. 

When you reach your parents door, letting it swing wide, you turn to wave and then disappear inside. 

Joel’s heart does a summersault. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk@joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa @untamedheart81 @readingiskeepingmegoing

@goodvibesonly421 @mandeepandee1997 @mellymbee @dancinglotusbud

I carried over the taglist from Woman. If you were tagged and no longer want to be, please let me know! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

[ghostgirl-22]

ok but imagine art and patrick at a frat party.. patrick’s already hyper aware of his bisexuality and feelings for art, arts still repressed as hell. theyre drunk, some guy starts flirting with patrick, art is clearly jealous but doesnt know what this feeling is (“am i homophobic? why do i care so much?” etc). patrick notices this and leans into it, starts flirting back w the guy, fucks him in the bathroom or w/e, finally explores his bisexuality. art feels CRAZY after this, finally notices hes so jealous and wanted to be this guy so bad.. crazy sexual tension ensues. idk if this is too specific but i see it so clearly….

I have been excited for this prompt forever. Idk if you’re still around the fandom anon after all this time 😭 but ily and this prompt <33 I didn’t do it justice but I had fun and so did my Colorado native heart.

CW: 18+ NSFW, never proofreading is the standard, Art is manipulative and kind of an asshole here but it’s just because he’s a fucking terror when he’s in love 😔

—-

It’s the middle of February and Patrick’s not in Palo Alto but he’s still at a Stanford event. “It’s this annual ski trip so many different frats and athletes go. Anyone who’s anyone will be there.” Art explains. “Tashi was supposed to go with me but you know… the girls won the final.” 

Patrick knows all about that. Tashi’s playing in Austrailia. Her family made it a whole trip and she’s got another Adidas photoshoot that’ll be showing exclusively over there. In pro tennis the American season is still on hiatus, he can’t really afford to call  Austrailia every night and he’s kinda bored so that’s how he ended up in Colorado for the weekend. 

He’s on the slopes with Art and his tennis friends in the daytime but that night Stanford takes over the lodge and there’s this epic pool party. The pools are heated, there’s two hot tubs. Tons of pizza in the lobby and drinks outside. There’s even a DJ it’s like a full on frat party in the mountains. Everyone’s staying in the resort, kids are making out, hooking up, trying to hide more elicit substances like weed and ecstasy from the so called “adult” chaperones. It makes Patrick kinda wish he would’ve enrolled.  

He’s lifting himself out of the pool, sitting up on the edge, half drunk when it happens. The cold air feels so nice on his heated skin. He thinks its an accident at first when this guy nudges his knee. Patrick smiles at him, just to show it’s no big deal. He grins back. He’s cute, pale blue eyes, dyed black hair, a lip ring. He’s skinny, a couple tattoos. He looks a little like the guy from Blink 182 Patrick touched himself for when that what’s my age again video came out. 

He knows it by now. What he only suspected when he was younger. That he’s bicurious. 

If getting weird feelings about Robin in that Batman and Robin cartoon when he was a kid wasn’t enough.  Then spending 6 years developing the most delicious masochistic crush on his roommate that culminated in a kiss he can’t stop thinking about definitely did the trick. Pretty boy is chewing on his lip ring, smiling up at Patrick and checking him out. And yeah, Patrick definitely likes boys. 

He’s had a little experience. Some kissing, heavy petting, dry humping another player  in the back of his jeep after a bad day on tour. Made him feel better. He hasn’t really told Tashi… he doesn’t think of it as cheating. It’s something he can’t really get from her anyway.  

“Dude, hurry, lets get some more drinks,” Art sits up next to him on the pools ledge, he’s all tipsy, wet and flushed. He looks so goddamn good right now. It's actually a cosmic joke.  Pretty boy frowns and Patrick shakes his head just the slightest bit, hoping he understands that there’s nothing going on between them. 

