#I did it right the first time I watched the show

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he��s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[xshadowdelta]

FORMER MANAGER

PART 5: PURITY.

Mashiro x Male Reader (4K length)

You observed your face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, your messy hair, the marks of the sheets on your cheeks and some visible dark circles bordering your eyes, it definitely had not been your best night. You had barely slept, tossing and turning in bed all night while your head was spinning around the scene with Jang Wonyoung.

The image of her crying wouldn't disappear from your mind no matter how hard you tried, but how did this happen in the first place? The last memory you had of her was when you said goodbye years ago before returning home, back then she also cried, but this time it was totally different, her look of disappointment on you disturbed you even more than her tears.

You catched some water from the sink, throwing it over your face, trying to clear yourself up and wake up a little, because you had to continue with your life and your work, you would find a free time lapse to be able to fix this problem.

You showered, fixed your hair, and hid the traces of a terrible night on your face as well as you could before getting dressed and leaving your apartment heading to the company.

You arrived at the building where as soon as you entered, your boss was waiting for you, folder in hand, and while you both walked he explained the itinerary of the day and the schedule for the upcoming weeks. Kep1er’s members had returned from their last shows abroad, there had been a few changes at the management level, and a new comeback was already planned, so the work was going to be hard and intense.

Both of you stopped in front of one of the practice rooms, a light touch of your coworker knuckles on the door and you entered inside, a group of girls who were stretching stared at you.

“Good morning girls.” Your partner began to speak. “Before starting preparations for this new album I want to introduce you to your new full-time manager, starting on today he will take care of all of you and about everything you need.” He exclaimed, indicating for you to introduce yourself to them with a gesture of his hand.

You bowed them instantly. “Nice to meet you! I will be at your service from now on, I hope we get along well.” You said a little nervous, a feeling that disappeared when you saw the smiles and applause they offered you. “Nice to meet you, please treat us well!” They all said in unison bowing to you aswell.

"Good." Your boss interrupted. “The dance teacher will come right away to show you and start practicing the new choreographies, I hope the best from all of you. “Fighting!” He said with his fist, before handing you the information folder and leaving the room.

You watched him leave and when you looked back you jumped when you realized how the Kep1er girls had surrounded you, occupying any personal space you could have, their eyes analyzing you carefully.

"Hello!" One of them greeted with a huge smile on her face. “I'm the leader Yujin, nice to meet you, it's incredible, it's the first time I have such a young manager.” You smiled shyly, uncomfortable with the circle of people that had formed around you.

“Wow, can I call you oppa?” A girl with pink hair and rounded cheeks asked next to her, if you were not mistaken it was Kim Chaehyun, you nodded affirmatively at her question causing her to laugh.

You noticed that penetrating eyes were focused on you to the point that you realized that gaze was passing through you, you made eye contact with it, increasing your nervousness.

“Is something wrong, Xiaoting?” You asked softly making the mentioned girl blink a few times. “Do you know my name already?” She questioned surprised. “Our new manager has studied a lot!” Dayeon shouted, starting to laugh and causing the rest of the members to laugh.

“Look at his dark eyes, he sure hasn't been able to sleep all night!” Hikaru joked, releasing one of her particular laughs that resonated throughout the room, increasing the volume and joy of the rest of the members.

These girls were really loud and restless, they were going to give you a lot of headaches, yet a smile was drawn on your lips and for a while you forgot about the rest of your problems.

The dance teacher appeared and the morning passed with the girls memorizing and practicing the new choreographies, so you took the opportunity to go to your office to work on other aspects such as contacting the wardrobe team, making venue reservations where the filming would be done, hire the recording equipment.

The days went by and with the amount of work you had it was impossible to even think about Wonyoung. Your relationship with the members of Kep1er was improving and due to the characteristics of these girls, in just a week it seemed like you had been together since their debut, and that was something that relieved you and made everything much more enjoyable.

This day in question the girls would spend it in the recording studio, testing their vocals and recording the songs for the new album, so really your presence there was not very significant so your task for the day was to clean and organize everything in the house.

If you already hated doing housework, doing it in a home full of girls made you hate it excessively. A multitude of clothes scattered throughout the rooms, boxes and cardboard in every corner.

You were infinitely grateful to Bahiyyih for trying to keep the house in order, saving you some work, but the whirlwind that was Chaehyun Dayeon and Hikaru was simply unstoppable.

You finished off the apartment Yujin Bahiyyih Chaehyun and Xiaoting shared and headed upstairs to start cleaning the next one. You hadn't been there for long but there was a room that you had not yet accessed, it was a two-bed bedroom that did not belong to anyone in the group but that had serious signs of having been habited before, it was perfectly arranged and there were still clothes hanging in the closet.

You inspected said clothes, leaving them on one of the beds, you opened the drawers looking to know what, and this really had you confused.

“W-W-Who are you? What are you doing with my clothes?” A sudden voice surprised and scared you, almost making you fall on the bed when you turned to look at the door frame of the room, finding a small girl with brown hair and a rather cute appearance carrying a cardboard box in her hands, looking at you in a scared way.

“That's what I should ask, how did you get in here? The door has a password, and what's with your clothes?” You were trying to appear as calm as possible but you were really uneasy with that presence.

“Don't tell me…A SASAENG!” You both shouted at the same time, pointing your fingers at each other.  "WHAT? ME?" Now your fingers were pointing towards yourselves.

“It's over I'm going to call the police.” The girl said, dropping the box and taking her mobile phone out of her pants pocket.

“That's exactly what I'm going to do, look at this.” You said, taking out the company ID, surprising the girl.

"Huh?"

.

.

.

.

“I'm sorry again, I had no idea you were the new manager.” The girl said with her head down, looking at the ground, feeling guilty for the previous misunderstanding.

“The mistake was mine for not having recognized you before, Mashiro-shi.” Now you knew who this room belonged to.

Apparently, and after left the grou, both Mashiro and Yeseo had been terribly busy with their new group and their own activities that they had been coming and going to the house making small moves of their things. However some things of their property were still there.

“If you need help with your…”

“Oh no no, please, I'm sure you're very busy, I don't want to bother you.” She commented, making notable gestures with her hands. You smiled at how adorable that was.

“The rest of the members say that you and Yeseo will continue to be part of Kep1er forever…” You commented, bending down to pick up the cardboard box from the floor and put it on the bed, opening it. “So now I'm also your manager, okay Mashiro-chan?” You smiled warmly at her causing her cheeks to turn a deep pink color.

“O-O-Okay” She agreed shyly, approaching you and helping you pack more clothes from her closet.

Together you cleared out the closet and packed all the clothes, and you organized the rest of the room and cleaned it. You glanced at Mashiro from time to time, even with that strange first impression you had with her, you really thought she was a super adorable girl. Her small stature, her beautiful face and the dimples that were marked on her cheeks reaffirmed it.

“What do you think of the members?” She asked casually while doing her task, your gaze drifted towards the ceiling, sketching a slight smile after a few seconds of thought.

“Noisy.” You responded simply causing her to giggle, covering her mouth with one of her hands.

“I understand you perfectly.” She supported you.

“But they are really amazing.” You continued. “They spend the day laughing and making a fuss but they don't lower the effort they put into their practices one bit, sometimes I envy them. I would also like to enjoy my work like they do.” Out of the corner of my eye you could notice a small smile melancholy on her face, so you decided not to say anything else and continue with the cleaning.

You walked over to one of the nightstands next to one of the beds to open the drawers, see what they kept and see if there was anything else that needed to be packed.

“Don't open that!” Mashiro screamed hysterically, throwing herself on the bed trying to stop you but you had already opened the drawer. You looked at her confused, even more so when she threw her hands over her face trying to hide herself, while her ears turned red.

You looked down, looking at the vibrator that was inside the drawer, blushing too and quickly moving away, falling on your ass to the floor.

"I'm sorry."  You whispered embarrassed, unable to look up, noticing how your face was burning.

“Noooooo…how embarrassing.” Mashiro sobbed, rolling on the bed. You grabbed a lock of your hair, analyzing the situation, looking for the right words for a moment like this.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of Mashiro, it is something totally normal for someone your age and…Mashiro?” You were absorbed as you looked up to see directly at the girl who was still sobbing, covering her face with one hand, while the other was now rubbing her crotch over her pants. So those sounds weren't sobs, they were moans.

You saw how she relaxed her body and lie down on the bed. The hand that covered her face no longer did so, she was now looking at you clearly, intently, a look very different from what you had seen from her before.

“It has been such a hard, stressful and emotional weeks. Leaving one group to enter another, new members, comeback, and performances. Even now all the responsibility of being a leader falls on my shoulders.”

“Mashiro…” Your words were interrupted by a new moan.

“And I forgot my stress reliever during the move, I tried using my fingers but they didn't have the same effect…” You turned your gaze to the vibrator and took it in your hands, Mashiro's eyes did not take their eyes off the device. You turned it on, listening to the vibrations it produced, making Mashiro groan in despair.

“You said before that you were also my manager…” The Japanese girl began to say. “So, I need your help, manager oppa, please…” You swallowed after hearing that request of deep need in her tone of voice.

You stood up and approached the bed, sitting on the edge near Mashiro, who lowered the zipper of her sweatshirt a little, revealing a bit of the shirt she was wearing underneath and then, moving against the bed, she managed to lower her pants until her underwear was visible.

“You are very wet Mashiro-chan.” You commented looking at the huge stain that had appeared on her panties. “You really are so needy…”

She didn't respond but she brought her hand back to where the stain was now, caressing herself again with circular movements, closing her eyes enjoying her own touch.

When she stopped she opened her eyes to look deeply at you, eyes that were screaming for your help. You sighed and got even closer to her body, vibrator in hand, gently bringing it to her desired area, coming into contact causing Mashiro's back to arch due to excitement.

“Yes, please…” She continued asking needily.

You pushed aside the fabric of her panties, visualizing her wonderful pink pussy completely flooded that was crying out for pleasure.

The sex toy now caressed Mashiro's folds mercilessly, forcing her to moan loudly, her eyes closed again enjoying the waves of pleasure that ran through her body.

That scene was fucking erotic for you, so much so that a huge bulge peeked out from between your pants. With your free hand you managed to free that bulge from outside your clothes, however it was somewhat difficult to satisfy both of you at the same time.

A naughty idea crossed your mind. If you were busy offering pleasure to Mashiro she was free to give it to you, so you took her hand closest to you and placed it around your cock.

Upon feeling that she opened her eyes again, offering you a small smile when she knew your intentions, grabbing your penis tightly and beginning to move her hand up and down constantly.

“Oppa hentai…” She whispered, biting her lip, watching how she was masturbating you.

“It's your fault in the first place…” You responded, emitting the occasional small moan caused by her touch, and lowering the zipper of her sweatshirt completely with your free hand, allowing yourself to caressing her stomach and her hips.

You threw the vibrator to the side of the bed and began to caress her pussy with your own hand, separating her folds with your fingers and inserting a couple of them inside causing a squeal of surprise from her.

“Shit oppa…it feels so good…”

“A girl as adorable as you talking so dirty.” You said increasing the pace of your caresses on her pussy, feeling how your hand became wet with Mashiro's fluids.

“You love when I talk dirty, right oppa?” She asked continuing the caresses on your penis. “It hasn't stopped growing…”

You smiled, leaning over her body, placing a few kisses across her bare stomach. She released her grip on your cock to allow you to position yourself more comfortably on top of her, slipping your hands under her shirt touching everything within reach.

Mashiro slowly melted under your body, moaning louder and louder as your fingers caressed her tits. She was breathing heavily and her hair fell over her forehead giving it an even sexier touch, her entire face was flushed and hot.

Due to the constant movement of your bodies on each other there was a moment where your cock rubbed against Mashiro's pussy, tensing her body and placing her hands against your chest, pushing you away slightly.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion, realizing how hot this whole scene had become and how you had gotten carried away with it.

