#(I GOT LESS THAN TEN MINUTES TO GET IT UP LET'S GO)

[godjustkys]

PLEASEPLEADEPLEASE bottom Bucky Barnes......... maybe reader saving Bucky from Hydra, taking him home, offering care and affection. Reader doing all sorts of stuff for Bucky, finding him a good therapist, making sure he sleeps and eats well, giving him reassurance. It's just a matter of time before Bucky falls in love and shyly confesses, reader being eager to start a relationship.Relationship seemed to escalate quickly , from holding hands to kissing, typically reader making the first move. However, reader would find any excuse to not move it further to the bedroom. Bucky pent up and frustrated and one day takes the matter in his hands.

THEME: bucky wants you. he wants you bad.

CHARACTER: male reader x bucky barnes

NOTE: taking care of bucky in all the ways possible, yes I love it >:) plus an emotionally intelligent reader because WHO CAN STOP ME?

p.s. requests are always open!

WARNING: praise,, yearner!bucky,, eventual smut,, big dick!reader (i can't help it..),, pillow princess!bucky,, very light nipple play,, dirty talk,, creampie,, unprotected sex,,

bucky was.. in shambles, to say the least. he was sitting in your car after his therapy session, eyes a bit wide as he stared out of the windshield. you found him in distress near a hydra base. you took him in more than half a year ago. like some dog. you didn't care how hostile he was towards you, you took your time, you were patient. if you told bucky a year ago that he would actually fit into society, poor guy would never believe it. “how was it?” your voice cut his thoughts off and he gave you a small glance, blinking more times than necessary. “she was okay.” bucky muttered. okay? god, that therapist was amazing.

you had taken him to seven different therapists already. at first, with the first three, bucky came up with excuses on why they were awful to him because the thought of therapy made him uncomfortable and he didn’t think he needed it. though, soon enough, he realized you weren’t giving up and he was going to have to go to therapy either way. he did throw a couple hissy fits here and there, but then bucky found himself wanting to comply with what you ask of him. why? he didn’t know.

“that’s better than that ‘fuckass bitch’ of a therapist you went to see a couple months ago, right?” you quoted his words, keeping your eyes on the road as you smiled. bucky’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and he shifted in his seat. “yeah.” he uttered begrudgingly. he wasn’t lying, that one therapist seemed like he liked to play pretend, plus he was just downright awful and inconsiderate. and he charged a lot of money for a single fifty minute session. couldn’t even spare the last ten fucking minutes.

after you got home, you heated him up a meal that you made in the morning. considering he was a super soldier, you took your time making food for him that had enough calories to fulfill his hunger without making him overeat. bucky was sitting at the kitchen island on a stool, his hands on the counter itself as he oh so patiently waited for his meal. you would never get this out of him, but he loved the way you made his food and how you let him eat snacks he wants. bucky was swinging his feet off of the stool a bit, in an unconscious manner as he waited. after you set the plate of food down in front of him, bucky stared at you, watching you put the utensils next to the plate. “eat up,” you said softly, patting his shoulder a couple times. “yea. thanks.” he got out, his heart fluttering as he looked at his food.

after another week or so, bucky realized he was in love with you. like, he was down bad. sure, he was a bit behind on today’s society, given the circumstances of his situation, but he was no fool. he started getting more.. physical with you. more of touching, which you had avoided and tried to do as less as possible, once again, given how uncomfortable he was with it. the two of you were sitting on a couch, watching a movie. bucky was sitting not too far from you, eyeing you the whole time and not once looking at the TV screen. “can i- lie down?” he asked softly, his voice a whisper. oh yeah, these questions you got a lot of recently. “yea, ‘course, go ‘head.” you told him with a small nod. you had placed a pillow in your lap just because, but bucky used it as an opportunity. he laid his head down in your lap on the pillow, turning to his side and facing the TV. that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. you smiled, not saying a thing to avoid making bucky uncomfortable. he settled, his cheeks heating up barely. the feeling made his brows furrow but he ignored it. during the night, bucky barely slept. due to the nightmares and the fear of having those nightmares again. but now, he was completely content and asleep.

when he woke up, it was already dark out, but you were still there. his metal arm was placed just above your knee, gripping slightly. you didn’t move his hand. you trusted him. the realization sent a pang of affection through bucky and he started shifting. that was only one instance though. he had his own room, but he would come in the middle of the night to yours, holding a pillow in his hand, his hair messy and face scrunched up, asking if he could sleep with you for the night. even though he was so reluctant about it, and don’t forget snarky, he always got comfortable next to you, even if he was facing away. the more time passed, the more he started sleeping in your room.

“do you like me?” bucky blurted out, his voice flat as he stared at the plate of food. the two of you were having dinner in silence. until this moment, to be exact. you looked up at him and raised a brow. “i’m taking care of you, aren’t i? i wouldn’t be if I didn’t like you and who you were as a person.” you responded calmly after chewing your bite. “i meant like a.. a significant other,, or something. do you like me like that?” he made eye contact with you, his facial expression giving his nervousness away. you paused. “what makes you say that?”

“i like you.” bucky stated, his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he looked at the table instead of you. “maybe I’m not supposed to. but i do. is that stupid?” he was starting to second-guess himself. almost immediately. “it’s not weird.” you reassured him. “i like you, too.” you placed your fork down. “do you want our relationship to change? or is the way that we are right now enough for you?” you inquired gently, not wanting to pressure him at all. “it’s okay for us to be together, right? It’s normal now?” his eyes met yours, his voice trembling just a slight bit. he was so nervous, so shy. for the first time around you, he was being vulnerable. “people are tolerant nowadays, it’s okay.” you, once again, reassured him.

“then, what.” bucky said. “what does that make us, if we’re in a relationship?” yeah, 40’s were a bit rough.. “boyfriends.” you gave him a simple answer. “we can be that.” he muttered, lifting up his fork and picking at the food with it for a moment. “okay, boyfriends it is.” you grinned, turning your attention back to your food. after this incident, cuddles ensued. seriously, bucky was sticking to you like velcro. at night, he would sleep soundly in your arms. when you went to the gym to work out, he would constantly ask you to spot him even though he never fucking needed it, he just wanted you there. he would have his arms wrapped around you as you made food. he would be glued to your side if you were sitting on the couch or he would he holding your hand whenever he could if you would be doing tasks around the house.

you started giving him gentle kisses; not on the lips, you thought it was too soon. On his forehead, on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth.. but.. after this kiss - the kiss you gave him just now, on the corner of his mouth, had him staring at you, his lips slightly parted. you noticed it, staring right back. “what?” you said. bucky shook his head ever so slightly, shrugging his shoulders. “nothin’..” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to your lips. ah, he wanted a real kiss? you gave in after a moment, the look on bucky’s face almost guilt-tripping you. pressing your lips to his in a tender and sweet kiss, bucky just stood there. after you pulled away and offered him a smile, bucky fucking folded. his abdomen tensed as he felt nothing but butterflies in his stomach.

that kiss heightened bucky’s bravery. he would kiss you in the most random moments possible; when you were on a phone call, when you were washing cups, when you were writing, in summary, whenever he wanted. you didn’t mind at all, to be honest. he was getting comfortable around you, opening up to his therapist more, sleeping better, eating better, all the good stuff. though, what started frustrating bucky was when you would avoid his advances. at first he thought you were uncomfortable with it and he was ready to stop trying to take it further. but no, you wouldn’t go along with it because you weren’t sure it was truly what he wanted. another week passed and bucky was reaching his limit. he kept muttering ‘i’m ready’ or ‘let’s do it’ to you when kissing turned to making out, but like every other time, you would stop him from taking it further.

you were sitting on the couch, watching a show. it was late at night and bucky already went to sleep. or so you thought. the only thing illuminating the living room was the TV. your attention shifted to the sound of footsteps, bucky’s bare feet barely even making noise. he stopped not too far from you, an exaggerated frown on his sleepy face, his hair messy. he was standing there, only in his boxers, dejected, his shoulders slumped and hunched forward slightly. “why aren’t you in bed.” he muttered grumpily, his voice groggy from sleep. oh, he must’ve woken up and not found you in bed yet. “i’ll be there in a minute, buck. i’m sorry.” you told him with a small apologetic smile, your gaze shifting back to the TV. bucky stood there for a moment, and once you made no move to get up and get in bed with him, he huffed. he waddled forward, stepping in front of you to climb into your lap, his knees on either sides of your thighs, arms wrapped around your shoulders and face buried in your neck. you almost shivered; due to his cold metallic arm. “bucky, c’mon.” you muttered, placing a hand on his back as he settled. he let out a small groan of protest, making himself comfortable. as if he wasn’t a 260 pound man. you placed your other hand on his waist, your touch light. bucky lifted his head up, pressing a short, slow peck to your lips. then again. and again. and again. until you were making out with him.

you hummed against his lips, both of your hands now on his hips, just holding him gently. “i’m ready.” bucky said between the kisses, which eventually turned sloppy due to the added tongues. “i’m fucking ready so just..” he paused, his tongue sliding against yours almost desperately, eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed. he pulled back to speak. “just fuck me.” he breathed, his chest rising and falling as he regulated his oxygen intake. you were about to protest, like always, but bucky cut you off. “no bullshit, okay? you think— you think i won’t stop you if i don’t like something?” he said impatiently, his hips pressing more firmly to yours. you inhaled sharply at the sensation, eyes locked onto bucky’s.

carrying a man of pure muscle while feverishly kissing him wasn’t so easy, but you did it, placing him on the bed and crawling on top of him, your legs between his spread thighs. despite holding back, god did you want this for so long. “m’sorry i made you wait..” you muttered softly, your lips trailing down his neck to his chest, a soundless gasp leaving bucky’s lips. his hands were resting lightly on your shoulders, as your own were fixing his position up, pulling him closer to you by his thighs. he squirmed underneath you as your lips teasingly grazed his nipple. “ghh..” he groaned out, pressing his head to the pillow underneath. you teased the bud, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly. he squeezed your shoulder with his right hand, avoiding the use of his metallic one for now.

bucky’s chest was heaving, his half-lidded eyes staring down at your face as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. god, he was pretty. you pulled your mouth away, distracting bucky with small gentle kisses across his torso as you spoke. “don’t have lube.” you managed between your ministrations. “don’t care..” bucky breathed, his metal arm trailing up to the back of your head. his fingers grasped at your hair, letting out a soft pitiful whine. bucky’s chest was rising and falling in heavy, shaky breaths, his body already glistening with sweat. his hair was stuck to his forehead, lashes heavy as he looked up at you from where he laid spread open on the bed. he looked ruined — and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet. his metal hand tightened in your hair, keeping you close as your mouth pressed lazy kisses down to his inner thighs, just teasing him, savoring the way he twitched under you. bucky wasn’t trying to be tough tonight. he wanted to be touched. “you sure?” you asked quietly, sliding up his body, nudging his nose with yours. bucky nodded once, quickly, breath catching when your bulge brushed against his clothed cock. “yeah. i want it. just do it.”

you pressed your lips to his in a deep, slow, filthy kiss, reaching down to discard bucky’s boxers in a rather swift movement. he made soft little sounds against your mouth as he assisted you, the cool air making him shiver. after somehow stripping yourself down between the kisses, you stroked yourself a couple times, spreading the precum that was already on your tip; you couldn’t help it, he was just so perfect. you carefully lined yourself up, your hands moving to grip bucky’s thighs as you pushed in inch by inch, giving him time to breathe, to adjust. bucky’s back arched off the bed, his metal hand clawing at your scalp as his voice broke into a soft, desperate whimper. “Ahh—f-fuck..”

“relax, baby. i got you,” you whispered, brushing his hair back and out of his eyes, your lips dragging down his stubbly jaw. bucky whimpered again; a quiet, helpless sound. his muscles trembled under you as you sank in deeper. his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer even though his eyes were already glassy with the painful stretch. “God, you’re— fuck—” he muttered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. eventually, you bottomed out and stayed there, pressed deep inside, letting him feel all of you. your hands roamed all over his body slowly — his hips, his stomach, his chest; it grounded him. “you’re doing so good,” you said softly, kissing down his cheek to his throat. “you’re perfect like this. so tight, so warm…” bucky let out a soft moan at that, almost a sob, his hand clutching at you like he needed something to hold onto or he’d drift away. then you pulled back, just a little, and rolled your hips in a slow, grinding motion. “oh god—” bucky gasped out, nails digging into your back. “again.. don’t stop—”

you started fucking him slowly, letting the rhythm build, the slick sounds of skin on skin and bucky’s broken little moans filling the room. his mouth hung open, whimpering with every thrust, his head lolling back against the pillow. “you like that, buck?” you asked, fucking into him a little harder. “you like being filled up like this? is this what you wanted?”

“yes,” he groaned, voice cracking, “yes, I love it— I love you, fuck—!”

you stilled barely for a moment, stunned, looking down at him. bucky’s eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide and eyes wild. “i meant it,” he whispered softly, “i— i meant it.” with that sweet little reassurance, you kissed him hard, possessive, fucking him deeper now. bucky broke open under you completely, moaning with every thrust. “i love you, too. so much.” you rasped out, your hands resting on his ribs. “m’right here, buck. gonna fuck you nice and deep ‘til you forget everything else. just me and you. jus’ me ‘n you, sweetheart.” your voice got more slurred at the end, but for what it’s worth, it made bucky clutch you tight, as if wanting to mold his body against yours. pitiful, filthy sounds left his pretty lips as you dragged your cock out slowly, only to push back in just as deep, the force of your thrusts making the bed creak. your fingers were soothing his burning skin like you were trying to keep him together while tearing him apart. the way he stretched around your cock, no, forget that, the way he clenched when you pushed harder.. you were starting to regret waiting this long.

you were moving with control; the kind that made it worse for him. you weren’t speeding up, just fucking him deep, steady, and full. like you were trying to make his hole commit every singular inch of your cock to memory. “ghh— ah- i can’t—” bucky whined, his breath ragged, his hole clenching around your length. “you’re b— being mean,” he practically sobbed out, his eyes screwed shut. “more.. c’mon..” he added, his mouth right next to your ear. your stomach was filled with nothing but butterflies at the sound of bucky’s broken voice, so you did what you had to — you sped up, fucking him rougher. his whines turned more frantic, louder, his moans got higher pitched and sloppier, less controlled, eyes fluttering closed if he even managed to get them open. the cold metal arm let go of your scalp and his hand trailed to the nape of your neck, the chilly vibranium material just sending a shiver down your spine. you let soft groans and grunts leave your lips. both of your hands trailed to his thighs, pushing them up slightly so you could get a better angle. once you did; oh holy fucking shit.

bucky choked on your name, his whole body jumping. he gasped sharply, his hand clamping down on your wrist. “f-fuck—what was that?” he gasped out. you did it again, slower this time — dragging your motion until his breath caught and a helpless, broken sound escaped him. his metal fingers gripped the pillow, knuckles tight, chest heaving. “there,” you murmured. “right there. that’s it, isn’t it?” bucky nodded, moaning through gritted teeth as you kept up the pressure. his body trembled beneath you, thighs twitching. his voice was wrecked— low and breathy, falling apart with every grind. his thighs locked around you more tightly, fuck, he even tried to squirm away the more you hit his prostate. “no no no, right— here.. stay, baby.” you murmured breathlessly, holding onto him firmly. he asked for this. he’s getting it. bucky was getting restless; writhing, his toes curling, muscles tensing, chest arching up. a literal mess, that’s what he was. he whined helplessly, the sound broken, bordering on a sob. he let go of you completely, both of his hands finding purchase above, on the headboard — he grasped it, throwing his head back simultaneously. his cock was leaking and twitching so much it was almost embarrassing. bucky’s abs clenched as you continued to abuse his prostate. “ah-hahhaaah—” he cried out, tears filling his waterline as he scrunched his face up.

bucky was unraveling beneath you.

bucky’s voice had lost all control — gone was the sharp discipline, the soldier’s restraint. low, needy, guttural groans were pulled out of him with each rock of your hips. he wasn’t even speaking in full sentences, just fractured words. “gunna— gunna cum— shit, i can’t..” he rambled, his voice breathless and hoarse. when you continued the relentless fucking, his voice got more raw and desperate. somehow, the deeper you managed to get in him, the more you drew from bucky — he was gasping his way through it, he even started chanting your name under his breath, like it meant salvation. “please,” he whimpered, voice trembling. “don’t stop— don’t stop— please, m’so close—!” you kissed the edge of his jaw and whispered against his skin, “then let go for me, baby. let me hear you, make a mess.”

and he did.

with a shuddering sob, body so taut and shaking, bucky came hard, breath punched out of him, his moans spilling uncontrollably from his lips. his legs trembled as he clung to you, riding it out with soft, broken sounds and whispered curses. almost at the same time you came inside him, your cock twitching as your cum pooled deep inside him. the feeling earned another pathetic whine and he subconsciously rolled into you, his hips stuttering. his body was slick with sweat, drool on the corner of his mouth and down his chin. his hair was a mess, as he was himself. thank god he made that move, otherwise he would’ve missed out on being fucked so damn good.

[toofarovertherainbow]

would anyone perhaps enjoy some langdon sickfic/whump? i've been using these as warmups/character voice explorations so enjoy some fainting!frank under the cut.

He hasn’t felt this way since he was a med student doing his surgery rotation. There’s no shortage of students who faint in the OR, and Frank hadn’t escaped being one of them. It was his third year and he still hadn’t mastered the art of standing on his feet for more than twelve hours a day yet, and he passed out around hour nine on his fourth twelve-hour consecutive shift in the OR. It was embarrassing, and one of the many reasons he could never be a surgeon. Garcia had still been giggling about it during their lectures the following day.

But now, he’s a fourth-year resident, again, and he can’t point to what it is, but he feels like he’s got bricks attached to his feet and his head weighs like a boulder. It hurts, and he feels weak. They just finished up intubating an MVC patient who’s on their way up to surgery, so he heads to the central console to check the board.

The floor spins when he moves, or the air distorts, and it does not feel good. In fact, it feels like he needs to be somewhere private very quickly.

“Hey, McKay, I’m just going to take ten. Grab me if you need me?” He says breathlessly, passing Cassie at the central console. She doesn’t look up from her iPad, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, of course,” she’s saying, but it sounds distant.

He moves quickly across the ED and grabs onto the door of the on-call room into the hallway, placing his weight onto it as it swings open. The room is dark, and he manages to hit the lights and shut the door behind him before he’s doubling over, putting his head between his legs. One hand on the wall, he leans forward, attempting to take deep breaths, but it feels like everything in his body is pulling down. He groans, deep and involuntary, as his vision clouds with white and the floor disappears, until he just drops, and everything goes dark.

Abbot is standing at the central console looking at his watch. His lips are pursed, and he’s got one hand on a hip.

“Dana, where is Langdon?” He asks, “he has patients.”

She looks up from the monitor and throws a glance around.

“I don’t know, he said he was taking a ten minute break and he hasn’t come back yet.”

He gives her a serious look.

“You’re kidding,” he says, and she shakes her head. “Okay, well, shit. I’m going to go find him.”

She nods and goes back to the monitor as Abbot jogs off.