“Come on, man,” Art says as he gets to his feet. “I’m already cold.” They were in the middle of a game of pool volleyball. It’s enough like tennis that they’re kinda good at it. And Art’s been flirty with this tall girl, Porsha from the girls volleyball team all night. Which is probably why he’s actually in a hurry, to get a drink back to her.

Patrick figures maybe pretty boy wants a drink. They pad along the cold ground to the drinks table. It’s cold enough outside that nothing really has to be chilled, it’s nice and cold just sitting out on the table. As Patrick scoops up another beer, pretty boy approaches him. 

“Hey,” he smiles. 

Patrick smiles back. “You want one?” He holds up the can he was gonna bring over.  

“Thanks, but I’m actually straight edge.” 

“Oh,” Patrick says, not overly familiar with the term but he thinks it’s hot all the same. 

Pretty boy looks over Patrick’s body, still checking him out. “Are you a freshman? I feel like I’ve never seen you before?” 

“I don’t go here, my buddy Art does,” Patrick gestures. 

“Hey,” Art says lightly, and then looks back at Patrick. “Come on Pat it’s fucking cold.”

”Guess you gotta go Pat,” pretty boy smirks, stepping closer.  

“Patrick,” Patrick says, “he’s the only one that…yeah…” 

“Got it,” pretty boy reaches up to finger the small gold Star of David necklace Patrick’s grandfather gave him that Patrick usually forgets he’s wearing. 

“What’s your name?” Patrick asks. 

“Julian.” He rakes his hand down the front of Patrick’s chest. “your body’s kind of incredible.” 

“Okay… cool man,” Art is still lingering, and Patrick can’t believe he almost forgot about him. Art’s eyes are narrowed in Julians direction. “Aren’t you in the student government or something?” He demands.  

“Not by choice, I’m just a genius at math and my friend is VP so they made me assistant treasurer,”  his eyes haven’t left Patrick’s body. “You want to go inside for a little bit and you know… hang out?”

Patrick’s been kinda horny all night. He’s horny and curious and Julian is really fucking hot so he shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“What? Seriously?” Art asks.

“Look I’m getting tired man.” Patrick lies. “But you have fun, I’ll see you… tomorrow.” He glances at Julian and he grins.  

“You really think I have a shot with Porsha?” Art says, scratching his head.

“I dunno but you’ll have the room to yourself either way,” Patrick smirks.  

Art’s eyes go wide. He looks again at Julian like it’s just now dawning on him what’s happening.

“Uh…” he steps back and stumbles a bit bumping into someone else that steadies him as he comes up to the table and steals a couple beers before hurrying back to the hot tub. 

“Right, later man,” Patrick says, amused by the way Art seems to be glitching out. Patrick still can’t believe after all this time that Art doesn’t know… but whatever he’ll live. At least until tomorrow when they can talk about it.  Patrick starts walking over to grab his towel and his things. 

“Wait I’m— I’m tired too,” Art says, following him. Patrick raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t argue when Art decides to accompany them back to the lodge. Walking in between them. “Maybe we should go back to the room and call Tashi. It’s probably 12 in the afternoon there.” He says when they get inside. “Tashi’s his girlfriend by the way,” Art adds to Julian. He can be a total dick when he wants to be actually.  

“Tashi Duncan?” Julian asks. 

“Yeah… I mean… yes. She’s technically my girlfriend.” Patrick says, glaring at Art. He looks triumphant like he’s ready to see Patrick try and dig himself out of it. 

“Technically,” Julian smirks. “Why do all straight boys have technical girlfriends, and fiancées and wives.” 

 “I dunno… maybe I’m not technically straight,” Patrick says. 

Art makes a strangled sound which Patrick ignores. 

“I figured.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“I was watching you,” Julian says, glancing quickly at Art before looking back to Patrick. 

“Right,” Patrick mutters, feeling a bit pathetic about the fact that it’s this obvious to everyone but Art. 

“Yeah I’ll probably have to call her or something tomorrow… let her know I’m bisexual.” Patrick says, dryly. 