“I'm sorry if I…

“I have only used that vibrator… I have never had anything inside me beyond my fingers, I am completely a virgin.” She admitted, looking away embarrassed.

"It’s okay." You whispered softly, offering her a smile, caressing her right cheek with your hand. She took your hand and let herself be caressed by you.

“It's really strange and we just met...but I feel very comfortable with you, oppa. Although I don't think I'm ready to cross that line yet, I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize for anything.”  You leaned your head over her, kissing her lips, being instantly reciprocated by her, lightly biting her lower lip, drawing a moan from her and allowing your tongue to explore every corner of Mashiro's mouth.

“Oppa.” A thread of saliva separated your mouth from Mashiro's. “I need an orgasm.”

You smiled, recovering the vibrator lost in some corner of the bed, activating it again, this time with more power making the girl's body tremble.

“OH FUCK!” Squeals and moans came non-stop from the idol's mouth as you rubbed the toy again and again over her weak area.

You alternated the vibrator with the caresses that you provided with your hands. You lay down on the bed next to Mashiro without stopping masturbating her, she quickly took your cock again with one of her hands and now you were both pleasuring each other.

You inserted two of your fingers inside her completely tight pussy, stretching it slightly feeling her walls contract against your fingers. The girl's hips moved unconsciously as the moans did not stop and her grip on your cock tightened.

You then stroked her clit with your thumb, which was like touching the self-destruct button on Mashiro's body. You touched and pressed her clit as much as you could until her back arched again and a huge scream escaped her mouth.

Her body hit the mattress again, her chest rising and falling excitedly. It took her a few seconds to catch her breath and recover from that orgasm, she turned to look at you and you quickly wiped away some tears that were now flowing from her eyes with your hand.

“God…you're better than any toy, oppa.” Despite continuing to pant, her smile was wide, she laughed at herself for the situation she found herself in.

You laughed, also flattered but somewhat embarrassed by her comment. You tried to get up to get out of bed but Mashiro immediately stopped you and forced you to lie down, surprising you with her sudden reaction.

“Wait, you're not done yet.” She said and then you looked down at your penis.

“Please let me help you, oppa.” Mashiro demanded in distress, because she had been able to free herself thanks to your touch and you, on the other hand, were still hard.

How were you going to refuse that, you thought, lowering the clothes that covered your lower area to your ankles, leaving your member in full view. Mashiro was stunned to see it like that.

“It's even bigger…” She whispered, wrapping her hand around it again, beginning to cover it completely and therefore starting the massage.

You let out a moan and bit your lip. Under normal conditions it would take you long enough to cum to get a long treatment, but the hard work of these last few days had taken its toll on you too. You hadn't downloaded for days, even weeks, and none of the Iz*One girls had crossed your path during this time, so you and your friend were especially sensitive at the moment.

That Mashiro was inexperienced was obvious, not only because she had confessed to being a virgin, it was obvious that it was the first time she had masturbated someone.

She did it delicately but nervously, her hand trembled on your cock, so you decided to help her, placing one of your hands on hers, guiding her on top of you. This helped her to calm down and gain confidence, copying the rhythm that you were setting.

You moved your hand away once you saw her more prepared and in response to that she wrapped her other hand around your penis as well.

Now both of the girl's hands were working on your erect dick, covering the entire length between them, with slow and delicate movements that made you shudder.

Your moans began to get uncontrolled due to her touch, giving her more and more encouragement and causing the pace of masturbation to increase.

Her two hands worked now at high speed on your penis, with enveloping movements, noticing how it swelled and began to tremble.

“Shit...Mashiro-chan I'm about to...” You couldn't finish the warning when the first shot was propelled upwards, surprising the girl by seeing that white liquid escape from the tip of your penis.

After the first, the rest of the shots followed, progressively decreasing the intensity with each one until finally there was not a single drop left inside you.

Mashiro's hands raised the skin of your penis one last time, observing the brilliance that the tip of your penis now offered. Finally she let you go and you were able to sit up on the bed, seeing the mess that had formed on your abdomen, now covered in your own sperm.

You diverted your gaze towards Mashiro whose eyes did not stop observing that increasingly sticky area.

You moved your hand towards it, taking some of the sperm with your fingers and looked back at the girl, who now looked back at you.

"Do you want to try it?" You asked, smiling sideways, sneaking into her thoughts. She did not utter a word due to shyness and embarrassment but nodded affirmatively.

You brought your fingers closer to her face and she closed her eyes, opening her mouth, allowing you to insert them inside, licking and tasting your seed. Her tongue moved between your fingers, wetting them but absorbing all the liquid they were impregnated with.

She opened her mouth again for you to remove your fingers and you looked at each other.

"It is...you are...you taste delicious..." She admitted self-consciously but happy and satisfied. “C-C-Can I take some more?”

A few seconds later you had Mashiro leaning over you licking all the remains of sperm that were on your abdomen and thighs. That was making you hard again but you knew you had a line that you must not to cross.

The idol's tongue cleaned you completely, savoring every last bit of liquid she could get, repeating to herself how delicious it tasted. Once she was over with you, you left the room for a moment to go to the bathroom, cleaning yourself and put your clothes back on properly, when you returned Mashiro was also dressed.

You inserted the vibrator into the cardboard box, camouflaged between several layers of clothing, and took it into your arms, despite the girl's insistence that she could carry the box.

You went down together to the street, parked there was one of Mashiro's new group's cars waiting to pick her up.

"Thanks for everything, manager oppa." Mashiro smiled sweetly at you.

"Keep this between us, okay?" She nodded briskly heading to the car, turning around before opening the door.

"I'll think about you the next time." Those words caught you off guard, making you blush.

You watched as the car disappeared into the distance of the street, blending into the traffic. You sighed and walked back up the stairs to the apartment, there was still a lot to clean.

Just when you were about to grab the broom again the phone in your pocket started ringing, you picked up after reading the name of the caller and brought it to your ear.

“Finally, I only had to call you 7 times to get a callback.” You heard a sleepy yawn from the other side.

“I've been non-stop for months, many performances, shootings, ceremony awards, and exhausting trips, you know. I deserved a good restful sleep…of 14 hours.”

“Of course, we must keep the star Ahn Yujin in good condition.” Your laughter dissipated as you took a more serious tone. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I know. See you in like 1 hour? I will send you the location.”

“Sure, see you.”

You hung up the call and heaved a long sigh, rushing to get all the work done. You had a date in an hour.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: It's Hendrix's first Thanksgiving, and though he's not even one month old, he still manages to be part of a sweet surprise.

TW: Reader is breastfeeding, mention of Grandma, reference to the events of chapter 8

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

November 1999

You had given Eddie one job: buy the items on the shopping list—and only the items on the shopping list. There’s the usual weekly groceries, but now there’s the addition of ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. 

And, of course, a plethora of diapers and wipes for your nearly three-week-old son. 

Sweet baby Hendrix is the reason why you’re excused from navigating the overcrowded Walmart aisles, and why Eddie and Harris have gone in your place. You gaze down at your infant son, wincing as he latches onto your breast. 

“There you go, little man,” you murmur, smoothing down a wisp of his hair. “We’ve got this.”

The apartment is unnaturally quiet; the only sound coming from the living room radiator kicking on to ward off the early winter chill. It’s the calm before the holiday whirlwind, a slice of silence carved out just for you. 

You savor it, inhaling deeply. Hendrix remains undisturbed by your chest rising and falling, happy to be filling his belly before his next nap. He spends his days eating, sleeping, or crying. As Harris says, he doesn’t do any tricks yet. 

Hendrix finishes nursing as the front door clicks open. Adjusting your shirt, you offer Eddie and Harris a tired smile. 

“Glad to see you two survived.”

“Sure did.” Eddie places the bags on the countertop. “And we stayed within budget.”

Your heart surges when he begins unpacking and pulls out a plastic bag filled with Granny Smith apples. Even though Eddie and Wayne will be doing most of the cooking this year—which means a lot of pre-made and boxed dishes—you had insisted on making Grandma’s applesauce. 

“These the right ones?” Eddie asks, wiping a fake bead of sweat from his brow when you answer in the affirmative. “Thank God. I know how much the applesauce means to you.”

You offer a grateful smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. It reminds you of the very first Thanksgiving you’d spent with him happened before you two were a couple—before he’d even taken you on a date. 

And, no, the drunken hook-up after his show at The Hideout didn’t count. 

Thanksgiving 1996 was spent eating Oreos and snuggling up on the couch, watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Eddie and Harris. Grandma was still alive, and you even caught a glimpse of her pre-illness self when Eddie played the Sinatra record. It seems like a million years ago, but it’s only been three. 

“Mommy, guess what?” Seven-year-old Harris calls out from where he’s peering into Hendrix’s bassinet. He doesn’t give you time to guess before he blurts out, “we got a surprise!”

You raise your brows. “A surprise? What is it?”

“Can’t tell ya.” He throws you a wink—where did he even learn that?—and makes a beeline for his room. 

Turning to your husband, you put your hands on your hips. “That surprise better not be more candy,” you warn. “He still has so much left from Halloween.”

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Not candy.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t tell ya.” Eddie mimics the same wink as his oldest son, solving the mystery of its origin, tucking one particular bag underneath his arm. 

If you weren’t still freshly postpartum, you may have chased after him and insisted that he spill the secret. For now, you settle for flipping him off, and he blows you a cheeky kiss in return. 

Thanksgiving begins like any other normal day. Well, normal for the Munson household. 

Hendrix wakes up around the clock, but you get up for the day when his shrill wail jolts you from your sleep at six A.M. Your breasts are heavy with milk; a good thing, considering he sounds hungry. 

Harris, clad in his blue flannel pajamas, shuffles into your bedroom an hour later. He’s still wiping sleep from his eyes even as he talks. 

“Can we watch the parade?”

You hold your forefinger to your lips, praying that Harris’s entrance doesn’t wake the baby sleeping in Eddie’s arms. 

“It’s not on for another hour, Har Bear,” you whisper, patting the comforter. “But you can hang out with us until then.”

Harris nods, scrambling up onto the bed and plopping down between you and his dad. He glances up at Eddie with a pout. 

“Can I hold Hendrix? Pleeeeeease?”

Never one to shy away from theatrics, his brown eyes are wide as he pleads. 

“Actually,” Eddie says, his gaze flicking over to Harris, “I think we should get the surprise ready?”

Harris wrinkles his nose for a split second before he remembers. “Oh, yeah!” He tugs on Eddie’s undershirt sleeve. “We gotta do the surprise.”

You reach out for the baby, but Eddie shakes his head. “Not so fast, Sweetheart. All of the Munson boys are in on this.”

You’re not quite sure what your three-week-old could possibly contribute, but damn if you’re not intrigued. So you sit back, propped up against the pillows, and wait for them to return. 

Five minutes is long enough for you to doze off again, your body desperate for any scrap of sleep it can get. 

“Dad, she’s sleeping!” It comes from a voice right next to your ear. 

“Gently wake her up.” This voice is a bit farther away. Something shakes you. “I said gently, Har!”

You blink, massaging the back of your stiff neck from the awkward position you assumed during your impromptu nap. 

“I’m up.” You manage a small, tired smile. Harris stands right next to your bedside, but Eddie and Hendrix are nowhere to be found. “Is my surprise ready?”

Harris nods, glancing back at the empty doorway. “So…we just unwrapped the turkey, and it looks a little weird.”

He’s supposed to deliver it like it’s bad news, but his mischievous smile betrays him. 

Still, you play along. “It looks weird? What do you mean?”

That’s apparently Eddie’s cue. He creeps into the room, cradling Hendrix in his arms. Except the baby is no longer wearing his sage green pajamas. Now, he dons a brown onesie, a cartoon turkey face emblazoned on the belly. But the pièce de résistance is a tiny hat, a light brown pom pom puffing out from the top.