He checks the breakroom first, and no dice. He checks the ambulance bay and there are a couple of nurses hanging around smoking, but no one has seen Langdon. It’s worrying him. Langdon is usually loud and easy to spot, he’s not a subtle person, even if he’s toned it down since coming back from rehab.

“Hey, Samira, have you seen Langdon?” He touches her softly on the elbow to get her attention. She spins around from her desk, confused expression on her face.

“No, why?”

“He might have gone walk-abouts, let me know if you see him?” He points to her, walking backward, as he continues his lap of the ED.

“Yeah, of course,” she shouts back at him.

There’s no sign of him anywhere on the floor. He checks the stairwell next, and he’s not there either. That was Abbot’s bet, he knows Langdon likes to loiter there after a tough call. It just leaves the on-call room and the roof. He hopes for the former and not the latter, Robby might murder him if he found out that happened on his shift. He goes back into the ED and around to the opposite hallway where the door to the on-call room is. It’s towards the back of the hospital so it’s a little quieter and has less traffic outside. He knocks, and hearing no answer, pushes open the door.

Langdon is on the floor on his side with his head lolled backwards and his mouth open. His skin is drained of colour, and he’s drooling.

“Oh, fucking shit – shit,” Abbot hisses, and scrambles down the floor, pressing a couple of fingers to his neck to get his pulse. It’s there, but it’s weaker, and he rubs Langdon’s sternum with one hand while he picks his phone out of his pocket, pressing the number to call the nurse station in the ED. “Langdon collapsed in the on-call room,” he barks, “send me whoever is available and a gurney.”

Langdon moans on the floor, rubbing his feet together.

“Hey, Langdon, come on, wake up for me, man,” he says, and he gets another moan in response. If he’s OD’d on his shift, Abbot is never going to be able to forgive himself.

Collins appears from around the corner with McKay and Donohue, snapping on gloves. They’re wearing grim expressions on their faces.

“What happened?” Collins asks, worried, glancing at Abbot and kneeling next to him.

“I don’t know he seemed fine and then he came in here and passed out apparently,” he says, gesturing with his hand. She shakes Langdon’s shoulder,

“Hey, Frank, can you hear me?”

“Wha--,” he groans and she sighs, relieved.

“Okay, let’s get him up on the bed,” he looks at Donnie and directs him forward with the gurney. They heave him up together and Abbot places a hand over his heart as they wheel him toward the ED. “Dr. Langdon, did you take anything?” He asks, raising his voice.

“I don’t – what’s happening,” Langdon groans and his head drops back again, body going limp.

“Okay, fainting spells, send his blood for labs and monitor his blood pressure. Someone watch him and make sure he doesn’t need Narcan.” He looks at McKay and she nods.

They put him in one of the quieter rooms at the back of the ED, as much out of sight as possible.

Donnie straps on the blood pressure cuff and all of their eyes are fixed on the machine until it beeps and comes back with 80/60.

“Well, that would do it,” Donnie says, and Collins touches her fingers to the inside of his wrist to check his heart rate again.

“IV fluids, as fast as possible, please,” she says and Donnie nods, setting up the rack and the bag.

“Fucking idiot probably hasn’t eaten all day,” Abbot scrapes his hands over his face.

They get the line in quickly and fire his blood test off, fast tracking it through the queue, and by then he’s coming around.

“What happened?” He says, groggy. Collins sighs from his bedside.

“You fainted. Repeatedly.”

“Ugh, shit,” he says, bringing a hand up to push his hair off his face.

“Yeah,” she says, unimpressed, “you aren’t an intern, Frank, you know to eat enough.”

“I’m in a hospital bed, can you let me live for one minute,” he moans, and she huffs.

“We thought you overdosed.” She says quietly and looks down at her hands. His eyes flick from the ceiling to her, his face serious.

“Shit, Collins, I didn’t mean to scare you guys,” he laughs drily, “today was just me being an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are. And you need to eat enough.” She pats his knee. “I’m going to look after your patients. After Abbot checks you over, you’re going home.”

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Dilliam: Fireworks

Another year has come and gone, but this time, Damien is by himself due to everyone close to him having other obligations. But that’s alright, as a city comes alive on New Year’s Eve with fireworks.

But can he find a good place to watch them?

Warning: There’s suggestions of PTSD from firework explosions, but it is not discussed in detail.

Previous New Year fics: The Perfect Year, New Year(?), A Bumpy New Year’s Eve

Word Count: 1,387

-

Mark had gotten big news on Christmas Eve. He had been invited to a big event in a city out of state. With the journey that it would take to get there, he made the impulsive decision that himself and Celine would spend New Years together on vacation. Celine was surprised at this announcement, but it had been some time since Damien had seen his twin so excited about something.

He happily waved the pair off on the 29th, and left the Manor in the care of the staff.

With Mark and Celine out of town, and William on duty in the barracks, it would be the first time in many years that Damien would ring in the new year on his own. Even if it brought a small pang of loneliness, he didn’t mind. The other option was to spend it with his parents, and… He would rather do a full night of office work instead.

The staff in the Mayoral residence were given a few days off. He didn’t want them to feel they had to keep him company, not when he had a plan all his own.

As the night rolled in, he pulled on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and set out for a late walk. The fireworks were already starting, and they painted the pavement in flashes of blue and green. Damien had spent his whole life living in shades of black and white. Seeing the world alive in colour brought with it the simple joys of life. 

Would the burst of colours symbolise the beginning of a brighter future, or would the fading to monochrome reflect the status quo continuing despite his best efforts?

Or… Could Damien stop thinking about work and politics for once and actually appreciate the moment without attaching symbolism to everything?

-

With that plan in mind, his eyes raised skyward once more in a quest to find the ideal spot to watch the fireworks. He had half an hour, that would be plenty of time to explore the city on foot. His destination was unknown, but Damien trusted his feet to lead him in the right direction. He simply needed somewhere with few obstacles overhead and a clear sky. Everyone would be either at home or with friends. There wouldn’t be anyone on the streets… But a hand grabbing his wrist and sharply tugging him backward swiftly proved otherwise.

“Damien? What the devil are you doing out here walking with your head in the clouds?!” The man was a head taller than him, eyes almost as wide as the large, circular glasses. Both his hair and moustache were unkempt, and his outfit was a simple shirt and trousers.

“William?! I could ask you the same thing! Aren’t you supposed to be on call in the barracks?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t stick it tonight. I forgot how close to the centre the barracks is, and everything is - it’s loud. I needed to get some air, but it’s worse out here than it was in there!”

Damien’s gaze lifted skyward again. He hadn’t registered the sound, while William couldn’t focus on the colour. There had to be a middle ground…

“Come back with me. I have an idea, but I need my car.”

“Your car? Dames, I really don’t think hiding in -”

“No no, trust me… Please.” 

-

Damien held William’s hand the entire walk back, squeezing the soldier’s hand tightly every time a firework went off overhead. William was one who often kept his worries and fears to himself, but now was not the time to talk about it. Instead, Damien wanted to keep William company, especially now that they did have the chance to spend time together.

When they returned to the Mayoral Residence, Damien quickly unlocked the car and gestured for William to take the passenger’s seat.

“I really don’t think this will help,” William admitted quietly. “A car isn’t soundproof. The metal is far too thin to provide any sort of muffling.”

“I know. But that’s not why I wanted the car.” Damien stuck the key into the ignition and turned on the engine. The car sputtered to life and set off. Normally, Damien had a driver, but it was nice having his own independence. “It will help us get to our destination.”

“Our destination?”

“Yes. Somewhere outside the city. I think the hills would be nice to watch the fireworks. It should be far enough away to lessen the impact of the sound.”

“Ah.”

After that, silence fell. They were the only ones on the road, and both were made keenly aware of how quiet the streets were. No one would be out until the new year rang in. For now, the car was the only disruption to the tranquil night. Every road was quiet, and it was the first time that Damien was greeted by only green lights. His light-hearted comment about wishing he could get green lights when he was going to meetings fell flat. William really was troubled by this.

However, when they reached the edge of the city, William asked if they could stop by his cottage. Damien obliged, asking whether William wanted to go home instead. The soldier refused, reminding Damien that he would need to go back to the barracks after this. He didn’t give further clarification before he hopped out of the car and dashed inside.

Damien, too, stepped out of the car and leaned against it to look toward the sky. He couldn’t see the actual fireworks, instead being forced to be content with the faint flashes of colour. It reminded Damien of one of his visits to Mark backstage in the theatre, where the poor actor was fumbling as he tried to help hold a spotlight in place while a member of the backstage crew reattached it. 

The view was pretty, but it wasn’t as impactful as when he was walking. If they stayed here, this wouldn’t do at all. But if it made William feel more comfortable, then he would gladly take the sacrifice.

“Dames?” At the sound of his nickname, Damien turned around just in time for him to be covered by something red.

“Since we’re going out, I thought I’d bring something to make it a date.” William lifted the blinding item - a blanket - so he could reveal a small basket with a bottle of wine and two glasses. The fact that William had specified they were going ‘out’, along with the items, had Damien blink as he processed the information.

“Will? You had a basket?”

“I’ve wanted to invite you out for a picnic for months but I’ve been too nervous to do so.”

“Nervous? Why would I refuse a picnic with the man I adore?”

“Because I can’t make bloody presentable sandwiches, and I’m not asking the Chef in Mark’s place for help. He’d never let me live it down!”

Damien laughed, taking the basket so he could put it in the back seat. “I certainly don’t object to a liquid lunch with you tonight.”

-

The further out of the city they went, the lighter William’s mood became. He was starting to register how the explosions of the fireworks were quieter when viewed from a distance. He was why Damien nearly twisted his ankle with how fast William dragged him up the hill.

The sky was clear, the view was perfect from the hill, and yet not a single other person had the idea to travel out. Damien held the basket while William spread out the blanket. The solider sat down first and offered a hand to Damien, and he was gently guided to rest his head on William’s shoulder.

The plan to share the wine was forgotten as the pair simply enjoyed the unexpected company of the other. Damien had even dozed off against William, but he hadn’t realised until he was startled awake by a sudden barrage of noise in the distance.

William chuckled, unaffected by the sounds. “I think it’s the new year, Dames.”

Damien rummaged in his pocket for his pocket watch, and gasped when he realised the time was indeed just after midnight. “You’re absolutely correct. Happy New Year, my love.”

“Happy New Year, dear.”

William leaned down to kiss the Mayor, and the pair were bathed in flashes of blue and yellow.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Dog has a swollen lymph node. Just one for now. Which means her cancer is getting worse already. The longer this goes on, the more detached I feel from reality.

[personapeters]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

— a rafe cameron one shot (popstar!reader)

✰ when wheezie drags her older brother as her chaperone to the famous ‘short n sweet’ tour to see y/n, her favorite popstar.

rating: sfw — cw: suggestive, mentions drug usage

“rafe!” wheezie called out as her fist repeatedly rapped against his door — no answer. “raaafe!” she called out again before letting out an impatient huff, crossing her arms across her chest as she impatiently waited. suddenly, the large door swung open to reveal her stoic-faced brother, a highly annoyed expression adorning his face. “what d’you want?” he mumbled, staring down at her expectantly with dull blue eyes.

“dad said you have to take me to a concert tonight,” she replied simply, a smug tone in her voice as she brushed past him into his room, dropping herself down onto his unmade bed. rafe spun on his heels in mild bewilderment at her action while mulling over her statement.

“what’re you talkin’ about, wheezie?” he sighed, simply wanting the conversation to be over with already. “got tickets for a concert tonight and you’re takin’ me,” she shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “and what makes you think that?” rafe laughed sarcastically, his long bangs shifting as he tilted his head condescendingly.

“well, i asked dad a couple weeks ago ‘n he said he can’t take me ‘cause he’s got plans with rose tonight or whatever — said he’d only get me tickets if you went with me so i told him you would,” she explained, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “why—why would you do that?” rafe scoffed, “s’not happening.”

“figured you’d say that,” wheezie informed, pushing herself off his mattress and standing to her feet, “which is why i’ll just have to tell dad about your little… transaction.” she almost giggled to herself as she watch his eyebrows furrow together, knowing she was about to back him into a tight corner.

“what ‘transaction’ are you talkin’ about? can you make sense for, like, two seconds?” rafe insisted, leaning against the wall before letting out an annoyed sigh. “the one you made down at the pawn shop with dad’s rolex explorer — y’know, the one you said you’ve never seen a day in your life,” the girl countered.

rafe visibly tensed, unsure as to how his little sister knew anything about what he had done. “how d’you know ‘bout that?” he murmured, tongue poking at the inside cheek as he awaited an answer. “maybe don’t leave the receipt on the counter next time,” she sarcastically advised with a shrug before heading for the door and rafe silently cursed himself for such an obvious mistake.

“so, you’ll be ready by five?” she asked sweetly, smiling up at her brother as he pursed his lips, quirking his head to the side as he tightly shut his eyes for a moment, knowing he was between a rock and an extremely hard place.

“yeah, whatever… okay.”

an instant headache — rafe felt it as soon as they pulled into the parking lot of the overly-packed arena; hundreds of cars resulting in them walking nearly ten straight minutes to reach the entrance, and thousands of people to weave through in the process of security screenings, ticket scannings and merchandise purchasing for a crazily expensive t-shirt wheezie just had to have.

the trip alone was hell within itself; the concert was at a venue two-hundred miles away from home, so they had no other choice but to take the jet to avoid a three hour drive — courtesy of their father. though the trip was narrowed down to less than an hour, wheezie still spent the entire time blaring the exact songs she was about to hear in person, while simultaneously gushing to all her friends over the phone about how excited she was for that night. it was fair to say, rafe was already beyond over it.

finding their spot was fairly simple, seeing as their father purchased the best ones available — front row baracade, merely feet away from the main stage. simply leaving his sister to go wait in the car until the migraine of an event was over crossed his mind once or twice, but even he knew that was far from a sound idea. so, there he was, pressed between his sister and a plethora of random fangirls, all screaming at the top of their lungs as the lights began to dim.

he’d be lying if he said he’d never heard of y/n before — her name was everywhere online and her music played on the radio all too often, to which rafe would (almost) always turn off. despite the mild familiarity, he’d never truly seen what she looked like until that very night.

her voluminous, long locks bounced as she emerged from a stage door and skipped to the edge of the stage, sparkly microphone in hand as she greeted the massive crowd.

"welcome to the 'short 'n sweet tour', everybody!" she beamed, rosy cheeks complimenting her bright, white smile as her glossy eyes grazed over the thousands of faces staring back at her. she was stunning, rafe couldn't deny that, though her attire definitely confused him.

"why's she wearin' pajamas?" he yelled over the music as he leaned down towards his sisters ear, genuinely confused while also acknowledging just how well the corset hugged her figure underneath the sheer top. wheeze only rolled her eyes at her painfully clueless brother before averting her attention back to the stage where the show was finally beginning.

rafe felt as though hours had passed before he mentally checked back in to reality. though, here and there, he found himself ogling at her smooth legs as she pranced across the large stage, frequently widening his blue eyes in mild surprise whenever she’d pose suggestively or make a comment that almost had him wanting to cover his sister’s ears.

maybe it was the mind numbing commotion of the concert or simply the bump he took before boarding the jet that caused rafe not to notice the woman on stage staring down directly at him until his sister violently elbowed his ribcage. he let out a groan, holding a hand to his side before his blue eyes landed up on y/n gazing at him with a flirtatious grin on her face.

"guys, there's someone in the audience and i just— god, i'm getting flustered and super hot, right now," y/n gawked, fanning herself with her free hand while two of her equally sparkly dancers stood at either of her sides, one holding a fuzzy set of pink handcuffs that dangled from the tip of her finger.

the large screen behind her lit up with rafe's wide-eyed face and the crowd erupted into cheers and rather intense screams, undoubtably just as aware as y/n at just how attractive the man was. his crystal blue eyes were heavily dilated, jawline prominent from his clenched teeth, and curtain bangs messily splayed over his forehead — nothing short of perfection.

all the while, rafe felt as though his heart had suddenly fallen into the pit of his stomach, his blown out pupils darting from the screen, to her face, down to his sister who was jittering with sheer excitement, back to y/n who was now standing at the very edge of the stage.

"oh my god, i think i just found the love of my life," she fawned, eyes twinkling from the spotlight as she smiled, "what's your name?" rafe was completely frozen; the mixture of drugs in his system and bewilderment from the interaction as a whole causing him not to process the question fast enough to even try to respond.

"rafe!" wheezie yelled on his behalf, averting y/n's attention down to her. "ray?" y/n questioned, lightly furrowing her brows as she extended her microphone in the siblings' direction. "rafe!" wheezie shouted again, enunciating each syllable with her hands cupped around her mouth.

"rafe?" the pop-star asked, causing wheezie to nod enthusiastically, beyond ecstatic that her idol was actually speaking to her. "rafe," she repeated, a smile stretching across her glossy lips, "is he your brother?" wheezie nodded again, finding herself almost happy to be related to him for the first time in her life.

"well, rafe," y/n purred, a fluorescent stream of blue and red lights suddenly encasing the stadium, a loud siren sounding that quickly jolted him back into reality, the sound being all-too familiar, "i just love a family man, but unfortunately, you're under arrest for being too hot." rafe felt his cheeks heat up slightly at the comment and silently prayed wasn't visible on the big screen while a small smile pulled at his pink lips.

"you're so hot it's making me hot! and when i get too hot sometimes my clothes just—," y/n continued before the bottom half of her pink rhinestoned skirt fell down her legs, pooling around her matching boots, "oh, god, that's so embarrassing — you made my clothes come off, rafe."

rafe slowly nodded to himself, licking his pursed lips to keep from grinning like an idiot which only cause the packed stadium to roar even louder than before. rafe was never one to seek much validation from women, as he knows who he is and what he has to offer, but there was no denying that catching the attention of the pop icon had already boosted his ego (at least just a little).

a chime like tune of yet another song began to play as y/n grabbed the infamous fluffy cuffs before crouching down, handing them off to a security guard who passed them off to rafe himself. of course, wheezie snatched them from his hands just as soon as they graced his fingers and screamed about how y/n had just touched them.

for the remainder of the event, rafe found himself paying much more attention than before. maybe it was the way she said his name or the fact that she chose him out of everyone there, but his focus fully remained on her; the way her bottoms were way too small to cover much of anything, the way she looked so short even with 5-inch boots on, the way that every so often she would shoot a quick glance his way as if she didn't want him to catch her — maybe that part was all in his head, though he wasn't fully convinced that it was.

eventually, the end of the show came around and although rafe enjoyed watching the star prance around in a mini-skirt, he was also ready to get the hell home. y/n waved lovingly at the crowd, gratitude glistening in her doe eyes as she smiled before thanking them all for coming, wishing them a good night and disappearing behind the same door she emerged from hours before, leaving her fans to all buzz in the midst of the aftermath.

merely minutes passed as the arena slowly began to empty before a burly man dressed similarly to the security guards suddenly appeared in front of the siblings. "miss y/l/n requested i bring this to you. have a good one," he yelled over the commotion, placing a small envelope in rafe's hand before disappearing just as quickly as he had arrived.