Art laughs. “No way, Pat. One kiss doesn’t make us fucking bisexual.” He’s gone quite red and he looks irritated. “We kissed a couple months ago by the way. Me and him.” He blurts to Julian. 

It’s not like Art to bring that up at all. Much less in front of another person unprovoked. Tashi would sooner bring it up just to watch him turn into a cherry, then Art just outright admitting it. If Patrick didn’t know better he’d call it jealousy. 

“I agree, Donaldson right? You’re a tennis player?”   

“Yeah and it’s…Art,” Art says, coolly. 

“Well that’s… a name. I guess you should thank god you’re pretty.” 

“I—I thank god all the time actually,” Art says, a silly counter for an unnecessary but amusing fight Art is trying to pick. 

“Well that’s great man, and he’s right… one kiss doesn’t necessarily make you bisexual… but you know… we can do more than kiss.” Julian places his palm on Patrick’s bare tummy. 

“Patrick that’s…that’s not a good idea! you’re gonna end up losing Tashi. I— I want to help you but I can’t if you’re gonna cheat on her. Just come back to the room with me. I won’t even tell her or anything.” He’s fucking jealous. God. Patrick wants to laugh. This is incredible.

“Okay fine, I’m coming. Can you take this?” He hands Art his wallet  which has been useless all night since everything was paid for by the student event association or whatever and his unopened can of beer. He keeps his phone, his room key and his towel. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.” 

Art lingers a little longer.

”dude go, I’m coming I promise.” 

It’s a promise he totally keeps. In the bedroom where they don’t even make it to the bed… he comes. Julian has lube and condoms in his backpack. They’re making out in the elevator, in the hallway. and before they’re two steps into Julian's bedroom he’s pressed up against Patrick. Teasing fingers inside. Rolling a condom on and slathering it in so much lube. pressing into Patrick, slowly at first. it feels so big and achy and intense. And then Patrick’s guiding it towards his prostate. The angle where he fingers himself sometimes when he wants to come so hard he blacks out. It’s even better with a fully hard dick inside. Better with Julian’s teasing words in his ear. 

“I know a yearner when I see one. You wish I was that silly little blonde twink so fucking bad, don’t you. Imagine him fucking you like this. Filling you up till you’re incoherent. Filling every hole you have. Fucking you so deep you can’t feel anything else but the thick hard ache of it.” 

“Mm fuck, yes,” Patrick can’t help it. It feels like he’s seeing god over and over. Every thrust, every word taking him to new heights. It’s barely any time at all before he’s unloading all over the bedroom door breathless and moaning. Then they’re making out again on the floor, Patrick crawling all over Julian before a second round and a third. His first time, and this is so hot. He feels so good he almost falls asleep in there but when he picks up his phone to glance at it there’s like 20 missed calls and text messages.

Oh Art is sick.

Patrick barely gathers himself together and makes his way back to their room. It’s almost 2 in the morning but Art is awake watching tv. He’s finished another 2 beers. His eyes are a little red. His cheeks, a little streaky. He’s still in his swim trunks and his hair is nearly dried, his curls all messy. god Patrick can feel the blood rushing immediately right back into his dick. 

Art glares at Patrick and then does a dramatic flop onto his pillow, turning his back to him. 

“Oh come on,” Patrick says, laughing. 

“What the fuck is so funny?” Art mutters. 

“You.” Patrick approaches his bed and knees into it. 

“You know you just cheated on the greatest girl ever right? Cheating on Tashi for some gay loser emo with a star tattoo.”

”It was a starfish, I saw it… up close…for like 2 hours,” Patrick smirks. 

“Well aren’t you fucking special. I’m sure your mom will be proud.” 

“Why? did you call her?” Patrick snorts as he collapses onto the bed next to him. He stops himself, as always, from rubbing Arts' ridiculously perky ass.

“I fucking should,” Art sits up and renews his glare. “What if he had an std? Then you bring it back to Tashi?”

