#I feel like the vision is almost there they just need polished

[racingliners]

as mentioned in the tags of a prev post, I’m going to make some lockscreens based on some of the team liveries on the 2023 F1 grid. There are just the first test versions, let me know what you think!

[luvsupa]

JUST ONE HOUR!

tags: exhusband!toji x fem!reader, businessman toji (guys pls he’s rich in this </3), petnames, smut (p in v), unprotected, mentions of reader being a mother again, etc. mdni.

w.c: 1.4k

a/n: sawryy been kinda ia bc of uni </33

you step into the crowded venue alone, the air thick with chatter and the lively notes of a string quartet filling the beautifully decorated hall. everyone around you is dressed elegantly for your ex-husband’s extravagant charity event. you hadn’t wanted to show support for him, but after much convincing from your friends and children, you reluctantly gave in, promising yourself you’d only stay for an hour.

as you navigate through the crowds of familiar faces, many of your old friends greet you, their compliments on your long, black, sparkly dress feeling insincere. awkwardly making small talk, you realize how distant you’ve become from these people since your divorce from toji.

“how are your children, mrs. fushiguro?” a married woman asks, her arm linked tightly with her husband’s—who, as you know, is traveling abroad to cheat on her.

“i’d prefer if you didn’t call me fushiguro; we’re not married anymore, remember?” you respond, lifting your empty ring finger to emphasize your point. gasps of shock ripple through the group at your “rudeness.”

“oh, darling, I completely understand your desire to drop the fushiguro name. it’s not like you have the charm or elegance to carry it anyway,” another married woman chimes in, laughter erupting around you, igniting a fiery rage in your chest.

“honestly, if toji were with someone like me, I’d take care of his every need in ways you can only dream of. I know how to keep a man satisfied, which is clearly something you’re not equipped for,” a third woman interjects, pushing your anger to its peak. the background chatter fades away as your breathing becomes heavy and your vision narrows.

“well, it’s a shame you think you’re so special because, from what I hear, your husbands are cheating on you. I guess when you can’t satisfy them, they go looking elsewhere—”

before you can finish, toji strides in from behind you. his large hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his broad chest as he leans down to your ear. “easy, brat. I can’t let you go on with that mouth of yours,” he scolds, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. you can’t help but hitch your breath at the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

the expressions of the married women shift, their eyes darting to their husbands, who stammer awkwardly at their words. you suppress a giggle as chaos erupts around you, arguments bubbling up as they turn on their partners. with everyone distracted, you push toji’s hand away from your waist and turn to scoff at him. but fuck, he looks good. his black, luxurious suit hugs his frame perfectly, the white button-up shirt undone just enough to reveal a hint of his toned chest. toji smirks, the scar on the corner of his lips rising as he notices how you scan him.

you push past the crowd, making your way up the large spiral staircase while exchanging polite greetings with those you pass. you can feel his eyes boring into your back—an almost burning sensation—as you glance over your shoulder to catch him in the sea of wealthy businessmen, sipping on champagne. your heart races when you see him flaunting the matching wedding ring you once shared, its brilliance shining in the bright venue.

hastily, you rush up the steps, opening door after door in search of an unoccupied washroom. frustration mounts with each locked door, but hope reignites when you spot double doors at the end of the hall. as if your prayers have been answered, the doors swing open to reveal the most beautiful room you’ve ever seen—a private lounge. your eyes sparkle as you take in the elegant decor, complete with a private kitchen and balcony.

your heels clack against the polished marble floor as you place your clutch on the large island table, relief washing over you as you settle into the quiet space, far removed from the pretentious crowd downstairs.

“trying to slip away? don’t pretend you’re not enjoying the chase; I know you’d miss me way too much,”

a low voice booms in the serene atmosphere, startling you. you turn to see toji standing there with his hands in his pockets, slowly striding toward you until he’s right in front of you, looking down at you with a smirk.

“you look so good, doll,” he says, his voice low as he leans against the island table, biting his lower lip as he admires your figure in the elegant dress.

and you really—really tried to resist him.

but it was impossible to think straight with the way he was pounding into you, hitting every perfect angle and reaching the deepest parts of your throbbing hole. your slick walls clenched around his thick shaft, making it all the more maddening. toji had you bent over the island table, your dress bunched up around your waist, leaving your bare ass exposed in the private lounge. your eyes rolled back as his relentless thrusts sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, his grip on your hips nearly bruising. the room filled with the sinful sounds of skin slapping and the broken melodies of your moans mingling with his low groans.

“my. . . pretty. . fuckin’. . wife.” toji growled, each word punctuated by a deep, punishing thrust that slammed into your sweet spot, sending jolts of pleasure through your trembling body. his hand shot up, tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back, forcing your back to arch while he relentlessly pounded into you.

“t-toj’—” you stammered, your voice barely coherent between breathless moans, your body jerking with each rough thrust. “’s too m-much…” your words trailed off into high-pitched whines, your mind too hazy to form anything more than desperate pleas.

leaning down, his lips brushed against your ear, his hot breath igniting every nerve in your body. “you can take it, you’re a big girl,” he rasped, nibbling on your earlobe, his voice dripping with dominance. “look at you, babbling for me.”

the wet, obscene sound of your cunt squelching around him only fueled his pace, your moans intertwining with the sinful symphony as he continued driving into you without mercy, pulling more helpless words from your lips.

in a swift motion, toji hoisted your leg up, his grip firm and unrelenting, holding it in place as his hips snapped forward at a brutal, faster pace. the new angle sent shockwaves through you as his thick tip pressed deeper, practically rearranging your insides. the intense sensation made you crumble, barely able to hold yourself together as he drove you closer to the edge with every thrust.

“gonna make you a pretty mama again, mmm? all filled up.” toji rasped in your ear, his voice low and teasing as you sobbed loudly, tears spilling down your cheeks, nearly drooling at the thought of being filled to the brim. a smirk tugged at his lips when he felt you clench around him,

so fuckin’ nasty, he thought.

he snaked the hand on your neck down to your sensitive nub, pinching your clit between his fingers and sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you as your leg began to shake.

“i can feel it—hahh— you in my tummy,” you whimpered, the realization igniting a rush of pleasure and desperation within you. toji lost it at your words, his breath hitching as he looked down, watching the outline of your stomach stretch against the fabric of your dress, the bulge unmistakably visible.

the sight drove him absolutely feral, a primal hunger surging through him. “hn, f-fuck, baby,” he whimpered, the words slipping from his lips as he struck even harder, each powerful stroke pushing you closer to your limits.

“mr. fushiguro, i-it’s time for your speech.”

your heart dropped at the sound of a female voice behind the doors, a stark reminder of the world waiting just outside. but toji—oh, toji—his primal instincts kicked in, and the thought of being interrupted only fuelling his desire to finish inside you. nothing would stop him from pleasing his baby.

“t-toj’… you— ngh— you have to go…” you squeaked, desperation lacing your voice as he harshly slapped your slick, throbbing cunt, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. your thighs sticky as cobwebs of your arousal clung to his fingers, causing you to tremble uncontrollably.

“upp we go,” a smirk spread across toji’s face as he stepped back, maintaining his cock snug against your gummy walls. with a firm grip, he lifted both of your legs, carrying you as he approached the doors leading to the balcony where the majority of the guests awaited his speech.

fuck.

“just a little longer, baby,” he growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “i want them all to know you belong to me.”

[ratmonky]

Business Strategy

warnings: manipulation

word count: 1k

ao3 link

Some people needed attention, some people needed love and Gods needed to be worshipped. 

"You have been trending on almost every visual media and as a podcast topic. How does it feel to be worshipped by everyone?"

Everyone but you.

You look down at him as you sit on your desk with your legs crossed, an unnoticeable smile on your lips. The tip of his cock is glistening with precum that drips on the polished floor. He is impatiently rubbing himself while staring up at you, eyes like a puppy's, begging for you to continue.

"Good work today, John," you praise him, your smile getting wider as his hand around his hand gets faster. "If you manage to spend a single day without any casualties I might even pat your head and rest it on my lap."

He nods with his eyes wide, staring at your bottom as his mouth opens. You don’t scold or comment on him for using his X-ray vision. He has been working hard lately to make you so proud. Precious John. He wakes up every day to make his pretty boss happy and sits by her desk like an obedient dog, waiting to be rewarded.

His gloved hand moves hastily around his cock, it makes a squeaky sound with each stroke. It brings you out of your thoughts.

You continue to smile, watching him pathetically jerk off on another work day after giving his report of the day. You wonder what he is thinking about right now. A scenario where he sucks on your tits while he has his head on your lap and lets you jerk him off? Or getting fed up with your strange power over him and bending you over the desk right now? He would rip your tights and pull up your skirt, humping you aimlessly until his cock finally slid inside. Wouldn't that feel good? You wonder if he had it in him to even pull something risky like that but he would never risk upsetting you. 

Good little John. 

Begging to be yours.

You decide you want to reward him after the intense feeling of heat building inside your core, making your legs tremble and pussy leak. 

"I'll let you do whatever," you say softly, lifting his chin with the front part of your heels. His eyes are on you, clouded from lust. "Just tell me what you want, John." 

There is a smile on his face. "I want to eat your pussy," he says after clearing his throat. Nonetheless, his tone is pathetic and desperate, he cannot hide the excited expression on his face like he has been waiting for this moment all his life.

With grace, you spread your legs and let him rip your tights in the middle. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk and slides your panties to the side. He doesn't bother lifting your skirt and shoves his face in your crotch while proceeding to pump his cock.

The feeling of his hot and wet tongue against your folds feels heavenly after a long day of work. You tilt your head up and close your eyes to focus on how he moves his tongue. He kisses your pussy slowly, nose touching your clit. He slides his tongue inside you in an attempt to taste you and quickly decides against it to focus on pleasing you. His hand on your thigh squeezes the flesh and he tries to imagine how your ass would feel like on his cock when you finally would let him fuck you. He moves to your clit, lapping at your sweet spot and drawing tight circles that get smaller and smaller. 

You don’t want to admit it but it feels so good, you try to curl your toes but you don’t have enough space in your heels to do so, you let your legs rest on his shoulders. He keeps moving in a way that mimics fucking you and you find yourself imagining going against your own rule and letting him ravish you like he has been always dreaming about. 

As he gets close to his orgasm he loses the rhythm of his tongue and basically moves his head up and down as if he were nodding with his tongue rubbing wildly against your pussy. Your hands grip the desk harder and you let out a quiet moan. He laps at your cunt like a fucking dog and it just works. You feel the rush of an orgasm wash over you and your legs shake as he groans and cums with you. He groans and goes frigid for a second before letting himself sit on the floor to rest. 

There is a short moment before you jump down from the desk to fix your clothing and he follows your lead and gets up to fix himself as you return to your seat this time. 

"I expect another great day from you tomorrow, John," you say while starting to type on the keyboard of your laptop. 

"Yes, sure," he chuckles. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Night," you correct him, his smile disappears as you inform him about tomorrow. "I'll be taking care of A-Train in the morning. Noir has a short meeting with me in the afternoon and well, Deep has been waiting for weeks to have a meeting, I'll take him in the evening."

He frowns, his eyes losing any sign of life in them.

You sigh and roll your eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow night at my house, hmm?" You watch another grin creep up on his face, "Don't get any ideas unless you plan to do something that'll raise our profits by 30%."

He grins all the same, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then." Then he leaves unwillingly because he knows you're having a meeting with sponsors in an hour. 

The next day, you wake up to the news of Homelander selling his official Vought merch in front of the tower and giving interviews about his new show that will air only on Vought+.

[n0tamused]

dottore having to dispose of a faulty clone (maybe bc they were threatening reader) and then handfeeding reader parts of it like cannibalism as a metaphor for love…. do we see the vision or is this a little too 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 💔💔

A/n: pookie you're all good, thank you for feeding my brain worms with this idea I'm sending you smooches. I do hope I executed this well. I had a lot in my head that I wanted to write for this but I didn't want this to turn into a word scramble so here's this. Enjoy <3

Content: Dottore x GN reader, dark content(?), a bit yandere, implied unhealthy relationship, implied cannibalism, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, idk what else to tag as I never posted something like this so if anything else needs tagging feel free to lemme know

Words: 735

Several candles lined the polished oak table, its surface smooth and almost sticky, the light rippling over the dark lines of the carvings on top like little light bugs chasing one another. The golden hues danced over the plates as well, but the dim light scarcely allowed for a good look at the dishes.

The fork extending forward to your lips was the only thing that held your attention long enough to be observed, taken in fully, lips closing around the bit of meat and vegetables. The juice and oil fills your mouth, sinking past your teeth and around your gums, the taste is rich yet stale all at once. You couldn’t comment on it, you didn't know what to say about it. Not with the Doctor sitting at your side and being the one to feed you so, so gently.

It's hard to remember when was the last time he looked so gentle, kind even, perhaps when he was lighting up the candles with such care, as if his own breath would blow the flames into a blaze, allowing you to see your plate in full.

The meat was well done, seasoned to your liking, and something told you it was Dottore’s own hand who prepared it, gave it his all to make it so perfect for consumption. Parts of him were laced through every sensation, every smell and every bite. Your own plate is set before him and he's cutting all your bites, spearing pieces of meat and salad onto the fork before feeding it to you, making sure you ate well.

The dull ache in your arms is brought back into memory as you languidly chew on a bite, and your fingers absentmindedly touch over your sleeves over where the bruises lay, feeling the ache grow.

“Do they still hurt you?” His voice called out amidst smoky smells and brown fog, calling you to the present. “Have you gotten any rest at all, my dear?” He added, his head tilting in your direction, his bird-like mask not allowing you for a glimpse of his ruby eyes, but from underneath you can see glimpses of the scars peeking through, teasing your eyes. For some reason he chose to wear it here, now, only puzzling you further. 