“That’s the cutest turkey I’ve ever seen!” Tears spring to your eyes, another sign that you’re still in the throes of postpartum hormones. You wipe them away before they can cause concern for the emotionally intuitive Harris. 

You reach out to take the teeny turkey from your husband. “I could just eat you right up,” you coo, pressing a kiss to Hendrix’s chubby cheek and breathing in his baby powder scent. 

“I found it,” Harris announces with a triumphant grin, “and Dad paid for it.”

“I know my place,” Eddie chuckles. “My wallet and I were ready.”

There’s a beat of silence as you take it all in. Your husband, proudly beaming as you snuggle Hendrix to your chest. Your oldest son, tickling Hendrix’s onesie-clad feet and making himself laugh. And your newborn-turned-turkey, scrunching up and then unfurling his little fist as he relaxes contentedly.

Harris looks up at you expectantly. “Is the parade on now?”

You and Eddie laugh, and Eddie ruffles Harris’s hair. 

There’s certainly plenty to be thankful for this year.

--

[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don���t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Part One

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[tasteracha]

a/n: when my angel @astraystayyh asks me for something i deliver. or make an attempt to. anyways please watch this before reading. warnings: subby hyunjin, mentions of alcohol, smut - MINORS DNI.

you loved all the colors of hyunjin. how could you not?

the deep shaded power with which he dances, sweat dripping off his temples and a fierce look in his eyes that only show when he’s on stage or pounding into you late at night. the carefree pastels that breeze through his hair when he has a day off, spending all his spare time with you with your fingers interlocked like he would lose his way otherwise. the soft mauves and grays of his sleepy eyes in the morning while you draw your fingers across his scalp, tracing along his nose down to his lips to feel the plushness underneath your skin. 

but the one that holds a fonder space in your heart was the one you were looking at now. his face is painted with the brushstrokes of a glass of wine, redness on his cheeks and stained across his lips. he’s warm, you know he is, even if you haven’t touched him yet. your own half full glass sits forgotten on the nightstand, the heat from the alcohol just enough to burn at your stomach and scorch high on your cheekbones. 

he’s talkative, speaking about everything and nothing while he holds you in the palm of his hand with just his eyes. soft giggles escape his lips, given to you freely despite how precious every sound that comes from his lips are. you take his hand in yours, finally drinking in the warmth of his palm as you hold it to your lips for a chaste kiss. it was innocent, a helpless motion that you don’t even realize you’re doing, but the look he gives you in response is anything but that. his eyes darken for a moment before he groans, sliding onto his back and stretching out his tired limbs. his cardigan rides up, exposing a sliver of his shoulder, taught skin over hard muscle, and you can feel your mouth begin to water. 

he’s left with his head tilted back, his neck a blank canvas begging to be colored by you, and your heart begins to beat faster. 

“god, i love you,” he turns his head towards you, letting his hand fall onto his stomach right above the waist of his pants. his legs are spread, beckoning you to fill the space between them. “did you know that?”

he’s not drunk, at least not from the wine. he’s drunk off of you, the mere presence of your body in bed with him is enough to make him lose a bit of his sanity. 

it’s not as if you’re any better with the way your body is singing for him. 

“yes, silly boy,” you smile, leaning over him to brush your lips against his jaw. “you only tell me every day. it’s not as if i could forget it.”

you throw your leg over his and slot yourself into the space that he left for you, and for the first time in the night he is silent. he watches your every move and his breath hitches when you place your hand next to his, ghosting across the muscles rippling on his stomach. 

“i love you, too,” you lock your fingers with his, squeezing them together. “do you want me to show you how much?”

he barely gets time to breath out a yes before you’re leaping forward, kissing him with a passion that never depletes no matter how much time passes by. he opens his mouth for you and you take the invitation, sliding your tongue against his. you can’t get enough of his taste, wine and his cherry lip balm and him. you move your lips down to his neck, biting sharply then soothing the spot with a lick. his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, but before he can get too far you take his wrists into your hands and pin them to the mattress at his sides. 

“keep these here, okay?” he nods so quickly that his hair shakes with the movement. satisfied, you sit up and slide down, dropping to your knees in front of him. freeing his cock from his pants comes more easily to you than breathing, the movements committed to memory like the way his feet move when he’s dancing. you leave his pants hanging off of his knees, too impatient to maneuver them off of him. 

you take his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly and hollowing out your cheeks. you look at him through your lashes, and the innocent look paired with the obscene sounds coming from your mouth making him growl fiercely. he reaches his hand towards your head, moving to card his fingers through your hair.

“darling, you’re so-” he cuts off when you pull away, fixing him with a look. 

“what did i say?” you move your eyes to his hand, still hovering in the air by your head, and he drops it back to the bed with wide eyes. 

“good boy,” you smirk when he shudders, giving him a moment to adjust before going back down on him. you lick a stripe up your hand to ease the slide of your hand on his cock, pairing it with sucking and licking at his head. you take him a bit deeper and you can feel his hips shift. the muscles on his stomach ripple in restraint, and you feel a swell of pride at him doing what he’s told. 

he’s so good to you. 

“where do you want to come?” you move away, leaning your head on his inner thigh as you lazily pump your hand along his shaft. he’s been so good, he deserves to make this choice. 

“i- what?” his eyes are hazy, your words not registering in his pleasure soaked brain. 

“on my face? in my mouth?” your breaths his hit exposed skin and he twitches, his bottom lip capturing between his teeth. “it’s your choice, baby. your reward, for being so good.” 

in truth, he’s barely done anything to deserve a reward, but the fondness you feel for him makes you want to praise him over and over. 

“in-” he clears his throat when his breath catches. “in your mouth, darling, please.”

you run a soothing hand down his thigh but it does nothing to calm him down. you shake your head fondly before taking his cock into your mouth for the last time. you speed up, sucking harder than before, going deeper, moving your hand in a flurry. the sudden change of pace makes him release a series of noises that make your head spin. little whimpers mix with soft moans, and he throws his head back as his entire body goes taut. strands of white paint the inside of your mouth, and the taste doesn’t bother you because it’s him.

you keep him in your mouth, swallowing his release around him and suckling him clean until he starts to whine in sensitivity. he releases his hands from their invisible prison and pulls you up and close to him, tucking your head into his neck and wrapping his arms around you. his hold is so tight, like he’s afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you in a death grip. 

“you?” he whispers, stretching his languid body underneath you and sliding one hand down to cup your ass. 

“i’m okay, you can pay me back later,” you giggle against his neck and he sighs, his entire body going slack as he lets himself relax in his post-orgasmic bliss. 

“did you know that i love you?” he says against your hair, and you snort out a laugh. 

“do you want to do this again?” you roll your hips against his softening cock and he squeaks, tightening his arms around you even more than they already were. 

the sound of your shared laughter echoes through the room, taking the shape of affection that doesn’t need to be spoken.

[mekakitsune]

mean!jinx x fem!reader - nsfw - minors dni

request from anon: "Hi love, I would like to request Jinx x Reader. The reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they are at the bar and a guy approaches the reader asking if the reader would like to go out with him and Jinx obviously doesn't like it, can this end with her fucking the reader to show everyone that the reader is hers? Please 😮‍💨"

dates in public really werent jinx's thing, or yours for that matter. she would always say something along the lines of "why go out when we have everything we need here?" by here, she meant her "workshop"– where it was cluttered with mechanical parts and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air constantly. it was more than enough, but sometimes, even you needed a break. had you not been so convincing, jinx would have not let you drag her out to the last drop. she didn't like drinking, nor did she like the usuals at the bar. they were loud, arrogant, and just plain gross.

she sat at the end of the bar, some fruity juice concoction in her cup as she swirled her straw around the glass looking less than interested in what was happening around her.

"i want another drink, ill be right back, kay?" you lean into her, and she nods, watching you hop off the stool and stroll (rather stumble) to the other end of the bar where the bartender stood. she watched as you smiled sweetly at the man, leaning against the bar as you recite your order. he nods and moves to make your drink, leaving you to stand waiting. without notice, a man slinks in beside you, with an unsettling smirk on his lips.

"put the lovely ladies drink on my tab, would ya?" he gruffed at the bartender, sending you a wink as he spoke. you smile politely, shaking your head as you speak up– "hey... im alright but thank yo-"

"nonsense, let me treat a pretty lady to a drink, yeah?" he cut you off. he reeked of booze, and was ultimately too close for comfort.

"okay...its a just a drink, but im a-" he cuts you off again.

"see, knew you'd want it. so hows about we getchu that drink and then ditch this place?" he smirks again, placing a hand on your shoulder, one eye brow cocked like he was waiting for you to agree. before you could utter a word, an arm wraps around your waist, and the mans hand drops from your shoulder immediately.

"sorry to interrupt whatever youre trying to do here, but shes taken."

jinxs sneers at the man, looking like she was ready to pounce any second. the man, stupidly, didnt budge– obviously not seeing your girlfriend as much of a threat. her fingers gripped your hip, hard.

"ohh so its like that? y'know, ive always wanted to see some girl on girl action in real time." the man stands, arrogant and overly confident. the smirk on his lips made your stomach twist. without thinking, per her style, jinx lunges at the man, slamming her fist into his nose.

your eyes go wide as the man stumbles back, hand gripping his now bloody nose. "you little bitch..."

the man moves quickly towards her, but a familiar metallic hand finds his shoulder first.

"you two. out. now."

it was sevika, of course she had been there. she had been watching the two of you since you walked in, knowing trouble was bound to come with you guys around, it seemed like it always did.

"i'll fuckin kill you..." the man spat, trying to remove himself from sevikas grip. she looked at you sternly, and you got the message from the expression on her face.

"pssh, you wish." jinx muttered mockingly, clearly not wanting to leave without finishing what she started, or rather, without killing this guy first. you grab her wrist and speak– "lets just go jinx, cmon.." you pull her towards you, and she follows as you drag her towards the door. shouts from the man can be heard from behind you, and jinx stops in her tracks to flip him off. you bite back a laugh as you tug her along into the cool air outside of the bar.

"what a creep..." she spoke low, eyes ahead of her as she walked, avoiding your gaze completely.

"im sorr–" suddenly she whips around to face you, brows furrowed. "i mean seriously? that perv was all over you, and you were gonna let him buy you a drink!? are you stupid?" she cuts you off to rant, making you shut your mouth.

"he could have done something bad, and you were just gonna let him? the hells wrong with you?" she continued, hands moving dramatically.

"i was just gonna empty his pockets when he wasnt looking, jinx... aren't you the one that always says "if you see an opening, take it?"– you quote her. "its clear he had money..."

this seems to make her head rush, anger and possessiveness rushing through her. before you can process it, shes grabbing your arm and dragging you into the alley on your right. with shocking force, she presses you against the wall, her face dangerously close to yours as her eyes bore into yours.

"that doesn't mean go around and act like some sort of slut." she squints, cocking her head to the side.

"are you kidding? fuck you, jinx. i-" she doesnt let you finish as she smashing her lips into yours, hard enough to bruise, surely. you gasp at her suddenness, and her hands find your hips again, pinning you to the wall behind you.

her tongue wins the easy battle for dominance, completely consuming you as if the two of you werent stood in an alley. the only light was a dingy street lamp, casting a warm glow onto the two of you. the kiss was hot, messy as she took control of every movement, hips pressing into yours. she pulls back from the kiss, chest heaving as her hands find your belt.

"what are you doing?" you pant, watching her as her skilled hands mess with your waistband.

"whats it look like, dollface." her tone is low, and you can tell shes serious about taking you right here in the alley.