”we used a condom. And i don’t remember you giving this much of a shit when I cheated on my high school girlfriends.” 

“It’s Tashi man, you would really fucking do this to her?” 

“And you’d really fucking cry about it?” Patrick reaches up, brushing a knuckle along his soft cheek. Art shoves him off. “You should be giddy that I couldn’t stop myself. I’m surprised you didn’t call her.” 

“I did,” Art mutters. 

“Ah. So you are still an asshole, I was worried.” 

“She doesn’t even fucking care man.” Art mutters defeated. “She basically said why am I telling her about it if you need a dick and she doesn’t have one. and while she’s in  Australia of all places."

Patrick chuckles for the way he and Tashi had a similar thought process and for Arts dumb jealous meddling not getting him the result he hoped for. 

“Your mom would be upset though,” Art says, he sounds hopeful. 

“God, Art. What is the big fucking deal? Why do you want someone to be mad at me because I fucked a guy? Are you homophobic or something?”

“What? What?! No.” He says quickly. “Im not fucking homophobic dude. I… you know my cousin is a lesbian and… and I could care less.” He’s turning red. “I’m not um… I’m definitely not a homophobe. That’s not fair.” 

”Well then, what is the real problem? Is it that I wanted to get fucked? Is it because I wanted to feel some hot boys’ hard dick in my ass fucking into me over and over?” He says explicitly just to watch Art squirm. And boy is he squirming. He can’t sit still, can’t look at Patrick. Hes got his hands shoved in his lap, between his crossed legs, his face all twisted up. 

“That’s… that’s…not my… you shouldn’t be… you shouldn’t be just…” he stammers out but he just can’t… finish.  

“Art? Come on, what is it?” Patrick prods, a little softer now. “Tell me. Is it Julian?” Giving him an out. 

Art nods his head, grasping at the new reason to tell Patrick why he shouldn’t. “Yes actually. I mean, you don’t know anything about him. He’s got all those tattoos for all you know he could be a… he could be violent or something. Plus I heard he's a loser… you wouldn’t know because you don’t go here but someone told me he sucks. I mean… he’s lame. And he’s not even that good looking or anything… you could at least find an athlete  or like someone on a sports team or—” 

Patrick rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking ridiculous. You know that, right?” He mutters sitting up and leaning in close. “How about next time… if you don’t want another boy to fuck me… you just fuck me yourself.”  

The way Art’s expression changes so quickly to one of exaggerated shock and incredulity is actually amusing. “W-what?” He says, his Adams Apple bobbing.

“You heard me, you little shit,” Patrick smirks, leaning in closer. Art’s little tongue flits across his bottom lip, his eyes dart down to Patrick’s mouth then back up again.

”I don’t… I’m not…” he stammers, but Patrick grips his chin and he’s immediately pliable. Let’s Patrick pull him closer, till he’s leaning in near Patrick’s open mouth. Art licks a hesitant stripe across Patrick’s lips and then the flood gates open. He’s kissing Patrick, open mouthed, heated wet tongue slipping in and out and all around. Everywhere as he moans. If Patrick was seeing god before he’s pretty sure he probably is god at this point for how fucking incredible this feels. 

Patrick reaches into his lap. He’s as hard as he can possibly be. Of course he is. All this drama and all he really had to say was don’t go with him, fuck me instead. The most ridiculous person Patrick knows.  

He’s up on his knees, grabbing at Patrick’s face, then his body. Kisses so wet and eager that Patrick feels dizzy. Patrick settles onto his back, on the pillow, let’s Art fall on top of him, arms on either side of Patrick’s body, hips between Patrick’s thighs, he starts grinding up against Patrick’s ass, against his cock and balls, humping him like he’s humping into a pillow.

“Mm you should fuck me,” Patrick hums into Arts mouth. “I wanna lose my virginity again.”  He grins. He’s still wet for how much lube Julian used to fuck him loose and slippery. God getting fucked by two different boys on the same night he first loses it for a boy. This’ll be a story for his grand kids. 