"oh my god, open it," wheezie gushed, watching as her brother fumbled the paper between his long fingers with furrowed brows. his heart began to thump a little faster at the realization that she'd sent something for him — specifically for him. he slid out a small white card decorated with fresh, black ink and squinted as he read the calligraphy;

thank you for coming! your sister is the absolute cutest. i have a show coming up in charlotte, dm me on ig @ yourinstahandle if you'd both like to come!

xox — y/n

“no fucking way,” wheezie gawked, before jumping up and down as she squealed, “no way, she said i’m cute, oh my god, oh my god — rafe, text her right now, oh my god, i’m gonna pass out, like, actually.”

“wheeze, chill out,” rafe urged, slightly grimacing at her strong language, though he, too, was a bit overwhelmed with all that had happened; the entire night was beginning to feel like a fever dream, for both rafe and his little sister. “are we going? we’re going,” she rushed out, causing rafe to quickly slide the note into his pocket. “look, let’s just get home, alright?” he mumbled.

“are you gonna message her? you have to, i’m not kidding,” wheezie questioned as the pair weaved their way through hundreds of bodies, slowly but assuredly making their way towards the flooded exit. “dunno, wheezie,” he muttered dismissively, “c’mon, hurry up.”

the walk to the car, as well as the drive to the jet, consisted of wheezie’s persistent nagging and begging for her brother to do what she called a ‘once in a lifetime thing that will literally never happen again… like, ever’. rafe didn’t want to come off as some ‘fanboy’ by actually messaging the popstar just for the sake of some tickets to her concert, though he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t like to see her again.

it was all confusing for him, to say the least. he wasn't big on celebrities or fame, but was well aware of how insane what had happened was. after nearly half an hour of sitting slouched in his seat on the plane, head thrown back with his eyes squeezed shut as wheezie gave him (almost literally) a hundred-and-one different reasons as to why he needed to message y/n and take her up on her offer — some of which being subtle threats of what exactly she would do if rafe 'messed this up' for her.

"alright, wheeze, please," he begged, desperate for just a moment of silence, "if i do it you gotta shut up already — m'brains gonna fuckin' explode." with that, wheezie was mute as rafe pulled the device from his pocket, searching up the username that honestly didn't need to be given, before tapping on her profile and shooting her a quick, yet definitely overthought, message.

"done," rafe murmured, lightly shaking his phone in wheezie's direction before tossing it onto the table in front of him, leaning his head against the window with closed eyes. his sister smiled wordlessly to herself, covering her mouth to keep from squealing before rapidly typing on her phone to everyone she knew to tell them all about the best night of her life.

a day passed before y/n finally found her way to rafe's message. thousands upon thousands of dm's awaited unopened in her inbox, so much so that she knew it'd be nearly impossible to find him, assuming he decided to message her at all. luckily, his name was rather uncommon and had stuck in her brain all night, so with a quick search and a few seconds of scrolling, she came across a profile that sparked her interest.

"wait, is this him?" y/n gasped, a small smile making it's way to her face as she quickly padded across the hotel room with bare feet before shoving her phone into her manager's face, "i mean, that looks like him, right?"

"oh, for sure," the other girl confirmed, grabbing the device and zooming in on his profile picture. “stop, i’m gonna throw up,” y/n halfheartedly joked while leaning over her managers shoulder, “ahh, can you check if he dm’d me? i’m nervous.”

“you’re nervous?” the older woman questioned, genuinely curious as to how it was even possible that the same woman who performed in front of tens of thousands every night could be so worked up over some random guy.

“yes, just look, please,” y/n whined, dropping herself flat onto the large bed before burying her face into the pristine pillows with a huff. “he’s so hot,” she cried out into the cotton, her voice muffled against it.

“okay,” her manager laughed, tapping the screen a couple of times with manicured nails before letting out a soft gasp. “stop,” y/n gasped as well, lifting her head from the pillow with disheveled hair before bouncing off the bed and sprinting back to the other girl’s side, “what’d he say?!”

“he said, and i quote, ‘yo, it’s rafe’,” the woman recited in a monotone voice before looking up at y/n with a less than enthused expression, “wow… a modern day romeo.”

“okay, he’s not trynna woo me,” y/n laughed softly, gently taking her phone back and reading over the message. “clearly,” her manager muttered, “is he coming tomorrow?”

“i don’t know, maybe,” y/n mumbled as her thumbs hovered over the screen, unsure of what to do next. “well,” the other woman concluded, standing to her feet and straightening out her blouse, “let me know as soon as you do so i can get them their backstage tickets. and remember, we’ve got to leave here by five for the premiere — not a second later.”

with that, she exited the room in silence, leaving y/n to stare down at her phone as she chewed anxiously at the inside of her lip. why was she struggling so much? she’s talked to guys before and never was it ever that hard. she didn’t even know the guy, yet he somehow already had her stomach fluttering at the thought of him.

time was wasting with each passing second, and with a long night full of interviews and appearances, she decided she was simply giving it way too much thought and decided to finally pull the trigger.

she grimaced as soon as she hit send — definitely not her best work but it was something. she locked her phone and tossed it onto the duvet, letting out a groan before deciding it was time to do something other than stress over a man.

instead, she turned on some music and began the lengthy process of getting ready for a huge event such as the one she had that night. she showered, blow dried her infamous locks and even ironed her sleek, black dress in preparation — something she never does. the morning was casual, productive, and slow; all until she heard her phone chime from across the room. she bolted over to it, almost tripping over her own feet, before scooping it up to find rafe had responded.

as soon as their conversation ended, y/n called her manager and squealed out the information as she bounced giddily on her feet, even more excited for the following day's show than she thought possible. her manager assured her that everything would be situated before the next day, and to focus on the night ahead first, but y/n felt as though it would be virtually impossible — how could she? she was going to see rafe again.

extras:

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[bbokicidal]

Loser In A Hot Body | SKZ [L.F]

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Felix, is easily one of the most gorgeous men you've ever met on Earth. Well, the most gorgeous man to a lot of the people he's met. But, he's also... just a loser.

Genre: Mostly smut Pairing: Lee Felix x Afab!Reader Warnings: Virgin!Loser!Felix, Huge power dynamic going on, grinding/humping, oral (f & m receiving), and lots of cutesy loser gamerboy Felix content.

"Just one kiss?" Your head tips carefully to the side where you sit, cheek pressing against the pink fabric of the top you wore just to get him to look at you. It clearly wasn't working, given Felix hadn't batted an eye in your direction. Though he was sort of in his element; Tekken up on his PC screen, his fingers tapping rapidly at the LED keyboard he boasted about to every single one of his friends - with customized keycaps and pretty lights usually set to blue, he was set to go.

Felix's teeth sink into his lower lip as he focuses in on the game as much as he can. Even with his headset on, he has one of the muffs tugged over behind his ear instead so he could listen in case you called for him from elsewhere or maybe he got a phone call. He was a gamer but he was still considerate. "I'm... busy," He whispers out finally, voice just barely huffing through the two words in a gruff manner. "Give me ten minutes."

Your lips push into a teasing pout. "You said that fifteen minutes ago, Lixie." Your tone had turned into less of a sweet, innocent lilt and instead to begging. Your voice heightens but remains soft and cute towards your boyfriend who was just oh so busy and too occupied at the moment to lean over and give you one little kiss on your pretty pink lips; All glossed up and sparkly for him, too! "Please..?~"

Felix blinks a few times. They're rapid and it's as if he's trying to collect his thoughts just as his character is pummeled on screen. His fingers come to a halt and he stares with a slack jaw at the way the finisher places over his monitor. "..... Are you.. --" His voice, back to it's normal tone, is low and heavy with disbelief. He'd stopped clicking his keys for less than two seconds and he was already dead. "Aish," The word of distress escapes Felix's lips through grit teeth and in a heavy hiss, "I told you that I'm busy at the --"

With parted lips and his chair swiveling to face you, Felix stops. His hands rest so carefully against the arms of his seat while he takes in the sight of you dressed so cutely in front of him. The outfit looks like something you'd wear on a date with him, and here he was sitting in grey sweats and a black t-shirt that was nearly two sizes too big on him. Did he forget something today or had you just decided on a whim to dress so cute just for fun?

Felix's eyes dart over your shoulders, down to your waist, up to your face for just a moment, and then down. He stares at the way the top you wear dips so low in the chest and exposes a peek of the valley between your breasts. As soon as Felix's jaw shuts, he swallows. If there was on thing Felix was; It was extremely bad at hiding how he felt. Not that there was really a way of hiding the way he chuffed up in his sweats, anyhow.

And that was how you asking for a simple kiss turned into you blowing him under his gaming desk while he played Tekken with his old roommates. He isn't very reactive other than a few soft sounds here and there or a shudder of his hips when you take him into your throat; But you have to admit that the way he's so nonchalant about you sucking his cock while he games (and the fact that he allows it) is... kind of hot.

Felix was always kind enough to let you use anything of his to game if you asked for it. He would never hesitate before handing over his Switch or giving you a controller - even booting up his PC and setting up a game for you so you could have fun, too. He loved watching you game on his accounts even if you lowered his rank or failed miserably and trolled people in chats; But one thing he enjoyed even more was watching you while you gamed.

The expressions you made, the way you smiled or pouted or laughed at something that happened while you played. He adores getting to see you in his element - it's something he feels is special, especially when you aren't really one to game in your free time. Well, not until you met him. Sometimes, his view isn't the best because he's between your legs - but he still loves watching you!

"You have Ankha on your island?" Your thigh gently presses to the side of your boyfriend's head where he lay between your legs, tongue lathing over your clit in slow circles. Felix's hand gently comes up to press against your thigh, carefully and slowly pushing it away from his head to spread you wider for him. His tongue falls broad and he licks through your folds with a heavy breath fanning over your mound. "I knew you were a freak."

Your teasing giggles make Felix's cheeks flush red. Of course he was a freak; He was eating his girlfriend out on the couch while you sat there so pretty and played on his Switch - which turned him on way more than it should've. Don't get him wrong, he loves when you blow him or grind on his lap or suck hickies into his neck while he's the one gaming and trying to focus; But Felix loves when you game instead and let him do the work with his mouth. It's an instinct, now. He'll see you grab his switch or sit in his gaming chair and he's automatically getting on his knees, crawling closer to you so he can tug your panties aside under your skirt and suck on your clit like it's his favorite thing to do in the world. And it is, really; Aside from gaming, of course.

Even if you don't get off, Felix likes doing sexual things... casually, so he's more than happy to lazily eat you out while you play on his accounts. He won't ever admit it to you but he thinks about it when he jerks his cock any time he's alone and can't have you when he needs you. You gaming is the one thing he can imagine that is a surefire way for him to get off; Nothing else has ever worked so well.

Felix can't have sex with you.

Well... not.. intercourse, at least.

Because you say so.

No matter how many times you tell him how sexy he is or how hot he is to his face, he knows you won't let him slip it in when you two go to bed that night. It'll be all dry humping through his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric as he ruts his hips slowly against your ass, his arms wrapped tight around your middle to keep you flush against him. You'll moan and whimper out how nice it feels and he'll gasp into your ear about how badly he needs you, but he knows that he won't be getting any tonight.

It was a little confusing at first, but then he figured out that it's essentially power play. The first time he had thought you two would be going all the way, you giggled at his expression of desperation and called him a virgin while you pulled his pants down and let his cock hit his stomach. That night, he was so hard it hurt, his tip muddy and pink and leaking from the way you had been rubbing at him through his jeans and grinding on him for at least an hour. He'd blinked up at you in surprise, eyes wide and glossy as he fought with his thoughts to figure out just what to say. Had you just.. insulted him to his face during sex, or....?

"You've never fucked a girl before, right? You're such a loser you can't even get it in." You chuckle, hand brushing up his chest in admiration. HIs physique was phenomenal for someone who sat in a gaming chair at least four hours a day. Though, he did work out often, and though he wasn't jacked like a lot of other guys at the gym - he was definitely defined in more ways than one.

Felix's lashes flutter as his lips part. What does he say to that? "I've -- Yeah. Never..."

"Awe, poor baby. You want me to be your first?" You cooed, to which Felix immediately began to nod. He sat back when you coaxed him onto the bed, standing in front of him and what felt like towering over him as he stared up at you. "You want to fuck me, Lix?"

His eyes squeeze shut the next time he blinks. You were into this dynamic. Teasing him, calling him names, making fun of him for being a virgin. And he was, too. "Y -- Yes. Yes, I want to fuck you-!" He chokes out the words with a shy gasp, shoulders hunching up towards his cheeks where he sits. He can't even look you in the eyes anymore, gaze directed towards your abdomen instead.

"That's too bad."

His head snaps upwards. What? But you just -!

"See, Felix," You lean down a bit closer to the blonde and as your hand slides over his shoulder, he realizes just by the look on your face that you won't be letting him tap it for a while. "You're just... too much of a loser to fuck a girl like me. You're hot, and all, but.. you're just a gamer boy. And I definitely like that about you, don't get me wrong, it's just...." Your lips settle into a mock pout. "I don't know why I'd let such a perverted loser fuck me. You've gotta show me just how much you want it, and, you know, why you deserve it."

Felix's mouth waters. He's a little ashamed at the way he almost drools at your words. He has to prove his worth to you for you to let him fuck you - He has to show you why he's worth your time. HIs lips pop apart and he does drool, spit sliding down onto your thumb, and he stares as you lift your finger to your mouth and suck his spit away from your skin. His pupils blow wide at the sight of your lips molding around the tip of your thumb, the way your tongue licks over where he'd literally drooled on you.

And Felix never minded proving himself to you; He also understood that the power dynamic really only took place in the bedroom. While he truly was just a loser in a hot body, you two were equal as human beings and you didn't really think of yourself as better than him. It was just to tease, just to rile him up. Until you gave in from either desperation for him or you finally thought he was 'good enough' to fuck you - He'd just keep doing what he was good at. Which was.. gaming, eating you out, and being a good boy in the apartment like cleaning up and cooking for the two of you.

Though, Felix is a man. He's hot, a gamer, and a virgin; But he's still just a man. And he's impatient, and he gets riled up when you tease him so much and make him wait for it over and over and over. He hopes you'll let him show you just how good he can be for you soon, or - this loser might just show you how hot he can be and flip the dynamics around on you when you least expect it.

You might not be aware of it now, but Felix is sure in his mind that he could make you behave for him if he flipped the switch.

He just had to figure out when he wanted to do so.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #4 - tickling.

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!dick grayson x reader (dc).

length: 1.6k.

warnings: non/con touching, mentions of kidnapping, explicit disregard of consent, tickling, prolonged captivity, and obsessive/delusional behavior. dead dove: do not eat.

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this position.

Being held in an underground facility for an indeterminable amount of time, you were starting to grapple with. It helped to think of it as a kind of witness protection program – the city’s ever-expanding network of criminals wanted you dead and buried, Gotham’s most prolific gang of vigilantes wanted you alive and able to provide testimony at an upcoming trial, and the best place to keep you in the meantime was one of the many tucked-away safe-havens they apparently had, where only the damp chill and occasional lost sewer rat would be able to find you. It wasn’t that bad. Your temporary living space was more similar to a high-end apartment than a war bunker, and someone was almost always around to keep you company (even if you could survive without the taller, angsty-er Robin’s board games).  If there’d been a few more windows, you might’ve been able to get used to it. You were still looking forward to getting home, of course, but you knew why you were here.

How you’d ended up tucked against Nightwing’s chest, his arms locked around your midriff and his face buried in the back of your shoulder was… less comprehensible.

‘Bonding time’, he called it. There was a movie playing in the background – some b-rated flick meant to make you scream and flinch and melt further into him – and he’d cornered you in the bedroom, insisted that both of you would be more than comfortable on your twin-sized mattress. Of all the bats, he was the most determined to treat you more like a little sibling than an endangered civilian. Part of it (most of it, even) was guilt. He’d been the one to find you in the back of that big, white van; the one to suggest putting you into hiding to the others. Of course he wanted to make you feel comfortable. If you didn’t, he would be the reason why.

You just wished his bids for your forgiveness were a little less tactile.

The leading lady let out a cartoonishly high-pitched scream as the killer’s axe broke through the ridiculously thin door of her bathroom, and you felt Nightwing’s hand flatten against your stomach, prepared for you to startle and shrink, ready to draw you closer at the first sign of a reaction. It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. A shirt that read ‘Sorry I got you sort of kidnapped, please tell me I’m a good hero!’ would’ve been more subtle.

Sighing, you started to push yourself up. He was quick to stop you, of course, drawing back without loosening his grip. “Going somewhere?”

“Mhm. I just need to—” A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat on your bedside table, an untouched glass of water next to it. You could say you needed to use the bathroom, but you’d already used that excuse, too. Less than ten minutes ago, in fact. “—stretch my legs. I’ll be back in a second.”

He hummed, one of his hands falling to your side, where your oversized shirt had ridden up to expose skin. “If you’re feeling restless, you can say so. I’ll talk to B about moving some gym equipment in – let you burn off some steam while I’m gone.” He paused, laughed. “Or I could be your personal trainer. Promise I’ll go easy on you n’ everything.”

Your tense smile faltered. Great.Then he’d have yet another reason to put his hands on you. “Mr. Nightwing, sir, I’m really just—”

“I’ve told you,” he cut in, tone light and saccharine and so incredibly grating. “You can call me Dick.”

“I really don’t think I should know your real—”

“I don’t mind. It’s only fair, since I know yours.”

“That’s different.” It really wasn’t. You hadn’t wanted him to know yours, either. “I’m sorry, but I really just need a couple of minutes to—”

Again, you tried to pull away, and again, he stopped you. This time, though, the effort was hasty, sloppy, and his fingertips brushed against the tender skin just above your hip in just the wrong way. Before you could swallow it back, an airy giggling slipped past your lips – more reflex than anything. Immediately, you stopped moving, and Dick did the same – his hand clamping down around your waist.

You tried to speak, but he was faster, his delight blatant enough to be audible. “You’re ticklish?”

“I’m not.” And then, more defensively, “It hurts and I hate it.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t let you go, either. His hold on you shifted, one arm wrapping around your diaphragm while skirting his freehand along your lower stomach, his touch nearly too light to be felt. Your reaction was instantaneous, humiliatingly so. A crooked smile, a fractured laugh followed shortly by an awkward, painful wheezing sound. You threw your elbow into his chest, but he ignored you, only nuzzling into the nape of your neck. “Yeah, I can tell how much you hate it.”

He was practically dripping with that self-congratulatory, faux-sympathetic confidence. You grit your teeth, biting back a comment about Gotham’s heroes and their faulty sense of mortality, but it was a waste of breath. He was already moving onto his next target – the inside of your thighs, clamped shut as soon as his hand started veering in that direction. That didn’t matter. All it took was the pads of his fingertips grazing over that hyper-sensitive junction for you to lose your composure, kicking out blindly as you coughed up a sound that swung closer to death gasps than laughter.