"cmon...not here...people could see us." you shift your hips as much as you can, but theres little to no room between you and the wall, so your attempt are deemed useless. ignoring you, her fingers pop the button on your pants, and find their way into your underwear.

her lips are on you again, flush with your neck as she sucks marks into the skin.

"let em'. dont care." her words are muffled against your neck. you gasp quietly as her fingers find your slick folds, a low chuckle coming from her.

"see? slut. all worked up, and from what, hm? some creep sweet talkin you?" she rambles, her words making your skin flush. her fingers circle your clit, making you buck into her as she holds you steady with her other hand. the cool metal of her finger bleeds through the layer of fabric riding up your hips. soon enough, shes moving her fingers and sliding them into your cunt, making you whimper. you feel her smirk against your neck, lips leaving a trail of searing marks with the intention of claiming whats hers.

"or is it that you like the thought of being caught, hm?" her fingers pushed a relentless pace, making your knees shake. "y'like me fuckin you in public baby?" her words are making your head spin, along with her fingers inside of you. her breathing picks up again when she hears you whine, cunt tightening around her fingers.

"m'close, please..." you muttered helplessly, surely dripping down her wrist at this point. she presses a kiss to your lips as she pulls her hand away. you watch in awe, chest moving rapidly as her fingers come to her mouth, sucking them clean.

"what the fuck?" you pant, fingers wrapping around her wrist. she simply smiles, before slipping out of your grasp.

"s'one thing to act like you enjoy being flirted with, but im not about to make you cum where anyone could see." she shrugs, her grin sinister as she turns on her heel.

in disbelief, your shaky hands move to fix your pants and belt. she had it coming once you stepped back into the confines of her workshop, that was one thing for certain.

thank u for the yummy rq i hope u enjoy :3

[fastandpascal]

ᯓ★ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY!

it’s your mums birthday but your step dad can’t seem to take his eyes off of you (mean step dad!joel miller x f!reader smut)

a/n: my first Joel fic so go nice on me lol, if you enjoyed then reblog and show some love. this was so fun to write, enjoyyy

The party was everything your mum had dreamed of—warm lights strung across the backyard, music playing softly in the background, and her closest friends and family gathered to celebrate her big day. It was perfect, right down to the last detail, even if the man she was cheating on Joel with had the audacity to show up. You leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, sipping from a glass of wine and watching the scene unfold through the open sliding door. People laughed, danced, and toasted to her, utterly oblivious to the tension simmering in the house.

You couldn’t help it—your eyes drifted across the room to Joel.

He was standing near the corner, nursing a beer and looking as ruggedly handsome as ever in his fitted flannel shirt and worn jeans. His salt-and-pepper hair was slightly tousled, and his intense brown eyes scanned the room—lingering on you when he thought no one was watching.

He had been stealing glances at you all night, his attention as unavoidable as a magnetic pull. It started innocently enough—a brush of his hand against yours when you passed him a plate of hors d’oeuvres, the subtle shift in his posture whenever you were near. But the heat in his gaze told you this wasn’t just polite attention.

It was something darker. Something forbidden.

You shouldn’t have reciprocated. You shouldn’t have noticed the way his broad shoulders flexed when he reached for something or the way his jaw clenched when he caught you smiling at one of the younger guests. You certainly shouldn’t have liked the jealousy flashing in his eyes.

But you did.

You set down your empty glass, heart pounding, and turned toward the hallway, needing a moment away from the noise to catch your breath. As you passed through the kitchen door, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the darkened laundry room.

The laundry room door slammed shut behind you with a soft click, cutting off the cheerful noise of the party outside. Joel turned the lock with a deliberate motion, his broad back blocking the exit, his presence suffocating in the small space. He didn’t say a word, not at first. His dark eyes bore into yours, his lips pulled into a tight line.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked finally, his voice low and menacing.

You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I—What are you talking about?”

He scoffed, a dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t play dumb with me.” His boots thudded against the tile as he took a step closer, then another, until you were pressed against the cold metal of the washer. “You’ve been walking around all goddamn night in that little dress, batting your eyes at every guy who looks at you, like a slut”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he growled, cutting you off. His hands came up, gripping your hips with a bruising force. “You think I didn’t see the way you smiled at that little punk by the bar? Laughing at his jokes like you didn’t know I was standing right there?”

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of his anger.

“Quiet,” he snapped, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’ve been pushing me all night, sweetheart. Acting like a fucking tease. But you know what? I’m done playing nice.”

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement racing through you, leaving you breathless. Joel’s hands slid up your sides, his rough palms brushing over the thin fabric of your dress.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he demanded, his voice a low growl in your ear. “You’ve been begging for my attention all night. Now you’ve got it.”

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth crashed against yours, his lips claiming you in a bruising, possessive kiss. His beard scratched against your skin, the sensation adding to the overwhelming heat building between you. You gasped against him, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste you.

Joel’s hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency that bordered on roughness, sliding down to your thighs and pulling you closer. He hoisted you onto the washer in one swift motion, his body slotting between your legs as he pressed against you.

“You think you can act like that out there and not face the consequences?” he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, making you whimper. “No, baby. You’re mine. And I’m gonna remind you who you belong to.”

His hands bunched the fabric of your dress, shoving it up around your hips with no regard for how it wrinkled. You trembled under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers found the thin band of your panties.

“Already soaked,” he murmured, his voice thick with disdain and hunger. “Of course you are, filthy little thing.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up,” he snapped, his fingers hooking under the fabric and tearing it off you with one swift motion. The sound of the fabric ripping sent a jolt through you, your head spinning with the knowledge that there was no turning back now.

Joel stepped back just enough to undo his belt, the metallic clink making your pulse race. His eyes never left yours as he yanked his jeans down just enough to free himself, his hard length standing proud and thick.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re gonna sit there and take it. No whining. No complaints. Got it?”

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, his hands gripping your thighs and yanking you closer to the edge of the washer.

Without another word, he pushed into you in one hard thrust, stretching you painfully around him. You cried out, the sensation a mix of pleasure and pain, but Joel didn’t stop. He didn’t give you time to adjust, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm that left you gasping for air.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you. “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mingling with your ragged breathing and his deep, guttural groans. Joel’s pace was brutal, each thrust hitting a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“You think anyone out there knows what a little slut you are?” he asked, his tone mocking as his hand came up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Huh? Think they’d still think you’re so sweet if they could see you right now? Sat here and taking me like this?”

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to hold on. The heat in your core built with each thrust, the pressure almost unbearable.

“That’s right,” Joel muttered, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “You like this, don’t you? Being used like the dirty little thing you are.”

“Yes,” you gasped, the word tumbling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip on your jaw tightening. “Say you belong to me.”

“I belong to you,” you choked out, your voice trembling.

“Damn right you do,” he growled, his hand slipping down to find the sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs. His thumb circled it with maddening precision, sending you hurtling toward the edge. “Now come for me, baby. Show me who you belong to.”

His words were your undoing. Your body tensed, the wave of pleasure crashing over you and leaving you trembling in his arms. Joel followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your labored breathing, the faint hum of the washer beneath you grounding you in the aftermath.

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t forget who owns you,” he murmured, his tone soft but no less commanding.

As he stepped back, adjusting his jeans and belt, he smirked down at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Clean yourself up,” he said, tossing your torn panties at you. “And get back to the party. Best not make it obvious what we’ve just been up to”

You nodded, still too dazed to speak, as he unlocked the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Left alone, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of what had just happened, you couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. You belonged to Joel, and there was no denying it even if he was married to your mum.

[fandomnerd9602]

Winter Comfort (🌶️)

Wolf!Natasha x Reader

The weather predictions weren’t looking good for the entire upper east coast. The forecast was a winter blizzard would be making its way through and the Westview sanctuary was right in the blizzard’s path.

You and Natasha worked hard to fortify the sanctuary and your apartment from the coming storm.

“We should all stay at my apartment, Natasha” you told your girlfriend only for Yelena to interrupt.

“What about my cave? It’s roomy, open aired and I literally just answered my own question” Natasha huffs, “fine. But I want cuddles and a James Bond film”

“Deal” you answer with a smile.

“You two lovebirds can stay at your apartment,” the blond wolf chimed, “I am going to wait out the storm with Kate Bishop”

“I feel terrible for Kate” Natasha smirked. “Putting up with you? Oof”

Yelena rolled her eyes and jumped into her jeep, driving off to meet up with her best friend.

You and your wolf girlfriend got the hybrids all comfortable and the place well heated. The back up generator was good to go.

And with that, the sanctuary was fortified and ready for the storm. You and Natasha went back to your apartment.

You and Natasha cooked dinner, danced to a few favorite songs and then found yourselves curled up on your couch watching a classic James Bond movie.

“You always known how to treat me” Natasha giggles as she lays in your arms. She begins grinding her hips against yours. It was slow and steady, if it wasn’t for proximity, you wouldn’t have noticed. But you did.

“Are you w-warm enough, baby?” You tried to form a proper sentence but her little repeating action was putting your mind on the Fritz.

“I’m still a little cold” she purrs against your chest, “maybe you can warm me up”

She just keeps nuzzling you, breathing in your scent, rubbing her arms all over your chest, her legs sliding against yours. Her tail gently teasing your thighs.

“Natasha” you tried to say thru a mixture of giggles and a growing blush.

“Hmm? What is it, malysh?” She asked, batting her eyes playfully at you. Her eyes however held a certain amount of mischief.

“Y-You know what you’re doing to me”

She nuzzles you, her tail now swaying at you seductively. “Do I? Or are you reading between the lines?”

You rub her lower back reassuringly, placing little kisses to her lips, “Is this what you want?”

She kisses you right back, purring in your ear, “i want you. plain and simple, malysh”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your wolf hybrid girl giggles before kissing you again.

“What about the movie?”

She runs her hands under your shirt, “I’ve seen the Spy Who Loved Me a hundred times already”

And with that you pick her up and carry her to your bedroom. She wraps her legs around your waist, holding onto you and giggling. Her reddish tail swishing side to side happily.

You lay her down gently on your bed, kissing her neck, caressing her so tenderly.

“I can’t believe it” you whisper against her ear.

“Me neither.” Natasha giggles, “our first time and we’re doing it in the middle of a snowstorm”

“There’s that,” you shrug, “but I just can’t believe how lucky I am to be love with my best friend”

Natasha gazes into your eyes with pure love and adoration, her voice comes out a little pleading but also a little giddy too, “just take me already you romantic goof!”

You help her out of her thermals as she tries to claw you out of yours. The two of you kiss and tumble over your bed, lost in the all consuming, all encompassing feelings of love.

Despite her earlier energy levels, your first time was gentle and loving. Natasha didn’t want to take her eyes off you while you just were in awe of the way her eyes showed every bit of love and joy. You wanted this time to be about her, while she wanted it to be about you.

Her claws gently scratched down your back as the euphoric bliss washed over her. Her breathing became a series of desperate little panting sounds, “(Y/N)! My love!…” after that her voice became a series of loving, joyful phrases whispered in the Russian language. You knew a few words so you knew she was experiencing an immense amount of pleasure and joy, she was practically a mess in your arms.

Her little moans, the way she giggles and gasps. All of it just made you fall more and more in love with her. Her pleads, her panting voice, it all made you want to strive to make her feel it more and more. She was your ecstasy, your love, your wolf girl.

“Natasha,” the way you said in her name made her bite her lip happily. She wanted to hear you say it more often.

The two of you collapsed against one another a happy mess, sharing a gentle, loving laugh with each other. Natasha’s reddish curls covered her face and a bit of yours. Your honey wolf wrapped her entire body around you like a contented sloth on a branch. Her tail swished happy and content under the covers of your bed.

“Hmm…by the gods I love you” she said with a little content sigh on her lips.

“I love you” you whispered back, just wanting nothing more to do than hold her in your arms for all eternity.

“Sounds like the storm is starting to clear up” Natasha commented.