“Fuck,” Art whines loudly before kissing Patrick again. “You should have just fucking…never let that loser… he shouldn’t get to…” Art’s all shaky, there’s this bright light in his eyes. Like he’s worked himself up into a frenzy.  “I can fuck you so much better than him.”  He starts grabbing at Patrick’s swim trunks. Tugging them down.  

“I can fuck you better. Fuck him.” He breathes, as he grabs at Patrick’s dick with his shaky hands and swallows. Every touch between them feels electric, Patrick’s tingling all over, in a way he wasn’t earlier. It’s actually crazy. Art is holding his dick, he slaps it against Patrick’s tummy and bends over to lick at the length. His perfectly pink tongue licking heated stripes all up and down and along his balls. over and over again. Sloppy and messy and so wet. Spit everywhere. Just when Patrick thinks he’s gonna come by this alone. Art huffs, his heated breath ghosting along Patrick’s dick, along his upper thighs. “I can fuck you so much better.” 

He sits up on his knees again and pulls his own dick out. His pretty perfect dick. Been perfect ever since Patrick first saw it. It was even more perfect  the last time he saw it.  When they jerked it simultaneously the last month of high school. Talking about Tashi. Not mentioning the kiss but the memory of it vivid in Patrick’s mind as Art was breathing heavy and ragged right next to him making him come so much faster.       

“You can fuck me. I’m wet already, baby,” Patrick whispers. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t wait for you but I’m really fucking wet for you.” 

“Fuck you,” Art looks more determined now. His eyes filling with water and it’s probably so fucked up, but watching him tear up makes Patrick’s cock twitch, even more eager to come again.

Art pushes himself inside and god, Patrick feels his body light up. Energy nearly as overwhelming as the night they kissed with Tashi. He couldn’t really compare anything to what it feels like to fuck Tashi before now.  Art sniffling and teary eyed and fucking into his prostate. Slamming into it. Feels just as fucking good. 

“You’re fucking mine, he doesn’t get to have you ever again, fuck you your mine,” Art is flushed so pretty, the way he looked in the heated pool. “Mine,” Art keeps muttering as he thrusts his hips over and over and over again. Patrick is seeing stars, nearly blacking out for every punctuation of the word. 

“Fuck yes,” Patrick groans loudly as he’s getting close. “I’m all fucking yours baby. Fuck it all out of me. Make me yours forever.”

“Fuck Patrick I’m gonna—“ 

“Mm shit… come on… you can do more. Keep fucking me with that perfect dick, pretty boy. Fucking fill me up.”

”Patrick…” Art whines. “Oh Patrick…Patrick… oh fuck… I’m sorry….fuck nnngh…” 

Heated liquid is filling Patrick up, making him even more of a mess as Art collapses into his arms. “Oh fuck,” Art starts properly crying. “I couldn’t even fucking…” he groans as he slips out. 

God, Patrick wishes he wasn’t so fucking hard right now. All he can think about is Art’s soft red cheeks, wet eyes and clumped lashes, wet face, wet mouth. Wet all over and Patrick almost feels guilty for how badly he wants him to cry more. 

“It’s okay… shh… ‘t’s okay. I’m gonna get you hard again,” Patrick whispers. 

“Really?” art sniffles. 

“Mmhm, come on… it’s gonna be fucking easy.” Patrick says lightly. He kisses Art’s wet cheek, tasting salty tears on his lips. and Art turns into it… taking Patrick’s mouth again, between sniffles. It’s easy really. Art is so easy— when Patrick can get him to be honest with himself. Fucking dream come true. 

[sematarygirls]

               MORPHINE ANIMALS.

♯┆"this may just be a vacation for you, cameron, but it's my life," ⏤ in which, rafe cameron joins a pogue band in an attempt to rebel against his father and show him that he does have ambitions, even if they're unconventional, but everything goes awry when he finds himself having to choose between his cushy, luxurious lifestyle and the gritty, raw world of rock n' roll, challenging everything he's ever thought he wanted.