Dick didn’t seem to mind. When he laughed, it was light, chiming, genuine. He propped his chin on your shoulder, watching your expression as his hands moved over your stomach, your sides, your midriff. “It’s cute,” he muttered, only half-focused on what he was saying. Most of his attention was dedicated to touching you, tickling you, making sure you didn’t have time to breath in-between thrashing fits – let alone resist. “And it’s good to see you lighten up. I don’t think you’ve smiled since the day we met.” Your recollection was swift, spotty. Darkness, adrenaline, terror, and then, relief, light, a smiling face. You couldn’t remember anything beyond that, not beyond what’d been told to you later on. You couldn’t remember whether you’d been happy to find yourself in Dick’s arms, or devastated that you were still being held at all. “You could afford to let your guard down a little, you know. It’s not like any bad guys are gonna be able to find you here – not with me looking out for you.”

 “I don’t—” It was awful, not being able to spit out a coherent string of words without your own dysfunctional body cutting you off. It was awful, knowing he wouldn’t listen even if you could. “I’m not afraid of any—”

“Of course you aren’t. Not when I’m here to keep you safe.” His voice had taken on a strange drawl, blurring around the edges. You felt him shift against your back, his hands leaving your body for one merciful second before finding your shoulders and jerking you onto your back, the motion forceful enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You were never going to get used to it; the freakish strength, the inhuman speed, the bizarre flexibility that meant he was on top of you long before you’d had the chance to catch your breath. His knees dug into the mattress on either side of your waist, his hips slotted against yours. Against your will, you felt something stiff and warm press into your lower stomach, and choose not to put a name to it.

Your chest throbbed, like it was at risk of splitting open. Your body ached, too little oxygen in too many placed, and it took you seconds to remember how to make any sound other than short, pitchy whines. Dick took it all in from above, only partially cast in shadow. Unlike the others, he never wore his mask around you – something about ‘letting his guard down’ or ‘proving you can trust him’, you were sure. Still, you wished he cared more about his secret identity. Even blank anonymity would’ve been better than being able to make out the deep, scarlet blush spread over his cheeks as he loomed over you, to recognize the raggedness of his own breathing and force yourself not to acknowledge why he seemed so strained.

“You’re not smiling.” It was true. You weren’t. Your expression had fallen into a distinct, pathetic grimace – only a touch less strained than the alternative. “Are you going to fix that, or do you need my help?”

In your own defense, you tried. You did your best to force it, to contort your lips into something that could pass for an easy smile, but whatever mangled offering you managed to pull together wasn’t up to Dick’s standards. He sighed, bowing his head and raising his hands. For a brief, terrible second, you pictured his fingers curled around your throat, your body convulsing as you suffocated, but his intentions were elsewhere. The hem of your shirt was caught and drawn up to your chin, far past anything that could ever be considered appropriate. You felt his fingertips drag over the curve of your rip cage once, twice before it kicked in – a searing, full-body laugh tearing out of your chest while you thrashed, your back arching and your hips inadvertently crashing against his. Immediately, Dick buckled – falling against you, hiding his face in your shirt. A second later, you felt something damp start to soak into your shorts, so hot it could’ve burnt.

The minutes passed, but Dick didn’t move, content to keep his body pressed into yours. Teary-eyed and dizzy, you let your head roll to the side, staring blankly at the television just as the credits started to roll.

At least he couldn’t keep you here forever, right?

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, manipulation wc: 5155 a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future. series masterlist < next chapter

“Cash or card?”

“Card.”

The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.

It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that. 

A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour. 

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store. 

Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!” 

“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.

He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.” 

Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.

You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him. 

It’s hard, yes. But so is parenting. 

The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”

Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is coming up soon. There’s gonna be food and music.”

Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”

“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.” 

And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Can Papa come?” he frowns. 

No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience. 

The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.

He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature. 

“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.

Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”

“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”

After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store. 

Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.

You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.

Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.

It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”

Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”

“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”

When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.

Soon, images of his father, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him. 

Not now.

You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time. 

You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.

It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.

This is what parenting is all about, isn���t it?

Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.

It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left. 

Koji.

If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility. 

I wanna see Papa.

Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.

A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.

For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.

Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.

Gojo Satoru.

The father of your child, your ex of 4 years. 

You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in five years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.

He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.

You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of nineteen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group. 

You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?

You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.

But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.

Letting him meet his father. 

“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual. 

The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.

You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”

“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”

He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”

“Good, and you?” 

“Very good.” 

The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness. 

You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”

Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.

The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”

“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.

“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”

You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”

He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”

Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.

Whatever. 

“Pizza or teriyaki?”

“Pizza!”

“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites. 

“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks. 

You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes. 

Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock. 

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”

It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly. 

“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.

“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.

“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”

He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”

Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been five years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”

He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course. 

You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”

“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.

Well…..shit. 

As if things weren’t already complicated.

With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..

“I-is this—”

“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”

Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”

You nod uncomfortably. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”

Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”

Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?”

The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers. 

“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”

“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”

Silence. 

You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”

There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”

You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”

Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.” 

“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”

With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.

Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–

“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”

“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”

But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”

Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”

Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”

“And I like it when you smile with me too.”

Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally. 

You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.

That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.

But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be. 

Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad. 

The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”

“S-satoru!” 

“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”

He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.

He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out. 

Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes,  but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two. 

In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles. 

“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”

“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”

Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”

Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness”. 

Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.” 

“For what?”

“It’s important.”

“So just say it now.”

“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”

“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.

“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.

Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”

Once again, she frowns. “But I—”

“Please.” 

His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving. 

“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”

“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”

“That woman is not sweet.” 

Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.” 

A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”

“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”

Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”

Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.

Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”

A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out.

“Who?” Satoru ends up asking.

His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”

Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten.  “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now. 

“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”

a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)

[aakeysmash]

maybes and sunscreen

college!sukuna masterlist

after almost a year of living together, you and college!sukuna are so accustomed to one another that you naturally slip up in the other’s conversations. maybe it's because you're both homebodies, or maybe it's because you've reached the silent agreement to keep the activities you do with yuuji hidden to preserve his innocent childhood (you learned that rumors run a long way inside your campus), or maybe it's because you started to ask sukuna less private questions, since he now seems to want to answer them even before you formulate them.

either way, the two of you always mention the other in conversations, and you don't even seem to notice, but your friends do.

"how about your house, man?" suguru asks sukuna from across the table, sipping his soda. they're sitting outside with satoru for lunch break, slouching on white plastic chairs, waiting for practice to start in less than ten minutes. days are getting longer the more summer break gets nearer, and the breeze flowing through the newly green leaves of the trees is a nice change from the humid stench of the locker rooms.

"dunno. the woman of the house is gonna bake cookies today," he shrugs, scrolling through his phone. he finds himself on a blurry zoomed in photo of a kitten covered in milk, and he smirks, hitting send after having selected your contact. you're going to love it.

"and?" geto asks, confused.

"and i don't know if she wants me to help her or not," sukuna continues, not bothering to look up from his screen, acting like he's not going to pester you until you let him help. and steal some of your cookie batter, too.

"it's the finale, bro, we've been talking about it since december. are you really not going to watch it for some cookies?" his raven haired friend exclaims, baffled. satoru only lowers his glasses on his nose, crossing his arms on his chest.

"oh, i'm going to watch it. got her hooked up on it too," the pink haired man says, a certain tilt to his voice matching the tilt of his head, as if he's saying are you crazy? i'm not missing it. "i don't know if she'd want you there, though."

geto rolls his eyes and satoru snickers, shaking his head. "we just want to watch the game on your tv. are you afraid she's going to feel uncomfortable with us there, my lord captain?" he mocks, sighing. lazily, sukuna glances his way.

"it's not her i'm worried about," he says, raising one of his eyebrows, maroon eyes squinting on a spot behind his friend's back.

"what does that even mean?" mutters geto, even more confused. it’s not like they’ve never seen you or have never been inside your house when you were there, so what’s different this time?

suddenly, sukuna grins like a madman, uncrossing his legs from on top of the table and standing up with his helmet under his arm.

“where are you goi-“ his dark haired friend starts, but satoru puts one of his hands on the other’s shoulder, effectively stopping him, whispering just wait.

sukuna takes a couple of steps, getting out of the gentle shadows of the trees above the table, still grinning.

“hi, baby. did you miss me so much you had to come to see me at practice?” he asks your nearing figure. you’re wearing a dress, the breeze soothingly flowing through your hair, and he takes a second to admire how graceful you look in the middle of the green garden. are the flowers you picked with yuuji the other day still fresh? maybe he should get more. maybe you’d like that. maybe you’d smile. maybe you'd thank him.

“i’m here because i knew you were never going to bring sunscreen with you, dickhead,” you huff, blowing your hair out of your vision, frowning. his grin only grows before he forces it away. typical.

“i don’t need that shit,” he rolls his eyes, turning on his heels and going towards the stadium. he knows you’re going to follow him. and you do.

“put it on! i’m not joking, sukuna,” you whine, trying to fall in step with him. “it’s going to be so good for your skin, come on.”

“it’s sticky and i don���t like feeling like a pussy,” he growls, going faster toward the benches inside the stadium and plopping down on them.

“you like pussy, though,” you shrug, forcing yourself between his parted legs, rummaging through your bag.

“i like you too, baby, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let me stick it in your pussy, does it,” he asks you smugly. you punch him on the shoulder, bewildered.

“you’re so disgusting,” you scoff, opening the little spf tube you brought in your purse just for him. "and don't tell me you like me when you never listen to me in the first place," you playfully add, caressing his face to smooth it out, and he lets you get his unruly hair off of his forehead. maybe he likes how you don't take the things he says to heart. maybe he just says them because he knows he's getting a snarky comment back.

“you didn’t say no, though,” he chuckles, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in your presence. your touch on his features is relaxing. he honestly thinks he could fall asleep if you were in any other setting.

“i’m letting you talk just because i’m in a male dominated field and even if i don’t agree i don’t want to die,” you deadpan. you smear the white cream on his nose, on top of the horizontal tattoo, and massage it into his skin. then you do the same thing with his other markings, making sure they’re protected enough to shimmer in the blazing hot sun.

“i wouldn’t let you die on me anyway,” he mutters. he gets both of his hands on your exposed thighs, keeping you closer, softly rubbing his thumbs in your muscles. "are you fucking finished? i hate this," he bites, frowning. you hum, lazily smiling down at him, rubbing his frown away with your fingertips.

"you're going to be the prettiest girl on the field," you coo. you can feel his mean glare from beneath his eyelids, and you almost shiver. "you're so going to thank me in a couple of years," you add, resting your palms on his cheeks and turning his head up. he opens his eyes slowly, staring into yours intently. his thumb catches on the fluttering hem of you dress while he draws little circles on your legs. he hears his coach screaming for his team to start running, but in this moment, he doesn't care that much. maybe the heat is getting to his head. maybe the soft smile you're looking at him with is making him a little bit weak in the knees.

"wanna make cookies today? we can watch the match together, perhaps ask the brat if he wants to join too," he says, rough voice kept low, almost as if this was a you and him kind of thing. maybe he already planned to ask you to do something with him when he was talking to his friends just a couple of minutes ago. maybe he lied, telling them you were the one who chose to do something, when it's not true. maybe the way satoru is patting suguru on the back with an "i told you so" look on his face isn't casual. maybe the one he was worried about all along was himself.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with your friends?" you ask him, tilting your head, positioning your thumbs on the fake tattoos on his cheekbones. almost as if you could cover their pupils and make him see less.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with me?" he genuinely responds, a somber look on his features. you think it's the first time he doesn't have a mocking grin on his lips. you ruffle the pink hair just above his left ear.

"maybe."

[gutsby]

Stupid Prizes

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Before you head back to college, your dad wants to go on one last family outing: the county fair. The only problem? Your secret fuckbuddy, Joel, is there.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky, unprotected p-in-v. Joel pining for you while your dad is beside him, oblivious for now. Semi-public sex (on a ferris wheel—don’t ever do that). Gross misuse of a candy apple. Age gap. Jealous Joel. Teasing. Angst(!) Mentions of infidelity/abandonment.

Word count: 10.0k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The gingham dress was your best idea yet.

For Joel, nothing could’ve been worse.

He’d cum down your throat no more than ten minutes ago, and with just a glimpse of your new getup bounding down the stairs—you’d had to change after he painted your last one white—Joel almost inhaled his Heineken.

He coughed and sputtered and hacked the beer back up while you strolled past the sofa and grinned at your dad.

“Ready to go, old man?”

It was just a short red frock with a sweetheart neckline.

The fabric cinched at the waist and flowed with every step you would take. Turning slightly to toy with the hem, and teasing the only eyes on you, you corrected yourself:

“Sorry…old men, I mean.”

Something like amusement flashed in Joel’s eyes.

Didn’t seem to mind this old man’s cock down your—

“I was born ready, kid,” your dad answered, still messing with something on his key ring, “How ‘bout you, Miller?”

“Yessir.” Joel stood.

He recalled you saying something similar before opening your mouth in the guest bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. Joel’s cock twitched in his jeans at the memory, and his cheeks might’ve tinged a little, remembering how fast he’d cum. You’d only smiled and sucked your thumb, getting a taste of the residue that had missed your chest.

“Quite a mess you made there, Joel.”

And you repeated those words, at length, with only you and him to know what it had meant to you both before.

You gestured to the smattering of crushed potato chips on his shirt, and your grin got bigger. Joel grew redder.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, brushing the crumbs off his front. He wasn’t nearly as fast with the comebacks as he was with other kinds of comings and goings, and he knew it. He set the bag of Lays aside and seemed ready to leave.

But when he’d licked the salt off his lips and caught you staring—when he saw his friend go back to the kitchen:

“I had to be quick,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, “You know better’n anyone what a messy eater I am.”

Of course you knew that. Joel winked at you, and you winked back, mostly making fun of the boomer move. He reached for you—the edge of your skirt scarcely hanging a fraction of the way down your thighs—and he opened his mouth to speak again, when there was the sound of heavy boots at the threshold of the room. Joel leaned past your body and snagged the bag of chips instead.

���Food for the road?” He turned to his friend.

“All you,” your dad replied, smiling and waving the chips off as he went for the front door, “I swear your stomach’s a bottomless pit, man. Eatin’ me outta house and home.”

Joel looked at you when your dad was past you both.

House and home ain’t the only thing I’m gonna—

“Let’s go,” you chirped, fast, “I call shotgun!”

This would be a long, long day, no doubt.

The county fair had been his friend’s idea. One last day of ‘family fun’ before his little girl went back to school out East, and Joel hadn’t seen Bellville in years, so he’d asked him if he wanted to join. After a shared, brief stint in abstinence camp, the answer should’ve been clear:

‘NO.’

But Joel hadn’t learned very much from the Fireflies in the less than 72 hours he’d spent living—and also fucking you—there, so he’d nodded and said ‘Okay.’

Now you were twenty minutes out from the fairgrounds with a near-depleted tank of gas in the truck, obliged to make a quick pit stop at a Texaco. It was the first time he’d been alone with you since you’d set off from Austin. The second his friend was gone and headed inside to buy a pack of smokes, he heard a seatbelt come undone.

Earlier, he had raced you and beat you to the car to lay claim on the passenger seat, so you’d been in the back this whole time. He barely saw you before he felt you, climbing over the center console and then into his lap.

Straddling him while the Eagles played faintly overhead.

“Feel fucking insane not being able to touch you right now,” you huffed against his lips, kissing him hungrily.

Joel groaned. Felt your lower half grind into his. Almost rutted his hips up and yearned to have you seated on something other than just his denim-clad crotch when he sucked in a breath and remembered where he was. He nudged your hips and fisted the fabric in his hand.

“You in this dress ain’t helpin’ me either,” he growled.

You grinned against him, then hiked the red-and-white material up your legs a little more. Joel felt something like a shockwave when he saw what was underneath it.

Or, rather, what wasn’t there at all: your panties.

“Bathroom quickie?” you said, already breathless, “I’ll tell my dad I got cramps. I’ve been so wet this whole ti—”

“Darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes had drifted down to the place where your body and his were touching—rubbing—now. Even from this limited vantage point, he could see a glistening patch sticking from your bare seam to his jeans, and it was pooling on the fabric. Practically oozing out of your cunt while you rocked your hips and begged him please.

“Please, just one. I’ll be good the rest of the day, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

His pupils were wide, and his mind was seriously considering it. Stupidly so, he reckoned; your dad was bound to be back any second, and surely you couldn’t both be gone for more than five minutes without raising suspicions. It was a reckless endeavor, he already knew.

And when he saw his old friend strolling out the front doors of the Texaco, his decision was made for him.

He watched you scramble off his lap and back to your seat, body quick and lithe and giggling the whole way.

“Gonna get me murdered, girl,” Joel panted, gruff.

Your own smile didn’t waver; you just settled back into the middle seat and let your gaze trail out the window, trying to fix your eyes on something to calm you down.

You already had the sense that nothing would. Your teeth bit your bottom lip between them to forestall the threat of another laugh while your dad approached the vehicle.

From the radio, ‘Life in the Fast Lane’ kept playing.

As old as they were, Joel Miller and your dad had a funny way of acting more like kids than you ever had, at any age. As your trio approached the wide, gleaming gates of the Austin County Fair, you saw your dad nudge Joel, and Joel shoved him back, and somewhere in the midst of all the ribbing, you heard your dad say, clear as day:

“If I’m takin’ a whole day off work, I’m gettin’ hammered.”

You knew by that tone this would an interesting afternoon, to say the least. You held your ticket tighter.

And for a moment, you wished you’d worn underwear. It’d been a split-second decision to peel them off before skipping downstairs, and it had worked well enough—Joel walking with a limp all throughout the parking lot and trying to shield the tent in his jeans—but now you were the one in greater danger still. Seeing your secret family-friend-with-benefits in his tight, light, heather grey shirt and jeans, hips adorned with a hefty belt and moving deliciously with each new step he took, you were transfixed. Left to watch him and gawk and grow wetter between the legs with every passing second, there was nothing you could do about it now. Likely sensing this, Joel raked a hand through his grey-flecked hair and hummed to himself. His bicep bulged through the sleeve.

“Nice little view, ain’t it?” he asked, nodding to the outline of a dozen shining rides and attractions ahead.

Go fuck yourself, Joel.

“Can’t wait to ride that.” You pointed to the ferris wheel, though the finger in your mind was aimed closer to him.

“Funnel cake,” your dad beamed, eyeing a nearby stand.

The three of you weren’t walking for much longer before he insisted on buying one. Joel had had a hankering for lemonade himself, so he’d fallen in line behind you and your dad. When it was your turn to order, you paused.

Then, pointing again:

“Can you get me one of those?”

You’d had to stand on tiptoes to see it inside the display, but from Joel’s own height, he was certain to have seen what you meant. While your dad shilled out the cash, not batting an eye, the man behind him clenched his jaw.

Candy apple, hon? Real fuckin’ mature.

Your eyes met his as soon as you’d turned, treat in hand.

I thought you liked seeing big things in my mouth, Joel.

He would’ve scowled if he wasn’t next in line—and your dad wasn’t walking so close behind, sniffing his food.

Joel ordered his drink, drank it fast, and found his thirst no better quenched than when he’d started. You’d sat across from him at the table and made sure of that.

You dragged your tongue up the sugar-coated apple just like you’d done to his shaft that morning and blinked, savoring the taste. Feigning innocence as he looked on.