“I’m still a little cold” you joked, earning a giggle from your wolf paramour.

“We got time”

You kiss her tenderly, “all the time in the world, my love”

Her tail wagged happily in response. How did you go this long without her in your arms before?

Yes the weather outside was frightful but laying there in the comfort of your bed with your loving redheaded wolf girl was so delightful.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @redhoodte @scarletquake-n7 @iiconicsfan25 @jacenradio7 @julieromanoff @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @ab1nsur @iamnicodemus @moonlit-imagines @moonlit-ficrecs @multi-fandom-enjoyer @ma1egamer @russianredassassin @revanshand @texaswolf23

[vezpr]

------------------------ toxic. ]

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ COLLEGE AU ☽☾ ONESHOT ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Gojo shows you a video of your boyfriend, Sukuna, making out with another girl at a party, so you decide to get revenge. Poor Nanami.

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, smut, porn with feelings (not necessarily good feelings), sukuna x reader, nanami x reader, ft gojo for as long as I can stand him :b, human Sukuna, college au/ no powers, toxic/ mutually abusive relationship dynamics, cheating, spanking, hate fucking, face slapping, throat fucking, hair pulling, light choking, no aftercare, degradation, name calling, drug and alcohol use mentioned, size difference, oral sex, piv sex, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k

"Satoru, can you at least pretend not to enjoy this, please," you say, holding your phone away from your face as it rings. 

The man is glowing, his lanky frame sprawled across of one of the mismatched sofas in his apartment, one boot propped on a coffee table littered with the controlled chaos of his studies. He looks as if his head might actually explode with the force of unexpelled I-told-you-so's. "He's an asshole. I told you that before you ever hooked up, right? Forget him!"

"Damnit," you hiss, pausing in your frantic pacing long enough to redial your asshole boyfriend's number after being sent to his full mailbox half a dozen times. 

"Why don't you try cool down a little before you talk to him," Nanami says from the opposite side of the room where he sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, watching you pace. Always the reasonable one. "Nothing productive can possibly come of talking to him while you're like this."

You shoot the blonde man a withering glare, but hit the end button on the call, shoulders sagging, chin to chest as you cross to his side of the room. "I know you're right, Nanami," you reply as you slump, defeated, onto the sagging cushion next to him. He clears his throat when you splay your legs and your knee brushes his. You lean your head against the back of the couch and turn your face towards him, lips pursed in a pout as you feel the stinging threat of tears in your eyes. "It's just that... right now, I don't feel like I can cool dow-"

You sit bolt upright as your phone buzzes in your hand. The screen lights up with his face, framed in soft salmon waves that contrast with the hard black lines of tattoos tracing the angle of his jaw. You've been together for a year, practically moved in together right away, and still, even the digital representation of his garnet eyes makes your heart stutter just like it did the first time you saw him. 

"Hey, I really don't think you should-" Nanami begins.

"Sukuna," you answer, rising from the couch and crossing the arm that isn't holding the phone to your ear over your ribcage, as if that will prevent your heart from beating out of your chest.

"Who are you with," he asks, apparently hearing Nanami, who continues to lecture you in the background. But, fuck, if the rasp of his voice doesn't make your insides squirm in a way they definitely shouldn't right now.  Why do you have to be so hopelessly obsessed with him?

You shoot your friend a pleading look and wave your hand at him. He sinks back into the couch, shaking his head, but he shuts up. 

"Who's throat did you have your tongue down last night," you demand, voice rising already. When your question is met with silence, you add, "Go- someone showed me a video."

"Nothing happened," he replies, his voice steady and calm, as if he were ordering a coffee, which really makes you start to lose your shit.

"Do. not. fucking gaslight me right now. It was you, I fucking saw-"

"I mean nothing happened after that. You didn't see a video of me fucking anybody. Didn't even hear about the possibility of me fucking anybody. Because I didn't fuck anybody. I mean, shit, I got home before you." He pauses and your heart starts to slow just a little. Maybe it really didn't go any farther than that.  Maybe this doesn't have to be a big deal... but then he opens his stupid mouth again.  "Couldn't stay hard because of the molly."

"Fuck you, Sukuna," you scream-sob, holding the phone under your chin. "Fuck you! If you were here I'd slap your motherfucking face so goddamn hard I swear to god!"

He laughs, of course. "Calm down, baby. I'm kidding. I knew that white-haired prick was watching my every fucking move. I just did it to piss you off after you left with that blonde guy that's always limping after you like a lost puppy."

You glance up at Nanami, wondering if he heard, but he is studiously examining his cuticles. Even Gojo looks uncomfortable as he busies himself with straightening the papers on his desk, his luminous eyes peeking at you through the platinum locks that have fallen over his forehead in the process.

"I left because you were so fucking high. Laughing at everything, grinding your teeth like a crackhead, going on and fucking on about how you feel like a god among men or somevweird shit like that. It's embarrassing as hell! I ask you to go to one little party-"

"Exactly, you bitched and moaned until I agreed to hang out with your loser friends - who just so happen to all be men that want to fuck you-" 

He is getting loud now, apparently loud enough for your companions to hear because Gojo, with a flourish of his wrist, cheerfully interjects, "I don't want to fuck you."

"Shut up Satoru," Nanami hisses.

"-It's like you get off parading yourself around them in front of me... but I digress. My point is that I don't know what the hell would make you think I would be willing to endure that shit sober."

"Oh, so now it's my fault you fucking cheated on me?"

He's quiet for a minute and you hear him sigh into the receiver. "I got a question for you. You didn't get home til late, where were you?"

"Well, I was hungry so we stopped to get something to eat..."

"For like... had to have been at least four hours?"

"I guess we lost track of time talking..."

"Talking. Okay. Well that sounds fucking fantastic, babe but-"

"Well at least I didn't tongue wrestle him in front of half the fucking campus!"

"You know what... I can't do this now, I'm at work. That whimsical motherfucker had all day to start this shit and of course he waited until I'm at work. When I get home tonight, we're gonna have a nice long chat. Maybe not four hours but..."

"I'm not going to be home when you get home tonight."

Another tense silence. "Don't fuck with me, babe. You really don't wanna do that."

"Don't fuck with me, babe!" You echo in a shrill, mocking tone. "You know what kind of people say that? 'Don't fuck with me?' Weak, scared little bitches. And you should be scared, because you're never gonna find somebody who will want your worthless, piece of shit ass like I did. Ever."

"Baby."

"Please fuck with me, babe, find out what fucking happens," you spit out before hanging up on him. 

When your phone vibrates, you're still rooted to the spot. You lift your shaking hands to read the message.

you better be there when I get home

You scoff. 

"Nanami, can I stay with you tonight?"

He had been watching you, but now his eyes slide away behind the glare reflecting off his glasses. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"Please? I don't want to be home and I don't want to be alone," you must look quite pathetic, because he nods begrudgingly.

"Great," says Satoru. "This man has been needing to get laid for decades."

"Shut up, Gojo," you and Nanami both say at once.  

Although he is the same age as the rest of your friend group, the man has his shit significantly more together than anyone else. He had skipped most of the partying, failing, switching majors, and the rest of the general fuckery and graduated first. Got himself a good job, something to do with stocks. He's got a mortgage, while the rest of you are struggling to pay rent. He's too good for the rest of you, truth be told. 

You look at your phone, as you had approximately every  ten seconds since you left Satoru's apartment, but nothing from Sukuna. He wouldn't be off from his job until almost midnight, anyway. Maybe he really doesn't care what you do. You pull down the menu from the top of the screen and hover your finger over the location toggle. Nah, let him suffer, you think to yourself as you decide to leave it on. Or come get me if he actually gives a fuck.  Sliding the device into your back pocket, you walk up the driveway to Nanami's door and knock.

Too good for you. But he doesn't seem to know it.

"Hey," you say with a tight smile when he lets you in. "I come bearing gifts," you hold up a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. There's actually another one in the trunk, just in case.

You're pretty sure neither of you are watching whatever movie is playing. You don't even remember what it's called.  Gradually you notice that he relaxes, softens into the couch, turns his head to look at you, smiles a little. You smile back. It's easy to just be with Nanami like this, quiet.

You do end up retreiving it after the first one is empty. The man is wound tight like a spring. And you swear he clears his throat everytime you accidentally brush against him grabbing food from the coffee table, or refilling you glasses. What does that mean? You wonder silently.

"You sleep with those on," you tease, poking his calf with a socked toe.

He looks down, "What my shoes? No." He smiles, warm. Tipsy maybe, both of you. 

You laugh softly. "Take em off. You live here, you know."

He shrugs and toes them off. "Happy?"

"No," you deadpan.

His smile falters and you laugh.

He lets his head fall against the back of the couch and rolls his eyes. Looks at you and smiles again. "I don't drink much," he says.

"I know," you scoot closer, knees pressing into his thigh. "You drunk?"

He looks down at the point of coat, then back into your eyes. "No. Are you?"

"Nope." You reach out and lift his glasses off of his face.  He lets you. Doesn't even clear his throat or look away. When you lean back to set them on the coffee table, you begin to lose your balance, but he catches you around the waist and pulls you back.

"You sure?" He asks, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

"I'm sure," you smile, reaching for his tie. "Don't you ever get comfortable?" You ask, loosening it. 

"Not really," he says, pulling you towards him. 

"Hm," you hum, straddling his lap as you pull the tie free from his collar. You smile at how nonchalant the two of you are, as if this isn't happening. Like he didn't pull you into his lap. Like you aren't brushing a blonde fall of hair off of his forehead as he looks up at you, honey eyes half-lidded. Like his hands haven't slid under the hem of your tank top, warming the skin of your back.

You're just friends. Yeah. Just talking.

His mouth is warm and soft, wine-tart. He smells like cedar and ocean salt. When you hear your phone ping softly, he's got a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to press his mouth into your neck, tongue gentle against the tender flesh. No teeth. Without looking you know the unique little tone means your device has been gps located. You moan when he pulls the strap of your tank top down and takes your nipple in his mouth. You hadn't worn anything under that. 

Oops.

You had been working on the buttons of his shirt, palms sliding across his pecs. He pulls away to let you slip it off. "I could take care of you," he says, breathless, as he loosens his watch and works his hands out of the sleeves. "You wouldn't have to ever have another day like you had today."

"I know," you say as you wrap around each other, mouths fastened together, moving like you have years rather than just the next handful of moments. Him the living sea, rolling over you, the shore, a dead thing made of dirt. I can take care of you, his hands whisper. Your atrophied heart clenches, and, for a moment, you wish it could be true.

A car door slams outside. 

He pulls away and looks at you, ugly realization dawning in his eyes. "Oh," he nods grimly. "I get it."

He sighs raggedly and shakes his head as pushes you off of his lap gently. His hands a soft suggestion, unlike Sukuna's demanding touch. You feet hit the floor just as the first splinters fly from the doorframe.

How many kicks, you think bizarrely of a little cartoon owl with a sucker. How many kicks does it take to break down Nanami Kento's door? Three. Three kicks.

You are frantically feeling in between the couch cushions for your discarded top when Sukuna shoulders through the broken door. 

"It was unlocked, jackass," you hear Nanami say, "That's gonna be expens-" then a couple of thumps, the soft crush of bone and cartilage, and the loud thud of a body crumpling to the floor.

Trying to pull Sukuna off of him is like trying to move a mountain. You pull at him and scream in your panic sharpened voice, "Please, Kuna, stop! Please stop! Don't hurt him!" Although, you can see that it's too late for that. 

You reel backward when he rounds on you, but you need not worry about falling. He catches you by the hair and pulls you up. He looms over you, his vastness swallowing you like his pupils swallow the blood of his irises in the blue flickering light from the television. He is every inch the monster you know he can be. "Don't fucking call me that, woman," he growls into your ear.