       NAV ! Part Zero. Part One. Part Two.

⠀     ⠀⠀♯┆Track One  ⏤ Rum and Cocaine.ㅤ  ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎“ we were born with a taste for trouble, chasing highs that never last, rum in our veins and cocaine in our lungs, we’re living fast, but we’re fading fast ,, ‎‎ ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎IN WHICH . . . rafe cameron stumbles into the rusty nail with a pair of drum sticks in his back pocket and a determination to prove himself.   ̼ ₊

THE FIRST TIME Rafe walked into The Rusty Nail he knew he didn't belong there. Loud music echoed off the walls, mingling with the sounds of pool balls clacking together and continuous chatter. The bar was dimly lit with a thin layer of smoke, fluorescent colored lights overhead casting a luminous glow over the room and adding to the grungy atmosphere. The establishment was mostly filled with burly, tattooed men who eyed him as he walked by, causing goosebumps to arise on Rafe's tanned skin.

The sticky linoleum floors clung to his designer shoes with each step he took, and the heady scent of stale beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke overwhelmed his senses, making him involuntarily cringe. His eyes darted around the room, landing on each patron briefly before moving on to the next—an overweight man with no hair and a large, bushy mustache at the bar, a tall, thin man behind the counter wiping out glasses with a rag, a redhead with a beard and a blonde with a scar playing pool.

None of these people were who he was looking for, yet all of them were showing a keen interest in him.

He kept his head high and stayed alert, not wanting to show weakness. He kept moving forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets to make sure his wallet stayed safe and sound. He didn't trust Pogues, especially not ones that looked like this.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me," your voice cut through the noise in the bar, sharp and clear. His gaze immediately snapped in your direction, finding you glaring with a scowl etched onto your features. "Rafe fucking Cameron?"

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he saw you leaning against a graffiti-covered wall toward the farther end of the bar. Your arms were crossed as you regarded him with a look between pure hatred and amusement. How utterly stupid for a rich boy to walk into the lion's den.

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to keep up his confident facade—though he was feeling anything but surrounded by drunk thugs—while he sauntered over to you. "In the flesh," he remarked, yelling slightly to be heard over the music as his lips curled up into a smirk.

Your eyes rolled back effortlessly, as if on instinct. You pushed off the wall, stepping forward toward him. "What the hell are you doing here, Cameron?" You asked harshly, your brows pinched together. Rafe Cameron wouldn't be caught dead on this side of the island, let alone at a Pogue dive like The Rusty Nail.

Rafe’s smirk faltered slightly under your cold stare, but he recovered quickly. He wasn’t about to back down now, not when he had come this far. "Just thought I’d check it out," he shrugged, his tone nonchalant as he looked around casually. "I heard you guys were looking for a drummer."

You scoffed in disbelief, looking at him like he'd grown two heads. "What do you know about drumming?"

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He hated being underestimated. People always expected less from him, and he hated it. It was the whole reason he was going this stupid thing in the first place. "More than you'd think," he shot back, trying to keep his anger in check.

"Yeah, right," you laughed. His jaw tightened at your dismissal, and for a moment, he contemplated walking out and letting his old, cushy life swallow him whole. It would be easier than this, easier than being belittled right to his face, but he couldn't. He had to prove to his dad, to himself, that he could succeed and see something through to completion without giving up when things got hard. He had chosen this path specifically because music reminded him of his mother. She helped him learn how to play the drums.

"I've been playing since I was a kid," he defended, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side to calm him before crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, so the action made his muscles strain against the fabric.

You eyed him skeptically before turning to call out to someone over your shoulder. "Jay!" Almost immediately, the dirty blonde emerged from an ajar door that led to another room. His shirt was discarded, his chest covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His hair was tousled, some strands sticking to his forehead.