And what else could he do? If not watch you, then peer at your father, furtively, and make sure he wasn’t able to see so much as a second of this little show you were putting on now. Joel glanced around you, too. No one else seemed to notice what was going on, even when your lips left a soft, sweet suction near the top of the apple, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard you moan.

It was just in his head. He was remembering how you’d done it that morning, mouth sinking down his length and whimpering when you’d reached the base. The way your eyes had watered, your free hand had reached between your legs, and your lips had welcomed him in; it was all burned in his memory, and not retreating any time soon.

Neither was the blood rushing to his dick, he reckoned.

You didn’t seem to care. Even when a bright pink river of spit and sugar trickled out of your mouth, you didn’t flinch. You let it slide down to your chin. Right before it reached the end of your face, and you were certain Joel’s gaze was glued to the spot, you licked a little bit of it off. You didn’t get it all in one go, so you shifted your snack to the other hand and then swiped your thumb under your lips. You brought it up to your mouth and sucked it, just like you’d done with Joel’s cum on it earlier that day.

Joel chucked his cup in the trash. Your dad took another bite of his deep-fried pastry and, talking between chews:

“That was fast.”

“Need’a stretch my legs,” Joel announced, abrupt.

He turned to you, and your thumb came out of your mouth. The frown on his face was unmistakable, though your father probably thought it was just from having to squint against the sun. Not because he was incensed.

Out for revenge.

“Ready to get wrecked, kiddo?” he asked you.

Your eyes widened, and your tongue quit licking.

What?

Then you saw him nod to some spot over your shoulder. You didn’t have the nerve to follow his gaze as he did.

Faintly, you could make out a smirk crossing his lips.

“Arcade’s over there. Unless you’re too scared.”

Your dad raised a dumbass, not a quitter.

You’d accepted Joel’s proposal without a second thought, and your father seemed pleased to have the chance to peruse the food stands and beer carts to his heart’s content. You’d set off quickly. Your candy apple was still in your hand when you saw your friend lean over.

Joel opened his mouth, and he took a big, angry bite.

“You’re insane,” he said after, words muffled by fruit.

You took your first steps inside the dark, cool building littered with machines and fun activities of every kind, and deep down, you were happy you’d had that treat. You took a bite yourself, then discreetly patted his ass through his jeans and told him, ‘Only for you, Miller.’

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it, no matter how stupid and playful the message was meant to be read. But then Joel nudged you back—actually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

His mouth was close to you, and you could feel the smile:

“Just how I like it.”

Your cheeks heated a little. You weren’t so fond of the intimate move—in public like this, even as dark as the arcade happened to be—but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach. You swallowed the rest of your apple, and with it, any shred of emotion, or so you were hoping. You nudged Joel off of you under the guise of trying to point to something new, and his eyes followed.

“C’mon. At least pick something you’ve got half a shot of winning,” he said, swiftly. Sounding smug as he spoke.

You plodded on anyway, not hesitating at all.

“I’ve got more than half a shot,” you assured him, tone arguably twice as conceited, “Now if you’re scared—”

“You can’t use my own lingo against me, little girl.”

“Then nut up or shut up, old man.”

Joel scoffed. You chewed. The two of you approached the Skee-Ball machines with near identical looks of ambition and zeal, and sensing this tension wouldn’t dissipate with any more shit-talking, you got to work.

The first game was close. You beat him by less than ten points, and you guessed that that had been due in part to Joel’s own will. You saw him make more than two pitches so outrageously bad that you’d had to have guessed he was going easy on you. As soon as you felt that, you’d scowled. Pointed angrily at the scoreboard.

“You can’t just let me win, Miller!” you said, shrill.

Joel’s hands went up, and you knew he’d deny it all.

“No need to gloat, now, honey—”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, all while fighting back a smile, “Gimme your A game or don’t bother playing, honey.”

And he did.

The next game left you destroyed, roughly 900 to 320. You stepped back from the machine, feeling a frown start to form on your lips but knowing you’d asked for this, and just as Joel was about to lean in to offer a conciliatory hug, he had to stop. Both of you turned.

Somewhere behind you, you’d heard a voice.

It was young, male, and audibly amused.

“He really whooped your ass, huh?”

Your eyebrows raised as soon as you saw the source. Your scowl morphed into a smile, and your eyes were bright—too bright, almost. You ran over to hug the boy.

He was a boy, after all. Likely no more than half Joel’s weight soaking wet and wearing the biggest, dumbest grin that could only belong to a guy your age. He hugged you back, and his arms tightened around you. Comfily.

“Wade!” you gushed, squeezing him hard. You stepped back and looked him over, as if in shock, “It’s been…”

“Forever,” Too-comfy-cozy Wade finished for you.

Joel frowned.

“And here I thought you were gone away for good!” you laughed, “Went off to get that fancy Stanford degree—”

“—and you, in Boston—” the boy chimed in.

Before the reminiscing could go on much further, you remembered yourself and turned back to Joel. Still beaming as bright as you’d been when you first saw the kid, you gestured indistinctly, tongue-tied for a second.

“This— Joel, this is Wade Pritchett, one of my friends from high school,” you introduced him. Letting the two men—or, rather, mustached boy and muscled man—shake hands. Evidently, you were too stoked to notice.

“He moved out to Sacramento our senior year, and none of us thought— well, we— we figured we’d probably never see him again. Fuckin’ west coast hot shot he is.”

You smirked as you nudged his ribs, and something in Joel turned to month-old milk: sour, rancid, and heavy. His stomach turned inside him, and he hardly knew why. All he noticed was that he didn’t like the eyes you were making at him, and he hated the face Wade had for you.

Joel was just looking out for you, really.

You could do so much better than this douche.

“This is my friend,” you said to Wade, motioning back. Then, reconsidering just a second, “My dad’s friend.”

Joel didn’t like that.

Wade gave him a brief once-over and hardly seemed to see him at all. In that millisecond of a look, Joel saw it:

‘Old family friend. No worries there.’

Foolishly, Joel wished the chump could’ve seen what you’d been doing the night before—impaled on his cock and riding him as hard as your knees would allow you:

‘Daddy, please, daddy, daddy, daddy.’

“Joel?” Your voice cut in his mind like a knife.

Joel blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay if Wade joins?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

Not that it mattered now. Royal pain-in-the-ass Pritchett was already getting the machine next to yours set up.

Joel eyed him once more and tried to swallow his pride.

Somewhere along the way, it got stuck in his throat.

Three rounds was all he could take.

You on Wade, Wade on you—goading each other on in the most sly, flirtatious ways. Or maybe it was just Joel imagining that. Regardless, the man didn’t feel guilty at all when, at the conclusion of the third game, he’d tried to feign a casual tone and told you your dad would be expecting you back any minute, better wrap things up.

“He texted me like twenty minutes ago saying he’d be neck-deep in craft beer for an hour. I think we’re good,” you replied, and the indifference in yours didn’t have to be faked. You grinned at Wade, and Wade grinned back.

“Well, he texted me a second ago that he was holding a spot for us in line at the ferris wheel, so let’s roll, kid.”

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t like himself for doing it. But, again, he didn’t like Wade Pritchett even more, and he reasoned that he was doing you a favor, anyway. He searched for the exit.

“It’s alright, my mom’s probably looking for me, too.”

We get it, Pritchett. You’re a mama’s boy.

“Ah, okay.” You almost sounded sad.

Don’t be, baby. You’re daddy’s girl, remember?

Wade pulled you in for a hug; Joel wanted to deck him.

“I’ll be in town all week if you wanna—”

“I wish. My flight leaves tomorrow,” you cut in. Now your tone was really despondent. Your mouth was pouting.

It was just Joel’s eyes. He was seeing things. He was thinking you cared for this guy more than you probably ever did, and he was getting himself worked up over nothing. He clenched one hand into a fist by his side and waited for the anger to subside. Sadly, it was slow to go.

“Maybe we could…go out for drinks later or something?”

That suggestion didn’t make things any easier on Joel.

“I’d love to.”

Your reply didn’t exactly set his mind at ease, either.

At last, he decided he’d had enough. Turning on his heels, he bid a terse goodbye to shithead Pritchett and walked out of the arcade. He didn’t stop until he’d hit one of the bar carts your dad had been raving about outside.

He contemplated buying a drink. Maybe two. In fact, he’d just been eyeing three cans of Coors Light and was fishing for his wallet when he heard your voice again.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” His tone was clipped.

If you felt it, you didn’t show it.

“Are we riding the ferris wheel or not?”

He probably should’ve given a verbal answer in the affirmative. Instead, he’d just nodded his head and started off the other way, expecting you to follow.

The walk was short. You’d had to weave through a sea of fairgoers, including schoolkids, college-aged drunks, and more than a fair share of loved-up couples, but that wasn’t too bad. Joel just ignored each one and didn’t stop until you’d reached the line for the ferris wheel.

Or what was left of the line, anyway.

Unlike what Joel had told you, there was no wraparound queue for you to join. Your father wasn’t there. Once you’d passed a look over the dozen-odd people waiting patiently for it to be their turn on the ride, you felt your stomach turn. Joel had never texted your dad at all.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Dispensing with the obvious.

Joel still wouldn’t look your way. He’d just sidled up behind the last people in line—a group of older folks who all seemed eager to get on the ferris wheel. You scoffed when you saw Joel’s expression harden, and you planned to turn away. Then the people up front started to move. For a moment, you were torn between telling him off and leaving him there. At length, you settled on saying, low:

“You lied.”

Joel followed the moving line, and a few more people started to trickle in behind you. Before you could even think to speak again, you were nudged ahead by the force of that crowd, and had only to keep glaring.

“Hey—” you hissed, only five steps away from the platform now. The ride attendant was scanning the line, appearing to count the people approaching the gate, and when his eyes landed on you, you made out a little grin.

“Aww, your daughter scared’a heights or somethin’?”

He’d said it to Joel, sounding cheeky. His teeth gleamed in the light of a hundred different neon bulbs, and you had to avert your face to keep from revealing its disgust.

So everyone else still thinks he’s my dad. That’s nice.

You couldn’t see Joel’s expression, but you imagined it looked the same. You shuffled ahead, reluctantly, and heard a lady behind you laugh; the sound had a tipsy lilt.

“My kid’s the same way—you’ll be fine, hon,” she slurred.

Heights aren’t the issue here, you’d wanted to snap back, for no other reason than your own disdain for Joel and the present situation. He walked in front of you, still refusing to meet your gaze, and soon you were perched on the platform, sandwiched between two semi-rowdy throngs of fairgoers with no clear means of escape. You crossed your arms and stared up at the back of his head. The look you gave him probably could’ve burned holes in his skull if irritation had been the means of achieving it.

You were seated on the ride in minutes. The compartment was surprisingly large, and its walls high, with glass on every side. Under a waning afternoon sun, the views you expected to see were bound to be pretty. All that was left to detract from its splendor was Joel— hunkered down opposite you and manspreading. Wide.

Sitting in total silence with his denim-covered legs split in a ‘V’. Watching you and rubbing one thigh, absently.

“You’ve got some nerv—” you started in.

“Yeah, no. No. That kid was gettin’ on my nerves—”

It amazed you how fast Joel was to return your words with a hostile quip of his own, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’d he even do?! He’s my friend— my best friend—”

Fury flitted to something like discomfort, momentarily.

“Oh yeah? Just friends?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

In your own expression, rage flared unchecked. You didn’t particularly care what Joel thought now if he was immature enough to act like this, and the walls of the compartment were thick enough to prevent anyone else’s hearing a word of it. The ride continued to rumble along, letting on new passengers with each new stop.

Joel might’ve paused. Could’ve stared out the window for all you knew—everything but the wheel itself seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and time was sliding.

“Because I— I— I give a shit, kid. I care.”

“And that makes lying to me alright?”

“I was just worried for your—”

“Bullshit. What would you need to be so worried about? Me playing Skee-Ball with an old friend and maybe getting drinks? You can fuck right off with that.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when the ride suddenly jolted to a stop. It sputtered. Then, after a long, tense moment, it slowly ascended again. You took this lull in speech as your own chance to re-intervene:

“That’s not ‘care.’ Or ‘worry,’” you continued, words dripping with condescension, “That’s controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Joel Miller always did.

“It’s not—”

“It is—”

“Protecting you from assholes like him—”

“—he’s not—and I never asked you to do that!”

“So I just sit by and watch him touch what’s mine—”

“I’m not yours, Joel!”

Your last words echoed through the car like a shotgun’s report. You’d said it with such force—so emphatic for him not to be mistaken in what this was, or whose you were—when you hardly even knew how you felt yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that Joel knew only too well. The last time you two fucked, he’d begged the same: ‘Say you’re mine,’ and no matter how close you’d been to release at the time, you simply couldn’t say it. Now, clear-headed and mostly clothed, you still despised those words. Emotions. Uniquely juxtaposed with Joel’s jealousy over Wade, you’d never wanted to say it louder:

“I’m not yours, and I never will be. So just stop.”

More cruel.

“Are we clear?”

The car came to a halt near the top. When Joel still hadn’t deigned to answer, you leaned in closer.

“I said, are we fucking clear, Miller?”

Then you didn’t have to wait.

“I hear you.”

Of course he heard. His face was hard. His eyes were like two brown stones in the sockets, and the line of his mouth was tight. Whatever use you might’ve had in trying to decipher that look was ignored for the time being; you were still too angry. And, perhaps owing to this state—with a white-hot look fixed on him and your head full of blinding, bitter thoughts—you were more than susceptible to surprise. You jumped when you felt it.

Felt him with a hand moving from his leg to yours.

It went quick but was almost too ridiculous to fathom—how swift Joel was in reaching for you, hoisting you into his lap, letting your limbs straddle his hips with all the ease of old, welcome habits. It might’ve worked just as well, were it not for the tension in your legs. The short, sharp, ‘Joel’ and a look flitting out to either side of you.

“What?” he grunted.

You heard a fly unzip.

“We’re on a—”

Before you could finish, and as if to furnish the answer for you, the ride shuddered back to life. Its descent was slow, but any movement now made your stomach churn. It didn’t matter that most of the cabin was encased in metal, the rest semi-tinted plexiglass, or that your space was almost entirely shielded from the view of other cars—it was too much of a risk, as was everything with him.

Joel remained blind to it all. Your cabin came to a stop, still high in the sky, and then you felt him grip something between you. In one swift motion, he had the head of his cock rubbing your seam. You sighed; his eyes were cold.

“C’mon then…show me what ain’t mine,” he murmured.

His voice was low. You hated those words. This was more than just that. Your cunt slid and accepted him anyway.

For a second, your gaze was level with his. Your hips hadn’t stirred, and he was crawling inch-by-inch inside you, pulling you down. The act could’ve been intimate, had the words that passed before not been so harsh—and the place not been a fucking amusement park.

When the ride resumed its slow, rumbling circuit, he didn’t make your bodies part, but instead flipped you around. Your back was flush with his front, and by all appearances, you were innocently perched on his lap.

What the tens, or dozens, or hundreds of strangers ambling around down below couldn’t see was that a cock was nestled inside you, too. That with every gentle bump of the wheel, a man several decades your senior was filling you to the hilt, sending waves of pleasure through your body and his while he stuffed you tight. What your dad didn’t know was that this was his friend. That the nose nudging the skin between your sleeve and your neck belonged to Joel, and his breaths were short.

Trying to calm the flutter of his pulse and the pull of his lungs, he flattened his hands on either one of your thighs. He rubbed his palms back and forth, and you glanced down to find the insides of your legs extra shiny.

Slick, pretty, and full of him. He tilted your chin back up.

“Nice and quiet for daddy—nice and still. No squirmin’.”

He nudged your hips forward, and his cock brushed a wet, spongy ridge inside you. You had to purse your lips to swallow a noise. You felt your cunt drool even more.

The car swung low, in the line of sight of far too many eyes, and then it stopped again. You weren’t at liberty to move at all, and still, the feel of Joel inside you was raw.

Grating, almost.

It made the prospect of conversation seem the tiniest bit easier, though—forced to face away from each other and act civil now. Right before the ride started up again, you gripped the armrest and anchored your feet to his boots.

“Feels…good,” you whimpered.

“That so?” Joel murmured back.

“So—oh.”

Your words fell apart at the next brush of his hand, sliding down to your heat and taking his index and middle fingers to the precious, pulsing bud in between.

Soon the car was up at a comfortable height. You sighed.

Your legs pressed together over Joel’s, and you felt him rub the tips of his fingers even harder, circles tighter.

“I know,” he said, sensing your words before they came, “I know it feels nice, baby. Keep that chin up for daddy.”

Don’t let them know I’m inside you. Stay quiet.

But his girth was so much. The tug of his smooth, throbbing manhood between your walls was almost more than you could take. You laced the fingers of your free hand with his over your thigh, and you held them tight as your hips wriggled back. You couldn’t help it, feeling a welt of pleasure start to blossom in your belly.

“Joel—” you started.

“Don’t talk,” Joel grumbled, stern, “It’ll draw attention.”

You sensed there was more to it than that. Your fingers threaded even deeper through his, and he squeezed them back. Between your bodies, there rose a soft, gentle tap, tap, tap with the thrusts Joel was able to deliver now that you were back up high and out of sight. If there was any time to speak, this was your window.

Joel probably wished you hadn’t, but you tried, anyway.

“You know it’s been years since—”

“Since?”

Now you didn’t want to say it. But you knew you had to.

“Wade’s been my friend since—”

Another influx of something soft and tender inside you. Joel holding your hand, pushing himself deeper, and trying not to groan when you clenched around him. Hating that he had to hear that name, most likely.

You despised the words even more before you said them:

“—since my mom left.”

It was an awful time to be bringing this up, admittedly. Both of you on the brink of release with Joel’s cock buried as far inside you as it would go, his fingers entwined with yours, and the ride drifting lower.

And lower, lower, lower still. Joel’s breaths picked up.

The car shuddered to a halt almost halfway down. You didn’t have to see his face to picture it a little more rigid than it’d been before. He’d known your dad long enough to remember the time his wife had walked out on him.

“Ever since we were kids—” You continued, as if you needed to remind him of any of the particulars. Joel hardly knew you back then, though, “—he was my friend. Wade’s been one of my— my closest— he was there—”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the subject of discussion or simply how close you were to cumming that kept your tongue from forming a coherent string of words, but here you were. Joel’s grip on your hand had loosened, and the movements of his hips had slowed considerably. You hoped he’d be too lost in his own pleasure to care.

“I remember,” he returned quietly.

That was all he said for a moment. Out of habit, your legs parted more for his touch, and you whimpered, feebly, as the fingers kept circling your clit. The ride started again.

“You don’t have to—” And again, his voice was low.

“I’m not saying that as an— as an excuse or anything.”

You didn’t know why you were saying it at all. You just wanted Joel to know he didn’t need to be jealous. That Wade had been a friend through a dark and bleak season of your life, and that was all it had ever, or would ever, be.

While the car was still suspended in air, and the sights below all relatively small, you got the sense you’d have to deal with this budding bliss inside you a bit quicker than anticipated. Joel was all wordless encouragement. You almost wished you could’ve seen his face as he urged you to come undone, keep making yourself feel good, that’s it, cum for me, but frankly, it was probably for the best you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. Beyond just needing release, you wanted him to see you in a more vulnerable light than you’d ever been—facing away seemed the least painful position to have that happen.

With your fingers and his still interlaced and your hips moving a little more quickly, Joel could feel your pleasure soaking his jeans, and he pulled you down closer to him.

He nudged the back of your neck with his nose. He panted against it gently, tenderly. Then he kissed it.

“Don’t need’a say anything else, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Under any other circumstances, an apology from a man would have been the last thing to send you over the edge, but today, you couldn’t help it. Just as the car started up again, you hit your peak with Joel still stuffed inside you, and you gripped his hand as hard as you could. You fought to keep the moans contained behind your lips, but it was hard—and Joel’s constant, tender caresses with his lips and fingers made it that much worse. He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder and told you gently, ‘That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl.’

My girl.

Again.

You almost didn’t mind it being said this time around.

Almost.

In truth, you didn’t have half a mind to think much of anything in that moment. You just curled your toes and pressed your back into Joel while the warm, euphoric waves coursed through you, and you let yourself be content with what he’d said. Whatever he meant by it.

In the minute that followed, you sensed he was perilously close to finishing, too. So, as soon as you’d made it down from your high—and the ride, too, was circling back and making its way through the final cycles—you crawled off of Joel. You got on your knees. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you locked eyes with him; your mouth moved lower still. You’d barely latched your lips onto the head of his cock before he was shooting off rope after rope after rope of his cum. Warmth splattered down your tongue and throat, and you swallowed it all obediently.

You didn’t need to be told when the ride was over. You heard a buzz, felt it jolt, and, unfortunately for you and Joel, your car was one of the first to be let off. You had to hurry off your knees and back into your seat, across from your panting, silver-haired friend, just seconds before the door to your left swung open. You began to stand.

Joel followed you out. His spend was still stuck to your throat in some places, the scent of his skin and his stubble and his extra heavy load all fresh to your senses. You wiped one corner of your mouth and kept walking.

And it was in this state you remained another second or two. You were just about to take your first steps off the platform, mind floating over somewhere tranquil and warm, when your thoughts were presently interrupted.

Your steps, too, were cut short. Joel had stopped you.

Then he grabbed your face, and he kissed you.

Your world froze a moment. You didn’t have time to think, or react, or even kiss him back, so you just stood there and let him hold you to him. It was over in a blink.

And one glance over Joel’s shoulder after he did it, to the ride attendant and nearly every last person in line, said they were just as stunned. Some sick, by the looks of it.

‘He’s NOT my dad!’ you wanted to yell, out of habit.

Seeing the eyes Joel had fixed on you—the smile that followed—their suspicions didn’t matter to him at all.

You walked off together, still considering those words:

My girl.

A month wouldn’t be so bad. Two was tolerable, even.

The next few hours spent with Joel made it seem like you could go a year or longer without seeing his face, and nothing between you would change too much.

He was a friend. A good friend. Not just your dad’s old companion, but your own. Whatever else was left beyond that could be explored down the road, but for now, you were content to just let him hold your hand in places you weren’t likely to be seen, and kiss you in those he hoped your dad wouldn’t be. Maybe fuck you on a ferris wheel.

At the thought of going back to college tomorrow, not seeing him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas at the earliest, you didn’t feel too sad. You did get an extra burst of yearning when Joel’s hands would find your hips and push you off to some shaded, semi-discreet area and he’d tell you, softly, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya, kid’ before kissing you with a hunger all over again. That made you think you might miss him a little.

You’d warned him not to lie to you again. He promised he wouldn’t. You believed him, at least as far as your general mistrust of men would allow, and you had left it at that.

Now the tips of his fingers were brushing your own, and his mouth was grinning—coated in all sorts of sauces from the barbecue you two had been devouring. It was approaching six o’clock. He held the last Carolina-style pulled pork slider up to you, and you shook your head.

“I’m stuffed,” you said, pained.

Really, you were. You and Joel had decided to join in on the fair’s 25th annual BBQ and Chili Cook-off an hour ago, and now your stomachs were suffering immensely.

You made a face in disgust when he tried to push it closer, ‘Joel, I’ll projectile vomit if you don’t— don’t—’

You squealed when he leaned in, thinking he was planning to smush the patty in your face—you’d done that to him with some coleslaw not too long ago—but instead, he dropped the burger. He pressed what non-sticky parts of his hands he could get on your face and, cupping your cheeks between his palms, he kissed you.

Then he kissed you again, and again, and again.

This time, it felt more like an attack. Not an attempt at being affectionate, which he’d shown himself amply capable of all day, but really just a way to smear your lips and chin with sauce and get you extra pissed off at him.

It worked. You bit his lower lip at the last kiss.

And, instead of wincing in pain or biting you back, Joel surprised you by groaning a little bit against your mouth. His grip loosened from your face, and he leaned back.

‘Behave’ was all he said. Smirking.

If any one of Joel Miller’s quasi-fatherly lectures had ever met with success before, this would not be one of them. You only rolled your eyes and were about to reply with some variant of ‘Make me’ when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see the new notification.

Nothing more than a reminder to check in for your flight. But that sight also roused some awareness in you that it was just then starting to get late, and you hadn’t heard a word from your father in hours. You and Joel had been extraordinarily fortunate that day in hearing that your dad happened to run into some friends at the livestock show, and had been occupied—plastered, most likely—ever since. You hadn’t thought to question it before, just happy to have your dad out of your hair for the afternoon, but now that it was late and all the shows were long since over, you had to wonder if it wasn’t time to shoot him that text. Bring your last happy, fun-filled night with Joel for the next two months to an end, and head home.

You started to send him a message. Joel peered over your shoulder, absently wiping his hands on a napkin.

“He said he was headed over to a concert last time we talked. Some band he likes,” he hummed, “Wanna go?”

You weren’t too keen on seeing the likes of any Creed-adjacent artist your dad so loved to listen to himself, but if it gave you an excuse to stretch your time with him and Joel, you didn’t mind. You nodded, then deposited your phone back into your pocket. You were just about to stand when Joel held you back. He’d snagged your hand.

“Hang on, ya got a little—” he said, soft. Then he lifted his napkin and started wiping at the sides of your mouth. His motions had all the crude, brute force of a man who’d never wiped a person’s face before—he seemed more concerned getting the vinegar-based glaze off your cheeks than impressing you with how tender he could be—but the gesture was received well enough. For once, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just smiled.

“You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Long as it’s alright with your dad.”

“You could spend the night, too.”

Joel paused. He flitted a look from your lips to your eyes, then, finding a sly playfulness in both, only hummed. Stopped wiping long enough to kiss you on the cheek.

“We’ll see—”

“I’ll be real good—”

“Oh, I bet you won’t.”

But by the end of it, Joel was grinning too. He didn’t protest when your lips returned the favor from his, and they left an equally sweet and clean kiss on his cheek.

He didn’t bat an eye when your hand slid up his leg either. He just squeezed yours back and helped you up.

“Gonna get me murdered, I’m tellin’ you,” he murmured in your ear as you stood, just like he’d said to you earlier.

You figured if he’d had his pick of ways to risk his life, sneaking into your room tonight wouldn’t be the worst possible option. You threw your trash away and started off for the entertainment pavilion, following the music.

It was almost like you could feel Joel contemplating whether to sling his arm over your shoulder while you walked. Not once, but twice did his fingers twitch beside him, and he looked around you both from side to side. He decided against it, at length, and contented himself instead to just nudge your elbow and tell you that he liked that dress a lot—he hoped you would wear it again.

Come up for a football game, and you might see it then, you’d urged him back. The red of your dress wasn’t quite the perfect match for your school’s hundred-year-old crimson and black color scheme, but that was alright. You’d bend the rules for him. The two of you were just approaching the outskirts of a big, noisy crowd when Joel was about to respond. Your eyes glazed over a sea of people, surprised by its size, when you cut back in:

“We’re never gonna find him in here.”

Joel assessed the crowd. Checked his phone. Heard the wail of a guitar from somewhere up at the front and instantly surmised this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band—and that your dad wouldn’t leave until he’d heard every song. Silently, he kicked himself for suggesting coming to look at all. He could’ve taken you on a few more rides, filled your overstuffed belly with a little more cotton candy, popcorn, or ice cream, if you’d been up for it, but instead, you were obliged to find your old man. It wouldn’t have been awful if it wasn’t so hot and—

“Hey,” Joel broke in, before he could think.

His eyes had landed on a person—a pair—in the crowd that you hadn’t seen, and his heart clenched in his chest.

You’d barely tilted your head to him, “Yeah?”

“We should go,” he told you. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rushed, or strained, but it was.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your gaze had shifted fully to him. Your eyes searched his, curious.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I…” Joel trailed off, looking around. Scrambling to procure an excuse of some kind, “I gotta…go piss.”

“Then piss. I’ll wait here,” you replied.

You didn’t get it. Really, there was no way you could. You hadn’t yet seen the short-sleeve, turquoise-colored PFG shirt at the back of the crowd, the beaming face Joel spotted above it. You hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the man’s profile, much less the full, wide smile on his face, the beer in his hand, or the woman by his side. She was either laughing, or singing, or nudging his hip. They looked happy. And yet, you shouldn’t see it.

Joel would kiss you—that was it. It would be the riskiest thing he’d done, but at least it’d save you from seeing.

So he tried. Joel leaned in and ventured to press his lips to yours, gripping your face, but the second he did, you pushed him away. Your eyes were wide. Cheeks heating.

“What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, “Dad could be—”

Your gaze darted to the side, and then you stopped.

The eyes grew wider. Your lips stayed the course, as if to keep going, but no sound came out, and all that was left of your mouth was a round, stunned ‘o.’ You blinked, like you couldn’t believe it: the two people were kissing now.

Joel reached for your arm, but you were far too fast. You shot off to get away, toward them, and didn’t stop until you’d made it to the edge of the crowd where they stood. The music was loud, the audience was rowdy, but still, even at a distance, Joel could hear you as clear as day:

“Dad?!”

The man and the woman split as quickly as they could.

You were standing there, watching them watch you in utter shock for a second or two. Joel wasn’t counting, but he did find himself next to you before he could blink. He was reaching for your arm again, then stopping. Looking to his friend, whose gaze was plastered on his daughter with all the markings of awe. Embarrassment.

“Honey—” he started.

“What the fuck is this?”

Bad question. Terrible timing. Joel knew what it was—clearly his friend knew it too, but you weren’t supposed to find this out yourself for at least another month or two. That was what he’d told Joel back then, anyway.

“Sweetheart, this is my—this is Helen.”

You looked like you wanted to be sick.

“I know who she is!” you spat. You waved an angry, inarticulate hand in Helen’s direction. Helen looked away.

“Why don’t we go someplace quieter?” That was Joel, cutting in over the thumping bass and the strain in the air like he might’ve been a father to you himself. Wanting to shield you from what was coming next if he could help it.

Once more he reached for you, and still inflamed, you shoved him off. Your eyes were too hurt to turn away.

“What? This is y—your—” you started back, stammering.

“We were going to tell you, honey, I swear.”

In all the years he’d known him, Joel had never seen his friend look so contrite—or fucking moronic. The man had ditched his beer, was wringing his hands trying to pace a little more carefully your way while he spoke, but you weren’t having it. Or anything, really. When Joel brushed his touch against your elbow the slightest bit, about to murmur words low in your ear, like, ‘We’ll talk. C’mon,’ you’d jerked your arm away from him entirely.

He didn’t need to see your face to hear the pain in:

“Fucking stop, Joel!”

That caught your father off-guard. He didn’t hesitate before he cut back in, looking more pointedly at you.

“Hey. You don’t talk to your Uncle Joel that way,” he said, sharp. Joel winced. He went on, “I’m the one who told him not to say anything, okay? Now just calm down—”

And whatever effect his friend had intended to produce created just the opposite in you. Instead of focusing on your dad, your eyes shot to Joel, and in an instant, your body was turning. Your face was half-hatred as you did.

“You knew?!”

“Honey, I told him—” your dad tried saying.

But your look was too enraged. Your jaw was too tight. Your mouth could barely form the words you wanted to say, and your eyes were like two bloodied daggers. Joel was amazed you could speak a syllable at all, but when he heard it, he got a sense for why that was. He had to.

“You knew?”

You were hurt.

When you left, he followed. He wasn’t sure what he’d bothered saying to your father as he did, but it sounded like an excuse—‘It’s fine. I’ve got her.’ He didn’t, though. You were gone quicker than he could turn around, and by the time he’d made it far enough away from the crowd to yell your name, you were too removed to hear it. He saw the top of your head through a whole new cluster of strangers, and he yelled it again. You kept walking.

Joel was fast, but you were adept, all things considered. You slipped through the crowd with ease and gained more and more distance than he could attain in twice the time. Joel bit the inside of his cheek and kept going. He didn’t reach you until you were approaching the front gates, when he called out for you again, out of breath.

You probably wouldn’t have turned if you’d had a choice. But as it was, you were up against a bottleneck effect of more people trying to leave than the exit could fairly handle at once, and everyone at the back was at a standstill. Your jaw tightened when he said your name.

“Darlin’— hey— baby, just let me—” Joel had weaved his way around your neighbors, but the area was cramped.

You didn’t move. Your gaze was trained elsewhere.

“—explain. Let me explain, and I promise, I didn’t—”

The line shifted forward, and you moved with it. Your body was turned; while you kept walking, shuffling, Joel earned a few uneasy looks from the people around him.

“I didn’t mean—” he forged on.

But as soon as he reached for you, he knew he’d overstepped. Confirming every onlooker’s suspicion that you didn’t want to be disturbed, you snatched your arm away, and your eyes flared with anger. You faced him.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could reply:

“Leave me the hell alone, Joel.”

And, while the words were still fresh on your tongue and no one else tried stepping in themselves, you walked off.

You left him again—for what other place, Joel wasn’t sure. You just made off the other way, breezing past carts and stands and now-shuttered booths and more faces than either one of you could count. You kept walking until you found an open space a tolerable distance away from all the noise, then went further.

Your face was fixed in a hard, immutable stare when Joel approached you again. The look behind your eyes was worse; he could tell in a second you were about to cry.

“Darlin’—”

“You knew this whole time,” you said. Seething.

“I didn’t—”

“My dad’s been dating the woman he cheated on my mom with and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?!”

“I thought—”

“Not ONCE?! Huh?” you screamed it this time, “Known you my whole goddamn life and you hide that from me?”

Joel winced. He knew the tears were coming before they even filled your eyes, but the sight still made him hurt. You wouldn’t let him near you, either. You just shook your head and swallowed a lump and blinked hard, and he felt stupid. Whatever favor he’d thought he was doing your father—and you—seemed infinitely small to him now.

That knot you’d tried pushing down in your throat kept you silent for a minute. Joel opened his mouth to insert a word or two himself, but then you looked keen to keep hold of the conversation, no matter how much it hurt, and you were starting again. Blinking harder. Hating it.

“She’s the reason mama left,” you said, hoarse, “Helen was her best friend, and then she went and— and— and— fucked my dad, and because of that, I didn’t have a family for half my fucking adolescence. You knew that.”

Another beat. Joel’s own throat constricted considerably as he considered his next words, but there was no need.

“You saw how much I hated my father, and her, and myself for years, thinking there was something just…wrong with me not being enough to make her stay. And you knew all that, and you still kept it a secret from m—”

“I know, baby. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.”

He’d also known your dad was in the wrong. That hadn’t stopped Joel from trying to rationalize his friend’s actions while they happened: it was a one-time hookup with Helen, then a casual, no-strings deal that the man only indulged when he was feeling extra lonely, then a thing, a relationship of two, three, six months now. Joel had known all along what kind of profound ramifications these decisions would have if you were to ever find out. But his friend wasn’t so easily swayed from old habits, and Joel couldn’t stomach having to break it to you.

Then the roadtrip from Boston happened.

You seemed to be remembering the same.

“Was fucking me a way to make yourself feel better?”

Your words had never struck Joel with more deliberateness or force. He croaked ‘No’ in a moment. You took a step back, and there came the look again—more spiteful than before and repulsed to its core.

“Is that why you offered me a ride back in the first place? Just felt guilty for all the stuff you knew my dad was—”

“No. No, no, honey, I would never, ever—”

“Then why hide it?! Why all this? Why bother?”

You gestured between his body and yours; you didn’t seem to know what you meant. Your cheeks were wet with tears. You had to scrape your palms down your face, sniffling and struggling to clear your own vision, but the efforts appeared to be in vain. You couldn’t stop crying.

“For you,” Joel said, and he hated the way his own voice was splintered. He didn’t know how to make it better, “You were off at school when it started, then— then Boston. Just thought it’d be safer…for you…for us—”

Somewhere in his brain, he’d meant to say that he didn’t want the news of your father to hurt you, or else jeopardize a shred of something Joel had had with you.

It was stupid. Your instantaneous reaction said as much.

“Us?!”

Joel blinked. The eyes across from his were alight.

“Us, Joel?! Are you fucking kidding me? There is no us.”

Their brilliance wasn’t appreciative by any means. If anything, the words made the flow of your tears even worse. You pressed your hands to your face, rubbing your cheeks and trying to shield your eyes, and saying again, ‘There is no ‘us,’ Joel, that’s not an excuse—you knew!’

With his insides in knots, Joel wanted to hold you again. You were still in pain, and your scowl wouldn’t move, and when he tried to touch you, you stepped back in disgust.

He knew better than to think he could reach you now.

“Whole thing was a mistake,” you spat, unfeeling.

“Baby—”

“You and me. Dad and Helen.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Anything you need to keep a secret probably isn’t worth keeping at all, right?” And when you said it, he could tell you’d meant it to hurt him. As if the tears and the time and the sheer resignation in your eyes didn’t say enough.

Now Joel felt an ache in his bones, worse than it’d ever been, and he still couldn’t touch you. Where the heart demanded comfort of a kind you couldn’t give, the head knew better than to ask, and his hands fell limply at his sides. He saw you cry and had only himself to blame.

You turned back to the fairgrounds’ exit. The crowd was as big as it had ever been, but anywhere away from him seemed to be as welcome as anything else, Joel guessed

He’d try something stupid. Again. Even more desperate.

Never in his life had he said the words to someone else, and he sensed it wouldn’t do a thing to change your mind right now, but he’d say it anyway. If not to extricate himself, to let you know what he felt beyond every thing that had taken place tonight. He reached for you again.

“Darlin’, I lov—”

But before the words could register with you, the simple act of pressing his fingers to yours made you blanch. You hadn’t heard him at all, and seemed only concerned with jerking yours away as fast as you could, then shrieking:

“I HATE YOU, JOEL!”

Then you choked back a sob, trained your glossy gaze on him in one last pitiless look, and left him. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to. Sights and sounds and the ground underneath him seemed apt to swallow him whole, and still, he couldn’t move an inch. Somewhere ahead of him—too serendipitous, really—he heard you call a name.

Of course, it wasn’t his. You weren’t running to him.

It wasn’t Joel in the crowd making its way out the gates. It wasn’t him standing a little ways off to the side, eyes wide and confused as he watched you rush over. Almost stumble over yourself falling into his arms and hugging him, burying your face in his chest. Joel watched it all with a raw and hollow heart and wished it were him.

But it was Wade.

Wade hugged you back and held you close, and the look on his face was too bewildered and distraught for Joel to blame him. He hadn’t been the one to hurt you. Joel had.

He watched you leave.

There was nothing more to say.

[cloakedsparrow]

Dick: Okay, I think we’re gonna have to do ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’.

Jason: Yeah. It’s tropey but it works.

Dick: Exactly. Wanna flip for Bad Cop?

Jason: You’re kidding.

Dick: Or we could play Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock?

Jason: Dude, I can’t be Good Cop. I kill people, remember? You can’t kill people and be Good Cop.

Dick: Those were traffickers and mob lieutenants. These are Rogue goons.

Jason: What, like that matters?

Dick: Yes, that matters. They don’t care that you took out some mobsters. They care that you revived the Joker after beating him to death and then let him go.

Jason: I didn’t revive him, I just didn’t let him die yet! And I didn’t let him go either! That was Batman! I was gonna kill the psycho!

Dick: Yeah, well, you still kept him alive and the goons probably know it. Just like they know I was happy to leave him dead when I killed him.

Jason: What?

Dick: You heard me.

Jason: You…?

Dick: Killed the Joker? Yes. I thought he killed Timmy and then when I confronted him, he said your name and…I didn’t stop hitting him until he choked on his own blood.

Jason: Then…how is he still alive?

Dick: Batman revived him.

Jason Fucking what?

Dick: Yeah.

Jason: Well, now I definitely can’t be Good Cop. I’m way to pissed for that shit.

Dick: Well, so am I.

Jason: Fuck.

Dick: Fuck.

Jason: So now whadda we do? Try to beat it outta him?

Dick: No, he'll lock down. That's why I suggested "Good Cop, Bad Cop" to begin with.

Jason: So we need a Good Cop.

Dick: Okay, I’m gonna call Timmy and see if he can come play Good Cop.

Jason: Good plan.

Dick [talking into a secure (& Batman-proof) phone]: Hey, Robin, you busy?

Tim [on speakerphone]: Kinda, yeah. What’s going on? You sound weird.

Dick: Hood and I need to get some intel from a goon, and we’re thinking “Good Cop, Bad Cop” is the way to go but neither of us can pull off Good Cop right now.

Tim: Shit. I’m in Bangkok right now-

Jason: The fuck are you doing in Bangkok?

Tim: Speedy needed help with a thing.

Dick: In Bangkok?

Tim: No. She’s in Korea.

Jason: So, again, why the fuck are you in Bangkok?

Tim: Because Lady Shiva’s here and she’s perfect for what Speedy needs, so I’m calling in a favor she owes me.

Dick: You’re calling in a favor from Lady Shiva because Speedy needs help with a thing in Korea.

Tim: Yep. You got it.

Dick: No, that’s- You say that like it doesn’t require any further-

Tim: Can you hang on for a second? There’s an assassin tailing me.

Dick: Shit. Do you need us to send someone out there?

Jason; Starfire should be done with her thing by now. She's not on your shit list, right?

Tim: No, I like Kori. But I’m good now. My assassin got the other assassin.

Dick: You have an assassin?

Tim: Kinda? She defected from the League of Assassins and is up for hire but she always gives me priority since she feels like she owes me a life-debt.

Dick: Again, you sound like you think that statement doesn’t require any further explanation.

Jason: So you hired your assassin buddy to kill the other assassin?

Tim: What? No. Of course not. She didn’t kill him. We’ll question him later. She never kills on my jobs since she knows I don’t like it.

Dick: What about other jobs?

Tim: That’s her business. We aren’t all control freaks, you know.

Dick: That’s-

Jason: That’s good, Little Red. Good that you have healthy boundaries.

Dick: I have healthy boundaries.

Jason: Sure you do.

Tim: Okay, you’re gonna have to argue that on your own. I’m supposed to help my friends out with something after I get Shiva to help Speedy, but I have to handle this interrogation first. So how about I just send my friends the twenty-five plans I drew up and ask Bunker if he minds helping you out before he joins us? He should be able to get inside Gotham in less than ten minutes.

Jason: Oh, Bunker’s perfect for Good Cop.

Tim: Right? They’ll spill everything and probably give him their grandma’s secret family recipes on top of it.

Dick: Wait. Back it up. You have twenty-five plans drawn up? What are you guys up against?

Tim: Nothing we can’t handle. Young Justice figures, why even bother with a plan B if you aren’t gonna cover the whole alphabet?

Jason: There’s twenty-six letters in the alphabet, Little Red.

Tim: Yeah, but plan Z is always the same, so we don’t bother listing it anymore.

Dick: Is it ‘get an adult’?

Tim: Of course not.

Jason: When you were a Teen Titan, how often did you call in an adult when you probably should have?

Dick: Okay, that’s fair.

Jason: So what’s plan Z?

Tim: ‘Fuck it, we ball’.

Dick: That’s not a pl-

Jason: That’s perfect. I love it.

Dick: No. Don’t encourage him.

Tim: Thanks, Red. So do you want me to ask Bunker about helping you? I’m kinda on a time crunch now.

Jason: Yes, please.

Tim: Okay. He’s on the way. Is there anything else?

Dick: Whe-

Jason: No, we’re good. Have fun storming the castle!

Tim: ‘Kay, bye!

Jason: Bye!

Dick: The fuck-

Jason: Bunker and I can handle the interrogation here and Timmy and his assassin friend are gonna be busy with an interrogation there for a bit. If you take off now, you can probably catch up with him and go all big brother like you’re dying to.

Dick: You sure?

Jason: Yeah, I’m sure me and Bunker can handle this asshole.

Dick: Thank you.

Jason: Yeah, well, you did kill the Joker. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Dick: I’ll tell you all about it after I make sure Timmy doesn’t get himself killed or lose another organ.

Jason: I’ll hold you to- Timmy lost an organ?

Dick [already calling Kori to get him to Tim]: Later. I’m on a time crunch now!

Jason: I’m holding you to that!

Jason: *sighs* No one in this family knows how to share.

[mrsbarnesblog]

Hi girlie! Can you write something about baby daddy Rafe? Set in a FWB universe and reader ends up pregnant because he loves c*ming inside her? Love your works they keep me up at night in the best way 🤭🤍

masterlist

requests are open

word count: 0.9k

warnings: smut at the beginning, unprotected sex, fwb (kinda?)

a/n: hey, love❤️ i wasn't sure whether you wanted them to end up together or not, so i made something in between. i got inspired and wrote another part for this one which i may post later, but i'm open to changing/adding something if y'all have any ideas.

“Rafe… we shouldn’t do this— ah, fuck, please!” You cried out, your back arching from the bed, seeking more attention from his lips to your sensitive nipples. 

“I can’t stop. It’s gonna be okay, just one time, baby.” He grumbled, sucking in your skin. Rafe was pounding into your poor body without any mercy; he was too excited to be bare inside of you for the first time. 

When you came to his place, you two quickly found out that you ran out of condoms that were usually stacked on his bedside table, but you were too far gone to stop it. You were naked, your pussy was leaking with arousal, his dick was so painfully hard and it was hard to think straight. You didn’t want to stop and Rafe managed to convince you to let him fuck you raw. 

You knew how fucking stupid you were and that he might easily get you pregnant, but at that exact moment, the only thing on your mind was the feeling of his bare cock. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. I wanna cum inside of your pretty pussy. Shit—you're squeezing me so hard, you like this idea, hm?” He kept slapping his hips against yours harder and harder, causing you to moan in despair and grip his shoulders. You tried to say no, but, in all honesty, you didn’t want to. The stretch was so delicious, and the feeling of his cock filling you completely made you feel dizzy. And having him cum inside? You could have an orgasm just thinking about it. 

No more than thirty seconds later, when you finally reached your height, his cock twitched inside and Rafe let out the sexiest moan you’ve ever heard. You felt liquid warmth covering your inside and moaned, squeezing and milking everything he could have you. 

You were playing with fire and it was just a matter of time before everything would go wrong. No matter how stupid and reckless it was, you didn’t stop. Rafe was now obsessed with the feeling of being inside of you without a barrier; he could not help himself when he had you spread out in front of him, ready to be filled. 

It was the best feeling that both of you experienced, but for some reason, you didn’t even try to find another form of contraception. You should have known better. You should have insisted on protection, but there was something intoxicating about the way he took you—the way he groaned your name as he filled you up. It was reckless, dangerous, and oh-so-addictive.

So it was not that big of a surprise when, just two months later, you saw two lines on the test. 

You weren’t dating, even if it has always felt like much more than just sex, so you never expected Rafe to be happy about the possibility of having a baby. You thought he would end everything immediately and simply run away. Yet he was the complete opposite. 

During your pregnancy, Rafe never left your side and made sure to attend every medical appointment, buy every single vitamin and satisfy all of your cravings.

You wanted to eat some weird shit from the store at 2am? He brought it to you in less than twenty minutes. Your body was aching and you didn’t want to do anything? He organised a spa day for you. You had terrible mood swings and cried every ten minutes? He was patient and he did everything he could to make you feel better. 

You quickly fell into that kind of domestic routine. It was comfortable, and it felt right to have him beside you all the time. While your baby was growing inside of you, you both realised more with every passing day that the feelings that you two had were serious. Because you were on each other’s mind’s 24/7, you stayed in yours or his place all the time, and you couldn’t just keep your hands away. 

When Rafe first felt your baby kick, he was over the moon and he had the biggest smile on his face. He repeatedly kissed your belly before falling asleep with his head on your thighs and his hand on your bump. 

As soon as your little girl arrived in the world, Rafe completely fell into daddy mode. He was fussing over her, insisting on spending as much time with her as possible. He never complained when he had to change her diapers or wake up in the middle of the night because of her cries.

He is such a girl dad, and the moment she looked at him with her blue eyes, he was wrapped around her tiny finger. 

Rafe loves being a dad; he loves taking care of his girls, even if you are still not officially his. He makes sure to do everything to make you feel comfortable and give you enough rest. 

He may not be perfect in it, but he’s trying his best and he hasn’t regretted ever getting into this with you. 

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

cw: menstruation (not graphic), afab anatomy

Part 4: “Girl Problems”

You shift in the office chair, stomach lurching uncomfortably. It’s been bothering you today - groaning and moaning nonstop. So far you blamed it on the suspicious chicken salad you got from the discount grocery store. You took every stomach soother you could, all the way down to chugging tea on the hottest day of spring so far.

With a rather pathetic groan you stand to meander your way to the bathroom. Surely sitting on the pot will help - at least as a placebo. Just as you do, though, a very distinct wet feeling makes itself known. You freeze, briefly, as if it will go away if you stand still enough.

“Ah, fuck!” You gasp, grabbing your purse and jogging down the hall to the single bath stall and popping the lock shut.

As soon as you sit, you let out a small sigh of relief. At least you caught it before you turned your underwear into a total crime scene. You’d rather not have to explain to John why you need to go home and change. You dig through your bag to your usual pocket of various supplies. From lotion to a sewing kit. It never hurts to be prepared.

Except, as you rifle around, you’re not finding your usual stash. There should be at least three in here… when did-?

The very loud, distinct memory of a girl at a bar stopping you while canvassing for some sanitary products hits you like a train.

“Whatever you’ve got I’ll take.” She practically begged. So, you handed them all over because got forbid someone get stranded during the most hellish week of the month. Like you are now.

You make a deep, frustrated noise in your throat and bury your face in your hands. You’ve been meaning to put a basket of backup wipes, pads, and tampons in the little bathroom cabinet - not just for you but for customers, too. It just kept getting pushed off when you got busy with other things.

Shit. What are you gonna do? If you put your pants back on you’ll just bleed through them in ten minutes. Cursed with a heavy flow (or blessed with a strong connection to the moon, as your former hippie roommate insisted.) Less time than that, probably, based on the vicious cramp that travels from your lower back to pelvis. You won’t be able to get to the corner store with out leaving a war crime in your path.

John’s the only person in the studio right now. He doesn’t have a client for another hour or so but you’d rather die than tell your hot boss you’re bleeding everywhere. For a few, quiet moments, you violently bounce your knee and go through every possibility. Maybe you’ll suddenly turn into the flash and you can get home before anyone even notices. You don’t really have much of a choice, do you?

With another groan you pull your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering over his contact for just a few beats too long while you work up the courage.

>> ok so this is terrible

>> im so sorry

>> but im having girl problems and am stuck in the bathroom

>> im so sorry this is so unprofessional

Girl problems? What are you? In fucking middle school? Before you can send yet another in a long string of planned apologies, John answers.

J >> How can I help?

>> i dont have any products on me

>> meant to stock the bathroom

>> sorry

J >> Stop apologizing

J >> What kind do you use? I’ll go to the corner store up the street

You breathe out a sigh of relief, still nervously gnawing at your lip as you send him what you need with an example picture (just in case) and profusely insist you’ll pay him back. John refuses. You’ll just have to sneak the cash in his tips or something.

It isn’t long before you hear the front doorbell ring, heavy footsteps, then a gentle tap on the bathroom door. “Y’alright, love?”

You perk up. “John, I’m so sorry-“

“Didn’t ask if you were sorry. Asked if you were alright.”

You snort. “Yeah…”

“I’m goin’ to unlock the door to slide these in. No lookin’ I swear.” John says. As if you were worried about that. You trust John. More than maybe any other man you’ve known (not that the bar is very high.) It’s nice of him to say, though. The door barely cracks open, just enough for him to toss the box to you across the floor and shut it immediately. You barely even see his arm. “That all you need?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You murmur, bending awkwardly and snatching up the box. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s not really… appropriate.”

“Love, it’s normal. It happens. Just get y’self situated.” John taps the door once before you hear his footsteps drift down the hall toward the front.

You feel a bit skittish the rest of the day. You know it’s stupid. John’s a grown man and it’s a natural thing that happens and it’s fine. He said it’s fine. If it wasn’t fine you probably wouldn’t still look up to him the way that you do - the way that you have since you came here. The way everyone else seems to. Even so, you step around him a little wider than usual on your way out - keeping your head hung low and both hands tightly gripping your purse.

You chew your lip, shifting in place as he locks the front door. “Look, John, I-“

“If you apologize again I’m gonna fire you.” John mutters, pulling on the door to make sure it’s properly secured. There’s humor in it, though, the corners of his lips quirked up slightly.

You scoff, still not quite able to meet his eye.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t move fast enough, apparently, he tilts your head up with a light touch. His eyes are so warm despite their icy blue shade. Sparkly in the setting sun. “Any man worth his breath wouldn’t give a shite. I’m sorry if that hasn’t been your experience, but really, it’s fine. I’ll help you out a thousand times over if y’need.”

“Okay…” You murmur, suddenly very distracted by the feeling of his fingers touching your chin, light as is it. You pull away and clear your throat, hoping he doesn’t notice the growing heat in your cheeks. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”

John nods, still smiling. “Sleep well, dove.”

When you come in the next day, you expect to get teased. A snide comment or a sideways look. You would have at any other job you’d worked - especially one with all men. All giggling and poking at you like a bear they know can’t bite back. No one says a thing outside of their usual greetings when you make your way to the front desk, though. Johnny pinches your hip like normal, Simon greets you with his new pun of the day, Kyle gives you a distracted wave over the hum of his practice gun. John doesn’t bat an eye when he says hello and checks in about the plan for the day.

You open the bottom drawer that you usually tuck your purse into, pausing before you set it inside. At the bottom, neatly tied together with a piece of twine, sits a king size chocolate bar and a pack of Midol.

If John notices the way you become extra smiley after that discovery, he doesn’t comment.

A/N: This was very self-indulgent but I’m having a bad time over here and need to be saved.

[bruisedboys]

hi babe! can i request Remus with a reader who has naturally curly hair? i always straighten mine and hardly wear it natural unless im feeling brave 😭 everyone always gets so shocked when they see it but I hate it

hiii omg I am so very jealous of curlyheads, my hair is so flat and boring lol. curly hair is so so gorgeous and I’m sure it suits you so much!! thank you for you request, hope this is okay!

remus lupin x curly-haired!reader

You’re seriously considering calling off your date with Remus.

It’s not that you don’t want to go. You’ve been looking forward to seeing him all day, thinking about his lovely smile and the slope of his nose, the clothes he wears and the way he says your name. You like him a lot, and you want him to like you, too.

Hence why you got up two hours earlier than usual this morning, to pick out an outfit and straighten your hair before work, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it after. It’s only your third date with Remus, and he hasn’t seen your hair curly yet — you’d wanted to keep it that way. Only, it poured down on your walk to the bus after work, and your hair got drenched.

By the time you were home your curls had bounced right back up, and you had little time to tame them. You’ve done your best, but Remus will be here in ten minutes, and you’re panicking.

You run around your apartment with no real direction, going from mirror to mirror, desperately trying to flatten it with your various oils and mousses, but it’s still so curly. You’re just about to text him and cancel out of panicked desperation when there’s a knock on your door.

You know it’s Remus, you can tell by the way he knocks. He’s early.

“One minute!” You call out. You check your reflection one last time and decide, woefully, that you’ll just have to face him with your mane of curly hair. You don’t have any other choice than to grab your bag, and hope Remus doesn’t mind having a lion for a date.

When you open the door, Remus is fiddling with the zip on his jacket.

“Sorry I’m early,” he’s saying, distracted with his jacket. “I misjudged the— woah.”

You shrink back. He’s staring at you, really staring. You consider closing the door in his face.

“I know, it’s awful,” you say quickly, before he can say anything. Your hand flies to your hair, as if you can do anything to save it now. “I straightened it, but then it got wet, and I didn’t have time to—“

“Dove.” Remus cuts you off, gentle but firm in his own way. He takes your wrist in his hand, encouraging it away from your head lest you start abusing your hair again. “What are you talking about?”

“My hair,” you bemoan. “It looks crazy.”

Remus’ brow pinches like he’s confused. “No it doesn’t. You look beautiful.”

You make a sound somewhere between a moan of despair and a stutter of surprise. Remus steps closer to you, your wrist still in his hand.

“Is that your natural hair?” He asks. You watch his eyes as they move in a sort of halo around your head and you know he’s studying your curls. You’d like to say he’s admiring them, but you’re not sure.

“Yes,” you say quietly. “I look like a lion.”

Remus laughs, but not cruelly. “What?” He asks, genuinely clueless.

You gesture weakly to your hair with your free hand, as if to explain. Remus just shakes his head.

“You don’t look like a lion,” he says simply. “It’s really pretty. How come you’ve never worn it like this before?”

Because you feel prettier with straight hair. Because you hate taking up space, and you feel if you flatten out your hair you’ll take up a little less. You shrug and stare at the ground, wishing it’d swallow you up.

“Dunno. Guess I just .. don’t like it very much.”

Remus hums, like he understands, but doesn’t approve. “Well, I do.” He let’s go of your wrist and gets his hand under your jaw instead, encouraging you up to look at him.

“Were you really worried about what I’d think?” He asks, brown eyes kind.

You were, a bit. But you shouldn’t have been. By the way he’s looking at you, you guess that he’d think you were beautiful even if you went bald.

“I— no. Maybe a little bit.” You cringe. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Remus says, a little indignant. “What’re you sorry for?”

You’re getting shyer and shyer every word he says, your heart pitter-pattering in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you say. You sound a bit strained, like you might cry, which is horrifying. You swallow the feeling down. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t like it.”

Remus makes a tutting sound. “Y/N,” he says, exasperated now. He gets both hands on your face, your cheeks warm. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look? You know, my best friend James has wildly curly hair, and I’ve always been so jealous of it I sometimes want to rip it off his head.”

It’s a funny compliment, but you know he means it as a genuine one. You suddenly realise you’ve been a bit foolish.

“Right,” you say, and give an awkward chuckle.

“I’d never do such a thing to you, of course,” Remus says, grinning. “But it sure is beautiful. It suits you, dove.”

Carefully, he brushes a curl from your face, tucking it behind your ear with so much care it almost aches.

You’ve never felt prettier.

[authorbriannarae13]

Mind of Mine // i just want to watch you take it off - joel miller

Joel Miller x female! reader

read on AO3 here.

summary; "You got 'nother one, sugar?"

Joel knows exactly how to get you wetter than ever. or this is the work you get when the author listens to the song 'TiO' off of the album 'Mind Of Mine' on repeat. for five hours.

warnings; smut (MDNI); unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); mostly soft!joel; actually all soft!joel, so much praise

word count; 1.3k (it's my first joel fic, ok?)

-

You’re swaying to the music while Joel’s behind you, cooking as always.

He usually ignores you – not because you’re necessarily a distraction – but instead, because giving you the attention you crave doesn’t end well. For either of you. Last time he gave you attention, your wrists were secured to the headboard as he fucked your brains out, giving you too many orgasms to count and forgetting about the food.

Oops.

You live to be a tease, though.

It excites you too much to stop.

Mainly because it lets him plan how he’s going to punish you. Or praise you.

Whichever he’s in the mood for.

Based on his current mood – which is subject to change – he’s most definitely going to praise you.

And after the day you’ve had, it’s definitely what you need. Working for a publishing house can be stressful. And today was one of those days.

Good thing Joel loves to make you feel light – weightless, actually.

Not to mention how safe you feel. And when you feel safe, the softer side comes out.

Like all relationships, you just need to feel safe to show it.

“Darlin’,” his rough, Southern drawl interrupts your music, and you turn it off.

“Yes?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to rile him up.

But you never succeed. He knows you too well for that.

Turning away and holding a hand out, he murmurs a simple, “C’mere.”

So, you take it, letting him drag you and lift you up – right into his arms. Bridal style, of course.

You groan as your thighs clench, trying to hide your soaked cunt.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“Fuck off,” you mutter while he carries you to the bedroom. Since he insists, he needs his fill of you before he can think about anything else – or dessert, as he likes to call it.

He kicks the door open and lays you down, playing with the hem of your skirt.

Your hips buck into his touch. He’s teasing you – you realize.

“Joel,” you moan as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your skirt down, and revealing the soaked black lace covering your cunt.

He pulls the lace aside, running his fingers against your swollen pussy, and he groans deep in his throat. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, pretty girl.”

Your brain goes blank as his index and middle finger both sink inside you, curling towards your g-spot.

“Fuck, sir.”

“N’ne of that sir shit tonight, baby.” He grabs your ankles, placing them on his shoulders as he sinks to his knees and licks a stripe up to your swollen - and aching - clit.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll into the back out your head. “Fuckk.”

You’re so close. If he would just curl his fingers against your g-spot just one more time, you’d be there.

He lets out a gruff chuckle that reverberates though your body as his other hand finds you shirt, pushing it up to find your nipple, pinching it.

That sends you over the edge. “Fuck, Joel,” you moan as the orgasm hits, crashing you into waves with each one more intense than the one before it.

His tongue doesn’t stop lapping at your clit even as you try to buck him off. “I can’t. I can’t- “

He cuts you off before you can repeat it again, “You can and will give me ‘nother one, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you groan as he pulls his fingers out, thrusting them back in while your back arches.

In. Out. In. Out. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

His fingers thrust faster as your thighs start to wrap around his head, trying to keep him there.

The second orgasm is faster than the first. You let out a silent scream as the waves rush into you for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Good – fuck – good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, his tongue still swirling around your clit as the waves subside.

The strength from earlier leaves you almost immediately, making your legs fall. You’re boneless, but you also know he fucks you regardless of just how boneless you feel.

“You got ‘nother one for me, sugar?”

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to your mouth, “Taste yourself.”

You happily oblige, opening your mouth to take his fingers and tasting your cum mixed with his skin in a fucked up symphony.

His groan reverberates off the walls as you suck on his fingers – the same way you always have his cock. That’s when he starts to pull your panties down your legs, giving him better access.

Since that’s what this is all about, of course. And better access usually means better orgasms.

Speak of the devil – that shit must hurt. He looks painfully hard.

He interrupts your staring. “You like what you see?”

You slowly start to nod, but he slowly pulls his hand away, fingers leaving with a pop.

He leans down towards you, as you lean up and play with the hem of his shirt before you decide to pull it off.

Next is his belt as you hurry and rip it off, trying to get to his jeans.

“Woah,” he lets out a low chuckle, “’u’re a feisty one tonight, aren’t ya, beautiful?”

“No,” you whine as he starts to stop your frantic hands. “Just need you,”

“Where ya need me?”

“You know where,” you sass with everything you can muster.

“Need to hear ya say it, baby.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his jeans lightly graze your cunt. “Need you in me – fuck – now.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, pulling his jeans and boxers down – as fast as he can. “’U’re g’nna be the death of me, pretty girl.”

“I – fuck –“ His thrust cuts you off as he bottoms out. “I live to please.”

“So I can tell,” is the hiss you get back while he waits for you to adjust.

“Move already,” you whine before you can stop yourself. “Break me for all I – fuck –care.”

He slowly finds the pace you’re accustomed to – hard and fast.

“Look at ‘cha. You’re takin’ me so well.”

Your cunt clenches around him as he continues. “Aw, does my good girl need to be reminded of how good she feels?”

“You-“ you start, “you keep doing that and I’ll finish faster than I ever have.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Is that a promise?”

“B-better be,” you stutter as his thumb finds your clit. Again.

“Fuck.” Your head falls back again. Everything is sensitive.

You’re not even expecting the orgasm when it washes over you.

“Good – fuck. You’re such a good girl f’r me, sugar,” he praises, not taking his thumb away.

“Fuck.” It’s somewhere between a moan and groan. “Fuck, everything’s so sensitive.” Now that’s definitely a groan.

He ignores you, continuing his praise. “Fuck. Good girl. God, Good fuckin’ girl.”

You softly whine as he slowly speeds his pace up, trying to find his own orgasm.

After more futile moans, whimpers, and whatever else he can pull out of you.

“Fuck, you’re g’nna make me cum so fuckin’ fast, pretty girl. Goddamn-“ And that’s when you feel his orgasm crash into him – violent and unforgiving.

The orgasm lasts so long that neither one of you can keep up with how much time has passed. It isn’t until he flips you two over, so you’re on top and he’s not crushing you, that you know it’s done.

“Fuck,” you softly laugh, pressing your ear to his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he holds you tightly. You kiss his chest while he hums.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs kissing your forehead, “u’re all fucked out, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” you tease while he gives you a look.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

Eventually, after Joel made sure you were okay in every aspect, you two make your way back into the kitchen, attempting to get your appetite back after all that.

You’re standing behind him with your head laying on his back when you murmur, “I love you forever and always, baby.”

You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he says, “I love you more than anything else, darlin’.”

[theclowningbusiness]

A Necessary Conversation

Pairing: Logan Howlett (X2) x Reader 

Tropes: Shy girl, flirty guy

Warnings: Kissing

Other tags: Logan being hot, reader is a mutant but there are no details about what her mutation is/does, nobody good dies bc I said so, fuck Stryker tho, mention of reader almost falling off the Statue of Liberty in X1, mention of reader shaving her legs (is that even something I need to add HELP LMAO), Logan being vulnerable

Background: You’re a mutant living at the x-mansion and you’ve had eyes on Logan ever since he first arrived.

Description: Logan returns from his solo trip to Alkali Lake and you greet him at the door. You manage to embarrass yourself, but thankfully you get interrupted by Marie. Later, you run into Logan again, but before the conversation can go too far, you’re interrupted by Stryker showing up at the mansion. When the dust finally settles, you and Logan finally get the chance to talk.

    You’d been waiting for Logan to come back since the day he left. He’d given you his dog tags the day he left, asking you to keep them safe for him. Since then, you've carried them with you everywhere.

    While you were in your room working on something that Charles wanted you to take a look at, you swore you could hear the sound of Scott’s motorcycle outside. That couldn’t be, Logan had taken it for his trip. There was no way.

   Getting up from where you’d been sitting in your bed, you made your way over to the window and peeked out. When you saw Logan climbing off of the motorcycle, your eyes lit up. Unable to help yourself, you rushed out of your room and down the hall. As you reached the steps, you went down two at a time.

    By the time you made it to the front door, Logan was standing there, his bag still slung over his shoulder. He looked just the same as he had when he left, which was really no surprise. When he spotted you, he gave you a small smile.

    You ran towards him, nearly tackling him in a bear hug. Your arms wrapped over his shoulders, while his responded by wrapping around your waist. Not wanting to be clingy, you let go before too much time could pass.

    “You miss me?” He asked with a smile, which, knowing Logan, was really more of a smirk.

    “We all did,” you replied, not wanting to make it seem like you had missed him any more than anyone else, even if you had.

    “How have things been here?” He hummed, tilting his head as he waited for your answer.

    “Same as always, chaotic,” you joked. “Last week, a kid blew a hole through the wall in the kitchen by accident when he sneezed. How was your trip? You find what you were looking for?” You asked curiously.

    “Kinda,” he shrugged, “I’ve gotta talk to Chuck about it. How have you been?” He questioned.

    “I’ve been alright,” you replied. “I’ve been working on something Charles wanted me to take a look at. So far, I haven’t been able to get too far with it, but I’ve got a few more ideas to try before I give up.”

    Logan nodded as you spoke, seemingly interested in what you were saying.

    “Oh, before I forget,” you hummed, “I have something for you.” Before he could ask what it was, you raised your arm and smacked him on the chest. You tried not to let your thoughts linger on how much muscle was there. “That’s for being gone so long.”

    “That your way of saying you missed me?” He teased.

    “Okay, maybe I did miss you, just a little,” you relented, crossing your arms.

    “Just a little?” He raised a brow. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

    “Fine, maybe more than a little,” you huffed. “I even started missing those little tufts of hair that look like cat ears,” you joked.

    “I’ve been here for less than ten minutes and you’re already insulting me,” Logan sighed, feigning offense.

    “I’m just messing with you. Your hair is fine, Logan. It’s honestly more than fine, it’s good, it suits you,” you began to ramble, as if you couldn’t stop yourself from letting the words come out of your mouth. “You look good, too, not just your hair. I mean, you’re a good looking guy-” Before you could continue, Logan cut you off by clearing his throat.

    “Are you flirting with me right now?” He grinned, exposing the sharp points of his canine. That just shouldn’t be allowed when you’re already flustered. Not when his smile looked like a smirk and it basically invited you to kiss him.

    “What?” You asked, trying to seem nonchalant. You could feel your cheeks heating up from his question. “Psh, no,” you shook your head. “Me? Flirt? No, not at all.”

    “Maybe you should,” he shrugged, once again tilting his head.

    You didn’t even have time to process his words- nevermind reply- when Marie made her way over, greeting Logan. You took that as your opportunity to excuse yourself, running off to your room to try and sort out what Logan must’ve meant.

================

    For the rest of the day, you hadn’t seen Logan again. But he had said he needed to talk to Charles, so you were sure he was busy with that, along with unpacking and being greeted by everyone.

    That led you to now. You sat in the kitchen eating some Doritos when Logan walked in. He wore a tank top and some jeans, and you decided that there really should be a law against his arms being exposed.

    “Hey,” you greeted, nodding your head at him as he took a few more steps into the kitchen. 

    He gave you a grunt in reply, which wasn’t all that unusual. He certainly wasn’t the most talkative man. You watched as he started looking around in the fridge.

    “If you’re looking for a beer, there isn’t any,” you chuckled. “This is a school,” you reminded him. “There’s some Dr.Pepper in there, though.”

    Logan sighed, but grabbed a bottle of the soda and closed the fridge. He turned towards you and leaned against the counter, popping the bottle open.

    “What’re you doing down here so late?” He spoke before taking a sip from his soda.

    “Didn’t feel like sleeping,” you hummed, then nodded to your laptop that lay on the counter next to you. “Plus, I was still working on that project Charles gave me until about ten minutes ago. I realized I was too tired to make sense of anything. What’s your excuse?” You joked.

    “Couldn’t sleep,” he answered, reaching over to take a chip from your bowl and eat it.

    “Can I ask you something?” You started, leaning your head on one hand.

    “Shoot,” he replied with a small nod.

    “What did you mean earlier?” Your voice was small, nervous. “When you said I should flirt with you?”

    Instead of replying, Logan held a hand up at you. He furrowed his brows and you could see his ears perking up. You’d seen him do it before, and you knew he must hear something that he was concerned about.

    Next thing you knew, you were ducking behind the counter while a gun went off overhead.

================

    You were relieved that things were over. You’d found out a lot, about Logan and Alkali lake, about Stryker. It was just a weight being lifted when the dust settled. Now, you took the chance to relax a little. You’d found a nice tree outside the mansion and laid a blanket down to sit on. It was peaceful, and that was what you really needed right now.

    As you sat with your back against the tree, you caught movement out of the corner of your eyes and turned your head to see what it was. It was Logan, walking towards you with his hands tucked in his pockets.

    “How’d you know where I was?” You asked curiously once he was close enough to talk to without shouting.

    Instead of replying with words, he just pointed to his nose.

    “Right,” you nodded with a smile, “Can’t hide from the guy with the nose of a bloodhound.”

    “That, and Scott told me when I asked if he’d seen you,” he smiled, sitting down next to you on your blanket and leaning back against the tree.. “What’re you doing out here alone?”

    “Trying to decompress from all that shit we went through,” you answered honestly.

    “How’re the cuts healing?” He asked, leaning in to get a better look. 

    During the fighting, you’d managed to cut open your forehead and the bridge of your nose. Luckily, that was the worst of your injuries. 

    “I’m fine. They’re just superficial,” you shrugged.

    “I should’ve killed Stryker years ago, then none of this would’ve happened,” he sighed, blaming himself for the entire situation, along with the cuts on your face.

    “Lo, really, I’m fine,” you assured. “Everyone is fine, this isn’t your fault.”

    Logan nodded and leaned back again, looking out in the distance in front of the two of you. You did the same, smiling. It was a beautiful day, perfect for relaxing.

    “Y’know, we never got the chance to finish our conversation,” Logan stated.

    “Yeah, we kinda got interrupted,” you chuckled, trying to ignore the pit of nerves growing in your stomach. “We have time to talk now.”

    “You asked me what I meant when I told you that you should flirt with me,” Logan began, turning his head to look at you. “I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to flirt with me. I’m into you.”

    “Oh.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Logan ‘emotionally stunted’ Howlett was confessing his feelings for you, even if he didn’t use so many words to say it. You turned your body so you could fully give him your attention.“I feel the same,” you admitted, your cheeks warming, “I was just too nervous to say anything.”

    “I know,” Logan smiled at you, “That’s why I decided to make the first move, even if it did end up making you get a little flustered and run away.”

    “In my defense, I didn’t know if you were serious or not. Didn’t know if I should think anything of it, or if I should just brush it off as you teasing me,” you reasoned.

    “C’mere,” Logan hummed, gesturing for you to scoot closer to him.

    You did as he wanted, and his hand reached up to hold the side of your neck, his fingertips resting in the hair on your nape. His thumb ran over the hinge of your jaw slowly. Using his gentle grip on your neck, he carefully led your face closer to his. His grip was light enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but there was no way you wanted to.

    You weren’t sure how long it took for him to pull you in, but then his lips hit yours. The taste of his cigars was still on his lips as they moved smoothly with yours. He was surprisingly gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

    One of your hands lifted to hold the side of his face. You smiled softly, feeling the hair that covered his jaw under your fingers and palm.

    It was too soon when he pulled back just enough to speak, but he had no chance to get a word out before your lips were once again covering his. Now that you’d had a taste, you couldn’t get enough. He was surprised, but chuckled. He kept his lips moving with yours as he grabbed your hips and led you to straddle his lap.

    When you were comfortable on his lap, you slowly pulled your lips away from his.

    “Someone’s eager,” he teased, letting out a content hum when both of your hands settled against his chest.

    “I’ve waited long enough for this,” you defended with a small smile. “I’ve had eyes for you since you first came here. Then you left, and I had to pine after you the whole time you were gone,” you sighed dramatically, but the smile never left your face.

    “You poor thing,” he gave you an overdramatic pout.

    “But, that does remind me, I do have something for you,” you hummed.

    “If you’re about to hit me again, can I get a warning?” He deadpanned.

    “No, I’m serious this time,” you laughed, reaching into your pocket and pulling out Logan’s dog tags. You grabbed one of his hands and placed the chain and tags on his palm. “I believe these belong to you.” You closed his hand and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles.

    “Knew they’d be safe with you,” he smiled, not his usual, teasing, grin. It was soft, warm. It felt like the smile came straight from his heart.

    He opened his hand and looked at the dog tags. Then, he seemed to make a decision and grabbed them, removing the dog tag attached to the shorter chain. He clasped the shorter chain back together and held it out to you.

    You took it, confused on why he was giving it back.

    Logan picked up on your confusion- of course he did, the man didn’t miss anything- and spoke.

    “If you’re gonna be my girl, I want you to have it,” he answered your confusion as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Want you to keep it safe for me for a while longer.”

    “I’ll keep it with me all the time, I promise,” you grinned, unable to resist leaning in for another soft kiss. “I’ll keep it safe.”

    “And I’ll keep you safe,” Logan replied, pecking your lips. He then placed a gentle kiss to each of the cuts on your face.

    “You always have. You did kinda keep me from falling off the Statue of Liberty once,” you joked.

    “But I didn’t this time,” he cringed as he looked at the cuts on your face.

    “Logan, I’ve had worse injuries from shaving my legs,” you laughed softly. “I promise you, I am absolutely fine.”

    “Okay,” he nodded, relaxing as you pressed your forehead to his. “I trust you.”

    Logan’s hands on your hips lifted you off his lap and sat you on the blanket next to you. He laid down fully on the blanket, using one arm to prop his head up. You had no time to question it before he opened his other arm for you.

    You smiled and laid down on the blanket next to him, tucking your face into his shoulder. In response, he wrapped his arm around you to hold you close.

    “I’m glad we talked,” you said softly, tracing random patterns over his chest with your fingers.

    “Me too,” he agreed, giving you a squeeze with the arm that was around you.