You crumple to the floor when he lets you go. "Been too soft on you, brat," he toes at Nanami's limp form before stalking to the coffee table. "Gonna have to re-educate you. Lucky i don't just fucking destroy you both." He picks up an empty wine bottle and hurls it at the TV. The crash has you flinching as the screen spiderwebs and the speakers sputter. His belt buckle clinks as he unfastens it and your cunt drools like pavlov's dogs at the sound. You wonder if he knows how completely he has you.

You watch wordlessly as he pulls himself out of the fly of his jeans and pisses all over the flickering set. He turns his gaze on you and tucks himself away. The leather of his belt hisses against denim as he pulls it free of the loops.

"Now what am I going to do with you," he says, stalking towards you, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily trailing the belt behind him. The grin on his face is cold and sharp as a knife edge. He must be feeling better already. 

He brushes past you and seats himself on the arm of the couch.  Elbow on the back of it, he leans his cheek against his fist as he looks down at you. "Come here," he says.

You look over at Nanami's limp form. You can just see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"Don't look at him. He can't help you. Never could. Now, I won't say it again. Come. Here."

You begin to get to your feet.

"No," he says, eerily calm, and you freeze midway to your feet. "Crawl."

"Come on Kuna," you coo, voice sticky sweet. "I'm really sorr-"

"Shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear your sorry's. Now get over here."

So you drop back to your knees and start to crawl. You sway your hips and smile up at him, ever defiant. He snorts and shakes his head. "You are such a little slut."

"Stand up," he says, when you arrive at his ankles. Even seated as he is on the arm of the couch, he towers over you when you obey. 

"Strip," he says, then, "faster," when you are to slow to peel your clothes away. He leans forward and slides his fingers through your folds. 

"Wet," he says.

"For Nanami," you retort, only half a lie. You are still mad at him, after all. 

His hand flies so quick you barely see him move before the back of his hand connects with your cheek. Seeing stars, you're reeling backwards, but he catches you, draws you across his lap. The belt burns across the fat of your ass as he brings it down on you over and over in fast, hard bursts. Tears sting your eyes as you squirm and bite at your bottom lip, but he's strong and has little trouble holding you in place with his one free hand clasping your wrists together behind your back. 

"Told you not to fuck with me," he's growling, and your pussy clenches around nothing. You wish he would just fuck you already.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sob, "Please, please, please!"

Finally, he relents, the belt slithers to the floor. "Are you really sorry?" He asks, his voice softer now, some of the aggression soothed out of it by the burst of violence. "Actions speak louder than words, you know." You fail at biting back a moan as he suddenly shoves his fingers inside you, growling as he feels you clenching around him. "You want my cock?" He asks. Craning your neck you look up at him over your shoulder, nodding frantically.

"On your knees then," he says, releasing you. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know," he says as you crumple to your knees between his feet. "Might even be worse than me." He lets his jeans pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. Grasping the base of his cock, already rigid and leaking, he smacks it lightly against your cheek, smearing your feverish skin with precum. "That's why he-" he nods behind him at Nanami's unconscious body, "-could never do it for you."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, which you drag along his tip murmuring, "can you take this off too-" you tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, "-I wanna see you."

He grunts and pulls it over his head, groaning as you pull his cockhead into your mouth, tongue tracing his slit, the ridge if his glans. You know that he is at least partly right, you are sick. But you wonder if he brings it out of you. Could you be different with Nanami? You think of his mouth on your neck, your hands on his chest.

"If you want to see me, open your eyes," Sukuna says, something jagged in his tone, like suspicion. So you look up at him, run your fingers up the fronts of his thighs to the dips of his abdominals as you take his cock deeper. Your eyes follow the lines of tattoos outlining his chest until you find his face, jaw slack, eyes heavy as he looks down at you.

You release his dick with a wet pop, sucking in air. "You're perfect."

"I didn't say stop," he grasps, fisting a hand in your hair, using his other to pry your mouth open unnaturally wide until you are drooling down his tattooed wrist, eyes shiny with tears as you look up at him. He slides his cock between your lips, controlling the angle of your head with his hands, sinking in until your nose is pressed against his stomach. "Told you to fucking be home when I got home," he growls, smashing ypur face against his groin so that you can't breathe.

You sputter and gag around his cock as he stays fully seated inside you. "Ssh, ssh it's okay," he soothes as his fingers wrap around the soft column of your throat, feeling the bulge of his length there. "Oh, fuck, baby, you are really lucky you feel so fucking good, 'cause you really fucking pissed me off," he moans as uses your hair to bob your head up and down on his cock until your jaw burns and tears spill out of your eyes. "You really are sorry, huh?"

You do your best to signal in the affirmative as he continues to fuck your throat, but you find you have little control at the moment, so you just hope he gets the message. When he finally pulls out, and stuffs the strings of drool that stretch between your lips and his cock back into your mouth with his thumb, you nod, gasping. "I am. I am sorry," you manage to sob out in broken syllables around his prodding fingers.  Although your brain is a little too wine blurry and cock drunk to accurately recall exactly what you're sorry for. And weren't you mad at him for something? 

Your muddled thoughts are interrupted as he yanks you up and bends you over the arm of the couch as if you weigh nothing. "Tell me who you belong to, baby," he growls as you feel the fat head of his cock bully it's way between your folds from behind. "Because it seems like you forgot."

"You, I belong to you," you answer dutifully, drawing out the final vowel into a long moan as he sheaths himself inside of you with one hard snap of his hips. 

"Fuck," he growls, twitching inside of you, "say it again."

"I'm yours, Sukuna," you whine, peering over your shoulder to look at him. 

"Yeah," he moans, rolling his hips into you, his cock dragging along every tender aching inch inside you. "You're mine," he pounds into you faster, harder, pulling you back into him by your hair. "I'm gonna stuff you so full of cum, baby." He always talks so much when he's fucking you. Now he's babbling something about making you pregnant. You're too stupid with lust to even begin to reflect on what an almost comically bad idea that is, although you suppose you understand it. Another way for him to stake his claim.  Then his teeth are bruising your shoulder, marking you, and you're arching into him, your walls beginning to flutter around the sweet, familiar shape of him.

He pulls out as soon as he feels you starting to squeeze down on him. "Want you to look at me when you cum," he rasps. You guess you know why.  You make it a point not to look over his shoulder as he threads his arms under your hips, lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist before he impales you again. 

"Oh fuck, Sukuna," you whine as he stretches you, a perfect pain.

"Say it again," he murmurs, pistoning up into you with more speed now, but less control as he nears his end. 

"Yours," you manage to choke out before he slips a hand around your throat, stealing your breath, making your vision darken as you seize up around him, milking him as he spills inside of you. He is clawing and biting at you everywhere he can reach as he devours your lips, pouring a muffled string of curses into your mouth. You wonder vaguely, if any small part of him cares about you, or if he only cares to own you.

You are intertwined, leaning against the wall, twitching and gasping. You're too busy murmuring nonsense into each other's ears to notice when Nanami sits up and slides the remaining wine bottle off of the coffee table. The one the two of you didn't quite finish off. 

You've got your chin hooked over Sukuna's shoulder, your fingertips tracing the circles tattooed there and he's panting, "I want to tell you something," when you see Nanami walk around the couch, holding the bottle by the neck. 

"I don't know why I could never say it before," Sukuna whispers as Nanami raises the bottle. You lock eyes with him, but you don't say anything. 

"I-" There's a soft thud as the bottle connects with the back of Sukuna's head. His eyes roll back as he falls away from you and hits the floor hard. 

Nanami barely looks at you as he shoulders Sukuna's limp body and carries him outside. You are pulling on your sweats when he comes back, gathers the man's clothes and tosses them outside. You cross your arms over your bare chest as he walks past you into the kitchen. "Get dressed and get out, please. I'll get you an uber," he says, pressing a bag of frozen peas to his face. He sinks into the couch, wine bottle between his knees and uncorks it with his thumb. His back is to you.

"Nanami?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't find my top. Maybe you're sitting on it?"

He sighs and leans forward to set the bottle and the makeshift icepack on the coffee table. Then he's wrapping his shirt around your shoulders, it smells like the cedar and the ocean. You look up at him through damp lashes, bruises already starting to bloom in the hollows of his eye.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," he says before he returns to the couch.

Sukuna is standing, although weaving, in his boxers, looking dazedly at his pants when you shoulder through the broken door.

"Hey," he mumbles, stumbling forward. "Where the hells my belt?"

Nanami sinks back into the couch, frozen peas pressed to his face. Takes a long pull off the bottle before deciding that's probably not going to help much. He stares at the broken TV screen, the flickering bars of light reflecting in his eyes.

Maybe after he works this job a few more years, he could just start over somewhere else. 

Like Malaysia.

Yeah.

That'd be nice.

[evellynssocbrainrot]

Idk, if anyone else noticed this, but this is something that the Netflix show did surprisingly right. When I saw Freddy Carter for the first time, I thought that that man was far too pretty, youthful, and happy to be Kaz. But after watching the show, especially season 2, I don't know how S&B did it, but they managed to make Kaz look so damned fucked up, despite Freddy being as beautiful as he is. I guess it did help that Freddy himself isn't conventionally attractive.

But he is still SO pretty, and beautiful, and elegant, and serene.

But one look at the stills, gifs, and scenes of Kaz in the show, and you can see the years worth of trauma, the grief and unhealthy coping mechanisms, the pain and longing, the lack of sleep, the tiredness and exhaustion, the circles under his eyes, the bruises on his cheek, the nick in top of his upper lip, AND his greasy messy hair. (And this is especially impressive when you remember that Freddy has the most amazing, well-kept hair). Most importantly, even with all these things, Kaz is still so attractive, which proves the idea that you can be a fucked up and broken street thug, and an attractive young person simultaneously.

If someone as gorgeous as Freddy pulled this off, why can't fan artists?

you guys draw kaz far too conventionally attractive. where are his firepox scars and signs of poor sleep and nutrition. and please give him a more fucked up nose. it should look like it has been broken multiple times and never quite healed right. and also please make his haircut a little bit ugly and wretched.

i also think the crows should have acne and/or acne scarring and greasy hair.

[captaincrusher]

A thought on a queer Star Trek timeline

Watching Star Trek from the original series to modern times is to fast forward through the evolution of queer rights through the 20th and early 21st century.

In the original series queerness must be imagined in the close relationship between Kirk and Spock. We can only see ourselves in what we hope and dream about for the future. We get Amok Time.

In the 80's queer people start to materialize in the background. TNG takes tentative steps towards telling our stories, still cloaked in the allegory. We get Outcast.

In the 90's Ds9 gives us Rejoined. Still cloaked in allegory, but the lines get sharper, the mist starts to lift. A character has a monologue about how two people that love each other should be able to be together. Hidden winks has turned into words.

Voyager, while a good show in other respects, does not give us a single crumb of queerness. Aside from the relationships we ourselves imagine.

In the 2000's we are on the cusp of actually having queer people on screen. Enterprise tries to tell stories of gender (Cogenitor) and the AIDS crisis (Stigma), two episodes that are still filtered through a limited understanding of both. When Enterprise ends in 2005 and this Star Trek era ends with it, queer representation in film and tv is still scarce.

The AOS era instead is where queer people, for the first time, stepped out of subtext. Sulu is married to a man - a nod to George Takei, the original series actor. Star Trek Beyond comes out in 2016, the year after same sex marriage is legalized in the US.

It isn't until 2017 that a Star Trek show officially, without subtext or allegory, gets queer characters, when Paul Stamets and Hugh Culber are married on Discovery. Discovery also adds further queer characters down the line, finally saying that yes - queer humans do exist in the future.

I know you all will have opinions on what is queer or not. But when tracking the evolution of queer representation it's important to separate subtext from text and to separate when something is allegoric verses not.