"Yea—" He paused when his eyes landed on Rafe, his eyebrows furrowing as his blue eyes hardened. "What the hell is he doing here?" He asked you, his gaze not leaving the rich brunette.

"Says he wants to be our new drummer," you snickered, glancing over at JJ. JJ's eyes widened as he looked over at you in disbelief, an objection already forming on his tongue, but then, you two shared a look of understanding, both already convinced that Rafe's performance would be a train wreck and eager to watch it happen.

"Okay," JJ said slowly, turning to Rafe. He grinned, motioning to the old drum set on a slightly elevated platform. The Rusty Nail didn't get much live music, so the owners let Morphine Animals play there for free, so the stage area didn't go to waste. "Show us what you've got."

Rafe let out a small sigh of relief, his legs carrying him toward the stage before his mind could talk him out of it. His hands instinctively reached for the drumsticks in his back pocket. He could feel the eyes of everyone on him, their faces contorted in sneers and grins as they watched, expecting him to fail. He’d spent his whole life trying to be the best, but this felt different. This wasn’t about showing off. This was about him.

He stepped onto the platform, the old wooden stage creaking under his weight and making him tense up as the brief thought of the shitty structure collapsing flashed through his mind. He approached the battered drum set, its cymbals dull and scratched, the bass pedal stiff from years of use. It was a far cry from the pristine, high-end kit he had back home, but when he ran his fingers over the snare, adjusting its position, he felt something familiar settle in his chest.

He sat down on the stool, the cushion worn to the point that he could feel the hardwood underneath. For a moment, everything else faded, and all that remained was him, sitting on that stool with a pair of drumsticks in his hand. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, taking him back to when he was a kid, his feet barely touching the ground as he sat in front of the new drumset he got for Christmas.

"You’ve got it in you, baby," she had told him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as he looked up at her with big blue eyes filled with love and childlike wonder that had fizzled out after her death. "Rhythm like that? That’s a gift. Keep playing, okay? Doesn’t matter what your daddy says—music’s a language all on its own. You just have to learn how to speak it."

Rafe twirled the drumsticks between his fingers, the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Looking out at the bar, he could see JJ watching him with a smug smirk. You had never seen him so nervous, and something about it made you feel good.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the world fade to silence around him. "The world’s full of noise, Rafael, but you’ve got to learn how to drown it out. Focus on the sound that comes from within you. Don't let anyone else tell you that you can't do something."

Taking another steadying breath, Rafe's grip on the drumsticks tightened, letting the familiar feel of the smooth wood around him. He played slowly at first. Letting the beat build with his confidence, ignoring the crowd and focusing on the sound his sticks made against the drums, the music flowing through him like a second heartbeat. The world seemed to slow as his arms moved fluidly as if the drumkit were an extension of himself.

Your smug grin faltered as you watched him play, something so raw and natural about his demeanor. The music was good, great even, but his playing was real, and that was the most important thing to you.

You stood there with your arms crossed, a frown tugging at your lips. This was the same Rafe Cameron that waltzed in here, surrounded by an air of entitlement. The same Rafe Cameron that pranced around Kildare like he owned it, hiding behind his daddy's name and money whenever he did anything wrong. The very same Rafe Cameron who despised Pogues and took every opportunity to belittle them, even though they've done more work in one day than he's done in his whole life.

You would rather shoot up with a dirty needle than allow Rafe Cameron, of all people, to get anywhere near your pride and joy, Morphine Animals, yet as he played, something tugged at you. You looked over at JJ, who looked just as shocked and begrudging as you, his brows pinched and a scowl on his face.

The two of you had been looking for a drummer for the better part of three months with no luck. Everyone who auditioned was either well into their 50s or an amateur, neither of which was worthy. Your last drummer went off to some fancy college on a full academic scholarship. You were happy for her, of course, Stevie had been one of your best friends, but damn if you weren't a little jealous that she made it out and left the band behind.