“No.. no.. they're fine… I’ll get some rest later tonight, sir..” you reply as you swallow and watch how he grimaced at the title, and you nearly cough from how big this bite was, but you would have taken a bigger bite had Dottore allowed you to feast yourself. Perhaps not, but you told yourself you would. Be it the rich taste or some other factor, you yearned to take up each bone from the meat and lick it clean, sucking out the marrow from within and letting it melt into your guts.

Would he be satisfied then?

Would you be?

The candles flicker. He's still looking at you

“Are you still afraid? I've already told you so, and explained it many times. You have nothing to fear here. This was just an error in the system which will not ever happen again.. and you shouldn't have been around to witness it, anyhow..”. You have to wonder how he can say all this with so little fear. Then again, the clone was his creation. He knew it inside and out, every crevice and every wire.

“I understand.. it's just that.. I'd rather not face the others now..not after that..” 

Truth be told, having him around was also slightly unnerving, as he wore nearly an identical face as the one that harmed you. They were the same, but also not. He was gentle, but he was not.

The one that hurt you was long disposed of and would never harm you again, but Dottore was once the one that hurt you, and now he has poured himself out before you, all for your pleasure and the sweet poison of safety and love.

He hopes to convey it to you through each meticulously put bite, every sip he graces your lips with. He had cut himself open for you and would do so again, just as he hurt you through that error. It came as easy as drinking and breathing. 

“That’s understandable. I assure you are safe, and however dark the night may get - I'll be there with you… But for now, you must eat, not fear. Open wide..”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“��now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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[smellrain]

𝐧𝐡𝟏𝟑 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭

in which: nico and you had met years ago in a cold rink in canada but then lost touch for several reasons. It's hard, growing and correcting mistakes of your past but you try anyway.

tags: written, angst, hopeful ending, mentions of: depression, injuries, hospitals, doctors, etc. (masterlist)

notes: [5.1k] I have no idea what this is? I woke up, wrote the entire thing and passed out again for 2 hours. Tried polishing it through editing? Yeah. It turned out a lot different than the rest of my stuff so far, so it's scary posting this. Come & tell me if you liked it.

The ice was as harsh as it was unforgiving. 

The cold air of the rink has seeped into your bones years ago and the reddend tips of your fingers went numb a while ago, but you were used to it by now. Nothing really mattered when you got like this, too caught up in your head for anyone to reach. 

Not even yourself. 

You had been home and then suddenly not, your body already knowing what you needed before your mind caught up to it. 

The rink wasn’t open, not yet, but you had gotten a key years ago. The owner, David, had been the only one that had looked at you the same back then. There had been a knowing sort of look in his eyes when he had seen you waiting for him at the front door stepps, eyes red. 

He had given you a key, because he had seen you for who you were: a girl whose entire life had collapsed around her. 

Bronze at fifteen, silver at sixteen, gold forever out of reach. 

You could still remember the red pen tucked into your doctor’s coat. The ‘my condolences, but’, the white light, the letter in your hand, the sinking realisation that this was it. 

That you were going to be one of the several girls that had pushed their body too far.

The same way you had done everything back then you had followed the instructions of your therapist to the letter. Stretching, compressions, different exercises. Still, there was no full recovery, no chance of ever skating professionally again. 

That might be the worst part, still being able to skate but knowing that you will never be able to feel it anymore. That you were cursed to be in this limbo, never letting go of it but never being able to live for it anymore. 

The harsh sound of your blade cutting over the fresh ice was as pleasant as it was torture. You wanted more, but you had to settle for this. You had to learn that this was all you were ever going to get. 

These select few hours in the early morning, just before your classes started, before you had to start living your life. 

You could feel yourself drawing harsh breaths, but it didn’t matter. You had pushed through worse, hunger, hurt and feelings just to stand here for a bit longer. The ringing in your ear accumulated when you thought about all that you had lost, that you could never regain.

Suddenly the heavy door of the entrance fell closed. You slowed down, curious who it might be. The clock in the corner of your vision reflected a red 05:57 back at you. It was too early for it to be anyone aside from David or another person with a key, someone like you.

It was a guy, a bag in his hand and another slung over his shoulder. 

You would recognize the equipment anywhere, familiar with it in a distant way. It must be a hockey player that David had picked out out of the hundreds that frequented this place. 

For some reason you already didn’t like him. Maybe because unlike you, he had the chance of actually archiving his dreams. Bitterness was an annoying but frecent emotion that stained the back of your mouth. 

You wanted. You wanted more than this. You wanted the early morning practices, the ones after school, the rigidous schedule, the heavy monitoring. What were you without all that?

The static in your mind had been interrupted by his arrival but you hardly noticed, more focused on the way he walked down the stairs, casually like he had done so hundreds of times already.

It was almost six, which meant it was time to get off the ice anyways, so you circled a few laps, rotating your wrists and shoulders to feel if anything was off, and then made your way towards the outside of the rink. 

“You look pretty,” said the boy from where he was tying his shoelaces up on the benches. “Out on the ice, I mean.”

Something in you hurt at that, as if your heart started pulling at its own strings. It’s been a while since anyone has watched you skate,, since you let someone else watch you. There was a sharp kind of anger rising up in you that it had been him watching you which dissipated as soon as you looked back at him.

It wasn’t his fault. There really was something wrong with you.

You knew your parents didn’t approve of you being here, but they couldn’t look at you anymore when you skated, disappointed that this was how it had ended. Disappointed in you.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice completely scraped raw. You hoped he didn’t notice it. 

“I’m Nico,” he said, approaching you. He held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves yet but his dark shirt had thumbholes that his thumb peeked through which was weirdly endearing on him. 

You looked back up to his face. There was a tired but polite smile plastered on it but you didn’t have the energy to give him one. Instead you simply told him your name and took his hand. Even through his layer of fabric it was warm beneath your icy fingers.

He didn’t flinch at the cold of your hand and instead started genuinely smiling which took you by surprise. People didn’t react to meeting you like this, not anymore. 

Then, without saying anything else, he took off his guards and stepped on the ice, skating around to warm up. You watched him for a bit while scraping off the excess ice and putting your skates away. 

His skating was differentthan yours; not as delicate. The beauty of it had been hammered into you from an early age on which didn’t seem to be the case form him. It was weird, not being on the ice, being the one to watch instead. 

You changed back into your shoes and walked up the steps. 

From the top, which wasn’t all that high because this rink wasn’t that big, he seemed small. You wondered if you looked like that too, if anyone had thought that when you fell down, when they had seen you sprawled on the ice at fifteen, not being able to get up again. 

A sick shudder passed through you. You wondered if you had ever gotten up from that ice.

Then you turned around, your back to him and left without saying goodbye. 

~*~

The next time you saw him again, was two days later, just after six. 

You knew you were going to be late for class but didn’t really care. Today you weren’t as cooped up in your own head, but it was still hard to let go of these stolen few hours of freedom and face reality. 

“Hey,” Nico said, “it’s you again.”

“Hello,” you said in return. He stepped on the ice and you fought off the urge to leave immediately. That would be impolite, a voice reminded you in your head, even if you didn’t want him to be here right now.

“Are you here every morning?” he asked you, falling into step beside you and therefore joining you on your cooldown laps. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Couldn’t he just do his own thing? Did he have to come talk to you? “Yes.” 

"Dedicated. I only come every second day,” he said as if it mattered to you. You might have to leave early every second day now to avoid talking to him, which made your scowl even worse. 

“Okay.” You said instead. 

He hummed in reason but dropped the conversation after. When you took a look at him from the corner of your eye he didn’t seem deterred at your attitude, seemingly just satisfied that he got a response.

After another lap in, you hated to admit it but companionable silence, you left, without saying anything but this time he waved back at you from below. You didn’t return his gesture. 

~*~

Despite your early judgement, the two of you formed some kind of routine over the next few weeks. You came early, and sometimes you left a protein bar for him in the stands and sometimes he brought  you a hot tea for when you got off the ice. 

Still, always without fail, he joined you for a few laps. He talked about his life and sometimes asked you a few questions. Sometimes you answered him, other times you didn’t. He never pressed for answers. 

Nico told you that he was from Switzerland, which explained the heavy accent. He just joined Halifax, and he came early to work on his technique, preferring to do so in silence without his teammates chirping at him. You, in turn, told him that you had skated, professionally, before your injury. He didn’t ask for details about either of these things and you didn’t share of your own accord. 

Slowly, so slowly that you didn’t even notice, you realised that he had become your friend. 

It was strange. You hadn’t made friends in a long time. Before, you had had school friends, but because you never hung out outside of it, always training, it never deepend. 

A weird sort warmth seeped in under your skin at the thought of the two of you being friends like a steady fire that kept you warm at night.

The friends you had made while skating splintered along with your knee. 

It was hard, you knew that, to see their worst fear reflected back at them, but it was still hard for you to reach out, so you simply stopped talking to each other. 

On your bad days you thought that it was all their fault, on your good you knew that it was a mutual mistake. 

The thing about Nico was that he was hard to pin down. He was hardworking, thrived under pressure and loved hockey. He was also afraid of falling and failing, he loved sitting under the sun in the summers, feeling his skin heat up and his favorite colour was green, but he admitted that it changed every few weeks. 

You knew that this friendship wouldn’t last, not really. Neither of you had any way of reaching out to the other, and neither expressed the desire to do so but it was still nice, this tentative kinship.

~*~

“Have you ever played hockey?” he asked you, once. 

It must have been a Saturday or Sunday because you were in no hurry to get off the ice, instead basking in his company. 

“No,” you answered, simply.

He grinned, “you are missing out.”

“Really now?” you asked, teasingly, when you turned around to skate with your front to him.

“Really. I wanna teach you,” he said, leaving the choice up to you without outright asking. If you wanted to you could just brush it off and the conversation would continue. 

Instead you said, “yeah, sure, why not.”

His smile was blinding, the adoration for his sport bleeding from every inch of his skin. It was a good look on him, happiness. Distantly you wondered if anyone had ever thought that about you.

It was different, skating with a stick in your hands but it was fun. He taught you how to shoot and aim at a certain spot which you weren’t half bad at if you stood still.

Hours later when the two of you stepped off the ice your tea was cold but you hardly noticed it.

~*~

Another day you asked him what he was reaching for. 

“Olympics,” he had answered immediately but after a beat of silence he looked up as if the lights in the ceiling were stars he could wish upon. “I think I want someone to look at me and think ‘I want to do that. I want to start playing hockey.’”

You looked at him and the only thought that crossed your mind was that he was the reason you could step off the ice again, that you knew you would always be able to come back, just one more time. 

“I like that,” you said because it was true. 

He tilted his head back to you, and the way his eyes glimmered with a rare vulnerability made your breath catch. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, standing still, alive and just in reach.

Oh. 

That was that feeling in your chest. 

~*~

Yet another day he joined you on the ice and you immediately kicked him off again. 

“What did I say about injuries?” you asked, frustrated in a way only he could make you. 

“That they were not to be ignored,” he parroted back, his gaze between his feet as if staring at his ankle would magically heal it. 

“Exactly,” you said. Then, gentler than before, “you need to give yourself time to heal, otherwise you will never get better.”

He looked back up to where you were hovering above him. “Okay.”

You didn’t want him to have the last word. “Okay,” you said firmly and sat down next to him. 

The two migrated up to the changing rooms  where he sat on a bench with his ankle elevated while you worked through your stretches, your knewww aching in phantom pain.

~*~

Today your mind was quiet.

It was your last time and you had wanted to take it all in again, one last time. You were moving, your father had gotten a new job somewhere in New Jersey. You knew it was good, a new start away from everything, a chance to start over. 

But still, you were going to miss this. The rink, the quiet, the place you had grown up in. The place that was your prison as much as it was your salvation. 

As you looked up towards the ceiling, the lights shining down on you, the dark gary that seemed black in contrast, you thought you should cry. This was the perfect moment to, and you hadn’t yet. 

Then, the door opened. 

You were surprised because he wasn’t supposed to be here today. Nico had been here yesterday and the two of you had argued about your favorite brand of cereal, and you selfishly had wanted to leave it at that. 

To leave your friendship without having to say goodbye, without having to ever really let go of him. 

“Nico,” you breathed, before you could stop yourself. 

“Hey you,” he said, as he came up to you. You didn’t even realise that you had stopped moving. 

“It’s late,” he stated. You looked up to the clock and sure enough, it was almost twenty past. 

“Ah,” you said, uncaring. It’s not like you had school today. You wondered when he went to school, if his just started later than yours had. In all your talks you had never actually talked about it. 

And you never were going to anymore, you had to remind yourself. Suddenly it was a lot harder to breathe through the ache in your chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you knew he meant it, “you look, I don’t know, sad?”

“I’m moving,” before he could ask anything more, “like tomorrow. This is the last time I’m going to see you in a while.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face was hurt, because he must have realised that you had intended to leave without saying anything. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “for everything.” You weren’t really sure for what, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For your intentions, the way you acted, maybe.

“It’s okay,” he said, but it wasn’t, not really. You knew that and he knew that you knew.

“I’m moving to New Jersey.”

He was quiet for a bit.”America,” he started. Then, “do you want to exchange numbers?”

You ignored the sting behind your eyes. “I’m probably going to have to get a new simcard, but you can give me yours.”

The two of you skated back to the door, from where you had stood still in the middle of the open space. He got a piece of paper and a pen from his bag and then somewhat messily tore off the corner of a worksheet and scribbled down his number in blue ink and signed it with his name.

He looked up at you but neither of you said anything for a while. What was there to say, anymore? 

“Don’t forget about me,” he ended up telling you and you reached out to hug him. He was warm under your hands, steady and you were going to miss this, him.

“Don’t forget me either,” you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

Still, in the back of your mind, you knew that you were never going to use his number. You were going to cut off your old life before it could follow you to your new one. But for once you had told him the truth, you weren’t going to forget about him, probably ever. 

And that was that. You said goodbye, waved and you left him there. He returned the gesture, face unreadable and you were sad that the last time he looked at you he wasn’t smiling.

From the top you looked down at him one last time. He seemed bigger now, compared to that first time you had looked down at him, still filled with bitterness.

Maybe that was just your imagination, or maybe it was his confidence after playing with his current team, after seeing his results pay off. 

You turned and let the door fall closed behind you. 

Then, and only then tears started to well up in your eyes. You ignored them and moved on. Always looking ahead, never back. 

Still, you kept the number tucked away safely hidden in a small corner of your wallet. A piece of him that you would always carry with you. 

~*~

You made new friends, graduated and decided to attend college. Got diagnosed with chronic depression and mild anxiety, got a boyfriend and broke it off again after three months, cried, laughed and finally lived. 

But there was part of you hidden in the corner of your wallet, too.

~*~

If you were being honest, Nico didn’t really cross your mind when your friend asked you to go to a hockey game with you. 

In a way he did, because he had been one of your few friends that played hockey, but it was more of an oh yeah, the sport Nico loved and not oh yeah I’m going to a hockey game and I wonder if Nico is still playing, I wonder if he made it to the big leagues. 

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a lie, but still. You hadn’t expected this. 

The two of you went to the Prudential Center and you were excited despite your earlier apprehension. Your phone with the blocked tags of icehockey and nhl seemed to burn a hole in your pants but it’s not like anyone would know. 

Your friend had told you a bit about the team, but if you were being honest, you could not remember any of their names, much less which position and line they played. 

When the players got announced, the home team first, you froze. Suddenly the noise of the cheers around you were completely quiet until they flooded back to you, a harsh reminder of reality.

Because it was him. That was Nico. Your Nico. Or like your past Nico.

There, with a red thirteen and a small C over his chest, was Nico. He was all grown up now, and instead of thinking wow, he is kind of attractive when he smiled at the camera, you thought, holy shit, he is really, really handsome. 

Your friend picked up on your strange behaviour. “What's wrong?”

I know him, you wanted to scream. I think he saved my life without meaning to, and I think I loved him but I never told him. What came out instead was, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly even more worried, “do you need fresh air? Or do you just want to leave?”

You wanted to stay. You wanted to shoot a puck at his head and tell him to look up at you, the way he had done back then. 

“No, don’t worry about it,” you said and when didn’t change at your reply, you added, “I’m just going to get some water. I think it might be the crowd or something.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to come with?”

You knew how much she had been looking forward to it, and besides there was nothing she could help you with anyhow. “No, really, it’s all good. Just need to breathe for a second.”

She gave you a look, and you smiled despite wanting to curl up in a corner and cry, “if you are sure. But if anything,” she took your hand in hers, “if anything is wrong call me. I’m gonna have my phone in my hand the entire time.”

You squeezed her hand the same way your heart did at her words. “Thank you, really, but it’s okay. I'll be right back.”

Then you fled up the stands and you couldn’t help but think about the first time you had seen him, how you had left without saying anything. You looked down, just once, and spotted him immediately, as if he was the north pole to your south, your eyes drawn to him. 

He seemed even bigger now, as if he had finally grown into the steady confidence he had had, even back then. 

You smiled. He deserved it, genuinely. You were glad that he did end up making it to the big leagues, even if some part of you hurt at that. You still missed ice skating, your rink from back then, David, but most of all you missed what could have been if you hadn’t been scared. 

What could have been if you had just texted him. 

Regret was a useless emotion to feel, but all of a sudden you felt yourself drown in and you coughed once, just to ease that feeling in your throat.

Then you turned your back to the ice and walked up the rest of the stairs to the stands to get yourself some water. 

It was useless trying to think about any of it now, so you pushed the thoughts aside for later. 

~*~

A week later you were drunk. It was a Friday evening and you had finally finished the gruelling lab you had worked on for the entire day. 

You were hanging out in your friend’s room, the same friend that had taken you to the game a week before. Two of your other friends were sat ob the floor, leaning gainst the opposite bed and a warm, content feeling spread through your chest. 

You had friends now. 

“What’s wrong?” she suddenly asked from where she was sat next to you on her bed, her back against the headboard, yours against the wall adjacent to it.

“Nothing,” you answered because nothing was. 

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, tell me,” she said, “you've been quiet ever since we came back from the game a week ago and I’ve waited long enough for you to say something, so now I’m going to.”

Had you been that obvious? Or did she just know you that well? Either way, she deserved the truth, the full truth.

“I just,” you began and stopped again, starting to peel off the sticker on your beer with the blunt edge of your nail. 

“When I was younger, I skated.” You started. You knew that she had never expressed any kind of interest in skating so you elaborated further, “really well.” Wow, you were really eloquent tonight.

“Okay,” she said, no doubt wondering where you were going with this. 

Your mind was fuzzy around the edges because of the drinks which made harder than usual to focus on your words, but it made it easier to talk about it, too. These people didn’t know about anything that had been, only what was. “I was good enough to win. Olympics, I mean.”

Suddenly one of the other two friends from the other side of the room joined in. “The Olympics?”

“Yeah,” you said, staring firmly at the bottle in your hands, not looking at any of them. “I won bronze and silver, fifteen and sixteen.”

“Holy shit,” she said, as did your other friend, but one of them remained quiet, so you looked at her. 

From the look in her eyes you knew that she knew. “And then I fell, badly. Tried to get up again but couldn’t. Went to the doctor and you know,” you trailed off, “retired. Started physiotherapy, got a lot better but…”

“Not enough to ever compete again,” she finished for you. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “But I couldn’t let go of it, you know? So sometimes, before school, I snuck out to the local rink and skated around just because I didn’t know anything else.”

Your friend that was next to you on the bed made an encouraging noise, and laid a hand on your knee, so you continued. 

“Then I met a guy. I was in a bad mental place, not really talking to anyone unless I had to, but we somehow became friends.”

Then you looked at them, “I don’t know, it was a weird friendship because we only ever saw each other at the rink every few days, but I felt something for him anyway. It wasn’t quite love but could have been, maybe.”

The others were still listening, and the words rushed out before you could stop yourself. “Then I moved. Wanted to leave before saying goodbye because that would hurt too much. On the day I was leaving I saw him anyway. He gave me his number but I never used it.”

“You wanted to make a clean cut?” your friend asked. 

“Yeah. It was sefish, because it wasn’t just about me, you know? I should have told him how I felt, but I didn’t.” You shook your head, “but that’s not even the point. I saw him again at the game.”

“Oh,” your friend that had dragged you to it, said. 

“Yeah,” you answered, and your other friend asked, “why didn’t you talk to him?”

The other friend, the one that had never asked you about your skating, even though she had known, even though she had every opportunity to, said, “because he was playing, right?”

“Yeah,” you said and you wanted to cry. You could still hear his name announced by the speakers. “Funny, all the time we spent together and I never knew his last name.”

“Who is it?” she asked, gentle, and you knew you could just not answer. You could bury it deep down, once and for all. But that’s not what you wanted to do, not anymore. 

“Nico Hischier.” And your friend laughed. 

“Of course it’s the captain,” she said and you couldn’t help but join in, the effects of the alcohol cursig through your veins. What were the chances, really? That he ended up in the state you had moved to all those years ago.

The others joined it. “He changed his number by now, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” one of them said. 

All of you were quiet for a second. “Wait, I have an idea,” she said and moved her hand from your leg and grabbed your phone. 

She gave it to you and made a motion for you to unlock it. You did and gave it back to her. From where you were sat you weren’t able to see your screen, much less what she typed on it. 

After a few seconds she gave it back to you. 

It was Nico’s instagram profile. You hesitated before clicking on his most recent post. Your other friends that had been sitting on the floor climbed up to join you. 

“Follow him,” one of them said. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest. This was not the account you had used to document your wins and training back then, but it still had your first and last name in the username, but it was on private. 

Underneath your thumb the button changed colour. “Fuck,” you said.

The other three laughed at your exclamation. “Wait, do I text him?” you asked, turning to the others. 

They all looked back at you, and one of them asked, “do you want to?”

You did. You really fucking did, but you had no idea what to say. “But what do I say? Hey, sorry for being a dick to you when we were like seventeen, I was half in love with you and didn’t know how to tell you, so I just cut you out before anything could possibly hurt me.”

One of them leaned her head on your shoulder. “If you leave out the half in love part, it’s not too bad.”

“You should also ask if he wants to meet and talk in person,” the other said. 

You opened your notes app and the four of you composed a message to him. 

Your hands were shaking and your heart was beating too fast. This was it, this was your chance and you weren’t going to let go again without a fight. This time you would stay and he could make the choice: to stay or to leave. 

Then, you hit the small blue icon and sent it and let out a quiet scream. You wouldn’t be able to take it back, not anymore. 

You threw your phone away from you onto a small patch where the blanket you were sitting on was still visible. 

Over an hour passed and you still hadn’t heard back from him. Soon after you pased out, but a quiet acceptance had settled in your stomach. He forgot. Or maybe he didn’t see the message or maybe he didn't want to talk to you again, which you couldn’t blame him for. 

But when you woke up the next morning, you had a single notification from him. 

For a second you debated not clicking on it, but that would mean standing still. It would be different this time. You would be different this time. There was an unfamiliar, new kind of determination that flickered up your spine and it reminded you of the steady ice under your skates, of the final hug the two of you had shared. Harsh, unforgiving, certain. 

You clicked on it and there was no going back now.

Nico Hischier Hello, it’s been a while.  Of course I remember you, didn’t I tell you?  For sure, I'd love to meet up and talk. Does next weekend work for you? I have a home game which makes it easier for both of us. 

notes: So. How are we feeling? Thoughts? Part 2? Please talk to me about this one because this lives in my mind rent free.

[starrtiny]

Can't Help Myself No More

a/n this is my first fic so i hope ya'll enjoy :)) I had this idea planned but it took me almost a month to write... i hope it's worth it for y’all

summary: To put it plainly, the guy was a nerd. A hot nerd you wanted to fuck! Chris is eye candy to everyone in the office - including you. Only, he doesn't see it. He's too sweet and innocent to see the flirting and the hidden intentions of everyone around him, or is he? Maybe he's not who he seems to be... words - 6.5k general - explicit content, chan + female reader, mutual pining, colleagues to lovers, semi-public sex, he's kind of a virgin, praise + degradation kink if you squint

🎵 007 - Tabber

You let out a loud sigh and sat up in your seat as you looked at the clock on the wall across from you. It was a Friday night and way past the end of shift, but you’d been given so much work this past week that you had no choice but to work overtime. And it just so happened to be with non-other than Chris.

Most of the lights had been turned off and it was just you two left in the office. You had barely spoken to him since the start of the week and the tension lingered heavily in the room. You didn’t know why, it’s not like what you had seen was a big deal, but for some reason it still weighed on your mind and no matter what, you just couldn’t shift it.

You didn’t know how to speak to him, after all, he wasn’t the person you thought he was anymore.

No! Stop being overdramatic!

He was the same person – he just wasn’t how you perceived him to be. He wasn’t a sad loser, he wasn’t weak, and he certainly didn’t rely on you.

You were bitter.

You needed him to need you and god did it pain you to admit it.

Monday morning. You were sat at your desk, still half asleep, praying for it to be Friday already. Your ears had pricked up at the mention that Chris had arrived. Pulling your head up off the table, you groaned at the thought of him being finely polished and his cheerful self this early in the morning.

‘How are you so happy on a Monday morning?’ you had questioned him as he arrived at the desk opposite yours, placing his bag on top and wrapping his jacket around the back of his chair, your eyes hesitating on his arms as his biceps flexed.

Chris was fit. Physically.

He loved working out and you were in awe of how strong a man like him was. Chris was eye candy around the office too, and it always made you laugh at how oblivious he was too it. The younger girls were constantly bringing him snacks and drinks, offering to do the littlest things for him, twirling their hair whenever he walked by or spoke to them to turn them away (extremely politely of course).

‘They’re just being kind,’ he had always told you.

As far as you knew, Chris was single. He had been the whole time you knew him. He had never shown any interest in anyone at work either, whether he knew pretty much the entire office was hitting on him or not. It did surprise you, but in a sad way, you kind of liked it. He was hot but you also found him incredibly adorable. The way he sought your approval on every piece of work he did, even though you two were on the same level. The way he would get you anything without you needing to ask. The way he would scrunch his nose as he pushed his glasses up at the bridge…

To put it plainly, the guy was a nerd. A hot nerd you wanted to fuck!

‘Guess I’m just a morning person,’ He smiled at you, and you felt your heart melt. It happened every time and it never got old. ‘I was about to go grab coffees for everyone, you coming’?’

The sun glared in your eyes as you walked down the street, side by side next to Chris, and you could feel your face burning, cursing yourself for not putting on sunscreen that morning. You laughed with him as he attempted to shield your face, bumping into each other multiple times due to lack of vision and personal space. Anyone walking past on the street would assume you two to be a couple and it made your heart ache. You ignored the pain and forced yourself to block that idea from your head. You didn’t have a crush on him, you just didn’t object to the idea of being with him... You were just curious what it would be like… Right?

He held open the door for you as you entered to store and you watched from a distance as he ordered your drinks, oblivious to the women behind the till writing her number on his cup.

That was when it had happened.

You blamed yourself for being too obsessive.

If you weren’t insistent on hanging from his every word and move, you would have missed it. You wouldn’t be in the position you are now.

Chris had pulled his wallet from his back pocket, using his card to pay for the drinks for the office. Your eyes were caught by the light being reflected from a packet inside and your heart sank, a pit growing in your stomach making you feel more nauseous by the second.

You spent the rest of the day, the rest of the week, fighting yourself on it, deciding whether to care or not. He was a grown man after all, and it wasn’t really your business, but it was Chris. You couldn’t argue that he was extremely hot so him being with other people wouldn’t really be a surprise, but this was the man who was blissfully unaware of the flirting he received from his colleagues for two whole years.

Maybe you just wanted him to be innocent. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did after all…

What you did know however, was that this only made you want him more!

“Have you finished for tonight?” you hear Chris utter as he looks up from his computer.

“Yeah, I think so,” you moan. “I’m not going to get very far with this tonight. I’ll have a fresh start Monday morning” you let out a weak smile in his direction.

“Give me a few minutes, I’ll drive you home”.

What the fuck…

You gave him a slight nod, caught off guard.

Chris had never offered anything like that before, what did it mean? Maybe you were reading too far into this, but then again, you’d known each other for years and didn’t even know where each other lived. What was with the suddenly change...?

Your thoughts were interrupted by noise of Chris rapidly tapping against his keyboard, your focus being instantly drawn as his slender fingers were lit up by the moonlight shining in through the crack in the blinds. You let your eyes wander as he reached for the mouse and delicately scrolled…

You cursed yourself for letting your mind drift, plagued by your newfound information about Chris’ sex life, only to get cut off once again by Chris fiddling with the buckles on his bag.

He’s your co-worker

“I’m ready if you are” You look up and he was returning the gaze towards you cheerfully and you instantly noticed the absence of his glasses. Your heart throbbed as your colleague had suddenly become 10x more attractive and a deep pit formed in your stomach, wondering how you are meant to survive a car journey with him while he looked like that.

On the drive home, you found yourself basically gripping the car door, begging for oxygen. Chris had once again removed his suit jacket and had leant over to throw it onto the backseat. You found yourself rushing to look away before he turned back in case you couldn’t control yourself and kissed him there and then. To make matters worse, he had proceeded to roll up his shirt sleeves, accentuating his thick forearms that made you almost break a sweat. He had one hand carefully gripping the wheel and the other placed gently on the gear stick. You watched intently through your peripherals, the way Chris’ arm flexed every time he changed gear or turned the wheel using the palm of his hand – you had learnt something new about yourself that day and as much as you wanted to be mad, you were enjoying it just a little bit too much.

Once you arrived home, you fought yourself on asking him inside.

He’s you co-worker  you repeatedly reminded yourself, before thanking him and getting out of the car. You took your time however, hoping for a sign that he might want this too, only, it never came.

You went to home that night, your chest heavy with guilt and regret.

Chris knew exactly what he was doing. He felt disgusting and he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help himself.

Chris had known he wanted you since the day he first lied eyes on you, and it only grew by the day. Watching you around the office pained him. You were so kind-hearted and caring to everyone there, he couldn’t help but want it all to himself.

He wanted you to himself.

He often found himself pretending to not understand something just so you could stare into his eyes while you slowly explained it to him, just so he could get a brief glance down your shirt and at your cleavage as you bent over his desk, just so he could see your skirt slightly lift as you leant over, and just so he could watch you walk away.

He found his slacks tighten every time you switched persona and dominated the office, assigning roles and complaining when work wasn’t up to standard. It was a shame though, he thought, that he was the only person you never seemed to be mean to.

This is my punishment  he had decided. His fantasies were disgusting, and the universe was taking it out on him for being a pervert.

He had to take his jacket off as soon as he got into the car. Chris had caught himself looking as you lifted your bare leg to fold over the other, skirt lifting and briefly showing your underwear (which Chris had accidently noted matched your bra that day). He felt his chest tighten and his cheeks grew warm. He felt suffocated, needing to calm and cool himself before you noticed something was wrong. Chris had worked so hard to keep up his sweet persona, hiding how truly disgusting he was from you, and he was not about to let it slip now.

He didn’t know what had come over him 10 minutes prior asking to give you a lift – a sudden wave of confidence. Never before had Chris had the courage to ask you out, not that this was a date, but it counted for something. Maybe it was because you had joined him earlier in the week for the coffee run and he had deluded himself into thinking you wanted him too. Maybe it was because he had noticed you strangely drifting away recently and needed to win you back. Maybe he finally was finally going to make a move…

“You’ve been avoiding me this week” Chris shocked himself when he noticed he was the one who had just spoken.

You shifted anxiously in your seat, “I’ve just gotten myself tired… too much work I guess”.

You looked over to Chris, sending him a smile, hoping that he believed you.

He didn’t.

But the way you looked at him caused him to forget to care.

15 minutes later, he pulled up outside your house after what felt like the shortest car journey of his life. The rain pattered on the windshield as you gathered your belongings and Chris racked his brain for any excuse to come in or to not let you leave the car.

He couldn’t find one.

You bid him goodbye and wished him a safe journey home before running inside to escape the rain. You threw your bags onto the floor as you entered your house, sighing, kicking off your shoes and falling back against the door. You rubbed your face, wondering how much longer you had to suffer like this and what you had to do to get over him.

Your thoughts, however, didn’t last for long as they were cut off by the panic caused by the feel of your coat pocket feeling strangely empty, where your phone once was.  You ran over to your bags, rummaging through and finding nothing.

Shit

You knew exactly where it was.

Of course it is

Chris’ car. It must have fallen out. You wanted to scream at the universe for this. No matter what, everything just circled back to him. You were not getting over him anytime soon…

You picked yourself up off the floor and rushed towards your door. He might still be outside you had convinced yourself – you prayed. You were prepared to run out into the rain bare footed, only to be stopped by a figure as you pulled open your front door. 

“You, um, left this in my car” He spoke, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You didn’t realise how badly you needed to see him in that moment. He was like a drug, and you were having withdrawals. Nobody had ever made you feel like this, and it scared you. Your fingers brushed as you took the phone from him, not breaking eye contact once and you were convinced you saw a darkness flash over his eyes. Did he want you too? Did he feel the same? Your brief touch left you needing more, feeling empty without him and all you could think about in that moment was having his soft skin back on yours again.

Your hands had a mind of their own; you felt them reach towards Chris, dropping the phone that brought you two together onto the floor, and pulling him towards you. It didn’t take much, he was already moving you backwards, his hands on your waist and yours on his tie.

You felt him push against you hungrily while a hand snapped round the back of your head to protect it from the wall behind you. His other hand remained on your waist, caging you in and unknowingly keeping you up when you felt like your knees were about to give way.

His kiss was passionate and soft, but you could tell he wasn’t holding back. There was determination in his actions, and you let him. You swallowed your pride and any nagging thoughts in the back of your mind and just let him have you. You just wanted to enjoy the moment you had waited years for.

Only it didn’t last long.

It was over just as quickly as it started.

You felt Chris pull away, running his hand through his hair, aggravated, and muttering a shitty excuse about being sorry or how he shouldn’t have done it. You watched as he backed out of the door you two had conveniently left open and the deafening silence pulled you back to reality; you were abandoned against the wall, frozen in place.

You spent that weekend rearranging your house, putting any furniture you could against the empty wall in hopes to disguise it. Every time you looked over, you couldn’t help but relive your moment together, making you feel nauseous and yet, no matter what, you just couldn’t look way. You eventually decided on a pot plant, one you had found at a market you had dragged yourself to as a distraction. (It hadn’t worked)

The metaphor was ironic – something was growing and it wasn’t your love. You dreaded going back to work. You were used to the tension between you two over the past week but god, this was too much. Maybe you could hand in your two weeks’ notice? Do you think they’d accept two days? You wrote it up and printed it off nonetheless.

Maybe it’s for the best  you considered. This could be your way out. He tried it with you, he made it blatantly clear he didn’t want it and you certainly couldn’t face him again after that. If you quit and got a new job elsewhere, maybe you might have a chance of getting over him.

You can’t run away from your problems!  You ignored that thought. You weren’t really in the mood for thinking logically today.

You had shown up late to work Monday morning. At least you were there though, it was more than what you expected of yourself. Thankfully no one had picked up on the distance between you and Chris – metaphorically and physically. You were convinced he’d furthered himself from you…

You spat out some lie of coming down with a cold to anyone who questioned your tardiness and to your surprise everyone bought it. Well, so you thought.

“Hey, can I speak to you when you get chance?” you had called out to your boss as she rushed past your desk, mid task.

“If this is about you quitting, then the answer is no” she pinched the bridge of her nose and stopped in her tracks. You two had a great relationship and were extremely close, considering that she was your boss. Your friendship allowed you two to be completely honest and tell each other things exactly how they were; you only realised this was a curse in disguise as she saw straight through you.

“W-what?”

“You left your notice on your desk,” she sighed, and you whipped your head round to your desk, panicked. To your surprise, there sat Chris, adamantly watching the conversation unfold, a sad look glazed over his eyes.

You reminded yourself to laugh about that later.

“If you’re going to quit, can you at least wait and do it at a time when we’re not so busy?” She turned back to her assistant and proceeded to continue their prior conversation, walking off and leaving you frozen in your tracks. You tried calling after her, but you knew that was as far as you were going to get with her. Defeated, you made your way back over to your desk where Chris had decided to finally look away.

If the tension between you two wasn’t obvious to everyone in the office, it sure was now.

He wasn’t sure how he had ended up in this situation again. It was Monday evening, and everyone had left – except him and you. Every time Chris was left alone with you, he struggled to contain himself. The weight on his chest was a constant reminder of how badly he had fucked up at the weekend by letting his impulses take over and as a result, ruined one of the only good things in his life.

“You’re quitting because of me?” Jesus Christ, he needed to learn to stop talking whenever there was an awkward silence. You looked up from your paperwork and glared at him.

What a dick!

“Not everything is about you Chris”.

“You’ve been quiet all day…” he pushed.

“I’m just tired that’s all”.

“You’ve used that excuse before” he smirked at you from across the table.

“Why don’t you just mind your own fucking business?” You stood up, slamming your hands on the table in front of you and hovered over Chris. Silence echoed throughout the room, and you instantly felt a deep pit growing in your stomach.

“Shit! I’m sorry,” you rushed out, looking away. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that”. You were completely oblivious however, to Chris tucking his chair in as close as possible or finding anything he could to cover his crotch after your sudden outburst. Was it wrong for him to want to keep going, to keep pushing you? He knew you felt guilty for your actions, but he saw red and from then on, could only think with his dick...

The guilt, however, overcame you. You knew Chris didn’t deserve for you to shout at him like that and that you were taking your own emotions out on him. He was only teasing you, probably trying to lighten the mood and rid of the heavy tension lingering between you two and you went and ruined it – again!

You couldn’t take it anymore. You reached down to pick up your bag from underneath your desk and began packing away any files you may need.

I’ll finish it at home  you thought to yourself. You couldn’t stand to be around Chris anymore and needed to get out before you did anything else you regretted. That was until your thoughts were cut off by the feeling of being harshly spun around until you felt the backs of your thighs hit your desk. You were faced with the man you were trying so hard to avoid, caging you in and giving you a sense of déjà vu to the Friday evening you had spent together three days prior.

“What are you doing?” your voice small.

He had bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know” he croaked out. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was fighting with himself, and it pained you to go through this for a second time.

“You don’t want this” you let out in a whisper. His eyes suddenly snapped open, and his head whipped up.

“W-what? No, of course I want this”. He had shrunk his head down to your level and looked you straight in the eye.

He was genuine.

“Why did you run away last time then?”

“I was scared. I thought you didn’t want this”. He broke eye contact and backed away again.

You couldn’t help but smile, “I want this”.

“I want this too” He leant back onto the desk behind you and hesitantly left a peck on the corner of your mouth, feeling him smile against you. His body swallowed yours and you wanted to stay in his warmth forever.

That was until you felt it against your thigh.

You looked down and Chris felt your body shake against him as you giggled; his face flushed when he realised what was going on. He’d gotten distracted from his problem during your sudden confession that he forgot the reason he stopped you from leaving in the first place.

He leant behind you and swiped everything off your desk (a bold move for him), barely giving you chance to argue before pulling you towards him by the waist, spinning you around and pushing you forward, leaving you to catch and hold yourself up on the desk, now in front of you. Your button up shirt hung lose, exposing your shoulder, allowing Chris to pull it down where he began to leave a trail of kisses down your back as he lightly dragged his index finger up your thigh, underneath your mini skirt. You could image him smirking as you let out a gasp and arched your back slightly at his cold touch. “Do you do this to all your girls?” you snarked, breathlessly.

His touched stopped at your sudden comment and Chris spun you back round to face him, picking you up and placing you onto the table.

“What girls?” He asked, a look of confusion spread across his face.

“I don’t know, I just thought… you know,” you hesitated “I saw your wallet.”

“Oh”

You stared at him blankly as he worked up the courage to explain himself. “My friends put it in there as a joke on a night out,” He squinted at you, as if he was scared to see your reaction. “Something about hyping myself up to actually get laid” His voice faded out towards the end of his sentence.

You grabbed his tie, slowly bringing him closer to you. “Have you ever...?”

“Just once” He blushed.

You giggled into his mouth as you pulled him into a kiss. “Cute”

For someone with such little experience, Chris sure knew his way around your mouth. Your little pecks quickly turned into a heated make out where his hands began roaming your body, eventually finding your shirt buttons, and beginning to undo them. His lips followed, making their way down your neck and eventually to your chest. His hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them and causing you to question whether he really was as unexperienced as he said he was…

You watched as Chris’ eye line changed to your cleavage and you couldn’t help but adore how innocent he was, getting distracted so easily, which corrected your previous train of thought. You brought him back to reality by directing his lips back to your chest and you felt a pair of large hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward and causing you to fall backwards as Chris continued his way down your stomach.

The remains of his kisses sent chills throughout your body as they went cold, causing you to seek warmth in Chris, edging closer towards him and placing your legs over his shoulders as his warm breath heated your core. You choked out a gasp as his nose brushed against your clit and he laid soft kisses against the top of your underwear in an attempt to tease you.

‘Your wet…’ he spoke, almost surprised.

‘It’s all you’.

You felt Chris suck in a breath and pause beneath you, you could sense his nerves from above. You grabbed him by his curls, pulling his head up and forcing him to make eye contact with you. You begged him with your eyes before forcing his head back down, granting him permission.

You felt him leave a soft lick down your centre and waited for your protests. He was met with comfortable silence allowing him to repeat the motion, eventually picking up the pace and soon leaving longer strips that caused you to thrust your hips forward, pushing you even closer to him. You felt as he peeled your underwear off of you, letting it dangle around your ankle, and his tongue gently slipped between your folds, licking a few strips before finding your hole and began tongue fucking you. His free hand had moved down to your hip where his thumb reaching down to toy with your clit. Your hands were still in his hair, and you couldn’t help but pull at it, reassuring and guiding him as he began to go down on you. He peeled his last hand away from your waist and was brought it up to your core, feeling your slit before he slowly entered a finger. Your deep groan cause Chris to twitch in his jeans, encouraging him to push it in deeper before pulling out and entering a second. You felt his lips kiss at your nub where he started to lick and kiss. Chris vibrated against you as he let out moans, almost sending you into overdrive and you couldn’t help but grind against him; his thrusts speeding up to match you.

“Cameras” you had managed to make out in between moans as you felt yourself grow closer to finishing, shooting up and disappointingly pushing Chris away. You had suddenly been brought back to reality by your moans echoing in the empty room and you realised where you were. There was a very high chance that you two were going to get caught and as much as you loved this new side of Chris, you knew that even he wasn’t kinky enough to properly do you up against your desk in his place of work. Yes, you had tried to resign from your job only 5 hours prior but now everything seemed to be sorting itself out and you didn’t really want to lose your job this way.

Chris pulled away from you, horror spread across your face and you internally panicked, wondering if you had ruined your one and only chance of being with him like this… He trailed his hands up your hips before picking you up and helping you off of your desk. You both giggled as you wiped his mouth for him and he gave you a reassuring peck on the cheek, as if he could read your mind, before grabbing both your bags and quickly leading you out of the office by the hand.

The silence left Chris in his own thoughts, replaying the events of the last 5 minutes on repeat in his head. You were currently stood side by side with him in the elevator, the slight touch of your arms driving him crazy, and he used everything within him to hold himself back from finishing what he had just begun. He knew that if anyone saw anything, then both your careers would be ruined, but the memory of how you sounded and tasted underneath him was fogging his brain and he found himself struggling to stay focused.

He felt your hand reach into his trouser pocket, placing something inside. It didn’t take Chris long to realise it was your underwear and in return, you felt his hand begin to trail up the inside of your thigh. You bit back a gasp, knowing exactly where this was going and what Chris was trying to do. You felt his fingers play with the hem of your skirt and back to the inside of your leg. You tilted your head slightly to find Chris facing forward, straight faced, as if he wasn’t the one currently with his hands up your skirt. You took note on how he had angled your belongings to cover his actions from the camera in the corner of the elevator and remembered to reward him for it later.

The lift opened after what felt like forever and Chris led you out towards the car park, his hand on the small of your back and further positioning himself behind you as it gradually got lower. He didn’t know what had gotten into him but no matter what, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You were a magnet and the connection between you two was so strong, he couldn’t leave you alone. Once you eventually reached his car, he held open the passenger door for you, reminding you how easily he could switch personas and you struggled to believe this was the same man who was between your legs, ready to devour you, just moments prior. Chris threw your belongings onto the backseats in a hurry before rushing into the driver’s seat, removing his jacket, and pushing his sleeves up. He suddenly seemed anxiously frantic, and you would find him adorable if you weren’t pent up.

You gave him little to no time before you were reaching over to him, grabbing his hand, and pulling it underneath your skirt. Your eyes rolled back, your head hitting the seat behind you at the relief the slight touch gave you, “Just do something Chris!”

The way you spoke his name was like his own personal porn, and the sight of you being so needy for him and him only made him weak in the knees, willing to do anything you asked of him. You felt the way he froze in place, shocked by how direct you were; his fingers moving only slightly, hesitant to touch you. You sighed and leant over, grabbing him by the chin and smashing your lips into his to close the gap between you.

You pulled away, “You just had me over a desk and edged me in an elevator, and now you’re too shy to actually touch me?” you giggled against his lips. Obviously, you were exaggerating, but you knew Chris had put on a façade and it was beginning to crack.

‘I don’t want it to be here’.

‘I don’t think I can wait any longer’, you whispered in his ear before beginning to kiss down his neck, sucking slightly and leaving a trail of marks. You were proud of yourself, excited about your female coworkers seeing the mess you made tomorrow and finally being able to claim Chris as yours.

Too in the moment, you failed to notice a hand wrapping around your legs and pulling you into Chris’ lap. Your lack of underwear caused you to gasp as you moved against the bulge in your colleagues’ slacks, also receiving a deep groan from Chris that could’ve made you come undone then and there.

The sound was music to your ears, causing you to repeat the motion and begin grinding on his clothed cock. Chris threw his head back as he let out a string of moans and you proceeding marking him, down his Adams apple to his chest. His hands found your shirt, still partially unbuttoned and loose around you, and reached underneath, pulling your breasts from your bra and toying with them. Eventually, he frantically reached underneath you and pulled down his trousers. Your actions continued but the only fabric separating you now was the thin layer of his boxers. You could feel him. The outline, shape, width… You felt dizzy and didn’t know how much more of you two teasing each other you could take.

‘I need you’ You croaked out. ‘Now!’

He nodded aggressively at you, unable to formulate any words as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. You couldn’t help but share a giggle as he took out the item that got you into this mess in the first place.

You struggled to stop yourself from staring as he rolled the condom onto himself and didn’t fail to notice the slight smirk on Chris’ face. You had felt he was big, but you hadn’t expected this and your mind ran with ideas of what you wanted to do to him. You’d have to save that for next time however, because you felt yourself throb at the sight and you needed him inside you ASAP.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pulling yourself up off Chris’ lap and positioning yourself.

‘Are you sure you’re ok with this’ Chris had asked, nerves lacing his voice, worried you would change your mind last minute. Internally you groaned; you were hovering over his cock, tits and pussy out, practically begging him to take him and he was still worried.

‘Yes yes yes,’ you managed to mumbled out, struggling to speak as you threw your head back at the friction from brushing against his tip. You appreciated him asking for consent and found his nerves adorable, but you were too inpatient to care anymore. ‘Just please… do something’

Your statement lit a flame in Chris, causing him to pull you down and push himself up, meeting you halfway and thrusting into you. The sting hurt so good, and you fell forward, leaning your forehead against his as you tried to adjust to his size.

‘Halfway there’ Chris groaned against your lips, kissing down your jaw as he waited for you to move again.

Picking yourself back up, your hands fell to Chris’ chest as you sank further down. He swallowed a moan as he watched you take all of him where you waited a few moments before moving, rocking against him. You rushed to remove the hand that Chris used to cover his mouth in attempt to muffle his moans, replacing it with your mouth. The kisses were sloppy, your tongues fighting one another but it didn’t matter to you, you just needed him closer to you in any way you could. You picked up the pace, starting to move up and down, and his naïve moans turning you on even more than any of your partners before. His pelvic bone brushed against your clit, causing you to whimper as he matched your actions, thrusting upwards and bouncing you on his cock. Chris reached out to hold your breasts still hanging loosely out of your clothing, not knowing what to do with himself and still aware of his lack of knowledge surrounding the act.

His lips left yours and instead, sucked onto your skin, returning the favour and leaving marks down your chest. You found your hands returning to his hair and you couldn’t help but play with the soft curls hanging down the back of his neck, tugging on them in surprise when Chris’ teeth grazed your nipple. He let his tongue swirl around your areola a few times to tease you before sucking on your nipple and squeezing your other with his free hand. He made sure to swap over, taking even turns on both your tits and you fell back, hands resting behind you on his knees as you grinded forward.

‘I don’t think I can…last…much longer’ Chris coughed out. You watched as mixed emotions flashed across his face, but you had known him long enough to be able to read him like a book. Due to his lack of experience, Chris was annoyed he couldn’t last longer for you, keep you in this moment for longer, see you like this for longer. You felt a grin spread across your face, once again adoring how cute you found him.

‘That’s ok,’ you reassured. ‘Doing so well for me anyway’.

Your hair tickled your back as you tipped your head back in pleasure as he thrusted harder at your praise, and you both began to pick up the pace. Beads of sweat rolled down Chris’ scrunched up face and you had never found him sexier before; the urge to corrupt him only growing stronger.

The sound of your skin slapping together rang in your ears as it echoed throughout the now fogged up car. You were thankful for the empty car park as you were sure the car rocking would give you two away to any passerby. You reached out to hold onto anything around you as you felt yourself growing closer, your hand smearing the condensation against the glass window.

‘I think I’m going to…’ Chris whined out, his head dropping to your shoulder and his large hands returned to your waist.

‘Me too baby’ giving him permission, you cut him off and grabbed onto the headrest behind him as you felt him harshly thrust into you a few more times before tensing up and letting out a loud, deep moan as he climaxed, one causing you to do the same. You continued to ride him through your orgasms before collapsing into his arms, too tired to move.

You pulled him into your apartment, his lips attempting to find yours in the dark as you stumbled around trying to remove each other’s clothes.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Chris had pulled away and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw his silhouette fighting your new plant. ‘It’s in my spot!’

‘I had to cover it up after our previous rendezvous’ you muttered, guiding him back to your lips in hopes of changing the subject.

You felt Chris frown against you. ‘I’ll be moving that in the morning,’ he spoke in between kisses. ‘I liked having you against that wall’.

‘Oh… Staying the night, are you?

‘I am’ he gave you one last peck on the lips before picking you up bridal style and carrying you towards your room for round 2…

a/n if y’all read this far… i hope you enjoyed :)) Ellie-mai… this is for you pookie bear <3

🤍 please consider reposting or commenting if you like my work!!!

[rawmeknockout]

pls can I get a lonely cassette!reader being taken in by soundwave???? i need that man carnally and i need to be inside his boobs even more 💥💥💥

The city is burning. It's been on fire for days, the skyline you loved nothing but smoke and ash, and there is no relief in sight. Metal melting into itself and the surroundings, buildings merged together, until it looks like a great beast crying in agony. Fighting to pull itself out from it's own destruction. Your cassette-player is among those trapped under the rubble, squeezed beneath concrete and metal. Perhaps it's fortunate, then, that you know he's dead. You were his only companion, and now you're alone. It gives you comfort knowing he's not the one in your place.

There is no one coming to save you. The Decepticons and Autobots have torn Cybertron apart, your home just collateral among the list of casualties. It had filled you with rage when you saw the way they would cast anything in the way to achieve victory, but your anger is hollow now. You're not even sure you can feel anything at all. All you can think about is where you will find energon next.

There are no more relief stations near you, no more safe encampments that can take you in. All neutral parties, all crisis servants, have been pushed to the very edges of Cybertron where there is still just a bit of energon to mine. It wouldn't matter if you could get to them, anyway. Most have picked their side and will push recruitment if you come looking for aid, ensuring you will be safe if only you will be their fodder.

And you can't leave your home. Even when it is unrecognizable, the bright city lights long since blown out. This is where you want to be, the only place for you. You slowly duck and trudge between buildings, dirt settling in your joints and making the ache of your frame worse. You scan for any sign of energy, a leak of oil even, but it is bare here.

So lost in your HUD, you don't hear the clink of pedes on concrete, the glitching of your processor getting worse and more obstructive by the cycle. You try tapping at settings on your helm, but the static clears minimally. A giant blue mech stands in front of you when your vision clears of errors. You jump back, stumbling over your pedes to stay upright, and lean back to take in the intimidating bot before you.

His face is covered and his visor is red. So red against the white and blue of his paintjob. The blue gleams beautifully under the muffled sunlight, just barely able to break through the ash covering the sky. He must be important, or was. You could have never afforded a polish so uniform and bright. His chest is a window into a docked and rather comfortable looking cassette. You could laugh from how fortuitous this oasis is.

The purple of his insignia almost misses your awareness, but it is an ugly symbol and it hurts your optics to look upon it. You should be angry, but there is nothing. Perhaps this meeting is Primus' mercy, no matter how cold.

The large mech kneels in front of you, his helm still looming above your own, as his servo comes to rub dirt away from your faceplate. You don't shy away, despite the true dirtiness being in his allegiance. It's nice to feel a friendly touch. You eye his tapedeck enviously, like you want to rip the mech out of there and settle in its place. It's a horrible feeling that leaves a pit of shame in your tank. The fear and grief has turned you into an animal hungry for any sign of salvation.

The intimidating mech pulls from his subspace a wrapped packet: energon rations. Meager and half-eaten, it wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you're grateful for the pity. It's hardly two bites before you're done. Despite the quality, it's the sweetest energon that's ever touched your glossa. Lubricant tracks down your cheekplates.

And despite it all, you want to live. A feeling that builds in your chassis and sings in your spark. You want to live, you want to leave this place. You don't care what you have to do. All you want is to tear free of the rubble and rip yourself from the metal melting down around you.

"Inquiry: Free to dock?" You grasp the opportunity with firm servos.

[icywaddle]

I wonder if the PJSK characters ever notice the players actions. Wouldn’t it be so wonderful?

On her way to the store, Kanade notices a tiny flicker of Sekai Sprinkles™ flickering from her phone. She thinks nothing of it, only remembering when Mafuyu comments on a new fish swimming around the aquarium and freshly mended cracks on the mirror. The way the Sakai seems to hum with a comforting whisper, almost enveloping them all in a gentle embrace every time they arrive. Fresh blankets and pillows piled around the stage, boxes of bottled water and non-perishable snacks always fully stocked. Nobody knows who keeps everything maintained, but they always know exactly which flavor of cake to get for Ena’s birthday, and the fabrics and jewels Mizuki needs for every new costume they make.

Ichika sometimes thinks she sees a figure darting through the halls of the school Sekai. Shadowy, always out of reach, but not quite malicious. It seems to watch her sometimes, listen to her conversations. Nobody knows who it is, or maybe nobody is willing to fess up, but they all agree that the Sekai’s halls have been more well kept since they started appearing. Desks polished and shining, boards clean and uniform, CDs organized and instruments always in peak condition. Little additions seem to sneak their way in along with the cleaning sprees, small chibi stickers of the band members and vocaloids finding their ways onto everyone’s equipment. Saki adores them, but Shiho is just a tad more skeptical. Honami supposes it’s endearing, if not a little terrifying.

During a performance in the stage Sekai, Minori sees a lone white pair of glow sticks shining amidst the ocean blue like a glimmer of sunshine reflecting off the waves. She does her best to find the audience member, but they fade away into the crowd in no time. Haruka whirls her away, laughing as she finally catches up to Minori and tells her to take a break. A few new songs had appeared in the Sekai for them to listen to, playing gently over the speakers scattered around the stage. A few beanbag chairs had also been placed comfortably around the backstage area to give everyone a place to lounge around and relax. Sometimes Airi wonders where everything comes from, but Rin and Miku always seem to deflect her questions. Sometimes, Shizuku would catch them acting strangely, waving or winking to the empty air around the Sekai. Stranger still was when the Sekai seemed to hum back at them, Sekai Sprinkles™ flitting around their fingers like curious fireflies.

Tsukasa, even though he’d long accepted that he would never know everything about the Wonderland Sekai, always seemed to startle when random music began to blare across the stage speakers. New CDs appear in the audio office at least once a week, new songs and parts arranged and compiled neatly for their performances. The mood always seems to match whatever play they were performing. Melancholy and slow, fast paced and goofy- by this point the group had at least one song for every occasion. The growing stock of songs came with new shelving, installed in the operating office of the Wonderland Sekai. Emu would always take out several songs at a time to listen to or pitch to the others, bringing paper and pencil to illustrate her visions. Corresponding props tended to appear behind the stage, blueprints and machine parts scattered across the floor in an arrangement so chaotic yet so organized. Typical for for Rui. All of them agreed that something was strange, but nothing ever seemed to happen. If there was a force in the Sekai, at least it seemes… Passive, if not supportive. Nene always swears she can feel something watching her as she sings to the flowers, a sound almost like applause floating through the air whenever she falls silent.

Kohane has started noticing new art around the street sekai, pictures and art of VBS sprayed around the walls. Nobody seems to know who’s responsible, but they all agree that the art is pleasant, if a bit strange sometimes. She’s also heard some new music playing when she visits the Street Sekai cafe, continually asking Meiko about it. Kohane wonders where the music comes from and how Meiko finds out about it, but all she receives in response is a wink and a drink placed in her hand. In fact, she and the rest of VBS have all noticed that there always seem to be some questions none of the vocaloids have answers to… or don’t want to answer. Miku herself, despite trying her best to hide it, can sometimes be seen murmuring into the walls somewhere quiet in the endless sidestreets. It’s mostly Akito who finds her, noticing a flash of teal during his walks around the Sekai. As soon as he draws near, Miku always seems to know, spinning around and pulling a grin onto her face as she herds him back to the cafe. An mentions seeing something similar as well, but the two of them mutually agree that it’s… probably nothing to worry about? The Sekai is full of confusing things, they all know that. Toya often talks about doors he’s found around, padlocked and chained shut. Every time he goes near, tries to investigate, someone comes along to distract him. The twins, yanking his hoodie off with a coordinated attack and running away with it. Meiko, asking him to test a new pancake recipe with her. There’s always something about them, an oddly jittery energy in the glances they shoot back at the doors. He’s never had the heart to fight back, even when he noticed Sekai Sprinkles™ flickering and falling from the doors, shadowy hands waving at him from the tiny cracks between frame and door. Still, despite the horror of… Strange limbs appearing, there was something warm about them. Supportive. An would see them waving from audience seats sometimes, dark human figures flickering in the empty cafe seats. As soon as she stepped off of the stage, they would vanish, fading away with a clap or even a toothy smile. Once, one of them even… blew her a kiss? She’d walked around in a confused daze for the rest of the day.

[fyonahmacnally]

Watching Her

Kara stares at the blank screen in front of her. She’s been sitting at her dining room table for what feels like days. She needs to be writing her article, but it seems her brain has other plans. Instead, she’s trying to string together the words that have plagued her mind for months. Well, plaguing her for years really, if she’s being honest. 

Plus, lately there’s this urgent need to explain to her raven haired goddess of a best friend how much she means to the hero. Every time Kara thinks she can speak it aloud, the words get stuck in her throat. So, she thought she’d write them instead. Apparently that’s not working either since she’s been staring at her screen for Rao knows how long. No article and no words for Lena. She’s come up short either way. Since the genius woman left for Newfoundland a few days ago, the blonde hasn’t been able to think of much else. 

Just Lena. Always Lena.

Her time in the Phantom Zone was wrought with the fear of never seeing those mesmerizing bi-colored eyes or touching soft porcelain skin again. Their relationship has weathered storms most married couples haven’t faced. A sentiment that forces her thoughts down a path she’s skillfully avoided for years. Kara knows they reconciled and have swapped both apologies and forgiveness, but she’s still not sure where they stand. What they are. Friends? Yes, but there’s always been more. Unfortunately, dealing with the madness surrounding Lex and Nyxly hasn’t given them much time to sort through things. To truly talk.

There are countless things Kara wants to say. While in the Phantom Zone, she relived almost every moment of her relationship with Lena. The worst of things played out before her on most occasions, but the visions also allowed her subconscious to say things she’s always been too cowardly to say. As much as being there sucked, it also gave her insight into how much is still unsaid between them. Insight into where her true home lies. Who is her perfect partner at game night. 

It’s Lena. It has always been Lena.

She shakes her head with a sigh. The cursor on her screen mocks her. This is what happens every time she tries to put words on the page. Her thoughts instantly drift to Lena and all the words she’s choked back or refused to speak. Then a smile drifts across her lips, thoughts of how close she came to kissing the raven haired goddess. Right there in the middle of the tower when she first greeted Lena. If it hadn’t been for Alex and everyone else in the room, she might have. 

No, she’s sure she would have.

“Rao, stop it Kara!” She mutters to herself, slapping her forehead to punctuate her point. “You have an article to write. Even if it is a fluff piece for Andrea.”

Rolling her eyes at the thought of her boss, she straightens her spine, stretches her arms in front of her, shakes them out, and settles back in to write. 

A few hours later, Kara realizes she’s been writing a stream of consciousness. Her once blank document is filled with words. It’s great that she was able to get so many words on the page, but it’s absolutely, 100% not related to the article she needs to write for her deadline. A deadline two days from now. 

Nope. 

Every single word is related to Lena. 

Kara drops her chin to her chest, blowing out a breath of frustration before sitting back in her chair and dragging her hands down her face. “Okay, I guess I should read through this mess of thoughts. Maybe it will give me something for Lena.”

As her eyes rove over the page, drinking in the words she has written, Kara feels her body grow warm. Before her, on the laptop screen, sits the words she’s been looking for. The combination of things she’s longed to share with her best friend for the better part of six years. Sure, she’s going to have to edit some things and polish it up. However, she’s confident she finally has the words she wants to share. 

Lena comes back early. Kara isn’t sure why, but her raven haired friend doesn’t seem open to talking about it. She can tell something is on Lena’s mind though. The woman’s behavior certainly derails Kara’s plan to give Lena the journal/letter she wrote. 

Just another delay. Such is the life they live. The life of a hero.

They make plans to hangout together. Kara invites Lena to her loft to catch up and eat pie. Because…pie! 

The blonde watches her, drinking in her profile. Strong, sharp jawline. Soft, pouty lips. Perfectly manicured brows, vibrant porcelain skin, and shiny ebony locks cascading down her back, a few strands hanging over her shoulder and resting on her collarbone. Lena is without a doubt the most beautiful person Kara has ever seen, across any and all planets she’s been on. This woman captivates her, steals her breath, and owns her heart. 

She must get lost in her observation because the next thing she feels is a soft hand on her forearm breaking her from her trance.

“Kara?” Lena practically whispers, squeezing the hero’s forearm. “Darling, are you okay?”

She clears her throat, her embarrassment no doubt on display across her cheeks, spreading onto her ears. “Umm, yeah. F-Fine.”

Lena cocks her head to the side, patented eyebrow raise in place. “Want to try again? I know you didn’t catch what I said because you undoubtedly would have responded.” She releases the blonde’s forearm before shifting to face her. “Now, tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.”

A long, shaky sigh makes its way out of Kara’s mouth. She is unquestionably not going to admit what currently has her distracted. Which means she needs to come up with something that is close to the truth, but doesn’t force her to admit her feelings. Not yet.

“I just, well, I missed you.” She reaches up to adjust glasses that aren’t there before diverting her hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “There’s so much we have to catch up on and it’s a little surreal that you’re here. With me. Right now.” She trails off, the fading blush from a few minutes ago rushing back across her impervious skin. 

A full, gorgeous, dimpled smile spreads across Lena’s face. It’s the smile that Kara used to see all the time during their countless lunch dates and game nights. It makes her heart stutter in her chest, a sight more beautiful than Rao’s dawn on Krypton. 

“I missed you, too. We do have a lot to catch up on.” Lena winks at her before sitting her half-eaten pie on the coffee table. “Do you want me to finish what I was saying or are you ready to tell me what’s got you so distracted?”

“Y-You go ahead and finish what you were saying. We can talk about my scattered brain later.” She gives her most endearing grin, hoping it will persuade her best friend to continue.

It works. They exchange stories for the next couple of hours. Lena shares what she learned about her mother and how apparently she comes from a long line of powerful sorceresses. Kara shares the crazy things they fought and dealt with in her absence along with the plan to get rid of Lex and Nyxly for good. Another night of completely skirting her inner dialogue. 

And so it goes for several weeks afterward. They spend their time working to get rid of the worst Luthor and his psychotic fifth-dimensional girlfriend. In the aftermath of William’s death, losing Lillian, and Alex and Kelly’s wedding, Lena seems to come to terms with her magical abilities and gain confidence in her new identity as the last Luthor standing. 

The good Luthor.

While Alex and Kelly are on their honeymoon, Kara and Lena finally have the conversation both of them have been putting off. 

The two of them are curled up on opposite ends of Kara’s couch, each holding a cup of their preferred tea. They exchange shy, knowing smiles for several seconds before Lena breaks the comfortable silence.

“You know, I used to think the biggest monsters I had to fear were Lex and Lillian.” Lena softly says, running her finger along the edge of her rapidly cooling mug. “Over the past year and especially these last few months, I’ve learned we make our own monsters. We make our own monsters, then fear them for what they show us about ourselves.”

A plethora of emotions swirl in the verdant eyes that look up and connect with concerned, but affectionate blue ones. They revel in brief silence, drinking in the intimacy and vulnerability of their shared space. Two battered souls that completely understand one another in ways no one else can.

Lena takes a deep breath, sits her now cold mug on the coffee table, and pats the cushion next to her hoping Kara will slide closer. She watches as Kara places her own mug down and shuffles across the couch, planting herself close enough that Lena’s knee sits against the side of her thigh. A delicate, pale hand rests on top of a warm tan one.

Kara turns her hand to lace their fingers together, gently squeezing Lena’s in a show of comfort. “I get that, at least I think I do. We’ve both been through so much in our lives, so much trauma.” The hero sucks in a ragged breath, all the things she’s lost flashing through her mind. “We both have wounds that will never show on our bodies. Wounds that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. But, as painful as they are, they’ve built us into who we are.”

A soft huff and a chuckle of incredulity sound beside her causing blue eyes to shift from their hands to Lena’s half-amused, half-saddened expression. “You’re not wrong, but I wish there was a better, less painful path to get here.” She rolls her eyes at the situation. “I guess part of my point in saying this about Lex and Lillian is that loving and yearning for love can be blinding. Sometimes, I think, we don’t really see how toxic someone is until we finally breathe fresher air.”

Lena lifts her free hand to gently rub soft patterns into the skin on Kara’s hand still clasped in hers. “When I was in Newfoundland, it reminded me that who I am and where I came from are only small pieces of who I want to be. Being in the fresh air, away from the Luthor name gave me a new perspective. It helped me realize some things.” 

A wistful smile spreads across her face as she pauses her ministrations on Kara’s skin. “There is a home no one can take from you, a home that will last. I think who you are, who you surround yourself with, and what you believe in is your real home. For me, that home is you, Kara.” She takes a shaky breath and makes eye contact with the blonde, hoping to convey how truly sincere she is. The raw truth in her statement.

Kara’s breath catches, her eyes glisten with tears. Lena hasn’t actually said the words she longs to hear, but it carries the same meaning. She does her best to collect her emotions and prevent the epic ramble she can sense coming. There is a journal/letter or whatever you want to call it she needs to share with Lena. So. She needs to get herself together. 

Which is hard when Lena looks so stunning. The happiness and confidence that exudes from her without Lex and Lillian looming over her, it makes her more alluring than ever. Kara’s mind constantly drifts to thoughts of ebony locks and viridian eyes.

Rao, Lena has never looked so beautiful. She’s a goddess amongst mere mortals…

She shakes her head and forces herself back to reality.

“You know, I spent a lot of time thinking about things too. While you were in Newfoundland, I mean. Well, and while I was in the Phantom Zone. Lots of time to think there.” She shakes her head, the urge to ramble growing stronger and she wants to do this right. Blowing out a breath and pulling another in, she tries to calm herself before trying again. “I’ve given a lot of thought to having a home and what it really means to me. I always see the same thing, Lena. Your face, your smile. It’s always you. I, umm, I wrote something about it while you were gone.”

Releasing their connected hands proves more difficult than she anticipated, but she manages. She pulls the folded paper from her pocket where it has been since she finished it. Her hope was the right moment would present itself and she could either let Lena read it or read it to her. Now the moment is here and she’s more nervous than her Pulitzer ceremony.

Clearing her throat, she pauses before locking eyes with her best friend and lightly shrugs. “I guess I’m not sure if you want to just read it or if you want me to read it to you. I mean, I’ll do either. Just as long as you know what it says and…” A nervous chuckle escapes and she shifts herself on the couch, turning her body toward her best friend. “What would you prefer? I’m going to be nervous and jittery regardless.”

Lena tilts her head and lifts her hand to her chin feigning thought. “Well, if you are giving me the choice, I am going to choose having you read it to me.” She pats the Kryptonian on the thigh before leaning her elbow onto the backrest of the couch, propping her head in her hand. “If I can listen to your words and hear your thoughts through your voice, I am going to choose that option every time, Kara.”

They laugh and settle into place as Kara unfolds the paper. She knows this is going to change things, she just doesn’t know how much. With one last look at the woman that holds her heart, she begins to read.

--------------------------

Watching her. It’s something I catch myself doing quite frequently. It’s not that I mean to or I do it on purpose. It just happens. She’s always captivated me. Her wit. Her brilliance. Her grace. Not to mention her eyes. Her smile. Her armor piercing eyebrow raise. There are so many things about her that reel me in.

From the first moment our eyes met, the first time my eyes connected with the deep pools of sea green, I knew she was special. Someone important. And that is the moment my world shifted.

Watching her is distracting. She moves with a sense of surety and power unlike any I’ve seen. Her intelligence is a super power very few possess, she wields it with both caution and tenacity. The desire to help others is so innate to her soul, even the sinister Luthors couldn’t break her drive to do good.

From the first time she helped save the city, I knew she was a hero. A woman worthy of respect and honor, no matter the name she was born under. That was the moment I knew we could take on the world together.

Watching her is awe inspiring. She is so willing to give, to help others, to share her inventions and love of science for the betterment of society, for the greater good of the world. She strives to help others, sometimes even at the detriment of herself.

From the moment she put herself on the line for the safety of others, I knew she was worthy of more than what so many hurl at her. Worthy of love, trust, and respect, leagues beyond what the world has given her.

Watching her is life changing. Life has so many twists and turns, nothing is guaranteed or promised. But when I see her, when I watch her teach her goddaughter new things, when I watch her toss her head back in unrestrained laughter, even when I watch tears drift down her pale cheeks…watching her is life changing.

From the moment I first held her in my arms, I knew my life was forever changed. The gift of her smile is priceless, the gift of her trust is sacred, but the gift of her love is divine.

Watching her has forever changed my life, finding her is how I found my home. --------------------------

Kara finishes reading, but is hesitant to look up. She’s not sure how Lena is going to react and doesn’t want to see rejection reflected back at her. It isn’t until she hears a soft sniffle that her head bolts up and her eyes find teary, sparkling green ones. 

Her eyes widen and she reaches out to wipe the tears away. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” The blonde grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table and hands one to Lena. “Are you okay? Do you need me to leave? I can…”

Her rambling words are halted by a soft finger pressing against her lips. She keeps her eyes on the woman the finger belongs to. The mossy pools she’s gotten lost in countless times search her oceanic ones, apparently finding what she needs.

Lena slowly removes her finger, gently lifting both hands to rest on Kara’s cheeks. She presses their foreheads together and sighs. “I guess two lost little girls finally found their home.”

Neither of them know who leaned in first. In the end, it really doesn’t matter. Not when the result is their lips pressing together and a home to call their own.

[atomoxxetine]

"Pernicious Present" Pt.2

Feyd Rautha x Suk Doctor! Reader

Summary: The greatest gift from Emperor Shaddam to House Harkonnen is a ticking time bomb wrapped neatly in a ribbon.

part 1 Warning: Death, Blood, Torture

(I've never read Dune. This is written based purely on the movie and a quick search. + I'm no medical expert, so any fancy doctor talk is just for character portrayal. Enjoy!)

"Out." Feyd barked, bringing you back to the present. You grin as you bow, ready to leave the room. A hand flashes out to grab the back of your collar. "Not so fast," Feyd snarls. "You haven't done your part yet, doctor." You turn back, a wry smile playing on your lips. "I almost have one less shift," you quip. The room is now empty except for the two of you. His eyes fixate on you as you lay out your medical supplies. "I understand that you want to test the blade on real flesh," you break the silence. "But don't you think that's a bit excessive?" you inquire. Just before you can blink, a dagger appears by your nape. "If you feel so sorry for them," he whispers, "why don't you just offer your neck for me to slice? So that I can spare those lives instead?"

You stifle your laugh. "Oh, I didn't mean to act virtuous," you try to back away from the dagger, but a firm hand keeps you in place. "I was simply questioning your lack of concern for resource limitations," you respond. The muscle of his brow quirks to a questioning look. He looks so cute, like a lost puppy. A ridiculous thought pops up, ignoring the fact that he's millimeters away from cutting your tissue. "Elaborate," Feyd orders. "The amount of resources needed to feed these servants till they reach the working age is staggering," you explain. He lowers his hands, bringing his dagger back into the shadow of his pocket. And… a war is likely brewing soon," you continue. A glint of metal flashed past your peripheral vision. "How did you-" Feyd retorts. "Oh, I see," he comes to terms. "Uncle sure is fond of his pet, huh?" Feyd smirks. "I wonder what is so special about you," he says as he brings up a scalpel to his lips, taking a quick lap to clear the bloodstain off. The scalpel, far sharper than anything he has used before, snicks with a horrifying ease as it slices through the soft flesh of his tongue. Your blood, a bright crimson, mixes with the welling burgundy from his wound, painting a grotesque picture on the polished metal. A flicker of surprise crosses his features for a split second, but it's quickly replaced by a twisted smile. Instead of recoiling in pain, Feyd leans into the sensation. A low guttural sound escapes his throat, a sound that could be interpreted as a growl of pleasure or perhaps a dark chuckle, sends a jolt through you. Your eyes widen at the sight. A surge of heat floods your core, a traitorous response. When did he take my scalpel?! He snickers at your expression. Blood trickles out of your neck. You assess your situation. It hasn't reached the External jugular vein yet. Platysma muscle? Maybe…The injury was superficial, a brush against something worse. You regain composure as your hand quickly finds a gauze to stop your blood, his dark eyes never leaving your neck. "Give me back my tool," you snide. "Make me," he breathes out, his voice raspy.

(to my understanding, if you get External jugular vein cut then it's serious medical emergency. But if you get the Platysma muscle cut it's not life-threatening) @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @avidreader73

[totallynotlx]

Take me with you

A/N: I dunno why I wrote this. I dunno if this is supposed to make me feel better or worse but hey, I just wanted to let this out lmao. Also I'm still working on that other fic and that's where I'll be coping hard so enjoy this one (or not asdfkjasd) for now

Tags: Death, Greiving, Coping, JJK spoilers, not proofread so there's that

Word Count: 753

All you see is an empty corridor devoid of any pop of color. All you hear is the soft tap of your shoes against polished wood. The numbness is there, yet you seem to feel everything simultaneously. Your heart felt like it was breaking with each step as if you were trampling over it. You suppress the urge to claw at your chest like it will ease your anxiety. The usual hallway you would pass by every day without any thought felt like it stretched on forever today. You take a right instead of going straight to the classrooms today. This is also different from your daily routine. You continue on your lonely journey through the quiet hallways and reach the end of the hall, where a staircase leads you to the basement where Shoko's lab is located.

With each descent you make, you can feel your resolve crumbling away. Death wasn't a new concept to you, not when you were in the Jujutsu world. Death is a concept that visits every once in a while. It's not a welcome one, but a common picture nonetheless.

You round the corner and see the usual silhouette in the lab coat. Shoko's head was downcast, looking at a lifeless figure on the table. You catch a glimpse of a familiar large hand and take a sharp inhale of breath before steeling your emotions. 

"Shoko." Your voice came out like a mere whisper. The woman's shoulder tenses up before turning to you. 

"Y/N." She says in acknowledgment of your presence. 

"Am I... Is he..." Your words were stuck at the back of your throat. They won't come out. "I'm sorry, I can't—"

"It's alright." She says but shakes her head almost immediately. Yeah, nothing is alright. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." She says as she taps your shoulder lightly. Without her blocking the view, you turn away from the lifeless figure before you. You nod silently, and she makes her way up, leaving you in the cold and silent room. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

You prepare to face him, slowly turning your head and seeing his hand in your peripheral vision again, only to turn away. You lean an arm against the table where the inanimate body lies silently. 

"I can't do this." You plead to nobody in particular, turning your head to the ceiling, focusing your eyes on the light, and fighting against the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Your breathing hitches, and you slowly reach out a hand towards the hand that lay dormant on the table. It was cold. The usual warm hand that traced circles on the back of your hand was cold. Your other hand reaches to your chest and scrunches the shirt you wore like the movement can stop your heart from hurting. A silent cry escapes your lips as you hold his hand in yours. He usually returns the favor by pulling your hand towards his lips and kissing the back of your hand with a smile, but it is absent now. Your eyes trail over his hand, up to his arms, before finally settling down on his face. 

Eyes closed. Body eerily still. His disheveled, blood-soaked hair drooped over his eyelids. He was still the same Satoru you remembered. The strongest, the best, but now he lay here lifeless. You take note of the wounds that covered his body, and even though a white blanket was draped over his body, you could see the gap near his waist. 

He's gone. 

The fact hit you like a train. The thought alone made you lose control over your emotions. You wailed, letting out a deep-seated cry from within your soul as you threw yourself over to his chest, stone-cold and unmoving. 

"Satoru," you whispered his name like a prayer, "Satoru, I can't do this." You tell him as you cup his face with both hands. "At least take me with you, damn it." You chuckle, but there is no life in it. He'd probably chide you if he heard you say that, but you were only met with silence.

"You said you'd come back to me," you scream, "you said you'd win!" You continued to cry as you clung to him for dear life. "Satoru, please..."

Your voice trailed off, and as the room was filled with your cries, you were only met with more silence. You knew Satoru would like you to continue living for his sake, too, but is a life without him worth living?

[aceofshitposts]

Batquinn oneshot where Harley switches sides after joker kills Jason? Like it's the catalyst for her escaping

OOOH what a good one. i usually headcanon that harley is accepted as the arkham psych right after jason's death and joker's admission into arkham post getting almost every bone in his body broken for it BUT

i like this a lot here we go

-

It's the first time Bruce has been in public since Jason's death.

Jason never liked these things. Neither has Bruce, not really, but especially now he feels the sharp sting of holding a champagne flute in one hand and holding a placid smile on his face with no one here to commiserate.

The parade of well wishers seems never ending. People coming to shake his hand and sympathize for his loss in one breath and try to talk business the next. The same people had shown Jason nothing but disdain when Bruce had adopted him; whispering about street rats like Jason belonged under the shoes.

Bruce clenches his fist, not for the first time tonight. He wants to be out on the streets. He needs to be out there. Out on patrol where he doesn't need to hide behind a tired smile.

"Hey, take it easy there, big guy."

There's a hand on his bicep and for a moment Bruce sees pure red. He barely manages to reign in a snarl as he turns to whoever just touched him-- gently. Like they actually cared. None of them actually cared--

Blonde hair swept over one pale shoulder. A red cocktail dress with a slightly garish feather boa wrapped delicately around her elbows. Red lipstick and pale blue eyes looking at him without fear.

Harley Quinn. Joker's girlfriend. What was she doing here and did that mean Joker was prowling around too? He should be in Arkham, there was no way he was fully healed from Bruce's last encounter with him--

"Hey, hey, eyes down here," Harley says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Bruce's vision focuses back on Harley, a small smile gracing her face when he makes eye contact. "Deep breaths. He's not here, he's not coming, okay? Let's go sit down before you break that champagne flute."

She gently reaches for the glass, taking it easily from his hands and leading Bruce off to the side from prying eyes.

His mind continues to race. Was this a trap? And-- she mentioned him. She's must mean Joker but then. Did she know? If she did, how did she know? And why was she even here?

"Sit," Harley demands as they step outside into the night air.

Numbly Bruce finds himself sitting on the bench she points at, dropping himself onto the polished wood with a grunt. Harley settles in next to him, a small gap between, and begins to pick at the feathers in her boa.

"He was a good kid. He didn't deserve that."

Bruce has heard a lot of people say some variation of that all night long.

It's the first time he's actually believed someone means it.

"You know," he says in response. There's no use in denying it. He's too tired to even try.

Harley looks at him with a lopsided smile.

"Course. Who do you take me for? I've got a PhD, y'know."

Silence settles between them. Bruce doesn't know what to do. Even with her association with Joker, she wasn't involved in what happened. Bruce was clear headed enough to acknowledge that.

"I'm not with him. Anymore, I mean. We were already on a break when he left and..." she's fiddling with her boa again, red feathers falling to her feet. "You have no reason to believe me but I never wanted to hurt Jason like that."

Harley stills, taking several deep breaths.

"I never wanted to hurt you like that. But this isn't about me." - Harley stands, dusting plucked feathers off her lap. - "I just wanted you to know that."

Bruce grabs her wrist before he has time to really think about it. She starts, looking at him with wide eyes. There's going to be talk tomorrow, probably pictures in the paper.

Brucie Wayne with some new arm candy after the death of his adopted son.

Let them talk. There was no stopping the gossip mill regardless.

Harley was the only person at this gala that really saw him.

"You can stay," he whispers, releasing his grip on her wrist. "If you want."

Harley smiles, small and genuine.

"Okay, B. I will."

[blueparadis]

STOLEN; REO MIKAGE <CWs> — sub!reo x gn!reader, hand job, hand k!nk, voice k!nk, sprinkle of fwb tropes but he's slipping | wc:0.6k | @tinymaru @itoshi-s @nyaaaaanma @sugr @shoyoist @sennsational @orchid3a @haithamuse & @tokyometronetwork

+

posted this cuz this won't leave my mind and wouldn't let me work on the reo wip I've. Now it's out and I'm freeeeeeee, at least I think so >^<

The navel rises and falls at irregular intervals so quick that Reo fails to sneak a glance at you in between his ragged intake of breaths. At this point, the way he is panting for air does not make at par as breathing. At this point, even if he were to open his eyes he would see you all blurred.

But Reo still wishes to take a glimpse of you as your calloused fingers wrap to work on his throbbing cock. His hands that are rested at the edge of the table feels numb, his fingertips hurt for gripping the surface so hard. He partly opens his eyes only to foucs on your luscious lips which seemed confident, delightful at best.

Though, vision all hazy Reo glances at his member finding the tip glistening in pre-cum, at least he thinks so, he feels so.

“You’re close, Reo...can you feel it?”, and he is forced to shut his eyes out, cease his breathing at the tickle of your voice through his ears gushing embarrassment in his veins. He could practically feel his ears burn, so hot that it actually hurts.

His right hand flies around your nape that earns him a bonus point, a soft squeal from you. He is brave enough to think you moaned under his touch but not that much to open his eyes and cherish the look on your face rather he is thinking.

Thinking how he loves the feeling of his long sturdy fingers perfectly fitting in between your painted ones while he is balls deep inside you hitting your sweet spot with slow strong thrusts, just like you want; the kind that makes you see stars. He needs to interlace his fingers with yours every time he is inside you. He thinks it makes him cum more by doing so, well, quantitatively.

But when you wrap those pretty fingers around his cock he could almost feel the heavenly pleasure, almost. Visions clouding, his grip around your nape growing stronger with each thrust of your hand, his lips being punished by his fierce teeth, those very teeth that has marked you in the most intimate parts— in between your thighs, inner side of the wrist, on your nipples and sometimes on your waistline.

Reo tries to pull you a little closer, so that he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, so that he could leave bruises on your neckline than his lips. You stop the pace so suddenly that he gasps loudly and hence pulling you closer as a course of reaction. You chuckle as he watches you closely, through your strands of hair. His lips latch onto your neckline sucking fiercely as if he were to suck the life out of you, followed by squelching noises and his rough, unrefined moans.

‘Fuck, he is—he is gonna leave marks...’, you tense up and start to pump his cock again. This time with slow, full yet strong thrusts. You feel his teeth graze lightly, almost feather touch.

“Reo, don’t leave marks.”, you remind him again; your voice soft enough that he pulls away making you regret your words instantly.

“do-don't worry. I won't.”, his hot breath hitting your ear-lobe, sending shivers down your spine.

Reo won't since he wants to feel his euphoric high a little longer; again and again! He feels his orgasm approaching , his inner thighs quiver, he bucks his hips up. He could feel the rope of self control tugging, the urge to kiss your lips seem to overpower the prior, so much so that it might just snap yet he does not want to leave the sight of your pretty hand, refined and polished fingers thinking maybe, someday, just maybe he would see a diamond sparkling on your ring finger as you give him a slice of heaven, just like how you're doing it now.

—

[imsuperhungry]

change.

"𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙨𝙩"

packing was bullshit, and if you say you like doing it, you're lying to yourself

he exhaustion sets in fast when you're constantly using all your strength to break down large items like shelves or a lamp just to fit them in a suitcase. And don't even get me started on how tired your arms get after folding clothes for hours, only to realize they won't all fit. Now you're stuck rearranging everything to make more room.

You glance down at the suitcase after cramming everything in, disorganized and messy. One way or another, you were determined to make it all fit. With an irritated sigh, you lift your head to scan the room, only to realize, with a sinking feeling, that you're nowhere near finished—despite having been at it for at least three hours.

.. okay well maybe it's been 30 minutes, but you get the point

You break down in frustration, briefly contemplating if a bullet might be your next piercing. But after taking a deep breath, you decide to flop face down on your bare mattress. You needed a break; you felt like you were losing your mind.

After a stretch of silence, you turn your head and pull out your phone to check the time. It's barely noon, meaning you still have hours before you need to finish packing.

with a small smile, you decide to take a much well-earned nap...

..

Do all airports fucking smell awful, or is that just a Texas thing? Probably the latter. But whatever—at least you managed to get some sleep. After a day of packing, you were drained, so as soon as you sat down, you grabbed your blanket and dozed off in the hard, plastic airport chair.

You likely would have slept longer if not for the hand shaking you awake so roughly. When you open your eyes, your gaze drops to the hand, and you instantly recognize the chipped black nail polish and those pale fingers.

"Come to the bathroom with me real quick; I'm not going alone," she said. Given the dreadful male-to-female ratio here, it made sense. There were fewer than seven girls and at least fifty men. Maybe that explains the awful smell...

"Nicole..." you whine, it would be as soon as you get the chance to sleep, you're forced to get up.

"Come on, you can sleep after, I need to pee." She says as she yanks you up out the chair, making you nearly fall. 

With a grumble, you straighten up and adjust the pink, fluffy blanket you've wrapped around yourself. If you're being dragged up, you're at least going to be warm.

Nicole quickly started practically dragging you through the airport while you were still trying to wake up. Honestly, if she hadn't been pulling you along, you would likely have been bumping into everything, as your eyes felt heavy and your vision was a bit blurred.

After a few seconds, you both finally reach the bathroom. You decide to wait outside the stall where Nicole has gone in, unsure of what else to do. While you wait, you pull out your phone to check the time.

2:09 am...

You decide to stay awake since Nicole is up and likely has plans, meaning she probably won't let you sleep. It's okay, though—your flight is in two hours, and you can catch up on sleep then. You start stretching to help wake yourself up, as the uncomfortable chairs have left your back feeling sore.

Once you were done, you broke the silence by asking, "Are you ready for Virginia?" while letting out a yawn.

"I don't really have a choice but to be," she replies, her tone tinged with annoyance about the move, and understandably so.

Nicole was always on the move, but she had hoped to settle in Texas for a while. Recently, however, she, her mom, and her brother were forced to relocate because her brother had downloaded illegal content.

You recall how desperate she sounded, almost begging you to come with her—she'd never sounded that vulnerable in the two years you've known her. Although she wouldn't admit it, she's grown very fond of you, and she'd be devastated if she had to leave her only genuine friend behind because of her brother's mistake.

You two met during your freshman year of high school and became inseparable within a month. Your many similarities helped forge a close bond between you. Nicole appreciated you because you weren't boring and were always there for her. Whether she was sneaking off to get high or pulling other stunts, you'd cover for her and tell her mom she was with you. She'll always be grateful for that.

Before this move, Nicole wasn't a "bad" person; she was just trying to figure things out. She had a lot of friends and was considered one of the "popular girls," just like you. You balanced each other out—she was black and you were pink, with your lightness contrasting her darkness. You truly bonded when you opened up to her and shared your deepest feelings.

You were both at her house, high out of your minds. With her mom away for a few days, it was just the two of you and her brother at home. You sat on the floor with your head resting in her lap, and she absentmindedly ran her fingers through your hair. As the conversation shifted from gossip about the pregnant girl in your shared chemistry class, it eventually veered into your own deep-seated mental struggles.

When weed hits your system, you tend to get chatty, and Nicole seemed like the perfect person to unload on. So, you shared every traumatic experience from your life with her—your past suicide attempts, your ex-boyfriend cheating on you with your friends, your struggles with drug abuse, your father's poor behavior, and much more.

Nicole listened intently to every word that night. She liked you—thought you were pretty, funny, and a perfect match for her. What's not to like? Although she'd had her own struggles, she found your situation a bit more intense than hers, and she appreciated that. It wasn't that she enjoyed seeing you in pain; she hated that. Instead, she valued knowing that someone truly understood her. You weren't just someone saying, "I get your pain"—you were as messed up as she was.

Over time, your mom had given Nicole a key to your house, and she practically lived there. You two were inseparable. If she skipped class, you were right there with her. If you wanted to go out to eat, she suddenly became hungry too. And if she needed to use the bathroom, you were there waiting for her, which is how you ended up in your current situation.

Eventually, the toilet flushed with a final whoosh, and the door swung open. As Nicole washed up, you occupied yourself by scrolling through your messages, your thumb moving swiftly over the screen as you replied to old texts from friends. Nicole brushed past you, heading for the towels, her footsteps light on the bathroom tiles. You slipped your phone into your pocket and settled back, waiting for her to finish.

"you wanna get something to eat?"

[charles-simmons-fanfiction]

Painted Nails - Charlie Dalton & Richard Cameron

Description: Charlie's trying out nail polish now, and as much as Cameron wants to judge him, he also thinks it's so cool. And well, Charlie needs to practice on someone. [1k words]

They're roommates, so I simply had to have at least one fic of these two. I'm not sure how to write Cameron, but I see him as someone who overthinks a lot and is constantly jealous, so I'll go with that.

❤️❤️❤️.

Richard felt a strong smell as soon as he entered his dorm. Now, usually that would simply be someone smoking, except it smelled like acetone.

"What is this?" He coughed as he closed the door behind him.

"Oh, hi Cameron," Charlie answered distractedly, not even looking at him.

He dropped his stuff on his desk and tried to see what Dalton was doing, but he turned away from him. "Let me see," he complained.

"Just give me one minute!"

He sighed and sat on his bed, waiting. A part of him hated how curious he always was at everything his roommate did, and jealous at how interesting it actually was most of times.

"Aaaand, done!" Charlie turned around and showed him his nails proudly, which were painted hot red. Cameron tried to touch them, but he pulled his hand back. "It's not dry yet!"

"I'm confused. Isn't that for girls?"

Dalton rolled his eyes at the question.

"You don't have the vision I do, Camie!" He stated, struggling to close the nail polish bottle on his own. "It's style!"

"It's stupid though. I don't get it." Richard took the bottle and closed it for him. "And don't call me that."

"You're a very boring-minded person and it shows," he blew his nails contently. "You wish you were me and had nails like this."

His tone wasn't serious but his words stung hard anyway. Because unfortunately, Cameron kind of did. Charlie always managed to be cool and likable so effortlessly. Even when he was being insufferably annoying, he was still compelling. The kind of guy people would even pay to see, not just barely remember.

"This is a lot harder than it looks, honestly," Dalton comments, distracting him from his thoughts. "I wanted to make a star on my middle finger, but I took an hour to just paint them plain red without smudging."

"Really? What's so hard about it?" Cameron opened the window to get rid of the smell.

"Every time I try to fix one nail, I ruin a different one. Also, I have no idea how I'm supposed to do it with my left hand."

He nodded, trying not to be too interested. He had way too much homework to do to waste time with Dalton. "It's probably something you learn with time."

He opened his notebook to start his trigonometry work and jumped back when Charlie suddenly sat on his bed.

"You have a point, actually! I need practice!" He took the notebook from him and placed it away. "Give me your hand."

"What are you doing?" Richard was starting to get even more annoyed at him.

"It's your lucky day, Camie! You'll get to be awesome too. Like you said, I need to practice this on someone if I want to learn how to do it properly."

"No," he answered with no hesitation. "Go ask Neil or even Meeks, I'm sure they would agree on the spot."

"I'm not roommates with them though, am I?" Charlie insisted. "Be useful for once."

"Hey, I help you with math every single week! I am useful" He felt genuinely upset now, and especially upset about even feeling that way. Why did he get offended so easily? Actually, why did he even care so much about everything Dalton said, all the time?

"C'mon, just let me do it," the idea was so embarrassing, and at the same time so tempting. Richard looked into his eyes, looking for any more reason to deny or to at least stay mad at him. "Please."

He sighed, swallowing his pride. "Okay."

His regret was almost instant when Charlie opened the bottle and the smell came back. "I just wanted to say I never said shit about you ever." He added.

Cameron rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a small smile.

---

It was a weird experience, to say the least. Dalton remained silent through the whole thing, completely focused on the task. He held Richard's hand gently, being careful not to smudge his own nails.

It wasn't a big deal, yet he felt... seen, in a way? It was nice to receive the attention, and to be a part of something with someone.

"Hey, this looks pretty decent!" Charlie stated, impressed at himself as he finished the first hand.

Cameron took a good look at his nails, then at him. He still didn't quite get the appeal. "Sure, they do."

The other hand was a little easier, and there was already some improvement. Charlie brought both Richard's hands closer to his face and softly blew on them to help it dry.

"You know, Gloria told me they start to fade within like a week. So next week, it'll be your turn to paint mine."

That caught him off guard. "This is going to be a recurring thing?"

"If you're not interested, I can just ask Neil or Meeks."

"No, I'll do it," Cameron quickly said, feeling a wave of embarrassment as Charlie smirked victoriously at him.

Dalton closed the bottle and took a small bag from the nightstand. It was full of nail polish in different colors.

"I was thinking black or purple for next time, what do you think?" He suggested, then continued before Richard could give his opinion. "Actually, don't answer. I know it would look great."

"I'll show this to Knox!" He got up suddenly, leaving Cameron alone and quite dumbfounded.

There were a few moments of processing what had happened and Richard laid down, looking at his painted nails. "I'm matching with Charlie Dalton," he thought and found he really didn't mind it, then groaned. "I still have homework to do."

❤️❤️❤️.