I interpret Jadzia Dax as queer - but she is not human. She is an alien wrapped inside a gender non confirming shroud of gray areas. That is the strength of her character - that it allows the writers to explore themes that otherwise would have been taboo. But the fact that they could only pursue queer storylines with non human characters tells you something about the times.

it really feels like Star Trek was late to the party with queer representation. I think there's multiple reasons for that. One is that when Enterprise was created, it still carried the legacy of shows created in the 80's and 90's. Enterprise itself is also literally a prequel - there seemed to be little desire to be bold and innovative.

Timing is I think the main reason why Star Trek trailed behind. Between Enterprise ending in 2005 and Star Trek Discovery starting in 2017 there's a whole era of representation. If Enterprise had dared make an actual queer character, like Malcolm Reed, it would have been just ahead of the wave of representation that started popping up in the late 00's - but instead it closed on a similar note as DS9 did 10 years earlier.

Feel free to add your favorite queer episodes. There are some "official" queer episodes - but there's a bunch more that meant a lot for us as queer people, for one reason or another.

[janeyseymour]

Drunk Actions, Sober Thoughts

Summary: Janine's end of the school year party gets a little out of hand- handsy.

WC: ~3.2k

You’ve been a teacher at Abbott Elementary for a few years now, teaching alongside Gregory Eddie as a first grade teacher. And because you’re grade-level partners with one of the  more infamous teachers at the school, you become friends with that group- the group of teachers who tend to be a bit more outspoken and have more of an in with the, at times inconsistent and slightly ridiculous, principal.

You weren’t always a part of that group, but after a couple of months, they began to welcome you with open arms. The one teacher that took you under her wing the most was none other than South Philly Princess Melissa Schemmenti. The rough and tough, often hard to read, leather jacket and eyeliner wearing badass of the school grew close to you quickly once you showed her that you were here to stay.

You don’t even really understand why she took to you the way that she did, but you aren’t complaining. It’s much better to be on her good side rather than her bad side. Although, you would dare to say that she doesn’t have a bad side; she always looks phenomenal.

Because you have this in with the iconic group of Abbott Elementary, you manage to get yourself an invitation to the “party of the century” as Janine Teagues is putting it.

“You’re going, right?” Melissa asks you at lunch.

You chuckle. “Of course I’m going.” Then you lean in closer to her and Barbara. “If only to watch those two-“ You point to Janine and Gregory flirting. “-finally get their shit together.”

Barbara smirks knowingly. “I have a feeling they will.”

“One can only hope,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “They need to get their heads out of their asses and just fuck already.”

“Melissa!” the kindergarten teacher scolds as she smacks her friend’s hand.

The redhead can only shrug. She stands by what she uttered.

You just nudge the woman beside you before closing up your container and standing. “And on that note,” you laugh. “I actually do have some final things I have to finish up in the classroom, so I’ll see you all tonight.”

You leave with a small wave and a smile, and as you turn to go, Melissa’s eyes don’t leave your body.

“Girl,” Barbara’s deep voice pulls the redhead out of her trance. “You got it bad for her.”

Green eyes are rolled so hard that the kindergarten teacher is shocked they don’t get stuck that way. “I do not.”

“I have a feeling Gregory and Janine aren’t going to be the only ones who get it together tonight,” is all the kindergarten teacher mutters to her best friend.

“Oh please,” Melissa groans. “And even if I did have a thing for her, which I do not, it’d never happen. Ain’t no way a young thing like that would want… this.”

Barbara almost quips about how she’s caught you hanging onto every word that Melissa says, how your eyes rarely leave her figure when she isn’t looking, how you tend to follow her around like a lost puppy dog. But she doesn’t. Instead, Barb just shrugs.

The two older women of the friend group show up to Janine’s house an hour early to help get the place in order. And oh is it a good thing they did, at least that’s what they think. In reality, the second grade teacher had planned for that- the life of poor Janine. But they manage to get the small apartment ready in time for the party to begin.

And quietly, Barbara Howard tells herself that she’s going to play matchmaker. She’ll get Gregory and Janine together as much as possible, and she’s also going to attempt to get you and her work wife to finally see what’s going on between the two of you.

A drunk Melissa tends to be a more confident (not that she could get much more confident than she already is) and affectionate person than a sober Melissa. But in order for the redhead to get to that place of feeling good, Land Barbara knows that she’s going to have to let Sea Barbara out of her cage. So right as guests begin to arrive, the kindergarten teacher pours two shots and hands one to her work wife. The two take them in tandem, and then Barbara is mixing up two cocktails- strong cocktails.

“Jesus, Barb,” the second grade teacher grimaces as she wipes the little droplet that dribbled down her chin. “Are you tryin’ to get Sea Barbara to come out?”

The kindergarten teacher just gives an innocent smile, points to the cup, and takes another large swig of her own drink. Melissa follows. 

By the time that you show to the little apartment, the party is in full swing. Janine lets you in with a smile, Gregory by her side. You give your grade-level partner a curious look, but he shakes his head subtly.

“Come in! Come in!” the second grade teacher is all grins. “The- the party got a little hectic, and not everyone is in their assigned places, but… it’s a party!”

You just chuckle and thank Janine for hosting as you step inside. Your eyes scan the place, and in the center of the dance floor is that vibrant red hair that you were hoping to see. She’s… wow. And Barbara is right next to her dancing with a cardboard cutout of… why is Barbara dancing with a cardboard cutout of Allen Iverson?

Despite your confusion about what is taking place in the center of the room, you make your way over.

“Hey, hey,” you yell over the loud music.

“Oh my God!” Melissa yells as she practically throws herself at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Had dinner with my mom,” you chuckle as you hold her in your arms. Wow. She gives good hugs. And despite the fact that she’s very hot from dancing in such a small space, she smells incredible. “But I’m here now!”

“Yes you are!” Green eyes scan over your outfit, and you can’t help but notice the way that her gaze lingers on the deep neckline of your shirt. “Wow. You look incredible!”

The lights are dim enough that the redhead hopefully can’t see the blush that creeps into your cheeks. You thank God for that one.

“Barb!” Melissa taps her friend. “Look! My girl finally made it!”

Her girl? You hope that your surprise at that title doesn’t show on your face. You just smile and wave to the kindergarten teacher who already seems to be quite inebriated.

“We gotta get you a drink!” the second grade teacher grins. She’s pulling you off towards the drink section before you can even figure out what’s happening.

“Here,” Melissa pours you a rum and coke and shoves it into your hand before you can politely decline the offer.

“Oh,” you chuckle softly. “I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight… have breakfast with my dad tomorrow morning, and don’t wanna show up too hungover.”

The redhead nods along before reaching for the solo cup and taking a sip of her own concoction. She screws her eyes shut tightly as she swallows. “Damn, I made that strong.”

You roll your eyes before taking the beverage back into your hand and taking a small sip. “Oh my…” you suck in a breath. “Wow, Mel.”

She shrugs with a smile before taking you back into the center of the party. The crowd is mostly people you know, but there are a few unfamiliar faces, or faces that maybe you weren’t quite expecting to be here.

After you ask who one person is, you find yourself being tugged alongside Melissa as she introduces you to those that you aren’t very aware of who they are. It’s hard for you to focus though, because the redhead keeps a warm hand on the small of your back almost the entire time, and whenever someone gets a bit too close to you for her liking, Melissa pulls you flush against her. Each time she does that, her grip gets just the slightest bit tighter on you. It really wouldn’t take that much more to just… lean over and kiss her cheek, or have her kiss yours. You find yourself wishing that’s what would happen, but it never does.

It also catches your attention that she almost always introduces you to everyone as ‘her girl’. You hate to admit it, but you practically glow each and every time she calls you that. You hope you aren’t being too obvious in your feelings for the redhead beside you. Even if you are though, you’re fairly certain that you’re the only relatively sober one here, and then woman clinging to you is beyond hammered at this point.

“My girl,” Melissa nearly purrs as she takes a sip from the red cup that you’ve been carrying around for her. “Thanks for holding my drink, babe.”

“Babe?” you raise your brow with a laugh.

The redhead just shrugs with a grin and shoots you a wink. She finishes it off, sets the cup on the counter, and then she’s pulling you back into the center of the party- the dance floor.

Her hands are all over your body as you dance. They find their way to your back, your hips, and then you feel a hand slip into the back pocket of your jeans as she pulls you closer.

“Mel,” you gasp out in surprise.

She pulls her hand out of your pocket immediately. “Sorry, I- sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be,” you smile at her. If she’s going to touch you, now is the time. She won’t remember it tomorrow, and it’s not like this will ever happen again. “I know I have a great ass, and the only person I would want touching it is you.” You delicately take her hand and put it back where it was.

Melissa’s perfectly drawn on brows creep up her forehead ever so slightly before she resumes her dancing.

From a few paces over, Barbara clocks that act, and she shoots the cameraman an impressed look before going back to dancing with a cardboard Allen Iverson. 

All good things must come to an end, and after about an hour of having the woman of your dreams pressed up against you tightly, practically grinding on you with her hand in your back pocket and squeezing gently from time to time, the party begins to die out. People begin to say their goodbyes, Janine is starting to clean things up, and you see that it’s probably your cue to start heading home for the night. You glance at the clock on the wall, and it’s nearing two in the morning.

The redhead still right by your side, holding onto your arm, whines slightly when the music goes off. She doesn’t extract her hand from your pocket though.

“I think it’s about time we start heading out,” you chuckle gently.

“But I’m having a great time,” Melissa mumbles against your neck.

Your cheeks once again heat up at feeling her hot breath against your skin. Still, you shake your head, and you glance over to Barbara who is attempting to find her shoes that she discarded long ago.

“Barb, how are you getting home?”

“Oh I called Gerald,” the kindergarten teacher promises you.

“Can I hitch a ride?” Melissa asks her work wife. “I don’ wanna get into an Uber like this.”

Barbara, who would usually always take her best friend home, shakes her head though. “Melissa, I am exhausted, and I need to get to bed. I’m sure Y/N will take you home though, right dear?”

You nod. “Yeah, I can take Mel back,” you smile. “Not a problem at all.”

The redhead, in her drunken state, just grins and kisses your cheek before sticking her tongue out at her work wife. “Hear that, Barbie? I don’ need you to give me a ride- not when I have my girl here with me.”

The lights of course turn on before the blush dissipates from your cheeks, and there’s a small stain of where Melissa had kissed your cheek.

“Alright, Mel, let’s start heading out, yeah?” you chuckle softly.

Her hand only leaves your back pocket briefly to hug Barb goodbye, and then it’s slipped right back to where it’s been for the last hour. “You ready to take me home?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Let’s go, hun.”

You get her to your car, and then when she struggles with the buckle, you can’t help the slight giggle that escapes your lips. She turns to you with a pout.

“Oh, don’t do that,” you laugh softly. With ease, you clip the seatbelt. “Alright, Mel. You gotta direct me.”

She gets you back to her house with ease, although you can’t help but be the slightest bit distracted because while her hand isn’t resting in your back pocket anymore, it’s sitting on your knee and every once in a while glides up to your thigh. Her thumb rubs circles on your jeans warmly, and you can feel her gaze on you.

You pull in to her driveway and smile at her softly.

“I don’t want tonight to end,” Melissa sighs quietly. “Would you want to come in?”

Silently, you turn the key to turn your car off and climb out. You’re at her side a few seconds later, opening the door and holding out a hand to help her out of the car.

The two of you walk up to her house hand in hand, and then Melissa is pulling her keys from her purse. She fumbles with the lock for a few seconds, and then when she pulls the keys out of the lock, she drops them. 

You lean down to pick them up, and when you stand back up, her lips are on your own. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to your body, but the second it does, you’re kissing her back. It’s only a few seconds, but it’s everything you could’ve imagined and more. But you know she’s nowhere near sober.

“Melissa,” you whisper.