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. His skill was undeniable, a natural-born talent in his bones that was impossible to refute, but this was more than just being a good drummer when it came to him. It was the fact that he had everything handed to him. Meanwhile, people like you worked yourselves to the bone for anything more than the dirt underneath your feet.

He didn't have what it took. He would run at the first sign of trouble, the first time his Kook friends caused a stir at the fact that Rafe Cameron was associating with Pogues, and that's what worried you. You couldn't afford to lose another drummer, but you also couldn't afford to have one, especially not so close to the Underground.

Rafe's white t-shirt had dark splotches of sweat, his muscles glistening as he finished playing. His hair, which was once perfectly styled, was now sticking out in all directions. He almost looked like he belonged—almost.

“Well?” Rafe asked, his voice a little rough from the adrenaline as he flashed a lazy smirk, his confidence clearly revived.

“Not bad,” you said, voice flat, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest. "But we’re not a hobby for you to dabble in when it’s convenient, Cameron. This is real." JJ nodded, his jaw clenching like he wanted to curse Rafe out for even thinking they would let him join.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I’m not some rich kid with nothing better to do," he said, a slight edge in his tone. "I’ve been serious about this. You think I’m just here for kicks?"

JJ scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered. “You seriously think just ‘cause you show up and act all nice, we’re gonna take you in? You’ve done nothing but piss people off around here."

Rafe's gaze hardened, the calmness from before slipping away into a familiar, cold edge. "Are you fucking kidding me? I wasn't just good, I was great, and you know it, Maybank."

JJ’s eyes flickered with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. "Great? You think you’re great?" His voice was thick with sarcasm as he stepped closer to the drum set, his sneakers squeaking on the worn floor. "Newsflash, Cameron, I'm not your daddy. I'm not gonna tell you you're doing a great job when you're nothing but average."

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Rafe Cameron was great, but JJ would never admit it; both of them were too caught up in their pissing contest to put their pride aside.

You grabbed JJ's arm, tugging him back. "As much as I hate it, he is our best option," you told him lowly, begrudgingly as you shot a glance at Rafe, who was glaring at the pair of you with his arms crossed defiantly.

JJ huffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he shot one last, heated glare at Rafe. "Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I gotta like it," he muttered under his breath, but you could see the wheels turning in his head. The tension between the two was thick, but there was an undeniable truth hanging in the air. Rafe Cameron had the skill, even if his presence still grated on every nerve you had.

You bit the inside of your cheek, letting out a long sigh before turning back to Rafe. "You really think you got what it takes?" You asked, quirking a skeptical brow.

"I know I do," he responded arrogantly, grinning in triumph. Your eye twitched, your brain suddenly rethinking this decision entirely. You knew you were going to regret this, but The Underground was swiftly approaching, and you needed to start practicing now if you wanted to be ready to perform.

You swallowed your pride and frustration, giving him a pointed look. "Alright, Cameron. You’re in for the trial. But if you screw this up—"

"I won't," he interrupted, that smug grin still plastered on his face. "Just watch."

You exchanged a glance with JJ, who was still visibly irritated but was already processing the decision. He shot a look at Rafe, sizing him up, and then rolled his eyes, clearly dismayed at your decision, but you were the leader. "Fine. But if you make us regret this, I’m personally going to kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try," Rafe scoffed, puffing his chest out.

"Oh, yeah? You wanna go right now?" JJ advanced forward before you grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back.

"I'll kick both of your asses if you don't knock it off," you rolled your eyes, clearly not thrilled with the idea of having to deal with this during every practice. You looked back at Rafe, swallowing hard. "Listen, we don't have time to waste on your bullshit, so if you're in, there's no bailing on us. You're in it for the long haul."

"Understood," he nodded, his expression turning oddly serious at the mention of not quitting.

You didn’t trust Rafe Cameron, not one bit. But you had to admit, he was good. Too good. And that was going to make this a hell of a lot more complicated than you’d ever imagined.

notes .ᐟ first chapter! not edited bc i'm lazy...

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @piastrify / @kisselxoll / @virgochaos

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