Her hand cups your cheek and pulls you in again. You can taste the rum that she was drinking earlier on in the night, but you can’t find yourself to care. Despite the fact that your brain is screaming at you to stop kissing a drunk Melissa, you can’t stop. 

She pushes the door open, and before you know it, you’re pinned up against the wall, and her lips are hungrily on your neck, teeth just barely grazing your collarbone. Her hands and wandering all over your body.

When you realize that she isn’t going to stop any time soon, you know you have to put your foot down. You’re not about to cross a boundary- not when she’s absolutely hammered.

“Mel, you gotta-” You sigh softly. “You gotta stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she whines.

You pull her face away from your chest gently. “And I don’t want you to, but… you’re not in the right state of mind.”

“I’m in the perfect state of mind,” the redhead tells you. “I- I want you.”

“Not like this,” you tell her firmly. “Not when you’re hammered out of your mind. I’m not going to take advantage of you like this.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she continues to try to convince you to keep going.

You shake your head. “Mel, I- I care about you a lot. I don’t want you making a mistake that you aren’t going to want to face tomorrow.”

“It ain’t a mistake,” she tells you. “I been into you since you started workin’ at Abbott. Just didn’t think you’d be into this.”

“Oh, I am,” you chuckle, and you feel the red in your ears, your cheeks, and your chest. “But I think that maybe we should talk about this later… not while you’re drunk.”

“Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts,” Melissa tells you.

You roll your eyes. “I know, hun. I know. But I- I think we need to have a real conversation about this tomorrow.”

“Fine,” the redhead pouts. “But I still don’t want this night to end.”

You smile at her softly. “Why don’t we just hang out then?”

She nods against you, and she pulls you up to her bedroom.

“Melissa.”

“Not for that,” she waves you off. “Just want to change, figured you would want to change too.” She throws a tee and shorts your way.

You make your way to the bathroom and change before knocking on the bedroom door before entering. When you walk in, Melissa is propped up in her bed and scrolling on her phone.

You sit next to her, and your coworker rolls her eyes. “You don’t gotta be so stiff. I ain’t gonna try nothin’ right now. Just want to relax.”

You sigh softly, but you move slightly closer to her. You set your alarm just in case you end up falling asleep here, and then you set your phone down.

“I really do like you, you know. I don’t just want sex from you,” Melissa tells you. “Just needed some liquid courage.”

“I believe you,” you yawn out quietly. “Just don’t want you making a decision while you’re in this state.”

“See, and that’s what I love about you,” the redhead sets her phone down, takes her glasses off, and lays herself down. “You’re you- warm, sweet, considerate, caring… stunning to look at.”

“Get some sleep,” you chuckle softly.

Melissa yawns. “Don’t go tonight though.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “But I do have to slip out early tomorrow morning to meet my dad, so please don’t be concerned if I have to leave before you wake up.”

“I won’t,” your coworker says sleepily. Her eyes close, and she’s sound asleep within minutes.

The next morning, you wake up before your alarm. Your body is practically underneath Melissa- her arms are wound around your waist tightly, her head rests on your chest, and there’s a smile on her lips as she sleeps. It’s hard to tell where her body ends and yours begins.

You shimmy slightly just to turn off your alarm so it doesn’t wake her. Gently, so gently, you untangle yourself from her and slip out of the bed. You gather your things as quietly as you can, and you somehow manage to make your way out of the bedroom without waking her.

Once you’re in the living room, you manage to find a pad and pencil and write her a short, but sweet, note.

I had to slip out to meet my dad for breakfast, but I’ll come by after. We can talk then, because I really do want to talk about the things that happened last night. 

You sign your name with a scrawled out heart, and then you exit the house, mind swirling with what journey you could possibly be embarking on with the redhead of your dreams if she was serious about the things she said last night. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[ezziedoodles]

Why Season 2 Of Arcane Felt A Little Off

Let me preface this by saying I adore this show, and I loved this season. I laughed, I cried, and I had a good time watching it. The art direction and animation is a masterpiece. This is probably my favorite show, but I think it's good to critique the things you love and this entire season I felt like I was waiting for something.

For a show titled Arcane, season one had remarkably little to do with the arcane. Yes, there was Hextech and magic, but the show was centered on this class divide between Piltover and Zaun and all the conflicts that stem from this. The very first scene of the show is enforcers killing citizens on the bridge, with Powder and Vi finding their dead parents' bodies. Zilco's reasoning for doing anything he did was because he believed he was helping Zaun, including raising Jinx the way he did. Vi was so passionate about her city and the injustice facing it. Caitlyn witnessing this injustice is what causes her to question the systems she is a part of. Viktor and Jayce (but especially Viktor) created technology with the intention of wanting to improve life for the undercity. Ekko is a revolutionary doing so much to give his people a community and a chance to live their lives. My point is literally every single character is connected by this conflict between the cities.

Now let's take a look at the second season. Where is this part of the story that was so essential to the first season? There's a brief revolutionary beat with Jinx and her followers but once they escape from prison, the show moves on from this and never touches it again. We see Caitlyn's descent into corrupt madness, becoming everything she and Vi wanted to stop. Eventually she realizes how wrong she was but do we see her make any reparations to Zaun specifically for the damage she caused? She gassed the city, poisoning the air even further (with gas that has been confirmed to make people sick in the long run), harming hundreds of innocent people. And Vi, a character so vehemently against enforcers in the first season, goes along with this for how long? Days? Weeks? And only stops when she can visually see the impact of Caitlyn's madness as she almost kills a child in front of her. These characters are flawed and I love that, but we see them get their happy ending without ever truly addressing or helping with what they did to Zaun.

Ekko sees an alternate universe of everything his city could be, everything they all wanted so badly in the first season. Equality, safety, education, food security, and more. He says he is thankful for the reminder and I fully believe he will go forth with this vision in mind, but do we ever see it? And that right there is the problem. We don't know what happens to Zaun in the end, we don't know if things get better. All we see is Sevika on the council but we don't know if that will fix anything since people have stood up for the undercity in council before and it did nothing.

I want to see Ekko rally his people and repair the damage caused by the war. I want to see Vi open up the last drop and make it what it was always meant to be, a place of community. I want to see schools open in the undercity in honor of Viktor and Jayce. I want to see the two cities heal from the damage done to each other. Fuck it, I just want literally any closure on this plotline! Just tack on a 2 minute montage of what happened to this city after the war and I'd feel a little better. But instead this part of the story was completely sidelined throughout the season and ignored entirely in the finale. I'm not someone that thinks every story needs to have a moral, but this show was trying to tell us something! The first season was screaming from the rooftops to beware of privilege, beware systemic oppression, to fight inequality, and I find it really sad that there was no conclusion for that.

I do wish there had been three seasons to give it a smoother transition form politics to magic but it is what it is. Nothing is perfect. This season gave me so much including the best depiction of soulmates I've ever seen in my life so you win some you lose some ig.

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 4

pairing: you x drew starkey

authors note: first off, I want to apologize for the delay in getting Part 4 to you. the flu hit me hard, and while I’m feeling better now, I’m still not 100%. Today’s been one of the better days, so I’m happy to finally share this with you! also, for all the new readers joining this series (welcome!), a quick note about the taglist: If you’d like to be added, please send me a message instead of commenting under posts. my notifications can get a little wild sometimes, and I don’t want to miss anyone’s request. Enjoy!

It had been a couple of days since the paparazzi had caught you. The pictures of you crying alone in the street made their rounds through the tabloids. Headlines blared across every news outlet: “Y/N Heartbroken: Tears on the Streets After Split with Drew Starkey”. You couldn’t escape them – everywhere you went, there were reminders of how vulnerable you had been, how much you were hurting. You had tried to fight it, tried to keep up a front. But the pictures, the emotional rawness, had taken a toll.

Your phone buzzed incessantly with notifications, and Drew’s name popped up more than you cared to count. The text messages, the calls, the voicemails – he was reaching out, desperate to fix what he had broken. You could feel the weight of his messages pressing down on you, each one pulling at the strings of your broken heart.

Drew’s text:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please let me see you.”

“I didn’t mean this to happen. I miss you so much.”

“Can we please talk? I hate seeing you like this.”

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keys, but you couldn't bring yourself to reply. Every time you thought about responding, all you could see was that night – his absence, his lies, the way he had been with Odessa, and the emotional toll it was taking on you. The tears had fallen freely and now, in the cold light of day, they felt like a public spectacle. And that hurt.

Your friends were your saving grace during this time. Madelyn had taken you in the moment she found out about the photos. You spent long nights at her apartment, binge-watching shows and talking about everything and nothing. It was a distraction you needed, but even then, your thoughts kept circling back to Drew.

Madelyn was a good friend, she knew how to give space when you needed it but also to push you when you were being too hard on yourself. “Y/N, you can’t keep torturing yourself like this,” she told you one evening, as you both sat together on her couch, a glass of wine in hand. “I know it’s hard, but you have to stop looking at those pictures and thinking that’s all there is to your story. You deserve so much more than to be defined by what happened with Drew.”

“I know,” you sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch. “But it’s hard, Madelyn. It’s not just about the photos or the press. It’s everything. I thought we were more than that. I thought… I thought it was real.”

Madelyn’s expression softened, and she leaned in, taking your hand. “I know you did. And I think, deep down, Drew did too. But right now, you need to figure out what you want. Not what he wants. Not what the press wants. You need to decide what’s best for you.”

But even as your friends gave their support, you couldn’t escape the pull of Drew’s attempts to contact you. His phone calls became a constant. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach twisted in knots. You hated that he was the one making you feel like this, that he still had the ability to drag you back into his world with just a message.

Finally, on one particularly sleepless night, the phone rang again. Drew’s name flashed across the screen.

You didn’t answer it.

Minutes later, another text from him:

“Please I can’t stand this. I’ve seen the pictures. I know you’re hurt. But I need you to know, I never wanted to hurt you. Us. I’m sorry for everything. Can we please meet and talk? I love you please don’t forget that.”

You stared at the message, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to give him the chance to fix this, to explain himself. But another part of you – the stronger, more resilient part – was terrified of falling for the same lies, the same empty promises.

You knew what you had to do. You couldn’t keep letting him pull you back into this mess.

__

The next day, you went to work, keeping your head down, avoiding any attention. But it was impossible to escape the ever-present eyes of the public. Every glance at your phone, every time you stepped outside, you could feel the weight of the scrutiny. The paparazzi had followed you more than once, snapping pictures of you walking alone, trying to find solace in your routine.

But no matter where you went, there was always someone watching. Always someone commenting. The paparazzi caught it all – the lonely moments and the sadness in your eyes. It felt like you were trapped in a never ending cycle of being seen,  but not truly known.

It wasn’t long before Madelyn called you again. Her voice was gentle, but you could hear the concern behind it. “Y/N, Drew wants to meet. He’s asking if you can at least hear him out. He says he’s messed up. He is not asking for forgiveness, just a chance to explain.”

You stood by the window, staring out at the city, the weight of her words sinking in. You had to make a choice. You couldn’t keep going back and forth between holding on and letting go.

But could you trust him again?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, and all you could do was take a deep breath and say “Tell him… I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Madelyn didn’t argue. She knew this was something you had to figure out on your own.

You spent the next few days doing everything you could to put distance between yourself and the mess that had become your relationship with Drew. You kept working, you spent time with friends, and you tried – really tried not to think about him. But you couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing, that your world felt incomplete without him in it.

But then you realized: You had to be okay without him first. You couldn’t keep trying to piece yourself together with someone who had already shown they weren’t ready to treat you the way you deserved.

And so, you decided that you needed to move on. You deserved better than being stuck in a limbo. You deserved love that was real, not based on a public imagine, not tainted by lies and half-truths.

This was your time to find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, Drew wasn’t a part of that future.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet