#No one listens to me and when they do. all they do is laugh at me

[gutsby]

Father Figure

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while he’s kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.

Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.

Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).

Word count: 19.0k

Freud would’ve had a field day with this shit.

Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parents’ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.

“Would, would, would, and would,” Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path

“That one could get it.” Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: “Look.”

And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazine—as were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your school—you were hungry as fuck. You’d agreed to join your roommate’s family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, you’d sworn off middle-aged men forever.

Aly and her brother didn’t know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.

“Oh, he wanted me bad,” she hissed once safely inside.

“Looks a bit like Rob Lowe,” you offered noncommittally.

“What about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?”

That last fragment of conversation had come from Aly’s brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then he’d wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and you’d had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.

“My dad’s at home with a broken femur, so…no,” you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Aly’s lead as you did, “Probably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.”

You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.

“Yeah? Desperate, too?” he challenged.

“Pathetic, really,” you replied.

For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldn’t deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how he’d boned your mom’s best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistress’s brains out on the reg to this day.

You’d done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.

Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.

“Our parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.” She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.

And you would’ve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a moment—the next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.

Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, ‘Oh, you must be Aly’s roommate!’ and ‘We’re sorry you got stuck with our shithead kid’ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.

You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.

“Dallas, honey, I love you,” the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, “I love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?”

That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Aly’s brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. He’d been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didn’t have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.

“Fuck you guys, I’m hungry,” he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.

Just as fast as he’d picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.

“Not yet,” she chided.

“Why? We’re all here,” Dallas groaned.

“Because,” his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. See?”

With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you would’ve liked as you piped up and told them—assured them all, rather:

“My dad’s not coming. He got a little, uh…hurt at work.”

And you were certain that would be the end of it. You’d just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.

She was staring, silent—totally unlike herself.

Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.

While the last of the three clearly wasn’t an option to use around her parents, you at least would’ve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.

You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.

With a startled gasp and a ‘Christ!’, your eyes widened to find a man who wasn’t your father at all—just his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.

It was a sight you weren’t prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parents’ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldn’t speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.

From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.

Joel’s here.

Joel’s here, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-up.

Joel’s wearing business casual, and he’s walking over.

Who the fuck does this man even think he’s trying to—

“Sorry I’m late,” Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:

“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?”

He kissed the top of your head.

The tone sealed his fate completely.

Joel was pretending to be your father.

This wasn’t his brightest idea.

Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, you’d left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved him—in the middle of climax, but aloud, no less—and the month before that, you’d left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didn’t exist.

Tonight, he wasn’t letting that happen. This weekend, Parents’ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasn’t coming. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since you’d taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt he’d had no choice.

You couldn’t stay closed off like this forever.

Eventually, you’d both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.

Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, he’d get the answers he needed this weekend.

You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.

He’d take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father you’d never asked for. Maybe you’d hate him for it.

As he’d squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldn’t help but hope you might still love him after.

“Scott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.” The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, “So you’re dad?”

“Stepdad, yeah.” Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before he’d made his formal introduction.

Then he’d met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what they’d just been told, but willing to go on anyway.

“Old and pathetic my ass,” Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.

“So glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?”

Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.

“Oh, my— yeah. Just…peachy. Yeah. All healed up.”

He didn’t flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadn’t bothered to hide your frown when he’d referenced the leg he’d never broken. The way you could’ve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fist—you didn’t like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didn’t miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldn’t deny this one was eye-catching.

Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know he’d make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him

“Oh, my, my, oh hell YES—”

The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.

“—honey put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!”

It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasn’t mad to see that happen.

“You a Tom Petty fan?” Scott jerked his chin up to him.

Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:

“I’d say he’s more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.

“Mom, Dad. Please stop,” Aly moaned.

“Seriously.” Dallas’s mouth was full.

And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food he’d just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.

“No, I know it! You’re a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.”

Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadn’t even noticed you’d chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputtering—choking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or something—and he didn’t think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.

“Hey, you OK?”

Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.

“I’m fine,” you answered, tone clipped.

You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, ‘I told you, Michelle.’

“Everybody likes Billy Joel, dad.” Aly rolled her eyes.

And Joel would’ve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinner—how they’d make the very most of Parents’ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldn’t meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadn’t meant to.

It hadn’t been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.

It hadn’t been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.

“Sweetheart—”

You’d filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as he’d said that word, ‘sweetheart,’ you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.

Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.

At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ call me that,” you growled.

Then, shortly: “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Honestly, he didn’t know. He opened his eyes.

And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.

“You’re sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn da—”

“I know. I know,” Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You weren’t happy to see him in the slightest. “I know it’s fucked up. I just…needed to talk to you, hon.”

“About what?!”

He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you weren’t letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, “There’s just so much—”

Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.

“It’s all settled now,” Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, “Pregame at Dallas’. Seven Oaks after. Lucky’s after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if you’re up for it. Afters at A.J.’s, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.”

Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.

Then Aly’s eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.

“You got a little…drinking problem there, Joel?”

He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.

“Oh, uh—”

“Dad’s real smooth with it,” you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didn’t look back, “I’m fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?”

Aly’s grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.

“They wouldn’t miss this bingefest for the world.”

At just the intonation of those words, Joel’s pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.

He really shouldn’t be drinking tonight.

A hundred shots probably wouldn’t have been enough to kill it—this ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.

Joel wanted to talk.

Of course he wanted to talk.

Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.

Because that made a lot of fucking sense.

You’d meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallas’ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.

Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.

You’d enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then you’d wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided you’d just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.

When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, you’d been hesitant to go back. Then, when he’d promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.

“My lady.” He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.

The bottle was half empty. You’d been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.

“Been sayin’ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.” His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.

“You are not General Acacius, brother,” Cory’s teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.

You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called ‘pregame’ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, you’d managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck he’d gotten it from.

“I like to pretend,” Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once you’d taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: “My parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.”

Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.

‘Yessir’ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered off—likely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.

“Gavin.” Dallas’ tone was a warning.

At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.

“Hang on, it looks like this guy, uh…” Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driver’s license. “Looks like he called dibs on next round…Joel Miller.”

Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dude’s the spittin’ fuckin’ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.

Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.

Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.

Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.

Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.

Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadn’t even said it.

When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.

Apparently.

And was he—well shit, were they trying to strip him?

One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joel’s shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the ‘V’ in the fabric. He’d been working up a sweat downstairs.

A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“You are so lying!” she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.

What was worse, you couldn’t even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadn’t it?

Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: “Show ussss!”

Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.

“Real hot commodity with the girls, isn’t he?” It was soft.

She was right.

You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.

“Yup. Real ladies’ man,” you answered quietly. Strained.

“They’re convinced he’s got some ink hidden under his shirt. That’s a creative way to get a man topless if I’ve ever seen one.” Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.

Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at all—but that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldn’t give to him.

Maybe that was for the best.

Joel deserved a woman he didn’t have to love in secret.

“OK, who’s up—Joel or mom and dad?” Dallas asked.

“I’m out. Joel can take my place. And don’t we—”

Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.

“We forgot to grab the other keg, didn’t we?”

“Fuck me.”

“Let’s go.”

They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.

“Who’s gonna be Joel’s partn—”

“ME!”

That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.

They’d dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.

One of them giggled and nudged her friend: “Maya can!”

The girl who’d just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joel’s button up waved her hand in mock indignation.

“I suck at pong. You go, Claire,” she crooned.

It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusing—what with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldn’t possibly play, even though they’d like to, but maybe…

Your skull started ringing again.

You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:

“Sorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.”

Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach could’ve plunged to that floor you’d just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.

Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.

“No, Dallas. I’m not playing again.”

You tried to avoid grinding your molars.

This time, the tone he heard wasn’t one of a thinly veiled acceptance—something begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offer—but instead an emphatic ‘no.’

No way were you playing another game with this man.

Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?

Yeah, but no.

Hard fucking pass.

You didn’t care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.

That should make your old man happy enough.

It wasn’t like he could do anything here with you.

And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldn’t come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you weren’t about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.

A few lines wouldn’t be the worst way to start the night.

Joel wasn’t drunk.

He wasn’t tipsy, either.

And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard she’d jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadn’t been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. He’d claimed that he needed some air.

The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldn’t exactly complain.

He’d asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.

Well. He hadn’t asked for that last thing.

Thirty years ago, he might’ve found it cute—what Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat weren’t yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.

And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?

Would you be back soon?

And why had you taken that kid with you?

Joel’s palms were sweaty by his sides. He didn’t like being kept in the dark—didn’t think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.

Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.

The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.

When he stepped inside, he had to stop.

It was too much to process and walk at once.

For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.

You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something back—probably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around him—and then tilting your head up.

Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.

“What the fuck are you DOING?!” he bellowed out.

The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.

He wasn’t thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike who’d just had his dick down his stepdaughter’s throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He might’ve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him again—and reared back to punch him square in the face.

That blow never landed.

In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyes—wide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.

“JOEL.”

Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.

Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.

“J— Dad. Dad. Stop. Please don’t hit him.”

Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You must’ve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it might’ve been too much for him to control—but of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.

He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.

“How the fuck could you even—” he started again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” you broke in, words sounding like a sob, “It’s not his fault. Really. I— I didn’t mean for you to see.”

Sucking some other guy’s cock. Yeah, of course not.

Joel’s face flared with an anger unlike anything he’d felt in years, and if it weren’t for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he would’ve liked to knock him out.

He might’ve, if the kid hadn’t run out of the room.

If you hadn’t turned slightly, he might’ve yelled again.

And then he saw it, from where you’d pivoted—the toilet.

Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.

He wasn’t sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.

You’d been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.

He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.

When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didn’t feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadn’t been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.

“What the hell was that all about, Joel?!” you snapped.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:

“Sorry, sorry—I mean ‘dad.’ You fucking asshole.”

“And this is why you up and left?” Joel hissed.

“I just—”

“Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“I didn’t—”

“What that could’ve been laced with?”

He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toilet—apparently there hadn’t been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your lines—and at the same time, to Joel’s amazement, you sank to your knees.

“Well, I don’t know, dad, why don’t we test some out?”

And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.

“Don’t,” he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. “Put that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.”

That didn’t seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.

Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.

He shut it.

And when he returned, you hadn’t moved from where you’d been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasn’t recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.

His voice was lower when he spoke again:

“What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.

“You thought—” you started, soft.

“I thought you were in here blowin’ that little shit.”

Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.

“Is that so?”

Joel didn’t have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.

“You and me,” he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, “We’re gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?”

And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but he’d say it.

Soon.

Eventually.

Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.

With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity weren’t all milling about around this house. When he hadn’t almost decked a kid for giving you coke.

When you weren’t shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.

“Will this ‘chat’ come before or after you fuck Maya?”

That was it.

Joel seized hold of your head again—this time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.

Like having your mouth right now.

Taking from you here what he thought he’d almost lost.

The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another man’s crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though he’d known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didn’t care if it felt wrong.

“You know what girls like Maya can do for me?” he said.

He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didn’t let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.

“That’s right,” Joel went on as if you’d just responded, “Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Open your mouth.”

And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.

Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obscene—Joel couldn’t ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.

Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?

Of course it was. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t do that.

But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldn’t resist the smallest impulse to wonder—what if he showed you?

What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldn’t say it outright in words, he could guide you.

Teach you.

Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.

“Damn near gave your old man a stroke, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said softly. Kindly, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.

His hands couldn’t help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.

“And what was that prick’s name?” Joel grumbled.

“Gavin.”

Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.

When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.

Swiftly, Joel’s hand on your head halted the movement.

“Gavin, huh,” he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. “This what you’d do for him?”

You whimpered.

“No, daddy. No, just— just you.”

Joel hummed his approval but didn’t let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. You’d get positive reinforcement.

He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didn’t want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.

The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.

He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.

You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.

“That’s it, honey,” he told you, “Suck on daddy.”

His hips hadn’t meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant ‘o’ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.

You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didn’t need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.

You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.

He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.

You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.”

Feel you deeper, he should’ve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongue—sensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way in—and at the stretch, you gagged a bit.

Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.

“You wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you might’ve guessed there was more to it, but you weren’t exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.

In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joel’s member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.

“Good girl. You’re doin’ so good for daddy,” he praised.

And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.

Joel could’ve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something else—a familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.

You’d just started. He’d barely got an inch down your—

“Fuck,” he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. You’d taken him deep before—at your father’s birthday bash last month, actually—but then you’d been blowing him under a table. He couldn’t hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldn’t see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didn’t slow down.

With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.

Your body below him responded in sharp protest.

‘Daddy, no’ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.

Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.

He couldn’t help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.

And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.

Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldn’t think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didn’t fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.

You hardly had to swallow at all—hardly could swallow, with how deep he’d gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a moment’s hitch of resistance.

Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.

Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didn’t fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.

In between movements against your body, he mumbled:

“I’m sick of missin’ you all the damn time, sweet pea.”

He wasn’t sure where it came from. It just came.

Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as he’d spoken it you.

Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.

Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” you returned in a whisper.

You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.

Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.

He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:

“I wish you could…be here. I wish we didn’t have to…”

Hide.

Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thought—

“We’re leeeeeeeeav—OH! Shit!”

Aly Ingram’s sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. She’d thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joel’s undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.

Or jumped, really.

She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.

“I didn’t see that! I did not seeee—”

“Aly!” you half-hissed, half-groaned.

“I literally didn’t see shit. You’re all g—”

Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because she’d just tripped over a trash can backing out. She’d only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:

“Have fun, be safe! Don’t make babies!!”

Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.

As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.

Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and she’d probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.

But your goal tonight hadn’t been to convince her of a lie—it was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that you’d been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.

Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfather’s jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasn’t a story you’d wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.

Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.

Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar you’d just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing she’d ever heard, and why don’t you write her a How-To? She’d love some tips on boning old men.

“He’s not that old!” you’d protested over your beverage.

She’d bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldn’t deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.

In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that could’ve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your ass—if a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, she’d tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, she’d been keen to see you close…though not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.

“I think you two would make a damn cute couple.”

“Huh?” You had to shout over the music to be heard.

“A cute couple!”

“Come again?”

You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.

“YOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!”

And, as if on cue, Joel and Aly’s father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks they’d left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in this bar—the next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,

“Aly sure likes to stare, doesn’t she?”

Followed shortly by:

“Wanna give her somethin’ to watch?”

He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that could’ve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joel’s face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.

“You ask her yet?!” he bellowed.

He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.

“He’s drunk as shit,” Dallas observed idly.

“Well, what’s he—” you began to say.

Before you’d even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.

“Scott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.”

“He loves planning trips drunk,” Michelle added.

“Like they’re best friends,” Dallas chuckled.

You ignored Aly’s half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead serious—like he’d agreed to this.

Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.

“Is that something you’d wanna do, hon?” he asked.

You might’ve liked to warn him that he was drawing too close—that his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harder—but anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.

Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the ‘70s and ‘80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didn’t give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.

Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldn’t help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.

Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him there—that Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.

It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasn’t too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.

But Joel hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.

You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasn’t the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?

Clearly Joel wasn’t all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after you’d nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.

“And if I made a joke about father-daughter dances—”

“I would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.”

Your backside glanced off his front. It wasn’t so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your direction—

“Joel!”

Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what you’d just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.

Joel’s lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, and the fingers that he’d eased around your waist were turning you back.

Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldn’t be helped—that was what you kept telling yourself, anyway—when your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.

That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didn’t give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.

You were drifting further out. This didn’t matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joel’s, and Joel’s was yours—if only for now.

Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.

No fucking way.

An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.

It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joel’s hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.

You hoped like hell he didn’t know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.

When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you weren’t left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.

Of course he did.

What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking ‘Father Figure’ of all the throwbacks?

Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.

‘For one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.’

Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasn’t, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his body’s movements.

‘Sometimes I think that you’ll never understand me.’

Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.

‘But something tells me together we’d be happy.’

Well…as long as your father didn’t kill him first.

Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.

When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.

‘I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.’

This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You might’ve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.

Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.

Joel’s other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.

“You can’t…”

When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.

As much as you would’ve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.

Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.

You nodded but were quick to add: “Joel, we can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…”

You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joel’s erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenor’s voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didn’t blink when you met his gaze.

Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. You’d strayed far. And now, away from all the people that you’d come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than you’d ever been expecting to find. Joel’s kiss was rough.

It was open and aching—a wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didn’t let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.

You pulled away.

Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.

While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joel’s shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.

What you needed to do was leave. What you couldn’t stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldn’t take to it as kindly as Aly had.

But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.

Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.

On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside should’ve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You could’ve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.

You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as much—and was preparing to object—when you swiftly cut him off again.

It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.

He reached out; you winced. You shouldn’t say it.

“Let’s go home, Joel.”

You were running again.

You’d nearly knocked him to the floor the second he’d turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to see—part of why he’d booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms again—but as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.

You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasn’t the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasn’t what he usually did.

The ache unfurling in his chest wasn’t the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.

Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.

“Joel.”

“You didn’t want me kissin’ you at all back there.”

In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. You’d scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.

Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.

You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.

“Yeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?”

And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didn’t follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.

He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.

Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.

“I said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.”

He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.

Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldn’t.

Joel made sure that you wouldn’t when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.

“Honey,” he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.

You’d almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joel’s grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.

If he could just control himself and play things right…

“Listen, I’m not trying to be your father.”

Wait. No. That came out wrong.

Your eyes widened some.

“Oh, really, daddy?”

Well, shit.

Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was useless—everything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.

He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.

“I love you, you know that, right?” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.

“Christ, Joel.”

You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasn’t happening.

“We’re not doing this again,” you added in a grave voice.

Joel was already making his way up after you—again, like a fucking moron, he felt—crawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.

“‘S’alright if you don’t wanna say it back, I just—”

“I didn’t mean to say it in the first place, Joel!”

But there was a strain in your words. Denial.

You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didn’t stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.

He was hovering, almost.

Just as he’d been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk town—at Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge, where you’d been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that night—he pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.

It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.

As if you couldn’t stand to be under him, you slid back.

“Joel, please…don’t,” you murmured hoarsely.

“Don’t what?” His stomach dropped.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

That he loved you?

Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.

This was what he’d come this whole way to tell you.

The man could handle rejection; that wasn’t the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasn’t all hurt—it was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.

He didn’t reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.

“Why won’t you believe me?” This time pleading.

“It’s not that I won’t—I just can’t, Joel. I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasn’t meant to be directed at you—it was only meant for himself, why wasn’t he enough—and he spit the words like venom.

“Haven’t I shown you that I mean it? That I— I— I care? I’m here. I came to see you. I’m telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you won’t let me in an inch, except when—”

“Except when you’re seven deep in me?” you scoffed.

It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.

“For Christ’s sake,” Joel gritted through his teeth.

He didn’t even wait for you to interject, as he came back: “Is that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?”

His voice was loud, and he hadn’t meant for it to be.

He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.

“I just think it’s real convenient,” you snapped again, “Betraying my trust by not telling me about dad’s affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you don’t have to deal with this…this…guilt.”

Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I did all of this out of pity?”

“I think you’re trying to be a—”

“That I would lie about it?”

His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.

“Joel, I—”

“No.” He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for ‘hot-headed, explosively angry father,’ but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.

“I have—” he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.

His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.

“I have been in love with you this whole fuckin’ time!”

His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldn’t contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.

He couldn’t stand the way you wouldn’t believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You don’t mean—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!”

He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.

“I do. I can. You’re— you’re full of shit.”

Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.

“Am I?!” he bellowed.

“Yes!” you spat.

“How can you say that?!”

And, without meaning to, Joel’s knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from him—“You—you don’t mean it, Joel.”

“I do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.”

That sound from his chest could’ve been half a sob.

He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joel’s stopped.

He couldn’t see it without a wince—your hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.

His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.

“You can’t…you can’t mean it if I’m just a secret to you.” Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, “You can’t say you love me if…if you’re just gonna leave.”

By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.

Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for it—could see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tears—but no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.

The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:

“You’re gonna leave me, Joel.”

The hurt wouldn’t stop.

“You don’t love me.”

Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.

“You can’t.”

In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasn’t all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before he’d ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.

Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bare—that you didn’t deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.

“No, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ain’t leavin’.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.

He already knew you wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t stop him from saying the words all the same.

“I— I said it first,” he went on, words tumbling out.

You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.

“At the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.”

That was the truth.

If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.

“I already knew I loved you before that. I would’ve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all that…that stuff I knew.”

He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasn’t right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadn’t wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.

That didn’t excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.

Knowing you’d trusted him not to hurt you—and he had.

If you didn’t accept what he told you now, he wouldn’t fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.

Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:

“Baby.”

You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.

“Sweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.”

A beat.

“I’m not leavin’. I want more—need more.”

And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than he’d even thought possible. He wasn’t good at this.

He wasn’t quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feeling—that of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.

You sniffled between his two broad palms.

“I want you to stay,” you said softly.

Joel’s heart hammered at that.

He couldn’t hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, he’d already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.

He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it out—the thing he’d wanted to show you.

When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what he’d lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.

Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didn’t seem keen to judge.

“They’re…they’re tickets,” he started. Stupid.

You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:

“Billy Joel’s got a show comin’ up in Austin this June. I…I thought— well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we could…”

Spit it out, Miller.

Spit. It. Out.

He frowned.

“I’m no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to go…together.”

And then…

“And I want your dad to know about us before then.”

There it is.

The last lynchpin in the man’s resolve was gone. He’d said it. There was no turning back from what he’d offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.

Terrifying.

Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you might’ve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you weren’t quite sure how to answer.

Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhale—Or was it an exhale? He couldn’t tell—and before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.

You’d moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.

Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didn’t think you’d ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.

It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.

“You…you want to?” Your voice was tiny against him.

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” Joel answered in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, “Of course I do.”

Then, because the impulse struck again: “I love you.”

He didn’t need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.

And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didn’t protest. He kissed you back. Joel didn’t have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when you’d stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.

Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadn’t had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldn’t have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.

“I love you.”

It slipped out again, and Joel didn’t care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.

While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last he’d seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if he’d had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasn’t enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.

You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beat—your sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest bite—and then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.

There was no other logical route for him to go.

You’d just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.

“I love you,” he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.

Your grip grew tighter.

“Joel, please.”

His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.

Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.

Don’t get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots of—

“Joel,” you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. “Come— come here.”

He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.

“Yeah? Every—” To the side of your mouth. “Everything OK, sweet pea?” Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. “Too fast?” Another to your cheek.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a reset—had to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.

He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.

Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.

Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.

“Here,” you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. “Stay here, please.”

It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea

Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didn’t need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.

Dry humping.

Whining at the friction.

“Feels…feels so good, Joel,” you told him breathlessly.

“You like that?” His lower half mimicked the motions.

Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meant—a thrust, like he was fucking you into the bed—shook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.

You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as if—

You were already expecting this to end.

You didn’t think that he would stay.

“Baby,” Joel panted again.

By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.

Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.

Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.

Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.

“Joel,” you panted back.

Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.

His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.

He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.

Then you kissed him.

Joel’s lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.

Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.

He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speak—to reassure you that he wasn’t leaving.

“Joel—”

“I know, I know. Baby, I—fuck.” His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.

With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty ‘O’s, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:

“I love you, Joel.”

It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.

One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.

“I— I love you. I love you so much,” you murmured, low.

His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldn’t stop it.

Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants since…he couldn’t remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.

His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietly—‘I love you, too.’

Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.

Seconds stretched; he didn’t feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.

As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. He’d jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadn’t been doing either when he came; you’d told him you loved him, and that was enough.

Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.

Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.

He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he could’ve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. He’d cum an absurd amount.

Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.

“Joel?”

Your voice was soft. Sometime since he’d unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, you’d appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.

You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.

If Joel didn’t know you better, and he wasn’t already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he might’ve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.

It wasn’t like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.

He flinched when you reached out instead.

Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twice—gently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him wince—and then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.

When you peered up at him, Joel couldn’t find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.

“It’ll be easier if we wash it off in there.”

You nodded to the shower behind him.

Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.

“Alright,” he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, “That’s fine.”

He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.

Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit in here.”

Then, as though to emphasize his point:

“I can wash off by myself. It’s…fine.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.

Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.

“Just get in, Miller. Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off.”

And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.

Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grin—‘You do know I’ve seen you naked before, right?’—and that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.

“So you remember that I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadn’t seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.

You’d seen him hard, soft, and everything in between—mostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.

That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.

“Looks like your old man’s stamina has taken a hit, too.”

Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.

He might’ve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughts—and his breath—out of his body.

Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.

Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.

He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.

“Baby,” Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.

“My old man,” you repeated affectionately.

It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time he’d been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurt—and not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.

His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.

His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.

“You alright with this?” he muttered.

“With what?” you mumbled back.

Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.

“My body ain’t what it was—”

“And it’s more than enough.”

Suddenly, your eyes weren’t just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.

You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel should’ve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.

“You could have your pick of any guy—”

“Good thing I only want you.”

Your grip tightened too. Now that you’d scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.

“That so?” His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.

Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the shower’s spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.

You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.

“I— I mean it, Joel,” you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. “I want you.”

Joel’s hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.

And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.

“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmured.

In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.

“Right…here.”

“Right here?”

Joel hadn’t meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:

“You want daddy in here, pretty girl?”

Your whine was all he needed to hear.

And perhaps it would’ve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.

In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasn’t swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around him—how rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.

“Sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “Easy. Easy.”

You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.

The pretty, slick ‘o’ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your body’s wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.

Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.

It wasn’t working.

You were just so. fucking. tight.

“I— you gotta slow down, sweet pea,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.

“But I need you, daddy,” you whined, “Need you inside.”

Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.

“I’m gonna blow if we don’t slow down some, honey.”

It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldn’t seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.

Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.

“That’s OK. You…you can— oh.”

Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.

Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.

“I can what, honey? What can daddy do?”

Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.

Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.

Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.

Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.

“Daddy, I— I want you to cum inside me.”

Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in place—so taken aback by what you’d just said—but then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.

“Oh, honey…”

“Please.”

He’d finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?

“I’m about to start my period. It’ll be fine.”

The half-starved look in your eyes said you’d been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.

Joel’s good sense was shot. He knew it was wrong. He was assured beyond a shadow of a doubt that if your dad ever learned he’d deliberately painted your insides white—or worse yet, knocked you up—his best friend would personally sever his dick and sauté it for lunch. Still, the urge to be joined with you in this brand new way was damn near debilitating. He couldn’t tell you no. So instead of doing what he should’ve done, he simply said:

“OK.”

For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.

His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.

“‘M’so full. Feels so, so good, daddy,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. “I fit so nice, don’t I, baby?”

“You— you do, daddy. You do.”

“Can I fit a little more in?”

Your eyes widened.

As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besides—at just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.

Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.

Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: “I’m yours, baby. I’m all yours.”

His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.

The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.

With you underneath him, in his arms, it didn’t matter.

“I love you, Joel,” you whispered again, smiling.

He grinned and kissed you, “I love you more.”

And he’d meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, he’d spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didn’t care how long it would take to prove it.

For once, he didn’t care what your dad would have to say

[sugarwarachan]

addicted to you

summary: Kirishima Eijiro's pretty positive he’s going to hell. You can’t listen to your buddy’s girlfriend cum that many times and not be on a one-way ticket to the fiery pits of doom. When he's at the end of his rope, one night might change the dynamic of his relationship with you. pairing: bakugou x reader x kirishima wc: 1.6k content warnings: smut mdni, threesome dynamics, fem!reader, dirty talk, degradation, voyeurism, oral, m!receiving, kirishima's raging size kink

Plap plap plap -

"Oh god, Kats..."

It should be fucking illegal for walls to be this thin, Kirishima thinks, staring up at his ceiling, willing his dick to soften. This is the fifth night in a row that he’s heard your guts getting rearranged by his best friend, and it’s starting to take a toll on the pro hero.

“Yeah, baby? Too much for ya?”

A soft groan emits from Kirishima’s throat at the high-pitched whine you make in response.

It’s not gentlemanly of him at all, but he pictures how gorgeous your face must look right now, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled up in your head—

"Not enough," he hears you shoot back.

He slams the pillow over his face and rolls onto his belly, rutting his dick across the mattress in one long drag.

Fuck.

When he first heard you two have sex, he really tried to do the respectable thing and not listen, he swears. When noise-canceling headphones didn't cut it, he went on long walks the minute you and Bakugou disappeared behind closed doors. It’s made for some very awkward late-night convenience store runs.

He lifts the pillow from his face. No noises sound from next door. He sighs. Time to address the raging cockstand in his pants, then.

The fantasy he conjures is familiar, well-worn. He starts in the middle this time, at the part where you’re already gagging on his dick, eyes welling with tears as be bullies his cock down your throat.

Kirishima grabs the lube from his nightstand and coats his palm. His hips buck into his hand as he works himself up and down, idly wondering how much of him you'd be able to take. He hates it, but the thought of your face scrunching up as you struggle to fit him all the way in shreds his sanity to ribbons.

"Kiri?" your voice sounds through the door while his hand is mid-stroke on his cock.

It’s like he summoned you.

"Yeah?" Even that minor syllable sounds like he’s fucking drugged.

"Can I come in please?"

His eyes bug out of his head. Are you fucking serious?

"Just a minute!" he shouts, shucking up his sweatpants and toweling off the mess between his thighs.

He hears Bakugou’s voice next. "Just let us in, idiot, she’s gotta ask you something."

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit—

He’s gonna die tonight. You’re probably outside thinking he’s a digusting pervert, in here fucking jerking off to you—what was he thinking?

Apparently not even the panic can make his dick cooperate though. He tucks it into the waistband of his pants and prays for a swift end.

When he opens the door, he expects to dodge a punch. But you’re standing there in a see-through red teddy, and all semblance of thought goes out the window.

“Did you finally hear me this time, Kiri?”

Huh?

He’s pretty sure he just splutters. Bakugou barks out a laugh behind you. "Told you this dummy was in denial, pretty girl."

His brain stumbles. "You wanted me to hear?"

You let out a husky giggle that goes straight to his groin. If possible, he gets harder.

"I like how you watch me, Kiri," you admit, eyes darting to his lips. His mouth goes dry. "I keep thinking about how you’d touch me."

He balls his hands into fists at his side to keep from hauling you onto his bed. "This is something you two have talked about?"

Bakugou has the audacity to look annoyed. "Doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure it out. You’re always starin’ at her. Besides," he runs a hand straight down your back; you shiver and lean back into him. "Can’t deny this sweet thing much."

The good thing about being a pro hero is that you learn to adapt to situations quickly. Kirishima's brain is spinning with this new information, but he’s reacting before he realizes it, hand reaching out for your waist.

Your nipples tighten—he wants his tongue on them, sucking through the lace. He looks to Bakugou, but the man’s just sauntering into the room, settling into the desk chair with his legs kicked out, gray sweatpants tented.

“Go on, then.” He palms his cock. “Make her feel good like you’ve been wanting.”

Kirishima doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks you up and arranges you both on the bed, your thighs draped over his hips. You’re soaking wet; he can feel the slick dripping from your pussy fall on his stomach.

He’s so hard it hurts.

You’re not much better off, whimpering and rutting in his lap like a bitch in heat.

"Touch me, Kiri, please," you say, nosing at his neck and sucking on his pulse point. "Need your big hands on me."

God, you even beg cute.

His hands span up your back, pressing your tits into his chest and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You groan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Wild little thing, aren’t you, baby?" Kirishima chuckles when you glare at him. "No judgment here, I fucking love it. Been listenin' to you long enough to have an idea of how you like it."

He looks over at Bakugou. "You just gonna watch?"

"Gotta make sure you do it right, Shitty-hair," he grits out, fist moving up and down. “Ya already need me to step in?”

Kirishima laughs under his breath. "Fuck you too, asshole." He cradles your face in one hand, tilting your lips up to his. "Come here, princess, let me see how hard I can make you cum, huh? Harder than he does?"

One breath against your clit and you’d probably scream for him right now. He can't help but puff out his chest a little at the thought.

Clothing comes off in a flurry. Every inch of skin exposed is a fucking godsend, more for him to touch, to caress.

When his cock bobs in between your bodies, he swears your mouth goes slack.

"Oh, Kiri," you breathe out, wrapping your hands around him. "You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty dick.” He chokes and rolls his hips into your fist. "You’re big, too. I don’t know if you’ll fit all the way."

He grunts. "Fuck baby, you can’t say shit like that to me, drives me fuckin’ crazy—"

The smile you give him is sinful. "I know." You shut him up by undulating your hips, sliding your pussy folds along the head of his cock.

"She's a little brat, Kiri, don't be afraid to put her in her place," Kirishima hears Bakugou say in the background. His voice is strained, husky. Both of you moan at the sound.

"Is that right, princess?" He nips at your mouth. "You think I'll give you whatever you want?"

You nod, the sweetest whine falling from your lips as he starts to inch his dick inside your quivering hole. You're so tight it's like your pussy can't decide if it wants to suck him in or spit it out.

"Stay fucking still," he growls, hold fast and hard on your hips. You squeal at his tone, gasping as he stretches you open, working the tip in and out.

Your hands scrabble at the sheets, his forearms, anything. He just holds you in place as your cunt gets sloppier and sloppier, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

"Kiri please just fuck me. Please, I've been thinking about it for weeks now—"

Bakugou kneels on the side of the mattress.

"You're mouthy tonight, baby. All because you're showing off for him?" He taps the side of your mouth. "Let's put that mouth to better use, yeah?"

If Kirishima wasn't about to bust his load, he sure as fuck is now, watching you greedily suck his best friend's dick as he works his into your sopping wet core.

When he finally bottoms out, the sound you make is pornographic, throat stuffed up with dick, humming out your pleasure...

"God that's so fucking hot, baby, look at you." He sets a rough, steady pace. Your tits bounce as your throat works to take Bakugou. Drool trickles down your chin; he wipes it away and squeezes your neck. It's driving him crazy, watching your tongue and lips work in tandem. "Takin' dick so well, there's a good girl."

Bakugou has a tight grip on the headboard, veins straining in his neck.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm close. Pinch her clit, Eiji, that'll make her cum quick. Get her there for me, let me see her fuckin' scream."

Kirishima rolls your bud between his fingers, and sure enough, your pussy starts clamping down on him. His rhythm gets erractic, wild. All he can think about is the sticky wet rush of slick between your legs, your channel milking his cock like you'd been waiting for weeks for it—

Bakugou slides out of your mouth with an obscene pop, spitting into his palm. "Dirty little slut, love getting used, don't ya?"

Kirishima keeps working your clit, dick jumping inside you. "There's our pretty girl, doing so well. Where do you want me to cum, honey? Can I cum here?"

He presses down on your tummy and pinches your clit at the same time. Slick gushes out of you.

"Cum in her, Kiri," he hears Bakugou bark out, hand speeding up. "I'll clean it up later, just wanna see you both cum with your dick in her."

It's embarassing, but that's really all he needs to hear before he's coming the hardest he ever has, cock twitching and pumping seed into you as Bakugou spends onto your tits.

Your own orgasm takes you over, bowing your back off the bed, mouth hanging open as incoherent babble falls from your lips. Kirishima fucks you through it, each small tremor of your subsequent orgasms like jolts of lightning.

He's pretty sure he knows the answer when he asks, "We get to do that again, right?"

You look at Bakugou, who just smirks. "Won't get rid of us that easily."

taglist: @luleck, @yesshayhere @grim-reapers-wife @dai-png @burgvndy

[chastiefoul]

waking them up with kisses

ft. nanami, gojo, sukuna, toji short, fluff, light-hearted. honestly such a word-vomit, written while i was half asleep. but hey hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! slightly suggestive on gojo

nanami

there’s a slight smile on his face by the third time your lips made contact with his skin, yet he showed no of being awake to you, who’s still oblivious to his subtle change of expression as you kept peppering soft kisses across his cheekbone. finally a low chuckle escaped him, he just couldn’t help it. “good morning to you too, my love,” he muttered, pulling you who’s still in his arms closer. the warmth of your body as he embraced you sent an unexplainable ticklish feeling to his stomach.

“seriously, it took so many kisses to wake you up,” you said lightly, brushing the strand of his blond hair. such a weird sensation, to be this giddy right after you woke up, but it’s one nanami welcomed so openly. “hmm, i might need even more to be fully awake,” he replied with a teasing smile, closing his eyes. you felt his leg tangling with yours, there wasn’t a part of his body that wasn’t touching yours. like a cat snuggling for warmth.

your hand couldn’t keep itself still, moving from his hair to his cheek. running along your thumb gently across his lashes, and the man suddenly fluttered them open. there wasn’t anything except love as he gazed at you so softly, grabbing your hand as he planted a kiss on your palm. all of it just felt so right, and you couldn’t help but wish that time ticked slower in small moments like this.

gojo

a big grin made its way to his face almost immediately when you started showering the man with kisses. his hair messy from sleep as he lied down, surrendering himself to your attacks; he laughed genuinely, the beautiful sound made you more determined. the mere expression of him being that happy brought you the same if not more amount of joy.

when you finally pulled away there’s a satisfied smile on his face as he opened his eyes. “best morning ever,” he said, pulling you close to his chest, forcing you to rest your head there as you listened to his steady heartbeat. “that’s what you said last time too when i woke you up with a head,” you bantered, there’s a lightness in your chest. he chuckled once more.

“well every morning i start by seeing your face is the best one baby, couldn’t help it,” he muttered, very lightly pinching your cheek as he said this. he then raised your chin with a finger, making you look up at him as he kissed your lips sweetly, moving slowly at the beat of his own drums as he pecked the outer corner of your mouth, and then your cheek. and then there’s just pure mischief on his eyes.

“my turn now!”

sukuna

sukuna indulged himself in a few more of your gentle touches on his face, the softness of it almost made him felt like he was out of place. yet he couldn’t help it, savoring each of your kiss as to making sure he won’t get used to it. finding wonders to every of your move as he cherished it so.

“i’m awake,” he mumbled, thinking it’ll stop you from doing it. but when your response was just to give you more of it he couldn’t help but blinked awake; the sight of you smiling down at him almost made his heart burst. “morning!” you said sweetly, resting the palm of your hand on his bare chest.

“i’m already exhausted looking at your energized-self on the first light of the day,” he claimed, covering your hand with his. “well, we have a date today, of course i’m excited,” you said, the exuberance was apparent on your voice. sukuna looked like he was thinking for a moment before making you lie back down on his arms.

“let me sleep a little longer, then we will do whatever it is that  you want.”

toji

“what’s got you so chirpy, hm?” he had an lazy smile on his face, eyes still closing. his calm expression betraying the giddy feeling in his chest; you were so fucking cute, what’s a man supposed to do? once again you planted a kiss on his lips, right on his scar. there it was again, the damn itch on his chest he couldn’t scratch.

“nothing, just happy,” you replied, drawing random patterns on his chest. “yeah?” he brought you closer with the hand that’s still wrapped around your waist. you nodded happily, snuggling closer to his neck.

toji thought words such as forever or eternity was bullshit until that moment, until he's got you tightly in his hold; all safe and cozy without a care in the world. yet in that split second he wanted it to be true. y’know, just to humor him a little.

“if i didn’t know any better i woulda thought you won a lottery or something.”

but it would be wrong. since he already won it when he met you.

[ssahotchnerr]

reader helping aaron relax and make out session in the hot tub!!!!!!

hot and heavy

😵‍💫❤️‍🔥🦋!!!! cw; fem!reader, established relationship, playful teasing, a lot of heated kissing, very suggestive content, partial nudity 🫢 wc; 1.2k nsfw - mdni

It didn't take long during your conversation with Aaron for it to become clear that the case he'd just finished had been awful.

You could hear the stress in his voice, the kind that only came from days filled with long hours, endless frustration, a sad ending. There was a tightness in his words, a strain that made it clear just how much he needed to let go and turn his brain off for a while.

And so, once you hung up, you quickly devised a plan to relieve some of those tensions upon his arrival home. Or rather, a nice surprise to return to.

You strategically selected his favorite robe of yours - a short silk one that nearly floated atop your skin - and a bathing suit that barely covered up what it was made to.

You were in the middle of tying up your hair when the familiar sounds of his arrival home echoed up the stairs and into your bedroom. He called out -

"Sweetheart?"

His gaze lifted at the sight of your approach, you having rushed downstairs to greet him. He was in the middle of getting settled when he caught sight of you and froze.

He was far from subtle, letting his gaze linger over you for a moment, breath catching in his throat. Hesitantly with transparent amusement, he asked, "What're you up to?"

"Heading for the hot tub," you answered nonchalantly, making your way to the door that led to the backyard. "Thought it'd do you good to relax. Go get changed, I'll meet you out there."

As if he needed any further persuading, you turned towards the door, cleverly dropping your robe and heading out. A clear indication you'd make it worth his while.

The message was well received. You felt his intense gaze follow your form, not leaving until you were completely out of view.

The steam was curling up at the surface, illuminated by the blue-toned lighting underneath. You got in, enjoying the instant warmth of the water enveloping you, the night air chilled in juxtaposition. You slouched a bit deeper, the water pooling atop your shoulders.

You weren't alone for long; you opened your eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, Aaron joining you in record time.

"C'mon, get in." You pushed your forearms back to lift yourself out of the tub, sitting on the edge with your feet remaining inside. You also indulged yourself, checking him out also. His torso, the veins protruding in his forearms, his muscles openly flexing as he moved about.

He gave you an almost offended look. "And you're getting out?"

"Just hush and listen to me," you ordered lightly, playfully glaring your eyes at him.

He obeyed, getting in. You gestured for him to come near; he sat with his back to you, situated between your legs.

After ensuring he was comfortable, you started working at his shoulders. Really pressing your fingers into his skin, kneading at the lingering tension. It immediately caused a groan to leave his parted lips.

"Feel good?"

He nodded, his head falling back in satisfaction, practically involuntary.

"God honey," you sighed, referencing the case, the one that had achingly kept him away from you for a week. Your eyebrows drew into a troubled line at his stiff muscles. "That bad?"

"Mhm," he mumbled, his eyes closed as he leaned back into your touch. "Amongst other things. Needed you."

You laughed softly, leaning forward to press your lips behind his ear. The touch lingered for a moment before you whispered, "Well, good thing I'm here now."

You continued to massage his shoulders, paying attention to the areas that held the most rigid of his knots. You worked slowly, easing the pressure with gentle, circular motions. You prolonged each squeeze, each touch, hoping it would relax him while simultaneously rile him up in all the right ways. Long intimate contact such as this, after not seeing each other, easily comparable to foreplay.

And it was working. After a minute or two, he turned around, eyes locking onto yours. You raised an eyebrow, biting down onto your lip to hide your smirk. The glint in your eyes, however, certainly noticeable.

Aaron reached for you, using one arm to pull you down and onto his lap. He shifted to the side of the tub, allowing his back to be against it this time.

You looked at him, questionably yet innocently, awaiting his next move.

"You want to help me relax, don't you?" His voice was low, eyes dark with a small smile tugging at his lips.

You hummed in confirmation, quickly tracing a finger along the stubble producing at his jaw, unshaven for a day or two. Brushing away a lone water droplet that had come from the bubbling surrounding the two of you, you added, "I'll do anything."

He leaned in and kissed you, hard. Although expected, a surprised squeak still left you. Your arms found home around his neck and you pressed your front firmly to his, ever so subtly grinding into him as you forced yourself closer. You needed to be as close as you could manage.

His lips moved against yours in practiced yet feverish ease, with both the equal amounts of gentle and rough. He held onto your waist tightly, his fingertips digging into your skin, forceful enough to leave an imprint.

Your hands were soon all over him. To the nape of his neck, back to his shoulders, his broad chest. Indulging in the way his toned, strong muscles felt. Aaron's breath picked up, heavy into your mouth.

You knew each and every one of Aaron's scars. Location, how they felt, size. Your fingertips landed on a newfound, raised line, alerting you out from the haze you had entered.

"This is new," you stated against his lips, pulling away with a swollen pair of your own. Despite the darkness, you could see the red scrape, identifying its freshness. Panting, you manage to say, "It got physical?"

"It's fine. Nothing really. Something we can worry about later." He readjusted you on his lap, against the ongoing currents - again driving you further into him as his lips transferred to your neck.

His plan was to switch the topic, and he was doing a fantastic job. You turned to putty within a second, especially when his lips traveled down to your chest.

Your head fell back to give him more space to work, he sucked bruises into your skin. He took his time, wanting them to be as distinguished and dark as they could - you were his.

You frantically clutched his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. There was no feeling like kissing Aaron. It was exhilarating. You had to remind yourself you were grounded and not floating amongst the clouds.

Desperate sounds were leaving the back of Aaron's throat, hard under you, and they were driving you wild. Your body was practically shaking with need, and an uncomfortable layer of sweat was building on your skin. Hot from both the temperature of the tub and from the heated exchange. You obviously chose to ignore it.

His fingers expertly found the string holding your top, fumbling a moment before tugging it loose.

"Aaron," you laughed with a touch of warning in your voice, peering over your shoulders as your top dipped. No need to give the neighbors a show if you could help it.

"What?" He chuckled darkly, his breath fanning hot. He pried the wet top off you, discarding it onto the floor as your hands dove underneath the water to his waistband. "No one can see. Besides, we have high fences for a reason."

[nanenna]

Warning: Bodily mutilation, body horror, vivisection, medical torture, scientific torture, suicidal ideation, dead dove do not eat. (Does this count as body horror? I'm a little shaky on what exactly that means. And the suicidal ideation is only just hinted at.)

Hey! I just found out I can customize some emojis. Not sure if that's just a chrome thing (I know, but eh) or what. Check this out!

👨‍👨🏻‍👧🏻‍👦🏻

-----

Thankfully there were others to keep Danny distracted while Kon sat out in the dirt, quietly explaining everything to Clark. Even more thankfully Clark had the good sense to just sit there with him and listen, let Kon explain everything in his own piecemeal way, then just sit there in silence because there really wasn’t any comfort to give. Danny needed help, they were already working on a way to get it to him, the only thing to do right now was to just… help distract him from the horrors his mind was already distancing itself from.

The next day, when Diana and Constantine showed up with all his supernatural supplies, Kon had a chance to explain to them what he’d discovered the night before. This time much more coherently than he’d managed to Clark. He’d helped move what little furniture was in the room out of the way, then left them to it.

He didn’t see Danny that evening.

Kon was a little worried, Danny’s appearances had only been getting more often, not less. But it was also still spotty, so he wasn’t going to worry about it yet.

“Guess three days in a row is a bit much,” Constantine said, about to flick away his spent cigarette when Kon held out an empty tin can.

“Perhaps it is a sign that his captors give him some rest after such… drastic measures,” Diana theorized.

That didn’t make Kon feel any better, if Danny was only here when he was at his worst and his appearances were happening more often… Kon didn’t want to think about it. Still, they couldn’t do anything until Danny showed up again.

When Danny didn't show up the next day either he really started to worry. What if he was showing up somewhere else? What if he never showed up again? What if that was the last time Kon ever saw Danny and he'll never know why?

It was such a relief when he did spot Danny the day after that, that Kon nearly collapsed. Danny was laid out in the grass of a meadow just past the property line, looking up into the sky like he was stargazing. Kon looked up to see clouds slowly meandering across the sky like a small herd of sheep. Kon quickly let the others know before floating down to greet Danny.

“Cloud watching?”

“That one's shaped like a train.” Danny pointed up.

Kon tilted his head and squinted, “I guess I can kinda see it.”

Kon lay in the grass next to Danny, the two taking turns as they pointed out various shapes in the clouds. The late afternoon light was already fading, it wouldn't be long before the sun set.

Tim let him know they'd all arrived.

Kon stood up and brushed down his pants. “Wanna come inside? Ma and Pa missed you.”

Danny gave one of his indulgent smiles. “Sure.”

Together they went back to the house, finding everyone in their full gear. Kon started making introductions. “These are my friends! This is Bart, also known as Impulse.”

Danny seemed slightly confused, “The way I'm also Phantom?”

Kon looked to his friends, who all just looked back. “Yeah, the way you're also Phantom.” So Danny was also a hero, did that mean he had powers? Was this his arch nemesis?

“I'm Red Robin, you can just call me Red for short.”

Danny scoffed, amused, “I already call Red Huntress that, bird boy.”

Tim just laughed. Everyone else went around, introducing themselves. Danny wrinkled his nose at Constantine, but didn't comment.

Then the whole group went upstairs to the spare room where Constantine's circles and supplies had been left. “... to track you down we're just gonna need you to stand in this circle,” Constantine was saying.

Danny stopped and turned to give a mildly accusatory look to Kon. “Nocturn, I don't appreciate this.”

“What?” Kon asked, confused.

“Making a bunch of comic book super heroes to come rescue me. Trying to give me hope. I don't need it, I don't want it.”

Kon had no idea how to respond to that.

Danny's form flickered as his voice rose. “No one's coming for me. I heard the gunshots, I know my family's dead. Sam and Tucker would've come for me by now if they could, so either they can't or they tried and died too. Same for Dani, Dan, and Vlad, but they were probably captured. I know Dani was, she was with us when… when I…” Tears were streaming down Danny’s face only to leave frozen tracks.

“Danny, Danny I'm not Nocturn. I don't know who those people are or what happened to you.”

“Bullshit, I know I'm dreaming.”

“You are,” Kon agreed. “But I'm not, the rest of us aren't. You're Astral projecting right now.”

“Outta the way, ya git.” Constantine shoved Kon out of the way, and Kon obligingly moved, glad one of the adultier adults was taking over. “He's not Nocturn, yeah, none of us are. But Nocturn set up this dream for you, right? A fun, safe little place where you can do whatever you want. Even if it's not real, don't you wanna rescue your friends?”

Danny sniffled, “Not even Vlad deserves this.”

“Not even Vlad deserves this,” Constantine agreed solemnly. “If we're rescuing more people, guess we'll need more help.” He gave the rest of them a firm look.

“Clark, Kara, we need more hands,” Kon said.

Diana was tapping away at her comm.

Clark and Kara arrived quickly, already in their full costumes. Kon stepped out to go change out of his cities. By the time he got back Captain Marvel and Zatanna Zatara had also arrived.

“Alright,” Constantine said, “this spell should take us right to Danny, but after that we're gonna need to search the rest of wherever for any other uh… people who need rescuing.”

Kon couldn't blame him, no one liked being called a victim.

“Now Danny, if you could just stand in this circle…” 

Danny huffed, but did as he was asked. Constantine lit some candles that had already been placed around the circle then mumbled out some kind of chant.

A magic portal opened in the center of the circle attached to Danny's.

“Alright, everyone through.” Constantine led the way, walking confidently into the portal. Everyone else filed through.

Kon stayed behind. “You don't have to come if you don't want to.”

Danny looked confused, “Isn't this whole thing supposed to be for me?”

“Kinda.” Kon had an epiphany. “You sure this isn't a shared dream?”

Danny frowned in thought, “Sam and I had the same dream when he was trying to take over the world, wouldn't it have been easier to put us in the same dream if he could?”

“If he was trying to take over the world, it's better to not have you two wake each other up, right? He kept you separate so he could tweak the dream. Here we can distract each other.”

Danny nodded as his face smoothed out to nothingness. “Yeah, that makes sense. This is a shared dream.”

“Go on down and hang out with Ma and Pa, I'm gonna go play out my big hero fantasy for a bit.”

Danny smirked, “Okay. Have fun storming the castle!” He turned and started floating away.

Kon went through the portal. On the other side the room he found himself in was quite cramped despite only having Tim, Clark, and a few scientists being tied up in the corner. A good portion of the room was taken up by a large, steel table. And the tiny person laying on it, Diana leaned over and removing something from his head.

Kon was going to be sick.

It was Danny, he had to be. His hair was dark and shorn close to the scalp, like they couldn't be bothered with taking care of it. His chest was splayed open. His face was splayed open! He was also missing all of his limbs: right arm just below the shoulder, left at the elbow, both legs shortly below his body, just far enough for a tourniquet. The edges seemed to be rotting, except for the right arm, which looked raw and freshly cut.

“Kon, go help look for the others,” Diana said softly as she started gently trying to put Danny’s face back together.

Kon did as she ordered, following the trail of destruction the others were already leaving. A few rooms down and he found Marvel in an identical room leaning over a nearly identical Danny, gently pulling the skin back over this Danny’s beating heart.

Clark had joined him, gently pulling him from the room's doorway. “Red will be here soon to look him over, he's helping Diana with Danny right now. Let's go check on the others.”

Kon swallowed. “Right.”

He let himself be guided away. There was the sound of fighting nearby, they hurried to join in. What were clearly agents in all white business suits wielding shiny silver guns clearly weren't prepared for Kryptonians and Amazons were quickly being tied up.

“You ecto scum are going to pay for this!”

“You're daft if you think we're ecto whatever, your little toys didn't even scratch us,” Constantine said from the sidelines.

“I found another,” Bart called from a couple doors down.

Kon took a deep breath.

“You don't have to look,” Clark said.

“I know.” Kon went up to the doorway and looked in to find Bart gently taking something off another Danny’s head. This time he finally got a good look while it was on, some kind of strap that went under the chin and over the top of the head.

A muzzle.

A simple muzzle that kept the mouth closed while these absolute maniacs flayed these children's faces open.

“I used to have nightmares about stuff like this,” Clark said from just behind Kon. “That someone would find out I was an alien and take me away to some facility to cut me open and figure out how I work. And it would all be legal because I wasn't human.”

Kon finally turned to look at Clark. “You think that's what this is?”

“John said Danny probably isn't human, right? That not everything from Earth is human.”

Kon just nodded. Danny and his family(?) were probably fairies or something.

“Kal,” Kara called.

“C'mon, let's go help put an end to this nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Kon said and followed Clark.

DP x DC Prompt/Plotbunny #6

After days? weeks? months? years? in this mercy-forsaken lab, Danny finds himself slipping; his core straining under the weight of what he's been subjected to. In a last ditch effort to save his fracturing soul, his brain simply stops processing the pain and allows his mind to escape into a waking dream.

Danny knows it's a dream. If he thinks about it; he can still hear, see, feel the scientists at work. He doesn't think about it; instead embraces whatever false world his mind decides to concoct for him.

.

Several states away, a young boy opens his eyes to the inside of a strange pod in an abandoned lab. Though he cannot see it yet, a strange metal tag dangles from his ear, stamped on one side with the word 'CADMUS' and on the other with 'R-13'.

[mywritersmind]

JUST FRIENDS - LN4

summary : just friends…? in which lando and his best friend have a night out like any other, until a spicy song starts and lando can’t take it any more.

or: they make out to the song sports car

listen up : kissing! talk abt sex! tate mcraes new song sports car was on repeat so enjoy.

words : 1507

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I pull down the visor, the mirror greeting me as I swipe on my lipstick. I’ve gotten oddly good at doing my lipstick in fast cars, specifically, my best friend's fast car.

Lando shifts gears as I finish my last touch up and slap the visor shut, “Red’s a little bold, no?” He glances at me, his eyes hot against my skin as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“When have I been anything but bold?” I blink, shutting my lipstick and handing it to him. I don’t miss the slight smirk at our routine.

He pockets it, shaking his head as we pull up to the club. Lando gets out first as I check out my nails, knowing damn well he’ll be at my door in seconds.

He opens it, looking at the people staring with a blank look. Then he looks at me, my skirt short and my heels high. I walk past him and straight into the club.

He follows me, his head down, probably an excuse to look at my ass. He slips his hand in mine as the crowd gets tighter, people screaming and saying hi to us left and right.

Our group is easy to find, all cheering as we arrive and immediately pushing drinks into us. The club is small and pretty private, but loud as fuck and filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol, and lust.

The dance floor is packed, the Dj raised along with little glowing stands which bottle girls and randos dance on.

I tug on Lando’s shirt, a white button up that’s already halfway undone, and offer him a drink. “Who’s gonna drive you home if i’m fucked?” He says plainly.

“Oh you’re driving me home, now? I thought you’d piss off with your new supermodel of the week.” I raise a brow and such on a lime.

His eyes flick to my lips, “I could say the same for you, love.”

“I am the supermodel, darling.” I wink, getting dragged away by my friend who’s laughing at the interaction and landing myself on the dance floor.

I’m two drinks down when I see him again, a girl flushed in his lap and his hat backwards on his head.

He’s talking and she looks absolutely fucking absolved in his words, probably drooling over his accent or his lips. Yet as he rattles off, probably talking about his new car or training, his eyes are set on me.

They practically burn my already hot skin, my arms going up as I dance with the music. It’s funny, really.

My best friend is Lando Norris. We get looks everywhere we go, yet the one look I can’t get over is how his eyes track me.

He’s got a girl in his lap and I've got a guy grinding behind me, yet I can’t seem to shake him. I watch his tongue sweep against his teeth, his eyes moving to my legs smoothly.

The girl puts her hand on the back of his neck, getting him to look at her. She’s not smart, if she were, she’d bother with a guy who’s actually looking at her.

He’s looking at me again, his gaze now flicking back and forth between me and the man behind me. I have a slight smirk on my face as I turn around to look at him.

He’s hot. Dark skin and eyes to match, I bite my lip before moving my hands to his shoulders and bring him in. He’s sweaty but the kiss is hot, I just hate that it’s so hot because my best friend is watching all of it.

Once the guy goes in for another kiss, I dodge it and make my way over to the bar, leaning up against the cold surface and wiggling my fingers at the bartender.

Lando is at my side seconds after I take my first sip of the icy drink. I pretend to not see him. “Lemme try.” He goes to take a drink but I swiftly pull my hand away, shaking my head.

“No way, Mr. Sober.” I grin as he leans against the bar, his head tilted slightly back and making his hair look godly. “Who’s gonna drive me home?”

“So you’re coming with me?” He stands up a bit straighter, “Not gonna find that guy?”

‘That guy’ in question is probably already fucking a girl in the bathroom. I laugh, “No. My best friend has separation anxiety, so.” I shrug as he grins and pushes off the bar.

“Dance with me.”

“Not a chance, Norris.”

His teeth catch his lips, making me look down at them. Fuck him and his fuck boy tactics.

“You’re Lando Norris!” a guy stumbles up to us, clearly pissed and far too excited to see Lan.

He mumbles about getting a picture and just as I walk away I hear Lando say, “Yeah, mate…”

I hand my drink off to someone, my hands in my hair as I groan and shake the feeling of Lando teasing me.

A few girls scream near me and I don’t realize it’s because of the song change until I hear the lyrics.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off of me

I laugh as someone pushes into me, not everyone knows the song, but almost everyone knows her voice. I find my friend, her hand tightening on mine as she pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

Before I know it, I'm screaming the lyrics that Tate leaked to me on top of the raised glass. My friend is messing with her hair and shaking ass as she sings along.

In the alley in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don’t make me choose

I laugh, throwing my head back and swinging my hips. I barely realize my friend is gone until her figure is replaced by Lando in front of me.

“You like this song?”

I raise a brow, “Yes?” I keep dancing, pretending that every part of me is aware of how close he stands.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna, uh

I sing along still, until it gets to the next lyric, my mouth shutting as Lando watches me.

Oh, but you got a sports car

A grin takes over his face, cocky and completely evil. “I like it too.”

“Oh? You like Tate now?”

“I fuck with fucking and I fuck with cars… seems like enough to me.” His hand finds itself on my waist, pulling me tighter.

This is dangerously close to crossing our lines.

We could go again like three, four times

“Am I your type, Y/n?” He’s speaking into my ear now as butterflies hit my stomach, “Want me to fuck you in my sports car?”

I hold his arm in an attempt to not fall off this fucking stand. He looks way too good, his hat gone and his hair messy.

“Don’t get cocky now, Lan.”

“Oh, like you’ve been in other sports cars?” The quirk of his brow makes my heart beat faster.

I think you know what this is

I think you want a ride

I shake my head, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who kiss other people in front of each other for fun?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me, “Try again, Y/n.”

While you drive it real far

“So what are we, Norris.” I stand him up, still not taller but my confidence building, “I dare you to tell me.”

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as his face leans closer, “How ‘bout I show you?” At this moment, I know i’m completely fucked.

Oh my guy-uy

You don’t wanna waste my time-ime

His hands are gripping me tighter as his head dips and his lips crash against mine.

Let’s go ride-ide

Let’s go ride-ide-ide

Oh, my guy-uh

My arms snake around his neck as his tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth. It’s too hot, especially for the public to witness but I'm too kiss drunk to care.

He kisses me harder, his hands at my hips and dipping below my waist band so his fingers press against my bare skin. I bite his lip a bit and pull him in tighter against me.

Lando bites me right back. I whisper it against his lips, not holding myself back from the lyrics, “I think you wanna, wanna.” He kisses me again, his hand at my ass and his breath hot against me, “But you got a sports car.”

I feel his lips morph into a smile against mine, his kiss deepening as if he’s hungry for me. I move my hands to his hair, his groan vibrating against me.

“Let’s go.” He says over the sound of the music and people below us.

“Where?” I ask, still breathless and too close to him to pay attention to anything else.

That damn smirk is back as he tugs at my hand, “My sports car.”

[redflagshipwriter]

SNITCHES THE CAT SEQUEL pt1 and masterpost

Part Two/Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five

Part One

“This you?”

Danny pushed the newspaper down without looking at it, revealing Sam’s shitty grin. “That lost cat is not me, no.” He rolled his eyes. They had been showing him lost pet ads ever since he got back from Gotham. “Isn’t that joke getting old, guys?” He kicked his way further into a slouch in the booth as Tucker came back with refilled drinks.

Tucker laughed, and then there was a silence. “Danny? Are you sure this isn’t you, man?” He sounded uncertain.

He felt his jaw twitch and he had to tell his friend off. “Is it that funny that there’s a sad kid out there? Honestly, guys-” Danny opened his eyes fully to roll them and then saw the lost pet ad being brandished in his face. He blinked at it. His brain did a full reboot and he reached out to take the paper. 

It looked like him, sleeping on the cushion in the batcave. Had they gotten that photo from the security footage? “It’s me.” His voice came out way too high.

Danny pulled the paper over in disbelief and realized that it was a two page ad. “Oh wow,” he said faintly. There he was, leaping across the kitchen. And there, that must have been taken by Damian when he fell asleep on the bed. There was a cat toy partially in the frame.

Sam’s snorting laughter cut off. “Uh.” She kicked him lightly under the table. “Is.. Is that little kid going to be okay?” She asked in a small voice. She sounded like she felt bad for poking fun. 

Danny felt guilty. He stared at the evidence that Robin was missing his cat terribly and felt like the biggest jackass possible. “Should I go back?” he wondered. He squirmed, pulling a foot up onto the bench to perch on. “I mean… How long does a cat live? A few years?”

“Try about twenty,” Tucker said flatly. “I feel bad too, man, but you can’t defer admission that long.”

“Though Snitches was clearly not a little kitten, so you could really just give it a couple years,” Sam mused. Both boys stared at her. She blinked. “Not that I’m suggesting you do that!” She waved her hands at them. “The longer you stay with him, the harder he’s going to take it when his pet ‘dies’,” she said with finger quotes. “You did the right thing by leaving as soon as you could.”

“Maybe we could answer it, do a photoshoot, tell him that Danny was your cat or something and he’s come home,” Tucker mused. “He’d be sad that he couldn’t have the cat, but surely it would be better than worrying the cat died, right?”

“What are you losers talking about?” Star said, giving their booth a wide berth. “You’re not hurting cats now, are you, weirdos?” She eyed them like they were gross. “It would figure.”

“Fuck off,” Sam said pleasantly. All three of them gave Star a rude gesture in unison, just like they had practiced. “That shit’s uncalled for.”

Star sniffled and turned away on her heel, cheer skirt flouncing behind her. A few moments later she clearly reached her table because the sounds of popular kid conversation got a lot louder.

“She should be a reporter,” Sam said darkly. “I would love for her to get sued for slander.” She snapped open her clutch and began applying even more black eyeliner, as if that would differentiate her from the other girls in the restaurant.

Tucker groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes in despair. “That’s gonna be a bad rumor,” he complained. 

Danny couldn’t find it in him to care as much as he usually would. He was still stuck on the fact that Damian had put an ad in the Illinois Times. “Do you think he realized that Snitches got on a highway bus to Illinois?” he hissed, now aware that other people might be listening in. “How would he know that?”

Sam frowned. Tucker lifted his head and pulled out his phone to search. “That’s a good question,” he said to himself. He hit buttons rapidly. “Uh, same ad is in…” He trailed off. “Hold up, hold up, lemme search this backwards…” Whatever he saw had him raise his eyebrows high, look at Danny in disbelief, and then shake his head slightly. “You must be a really good cat. I'm kind of jealous.”

“What?” Danny hissed. “Just tell me.”

“Hey, hey, paws off.” Tucker moved his device further away. “Uh, this poor kid- well.” He paused. “Poor is the wrong word. He’s put ads in newspapers all the way up to Ontario and down to… Well, in Mexico at least.”

Danny and Sam stared at him in disbelief. “You’re fucking with us,” Sam said after a long moment.

Tucker silently shook his head. “There’s a nationwide Greg’s list ad,” he said grimly. “20 dollars an hour to print and staple missing cat photos to telephone poles. And a private detective’s agency on the case, asking for witnesses to come forward.”

Danny put his head in his hands. “I have to go back,” he said, haunted by the responsibility. “I can’t let him be this sad.”

“Danny, no.” Tucker said. Sam nodded her agreement. 

“…Yeah, that’s crazy,” he said unconvincingly. He gave a fake laugh. “He’ll get over it.” Danny stared into his drink, watching bubbles. Robin was not going to get over it. That kid loved hard.

“I could use 20 dollars an hour,” Tucker said in a thoughtful tone.

“No,” Sam said flatly.

Tucker shrugged, smiling slightly. “I wonder how much I’d get for bringing you back.” He shrugged theatrically. “You could send me to college, man! Don’t you want me to go to college?”

“No…” Danny said weakly. “I… Is that fraud?” Still. Money would be nice.

“Guys, no.” Sam knocked them both in the head with the pile of napkins. “You can’t do that to this little kid. He’s clearly not well.”

“Exactly,” Tucker argued passionately. “Imagine how happy he would be to get his cat back! We could reunite him with his pet!”

It was tempting. He felt, like, so bad about how sad Robin was. The little guy had been so proud of his pet. Danny could spare a few years to make a little kid happy, right? It was kind of greedy otherwise.

Danny stared at the bubbles in his drink again, really thinking it over. “I think I would have to fight crime with him,” he said dully. “That’s a minus.”

“Danny?” Sam rapped the table with her fingers. He looked up to see her pointed eyebrow raise. “What are you talking about?”

He hunched his shoulders up. “Nothing, nothing,” he lied hastily. He forgot they didn’t know. He couldn’t dox someone’s crime fighting identity, though, it would be really unfair. 

“You could buy me a house,” Tucker wheedled. Sam hit him.

[onlyquinns]

JACKED AND KIND, m. rempe

pairing: matt rempe x fem!reader, fluff!

content: you and matt take part in the ‘jacked and kind’ tiktok trend, with a slight twist

notes: this is my first fanfic on here so i’m super super nervous 😭🙏🏻 i hope you guys like it tho!! this was written in honor of his goal from jan. 21 😮‍💨

matt lays on the couch, his long legs stretched over one of the arm rests. it was his day off, a rare occurrence lately now that he was back on the rangers. you giggle at the sight of him, enjoying how he looked in a pair of sweats and a rangers tee, his chin tucked into his chest and his other hand occupied with his phone.

you wiggle out of your spot in the loveseat adjacent to him, making your way over to the entertainment center to set up your phone against the tv. matt looks over at you, his eyes drawn away from his own phone.

“what’re you doin’, baby?” he asks, pulling himself into a sitting position, his legs still draped over the couch’s arm rest.

you turn around and grin at him, your hands bunched up into the hem of your shirt to contain your excitement. “wanna’ record a tiktok with me? all you have to do is stand there.”

matt slung his legs off the arm rests, settling his feet into the living room’s plush carpet. “yeah?” he asks, one brow raised. “you sure that’s all i gotta’ do, baby?”

you blow air into your cheeks as you think. “mm… well, you have to stand next to me and then pick me up and put me on your shoulder when i tell you to.” you pout your lips at him, downturning your brows to really tie the look together.

matt laughs, the corner of his lips quirked upward in a delicious smug smirk. “alright, i can do that.” he hauls himself off the couch and stands next to you, waiting in his spot with his hands snug in the pockets of his sweats. he smirks as you start the recording and back up next to him.

music plays loudly from your phone, filling the apartment living room with a pop song he’s heard a few times from your phone already. matt looks down at you, smiling unabashedly at the way you sway your hips back and forth before you lift your arm and tug on his t-shirt sleeve.

“now!” you say and he immediately bends down and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. he hauls you onto his shoulder with a wide smirk as he listens to you giggle loudly, easily maneuvering your body.

“okay, okay!” you say, lightly gripping the top of his head, your fingers curled around the strands of brown hair. “that’s good—put me down, matty!”

matt grins, “nah,” he tells you, “i think i’m good, babe.” he squeezes your calves, his hands warm through the thin layer of your black leggings. before you can say something else, matt does a quick succession of spins, laughing loudly with you, his hold tight enough to ensure you don’t fall.

“matty!” you squeal as he stops spinning. you glance at your phone and see that it’s still recording. you grin mischievously, remembering another tiktok trend.

you shake matt’s grip off of your legs, his arms immediately moving to catch you in the event that you fall. you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, your tongue peeking out in concentration, and throw one of your legs over his shoulder so your pelvis is pressed into his ear.

matt’s laughter fills your ears, unsure and shy, “what’re you doin’ there—?” he tries to ask before you start humping the side of his head, your palms pressing his head further into your body.

you laugh loudly as he scrambles to grip your thighs, quickening your movements against his brown hair. his fingers splay across your lower back and thigh as you begin to slip, your frantic movements causing your body to slide off his shoulder. matt catches you around the waist, stumbling slightly before he settles the both of you into a heap on the floor. laughter erupts from the both of you, your tiktok recording long forgotten and over.

“damn, babe, you set a brutal pace,” matt manages to say through his laughter. his dark eyes are alight with humor as he looks at you. he presses his lips to the top of your head, the action firm and grounding.

you turn in his arms and peer up at him through your lashes, batting them innocently, “learned from the best,” you teasingly purr, pressing a hand to his chest. the thump of his heartbeat under your palm further grounds you, allowing you to catch your breath.

matt’s hand comes up and grips the hand you have splayed on his body, long fingers dwarfing your’s. his eyes deepen into a darker shade of brown and his tongue swipes out quickly to wet his lips. his lips quirk upwards into a cocky grin and his grip on you tightens, fingers moving from your’s to slip underneath your shirt. “hm… think you might need another lesson, yeah?”

[enderlovez]

can you write another kindergarten teacher!reader x spencer where he comes in as like a special guest to read to her students🥹 and then he stays to eat lunch with her

Story Time

Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: Spencer comes and reads to your students for storytime.

Content Warning: Maybe some spelling errors, but otherwise nothing. I actually love writing kindergarten teacher reader x Spencer!!! It makes me feel all warm and happy inside

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The buzz of the classroom feels electric today, like a thousand tiny bees flitting through the air. Your students can hardly stay in their seats, their excitement nearly bubbling over as you explain that you'll be having a very special guest joining you for storytime today.

Of course, they don't know who it is yet. That's the surprise.

"Miss Y/N, is it a prince?" asks Lily, her shiny brown eyes wide and hopeful.

"Or a pirate?" chimes in Jacob, swinging around an imaginary sword.

You smile and shake your head. "Not quite. But he is one of my favorite people, and I think you're all going to love him, too."

As if on cue, there's a light knock on the rainbow-painted door. Your stomach flips as you walk over to open it.

Standing there, with his ever-disheveled hair and a stack of children's books in his arms, is Spencer.

He's wearing one of his signature mismatched outfits that always sort of remind you of something an old man would wear—a brown cardigan over a cream colored shirt—and the way his eyes light up when he sees you makes your cheeks flush a little.

"Hi," he says softly, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Hi," you whisper back, before stepping aside to let him in.

The kids immediately erupt into whispers and giggles. Spencer shifts awkwardly under their gaze, but he smiles warmly as I introduce him.

"Everyone, this is Doctor Reid. He's a very smart friend of mine who knows a lot about books, so I thought he'd be the perfect person to read to us today!"

Spencer waves shyly. "Hi, everyone. You can call me Spencer if you want."

Lily raises her hand without hesitation. "Are you Miss Y/N's boyfriend? Are you married? Do you have any babies?"

Spencer's eyes widen, and you feel your face go hot—really, this is something you should have anticipated.

"Lily!" you laugh nervously, twiddling your thumbs. "That's not a question for storytime."

She shrugs, unapologetic. Spencer, bless him, just clears his throat as adjusts his grip on the books.

"I bought a few options," he says, holding them up like they're treasure. "We have The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Where the Wild Things Are, and The Day the Crayons Quit. Any favorites."

The room fills with an enthusiastic chorus of opinions, but Spencer handles it like a pro, tallying votes on the whiteboard until we have a winner: Where the Wild Things Are.

He settles into the big reading chair at the front of the room, his long legs awkwardly folded up beneath him, and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The kids gather on the carpet, leaning forward with rapt attention as he begins.

Spencer's voice is soft, each word carrying a rhythm that draws the kids—and you, despite the fact that you've already read this book countless times—into the story, though that might just be because you enjoy listening to his voice so much.

By the time he closes the book and sets it aside, the room erupts into cheers. "That was so cool!" Jacob shouts, jumping to his feet.

"Can you read another one?" Lily pleads, clasping her hands together and mustering up the best puppy eyes she can—she doesn't have to try very hard.

Five year olds. So easy to please.

Spencer glances at you, and you nod. "One more," you say. "Then it's lunchtime."

This time, he picks The Day the Crayons Quit, and the kids laugh hysterically at the sassy letters from the crayons.

Spencer even gets a short round of applause when he finished reading and closes the picture book, his cheeks pink as he smiles and thanks them.

"Okay, everyone," you announce, clapping your hands together. "Time to wash up for lunch!"

The kids scramble to line up at the sink, still chatting quietly with one another—partly about the stories, but mostly about how awesome Spencer is.

He stands by the reading chair, watching them with a mix of amusement and awe.

"You're a hit," you tease, stepping beside him.

"I think they like me more than you," he replies, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't get cocky," you say, nudging him gently.

As the kids settle at their tables with their lunches, you lead Spencer to your desk in the corner, where you've set up a couple of chairs. "So you're staying, right?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"If you'll have me," he says, pulling out the chair across from yours.

Your desk is decorated with little figurines and gadgets, ranging from tiny animal toys blue-tacked down to the lid of a container, to a photo frame filled with pressed flowers, to a small collected of little painted rocks. It reminds Spencer a lot of Garcia's office. Colorful.

You hand him the sandwich you made for him earlier, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," you say, ducking your head. "But I wanted to."

You eat quietly for a moment, the sound of the kids' laughter and chatter enough to fill the space around the both of you.

Spencer watches them with a small smile, and you can't help but admire the way he fits so seamlessly into your little world. Most people would get overwhelmed, being in a room with so many little children—and it just so happens that your boyfriend isn't one of those people.

How did you get so lucky?

"They're great," he says after a while.

"They are," you agree. "A handful, but great all the same."

He looks at you then, his gaze soft and searching. "I can see why you love this so much. And I can see why they love you so much."

Your breath catches, but before you can respond with something sappy that'll more than likely make you cry, Jacob bounds over to your desk.

"Miss Y/N, can Mister Spencer come back tomorrow?"

Spencer chuckles, glancing at me like he's looking for permission.

"We'll see," you say, ruffling Jacob's hair. "If he's not too busy saving the world, maybe he can visit again."

"Promise?" Jacob asks, directing the question at Spencer.

Spencer holds up his pinky, and Jacob eagerly hooks his own tiny pinky finger around it. "Promise," Spencer says.

As Jacob runs back to his table, Spencer leans toward you, his voice low and almost a little uncertain.

"When can we have one of our own?"

[miniwheat77]

Loser. (Soap x Virgin!Reader.)

!NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, innocent reader, NO MINORS!

Unedited*

“You’d hit that? Even with how innocent Y/N is?”

“Ugh. Until her fuckin’ legs shake mate.” Soap laughs. Gaz rolls his eyes, laughing too. “You’re sick.”

“Nah, I think it’s an act.” Soap smirks. “No twenty-something year old is that naive.”

He doesn’t realize you’re listening on the other side of the door. They’d chose to have this conversation right outside the office you usually worked in. It was late and they didn’t figure you were still inside.

———

Later that night, you’re in the watch tower alone. It’s dark out, it’s pretty late. Soap is supposed to be up here with you, but you’re early. You’re curious about what he had said. What he meant by it anyways. Hit that? Until your legs shake? What does that even mean? You wanted to ask but also knew how wrong it had been of you to eavesdrop in the first place.

Soap walks through the door and startles you out of your daydream and you act as if you hadn’t heard his entire conversation earlier with Gaz. “Hey little lady.” He smiles. “Hi Johnny.” You smile back at him. Looking away quickly. He can tell that you’re acting off. “Everything alright?” He asks. “Uh.. yeah.” You mumble. He can tell you’re off. You knew that you should have listened to the others on base and stayed away from him. Sarah and Layla had told you on more than one occasion to stay away from him but had never actually explained why. You knew that the two could be a little overdramatic at times.

“I have a question actually.” Soap says, sliding a chair up to sit next to you. “Why do you wear your hair like that?” He asks.

“L-like what?” You brush it down. He makes you nervous, you aren't sure why.

“It’s always done up real nice. Sometimes you even got cute clips in it and stuff.” He toys with the ends that hang by your face, seeing the way your cheeks redden by his touch alone. You look down with a laugh. “Uh.. I’m not sure. I guess it’s just something I picked up on from my mo-“ you pause, shaking your head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks. “Uh.. it’s just… I guess I just don’t like to talk about my parents.” You mumble. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen anytime you’d like.” He smiles, resting a hand on your knee. It doesn’t seem like it, but Johnny is being genuine. The other girls' words are always echoing around in your head. Johnny seemed nice and you needed to ignore what they said sometimes.

“They uh… they were very religious. So far beyond the normal extent that it was like a cult.” You look up at him. “No offense but is that kind’ve why you’re a little…”

“Sheltered?” You smile. “Well I wasn’t gonna say it.” He laughs.

“Yes it is. They didn’t let me have exposure to stuff like TV or books. Homeschooled all my life, expected to be well kempt and tidy. I guess some things just stuck. My room is spotless and my hair is always fixed.” You shrug. He smiles. “I like it though. Wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t I suppose.” He laughs.

“So. I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but I heard you talking to Gaz earlier.”

Soaps cheeks nearly light on fire.

“Uhhh. You weren’t supposed to hear it.” He laughs. “I’m sorry.”

“Well if you’re saying sorry it means it wasn’t good, what you were saying. I don’t know what that means.”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Do uh… you not know what Sex is?”

Your eyes widen. “What? Y-yeah I know what it is. What does that have to do with this?” He sees the way you start to backtrack. How nervous you get talking about it. “I’d hit that” he laughs, repeating himself. In disbelief you have no idea what he meant when he said it. He looks down at the ground away from you. “It’s… a slang term. For sex.” He laughs. You look confused. “You’ve never heard it?” He asks. “No. I know what sex is but I’ve not mapped out the slang terms I guess. So what you were saying.” You swallow hard. Eyes finally moving up to meet his. You're starting to realize what he had meant. “You…” You’re very hesitant. “I would have sex with you, that’s what I meant.” He laughs. You try to play it off with a small laugh but he can see that you’re different now. “I’ve.. I’ve never um…” you rest your hand on the back of your chair. “I know. I can tell.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "I honestly thought that this was some kind of act you were putting up. Until you mentioned your parents. I feel like a dick now. I shouldn't have said what I said and I want you to know that what I was saying was really disrespectful of me. I shouldn't have been saying anything like that." He looks down at his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What?" You ask. "I thought that wanting to have sex with someone is like a compliment or something." You mumble. "It is. Well. Kind of." He shakes his head with a laugh. "Look. It's awkward but I'll teach you all of the stupid slang terms alright? It doesn't make sense, you're supposed to grow up hearing this stuff and learn what it means along the way alright?" He laughs. You nod your head. "Okay. Yeah. Got it. " You blush. "Thank you Johnny." You mumble. "Course.” He laughs.

“You said something else too uh… until my legs shake? What does that mean?” Johnny’s face is on fire, embarrassed and blushing. How is he supposed to explain this away?

He sighs. “Well. This is what I get for being gross ah?” He laughs. “Sometimes during sex if it’s.. rough enough or good enough, your legs will shake. I guess. It’s more complex than that. You know.. Um... I'm gonna write down a website and I want you to look it up. Don't be scared alright? And don't watch it with anyone else around, it's bad."

"If it's bad why are you telling me to watch it?" You ask. "Because... It's about sex and you know how apprehensive you are about it. Everyone else is too. This website it's for adults only, watch it alone. You'll understand. If you see something you want to know about you can ask me or research it on like... an incognito browser on your phone. I'll show you how to do that too." He mumbles. He picks up a piece of printer paper and looks around until he finds a pen. He writes down the very familiar website and than shows you on your phone how to get to an incognito browser. Reminding you to never watch it with people around.

You have an idea of what he's telling you to look up.

Later that night when you’re off watch, you’re making sure your earbuds are connected to your phone before you look up the website he’s telling you about, the front page is intimidating enough before you even click on a video.

Hours later you’re still awake. The amount of terms you’ve learned about, the videos you’ve seen.

You feel corrupted.

Urban Dictionary and a Porn website have turned your entire life around. No wonder your parents kept you sheltered.

You finally fall asleep just a couple hours before you’re supposed to be awake. A new ache between your legs and you’re unsure how to fix it or make it feel better. The next day, you’re exhausted but everything you had learned the night before changed your perspective on everything. The conversations you had overheard from the men on base suddenly made so much sense. Why Layla and Sarah had told you to stay far away from Johnny made so much sense now.

“Uh.. Earth to Y/N. You alright?” Ghost waves his hand in your face and you jerk back away from him, swallowing hard. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Something keeping you awake love?” Ghost places his hand on your knee and Johnny watches across from the table as you go completely stiff, looking down at his hand. “Yeah.” You say it, “wait no. No I mean no. Sorry.” You shake your head, standing up fast. “Just slept in too late yesterday. I’ve got to go get some paperwork done.” You mumble. “See you guys around.” You wave, hurrying out of the mess hall and into your office. “What was that about?” Ghost laughs. "I think she's just stressed." Johnny laughs. He was getting a little nervous by your reaction. Maybe he had given you too much all at once.

———

You were desperate. You didn't care anymore. It had been almost two weeks since Johnny had showed you the website. He'd answered any questions you had, didn't matter how awkward.

You had so much pent up arousal. You were horny from days and days of watching nothing but videos. You wanted anything. You hurried up the watch tower stairs, heart thudding in your chest. You step inside, nerves growing as you such in a sharp breath. “Hey, everything okay?” He asks.

You swallow hard. “Yeah…”

“No not really.” You mumble. You take your seat like usual and face away from Johnny for a second. You don’t know how to ask him for help, you feel shameful. “What’s goin on? I do somn?” He asks. “Yeah. Yeah you did. You showed me what porn is and now I feel weird all of the time.” You huff. He laughs. “You don’t feel weird. You’re just horny.” You sigh. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Yeah well. It sucks!” You groan. You feel tears pricking your eyes from your frustration. “What, touching yourself isn’t enough?” He laughs. “Touching myself?”

The thought of you doing that sounds foreign. “Oh dear… don’t tell me you’ve been watching 2 weeks worth of porn and haven’t made yourself cum.” He laughs. You stay quiet. “Poor girl, no wonder you’re so frustrated.” He laughs. You stand up, pacing back and forth slow. You’re trying to think to yourself. “I don’t really know how, no really. I’ve seen videos but they’re usually not helpful in the slightest.” Johnny glides his tongue over his bottom lip. Seeing you so frustrated has him a little riled up himself. “I.. not sure how much trust me.” He laughs.

You turn to look at him. Your pupils are blown wide.

“I could show you… if you wa-“

You nod your head before he even finishes his sentence. He leans forward in his chair, motioning you to come forward with his fingers. Your stomach fills with butterflies.

“Just uh.. take a deep breath, alright?” You nod your head. You’re still standing a ways away from him. He reaches out, pulling you forward by the back of your thigh, until you’re right directly in front of him. He looks up at you. “S’alright lass. Nothing to be nervous about.” He mumbles. You’ve sat next to Johnny sure, but this is different. You’re closer to him than you ever have been. He smells like cologne and hair pomade. You close your eyes as you he reaches for your cargo pants. You don’t make any movements to stop him. He continues. He unbuttons them, slow. He doesn’t want to startle you or move too fast. He wants to give you ample time to stop him. You have a choice, he wants to make that known. He tugs them down slightly, you close your eyes tight. Biting your lip. What you were about to trust him with was a lot. Further than you’ve ever gone with anyone else.

He grasps the waistband of your panties, pushing them down just far enough he could get a hand between them and your skin. He glides his hand between them.

Johnny glides the side of his pointer finger across your slit. Collecting your arousal on his finger. When he draws it away he can see just how wet you are. It drives him fucking crazy.

He parts his fingers, seeing strings of your arousal across them. His cock is rock hard in seconds, by far the most turned on he’s ever been in his life. He lets out a laugh. Shaking his head. “My god you are wet.” he shakes his head, biting his lip. He growls under his breath. He wants to devour you. Fuck you until your legs really shake, until you’re crying out for more. “You been watching more videos, Bonnie?” He asks. You nod your head. “See you’ve found one you like” he chuckles. You chew at your lip nervously. “Johnny..” you whine. “Hm?”

“I want to know what it feels like to cum..” you look down at him. “Please show me.” You whine.

“I’ll show you, doll. Just relax into me okay?” He breathes. “Cmere, why don’t you sit in my lap.” He pulls you forward. You spin around, sitting down on him. You can feel his erection pressing into you. He pushes your cargo pants and panties down further, until one of your legs is completely free. “Prop your leg up on me, don’t be shy.” He sighs. His warm breath is right against your ear. He pushes your hair behind your ear, he wants you to hear him. He’s going to talk you through it.

“Just watch my hand. Do as I say. I’ll show you how lass.” He breathes. You nod your head. Your face is hot, in such a daze you barely even know what’s going on around you. “I’m so horny Johnny.. I can’t take it.” You cry. Tears filling your eyes. “Just watch darling..” he trails his hand across your bare stomach, he’d pulled your shirt up. Pushing down, until his huge hand glides over your mound. Stopping just right at the top. He circles over your clit with two of his fingers, feeling you jump against him. “It’s going to be really sensitive. Since you’ve never touched here before, alright?” You nod your head. You’re panting. “It’s your clit. You try.” He moved his hand lower, drawing circles around your opening as you start to rub your clit. You’re getting more comfortable, relaxing into him. “That’s it. Just keep doing that for me, yeah.” He breathes. He raises his hand to his mouth. Using his saliva to wet down his fingers enough. Circling his spit over your hole. He’s prepping you.

“Deep breath.” He mumbles. You nod your head.

He doesn’t have to stretch you too much. He pushes his finger in, feeling you tense up. “Oh god.” You pant. Wiggling your hips lower into him. You pause your movement, whining out. “Keep rubbing your clit baby. I didn’t say to stop.” He breathes. His voice is low and sexy. He’s turned on. A side of Johnny you hadn’t seen.

He pairs another finger up, pushing it back into you. You gasp, clutching his wrist with your free hand. “There you go darling.” Your breaths get a little more rigid. Nearly panting out as he fingers you. “Keep going darling. Gentle, not too fast now.” He guides you.

“I- oh god!” You cry. “There you go baby. That’s it… give it to me.” He whines, raising his hips into you. You can tell he wants relief of his own.

You grasp his hand, forcing him away. “Woah- hey. Everything okay?” He asks. You stand on one leg. Turning so that you could straddle his lap. Sitting down on him again. “F-fuck..” he grits his teeth. “What’re you doing?”

“I want to know what it’s like.” You look him in the eyes. “Y/N.” He warns. He knows what it is you want.

“Johnny.” You repeat his name back. “Your virginity is really important. I think you’re just really turned on. Not thinking straig-“ he clenches his eyes shut as you rut your hips into his. He swallows hard. “You can’t take it back. Once you do it with me, I’ll always be your first.” He breathes. “I think you should really think about it.” He swallows hard. “I think I’ve got my mind made up, MacTavish.” You sigh, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt. You lean into him, lips brushing over his. You kiss him, hard. He can feel your heart thumping in your chest.

Johnny is in shock. Because this isn’t just another hook up and you’re not just another girl.

You’re Y/N. The girl who is supposed to be so far out of his reach, out of his league even. You’re not someone Johnny ever expected to be sitting in his lap, wanting more than just a kiss even. Wanting to…

He has to draw himself out of his trance. You want your first to be him. And Johnny up until this point is recognized as a scumbag. Everyone knows it. He’s desperate for any kind of attention he’ll get. He knows that this is how people feel about him. Maybe they don’t know him, don’t know that he wants to be loved. He wants it all, using any way he can to get it, even if it does make him look like an asshole.

Not anymore. Johnny wants your attention. Yours and yours only, he knows it.

“Okay.. look at me.” He pushes back. “If you want me to do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You nod your head. “We’ll go slow. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to know that this is how you should be treated. Always. Okay?” You nod your head.

He unbuckles his belt, pushing his jeans down his thighs just enough. You swallow hard at the size of him, not sure what you were expecting. “Are you sure?” You nod your head. Looking at him. You prop yourself up and he helps you. Spitting in his hand and gliding it up his cock. If he had lube he’d use it. Knowing how bad this is about to hurt you. Once he’s got himself lined up with your entrance, you’re eager. Pushing yourself down onto him. He tries to force you to be gentle. You’re in a hurry. Desperate to have him inside of you.

Once you get to that point, where you start to stretch, you slow. Biting your lip. He can tell it’s starting to hurt.

“It’s okay- it’s alright lass. Deep breath for me.” Soaps face crunches up in pleasure, trying his best to conceal it because he doesn’t want to enjoy this when you’re not.

“Oh fuck…” he pants. His voice is so unsteady you can’t help but smile. “Are you okay Johnny?”

“Y-yeah. You just feel so fucking good.” He smiles, eyes closing. “Just a little more, you’re doing so good for me.” He pants. You hiss, and he hesitates. Drawing his hips back into the chair and raising you up slightly. He gathers more arousal at the tip of his cock. Spearing you further onto him. It’s easier to slide like this.

“I’m going to push all of the way alright? Deep breath.” He lowers you completely, burying his head into the crook of your neck. He takes in a sharp breath, standing up with you. It’s not the best place for it, but not the worst. He lays you right on the ground. It’s clean, you’d just cleaned it the night before.

The feeling of all of his body weight on you is intimidating. Something you’ve never felt before. He takes one deep thrust and you’re gasping out, a cry leaving your lips as he penetrates to the deepest parts of you. Just like that, it’s over.

You have your eyes screwed shut and he gives you a couple minutes to adjust before he starts fucking you. He’s slow, trying to ease the pain.

And it works. Your eyes soften as they slowly open, lips going from locked shut to parted. Your hands had a tight hold on his shirt and they’re staring to relax. You were dead quiet, but as he moves you start to pant.

You’re starting to like it.

Soap sighs, thank god.

He keeps a steady pace until he knows you can take more and then he’s rocking his hips into you deeper. “Oh god Johnny.” You mewl, opening your legs wider for him. Giving him complete access to you. His eyes widen.

Johnny has been with his fair share of women, each different from the last. You’re by far the most gentle, skin soft against his. Your clutches are even soft when you run your hands through his mow hawk and grip it. Your body is like a clouded temple and the fact that he’s been allowed inside is something Johnny is going to cherish, he’s never letting this go. He’s made up his mind.

He starts driving himself into you at a brutal pace. You’re trying your best to stay quiet but it’s hard. “Ah, Johnny. S’a lot.” You breathe. “Deep breathes, I said I’d make your legs shake and I intend on it darling.” He chuckles. You can’t help but blush.

He expected it to be easier, but you’re taking a lot. “Johnny I- I’m gonna cum!” You whine. Your legs start to shiver just slightly and he smiles. “Go on doll, show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” You screw your eyes shut, focusing on the knot building and how his cock stimulates the perfect place to make it unwind. He’s getting overwhelmed. This is the first time you’ll ever cum. Not just that. The first time you’ll ever cum, and it’s around his cock. Not from your fingers, or even his. Not a pillow you’re desperately rutting into. Around Johnny’s dick.

He lowers his hand, pressing his fingertips into your clit and your mouth parts in shock, how good he feels is unmatched. A cry barely leaves your lips and he covers your mouth with his hand. Fucking you into your high. When you hit it, your legs shake.

Just like in the videos.

You’re on the verge of crying when Johnny hits his high. He’s panting and whining and it’s almost pathetic as he reaches it. He doesn’t think to pull out.

———

“Y/N. He’s just using you. He wants to fuck you and then dump you. That’s who he is. He’s a loser.” Layla rolls her eyes.

Her words cut through you like a knife. “I.. why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s what guys like him do Y/N. He doesn’t want anything serious. He’d have a girlfriend if that were the case. I bet his body count would cripple you because he’s just a gross loser. He wants sex and no offense, but you’re naive and he knows if he shows up and shows out you’ll be dumb enough to give it to him. No offense.” She waves her hand. “I’m not trying to be a bitch but it’s true. I’m not saying to listen to me, I’m just warning you before you catch feelings and get your heart broken. You heard how he used to talk about you.”

You nod your head. “Thank you.” You mumble, turning away from her. The tears are hot as they spill over your eyelids the moment she can’t see your face anymore. You hurry away.

She was going to go find Johnny.

“I know you’re trying to get your claws into Y/N, but you need to stay away from her.”

She catches Johnny off guard, he’d just gotten off of watch with you. “What are you talking about?” He hurries to cover up the love bites he's got on his neck from you.

“I’m talking about how you’ve been spending so much time with her. I know you. You’re nothing but a loser looking for someone who will put out for you. That’s not her. So leave her alone.” He shakes his head. “You’ve got it wrong.”

“Do I? Because everyone here has heard the way you talk about her and other women.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have anything to prove to you okay? I’m friends with Y/N and I care a lot about her whether you believe it or not." He's getting angry. "Whatever. I guess since she's so stupid and naïve we'll find out when you get her to fuck you." The words are laced with venom.

His face goes stone cold and he pauses, standing straight up and taking a step toward her. He's sharp with her.

"She's not stupid. Say whatever you want about me. Call me a loser, fine. But if you say that to me again we will have a much bigger problem on our hands." He's stern and his voice is quiet. "She's smart and she's had it rough. She's learning everything day by day. Naïve yes. Stupid? Absolutely not. Now back off." He growls. She is a little intimidated but she plays it off with a huff and leaves. His reaction to her calling you stupid had taken her completely off guard.

Maybe he really did have feelings for you.

———

"You know, one way to really find out if he likes her is to hit on him and see if he takes the bait." She shrugs. "Yeah, but I don't want to hurt Y/N by doing that." She sighs. "Layla, she'll get hurt even worse if she gives her V card up to that loser and he treats her like shit after." Her eyes are wide as she looks at her.

"I know Sarah. I guess you're right. Let's give it a go. But I already pissed him off so it's got to be you." She looks up from her tray of food. "Gross. Whatever." She scoffs.

The two wait until that night. Soap gets to the watch tower first and she takes the opportunity, heading up the stairs. Layla stays at the bottom of the stairs just in case.

She wants to stop you at the bottom and give Sarah enough time to do what she needs to do.

"Uh.. something wrong?" You ask. You startle her, she hadn't been paying attention. "Shit! You scared me. No- no nothing is wrong. I just really needed to ask you a question and it couldn't wait." Her response is fast and it has you narrowing your eyes. "What is it?"

"It's... uhh." She pauses, trying to come up with something on the fly. "Look.. about you and Soap..."

"Jesus Layla, I've already starting retracting from him, I really just want this all behind us." You groan, pushing passed her. "Wait!" She grasps your hand. "What is going on? Why are you stalling to keep me down here?" You tear your arm out of her grasp and move further up the stairs but she's hot on your tail. "She's testing him!"

You pause right outside the door. "What?"

"She's going to hit on him to see if he'd cave. Y/N we don't want you to get hurt by him.” She says. "Jesus Christ." You reach for the handle but pause when you hear Soap.

"Sarah, I'm not interested okay? I've told you like 3 times now. I... I like Y/N. And I'm sure she wouldn't like knowing that you're doing this. Because I respect her enough, the moment she comes through those doors I'll tell her." He takes a step back.

You and Layla can hear it on the other side of the door but she tries to stop you as you reach for the door again.

"Oh come on John. You'd be stupid to pass this up." Her voice is low and she's trying to sound sexy. They hear shuffling inside. "You need to leave me alone. I... I love Y/N. You and Layla can believe it or not but I do and I'm done with whatever this is. Back off before I make you."

You shove the door open. "That's enough!" You yell.

Soap and Sarah jump. "What the fuck is the deal?"

"Did you put them up to this?" He asks. "Of course I didn't put them up to this, I'm not fucking crazy." The swears leaving your lips have everyone in the room startled. "I don't know what the obsession is with you two trying to protect me from Soap when it's none of your business!"

"We just don't want you to give your V card to him because he's a fucking loser Y/N!" Layla calls back.

"I already had sex with him!"

The rooms falls quiet.

Their eyes are wide and even Soap is completely baffled. "I already gave him my virginity. I already slept with him, we've had sex multiple times." You have your arms crossed. Scolding them like a mother scolds her kids. "Seriously? Why didn't you lead with that?" Sarah hisses. "Because you both have been acting crazy."

"You.. you love her? You had sex with her and you still like her..?" Layla and Sarah turn to Soap. He looks away. "Yeah. I do. Maybe if you both had given it a chance you would've seen it." He sighs. "I just threw myself at him and he didn't take the bait. I think that's enough for me." Sarah shrugs her shoulders.

"Give us some space please." You sigh.

"Okay.. We owe you a huge apology Y/N. We had no idea." Layla mumbles. "It's fine, we'll talk later." You sigh. They both leave, the moment the door is closed you're locking it behind them. "Those two, my god." You laugh. He starts laughing too. "Yeah, a bit protective." He chuckles. "I'm sorry about that." You roll your eyes.

"It's alright. They're just looking out for you. Hitting on me though, that's a bit crazy."

"Very crazy."

The both of you start laughing, unable to contain it.

"Cat's out of the bag now I guess."

"Yeah, yeah I guess it is." You look up at him. He's beginning to close the distance between the both of you. "You ready to make this official yet or what?" He smirks. "I don't think that that's the way to properly ask a girl out MacTavish."

"I also don't think it was very respectable of you to let me hit it before at least becoming my girlfriend either, Y/L/N." He raises a brow. "Fuck you." You roll your eyes. Playful smile on your lips. "I'll never get used to you cursing like that. It's kind of sexy actually." He leans in, lips right by yours. "Shut up and ask the question Johnny."

"Fine." He laughs.

"Y/N. Will you be my girlfriend? Officially."

"Yes." You laugh. "Thank god." He mumbles, wrapping his arms under your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist. He pushes you into the wall behind you, you can feel that he's already hard as he presses into you.

"Been waiting weeks to finally hear that lass."

[edward-munson]

ice cream | E.M.

Summary: It's present day, there's smartphones, social media and Spotify. You and Eddie discover you hold feelings for each other, in a very different way. He likes to show you intimate things he sees on his Twitter and you decide to try it out. (A/N: You'll know why it's called ice cream hehe)

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ MDNI, masturbation, protected sex (p in v), mentions of slight kink

Word count: 3.8k

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

You usually invite Eddie over before going out. It's like a ritual you've been doing over the years, and you both have a few beers as a warm-up too. Sometimes you get more excited and tend to make some drinks for yourself. Sometimes you get him to do it with you.

He's sitting in the easychair on the corner of your bedroom, scrolling through his phone as he listens to his playlist on Spotify. You're finally getting ready after taking a shower and getting dressed first before doing your makeup. Eddie doesn't bother to look at you when you're only in your lingerie, he doesn't care because he's respectful. And that's absolutely charming to you.

He shows you memes and reels in his Instagram and gets you distracted since you're both a little tipsy from the alcohol. He gets on Twitter and snorts when he sees a page that posts different sex positions every day. Sometimes, they're too awkward and maybe a little too much for him.

He's the kind of a missionary guy but he also likes to bend someone over and hit from the back. Which is something he normally doesn't do much, but it's one of his favorite things to do.

You two have never done anything, although you have a great connection and sometimes it makes people think you're together. They always think you're hooking up or going out. Even your friends think that too. It's unbelievably sweet when you're together, because he treats you well. He likes to take care of you, but not like in an older brother way.

As your best friend, Robin tells you that you should invest in this relationship, but you wouldn't wanna ruin it. You know he wouldn't ruin it, but it's been so good that way. It's hard to actually take a step further.

And then when you ask him what he just saw, he turns his phone at you and shows you the picture. "Position 187: Ice Cream" You read out loud.

The image shows a man sitting on his knees, while a woman sits on top of him, her back on his chest, her hands on his thighs as he holds her breasts with both hands. You sure have never tried that before, though. And it shows Eddie hasn't either.

"It's a cute name, isn't it?" He asks as he continues to scroll on his phone.

While you pick a fine dress to put on, you look over your shoulder and laugh. "I don't get why it's called that, but whatever suits them"

You fix the straps of the light blue dress over your shoulder and suddenly you hear Eddie clearing his throat behind you. For a second, you thought it was his dirty imagination picturing himself doing that with someone, so you don't mind him.

But when you turn on your heel to pick your makeup case, you see him looking you over from the corner of his eyes.

"Eddie, sweetheart" You call him out and he looks up at you. Puppy brown eyes trying to play dumb.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You having a good time checking me out?" You muse, making fun of the way he was focused on looking at your curves.

Eddie widens his eyes and tries to pretend he didn't do anything. He waves you off and looks back at his phone, again, pretending he didn't do anything. But this time, the screen is off and you can't help but cackle.

"You scroll your phone with the screen turned off?"

He tries to laugh at it, but it comes off as a nervous laugh. He didn't think he was being indiscreet like that. Eddie looks up at you and bites his lips.

"Fine, I was. But, it's your fault! Look at you all gorgeous wearing that dress" He heaves dramatically.

You pick up his phone off his hand and place it over your nightstand. You don't know where you got that extra confidence, the crazy idea you just had in your mind, but you used it in your favor, sitting down on his lap.

Eddie looks at you funny, a weird expression over his face when he sees you sitting on his thigh. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring your lips close to his ear.

"Do you wanna try ice cream with me? While I wear this dress?" You ask in a whisper, fanning his skin.

Eddie holds your waist carefully, but there's a small electricity travelling through his bloodstream as you stay this close to him. He knew he was a goner for you a while ago, he just didn't want to admit it. He didn't think he would have a chance with you anyway. He just never tried. Steve and Jonathan told him you guys were a match long before, but he didn't listen.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, not feeling like he was able to speak. There's a rush in his head for a few seconds, because he feels his underwear getting too small for his ingrown bulge. You use his reaction as leverage and plant sweet and wet kisses over his neck, feeling the way his skin was shivering.

You trailed his scruffy beard, enjoying how the small hairs tickled your skin. In the background, a song by Black Sabbath filled the air that was becoming dense from the tension. He used his left hand that was free and placed it tenderly on your thigh, his fingertips grazing your skin. His fingers were just a few inches far from your groin, your own body reacting to his touch.

"I– I would love to, sweetie. But you don't think it's wrong?" He asks, holding back the urge to throw you over your bed and bend you.

You shake your head as a response, trying to make him comfortable and confident. You slide one hand down his chest, his t-shirt covering him. It's a shame he doesn't like to wear buttoned shirts, because otherwise you would've ripped it off by now. His lips are forming a thin line, like he's trying to absorb the idea, because he really wants it.

You already feel his hard cock touching the side of your leg and it makes you want him even more. Eddie doesn't want to just fuck you, because you're not just someone else to him. He wants to give you pleasure, he wants to give you a good time. He wants you to feel good and not used.

He wraps one hand around your neck, like he just figured out you liked being held that way and pulled you against him. He kisses you hurriedly for a few seconds, before clashing his tongue against yours. He tastes the beer you had, it's kind of bitter and sweet at the same time. He breathes through his mouth and forces his eyes shut.

You pull the collar of his clothing while you pull back the hair from the nape of his neck. It's a fervent and sweet kiss, you both play with your tongues as you deepen it, feeling him move a little under you.

It takes a lot of you to break the kiss, but the urgency of having him inside of you was growing uncontrollably and he felt it too. You got up from his lap and pulled his hand until you were both standing on the foot of your bed.

The hem of your dress went up a few inches and Eddie glanced at your ass for a small fraction of time. He wanted to touch it, grab it, squeeze it and even bite it if it was possible.

"How do you want it, Eds?" He felt his heartbeat quicken as he heard his nickname rolling off your tongue sweetly.

He immediately unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, getting rid of it, feeling a small relief. You grazed his bulge in your small hand and gave it a little squeeze, making Eddie grab your face and kiss you again. It wasn't even romantic, it was desperate and lustful. You stroked him through his underwear and he buckled his hip forward in response.

"Turn around, sweetie" He asked in a rushed, husky tone and you obeyed.

You faced your bed, your knees touching the end of it. He carefully placed a hand on the small of your back and bent you over, making you lean against the mattress. You heard him groan, before giving your ass a light squeeze with both hands. He didn't even bother taking off his rings.

"Such a pretty ass, fucking God" He praised you, his voice a little deep.

He spread kisses all over your skin before surprising you with a slap on one cheek. It wasn't hard and it didn't hurt, which surprised you. You immediately felt your stomach sink as you started to feel turned on. Eddie slapped the other cheek and praised it, kissing it back. His hand was soft but you could feel his calloused fingertips stroking your skin gently.

He went straight to your bedside table and grabbed a condom. He wanted to do it right, and he knew what you kept in there because he saw it once. It wasn’t intentional but it came in handy.

He pulled his shirt off and wrapped his cock, jerking off slightly taking a step back to have a better look at you. Eddie couldn't believe he was actually doing it with you. He dreamed of this countless times but he never told anyone, not even Steve.

He kept his hand around his length firmly and stared at your ass, your cunt glistening from your arousal.

He stepped forward again before he pulled your underwear to the side. You felt your pussy throbbing for him already, you were soaking for him and you whimpered as you felt his fingers collecting your wetness.

His fingers weren't like you imagined, he softly stroked your slit and used two fingers to massage your clit, your legs started to buckle immediately and you had to prop yourself before you dropped your weight on the bed. He drew circles around you, his other hand was planted on your ass.

You mewled and had to bite your lower lip when he pushed his thumb inside of your pussy. It was enough for you to feel the roughness of his skin and how thick it actually is. Eddie pushed it further and felt your walls contracting from his touch, keeping a slow pace as he moved it back and forth.

"Oh my God, Eddie" You moaned his name and his cock jumped up to the sound of your voice.

He slapped you again with his other hand, fucking you with his fingers, stroking your clit as his thumb touched your inside mercilessly. You started to ride his fingers, gripping the sheet tightly as you felt the pleasure rising up in your body.

He couldn't help but take in the sight of you, drunk on his touches and whimpering his name. He bit his lip from groaning because he didn't want to look miserable, when in fact, he was already feeling too lost in his own thoughts.

"You look so hot from up here, sweetie" He rasped, his heart was racing and he felt his own legs trembling.

You didn't want him to stop, but at the same time, you wanted to ride him, to feel him balls deep inside of you. His fingers were fast but gentle and it was making you feel dizzy. His thumb was pressing against your most sensitive spot, giving you that blissful feeling.

You look over your shoulder, watching him shirtless, his necklace hanging over his chest and his dick hard rock almost touching your ass. Your throat left a sexual whimper that made him glance up at your eyes. Eddie licked his lip and hissed when he grabbed your ass and squeezed it.

You were exchanging a satisfying and lustful look, one that didn't make it uncomfortable to deal with. It was a knowing look, to be exact. His brain was barely functioning and when he pressed his forefinger against your clit, you didn't hold back the moan that left your mouth. He pulled his fingers back from you, they were wet and dripping over his hand.

You were still looking at him when you saw the way he didn't hesitate to taste you as he licked his fingers, pulling them inside his mouth, savoring your cunt. It was audible how he hummed in the back of his throat, closing his eyes and sucking his fingers.

You were still leaning on your knees, your cunt clenching at the sight of him doing it in front of you. You would never imagine this would happen. You would never actually imagine Eddie would be one to do such a thing, but it's just because you've never actually had an intimate relationship, not like that though.

He opened his eyes and dropped his hand, now looking deep in your eyes and he walks towards you and holds your ass with both hands.

"I'm gonna go slow, okay?" He asks, but you're in such a haze you barely understand what he's saying, just nodding.

Eddie holds his cock and pushes the tip into your pussy, the small entrance making his body rigid. It doesn't hurt for you, but it's a little bit uncomfortable because he's slightly thick. He slowly gets inside of you, and you contract your pussy around him so fast, he stopped breathing for a second.

His eyes closed forcefully, his hands gripped your ass tightly. As he felt the base of his shaft hitting you, he pulled back slowly and repeated his move. He started to thrust against you, feeling your cunt too tight against his cock. His senses were too heightened at this point, his hips pushing forward hitting your ass.

You couldn't stop heaving, crying lustfully and whimpering his name. His waist was slapping against you and the sound of his dick hitting your walls was making you moan louder.

"Fuck, Eddie. That's so good" You mewl and he thrusts harder against you in response.

"You're taking me so good, sweetie. So fucking good" He doesn't hide the way he wants to groan and vocalize his reactions and you loved it.

He slid his hand against your skin until he reached for your arms, pulling you up so you would lean your back against his chest. As the position changes, you feel him deeply inside of you. You can't express how much it makes your body shiver. He gently wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing it rather aggressively but still cautiously. He uses his other arm to hold your waist as he pounds on you.

He rests his chin against your shoulder, his breath hitting your ear. If he wasn't holding you, you would probably just turn into a puddle right in front of him. His cock fits in and you can feel his balls slapping against your skin as well.

You're both a mess of moans and grunts, the sound of the two of you mixing with the music of his playlist that was long forgotten. You're holding his forearm for support, your eyes closed as you concentrate on your pleasure.

Eddie is behind you, praising you next to your ear, fucking you senseless. His thrusts are becoming faster and you don't think you've ever felt this good before.

"You like that, huh?" He chuckles and his breath reaches your ear. His rough voice is echoing inside your head. You don't respond, you're too high. "You like me fucking you, sweetie?"

He suddenly stops pounding on you, filling your pussy with his cock until you feel the tip on your cervix. He reaches one of your breasts and grips it tightly. His other hand that's still resting on your neck, he squeezes it harder, enough for you to choke. Enough for you to still breathe. He knows how to manage it. It makes you feel more turned on for him.

You just nod, you're almost losing your senses. He kisses the curve of your neck, leaving a pepper kiss on it. He can almost taste the salty sweat of it. "You know what? I love it too"

He didn't give you time to recover, surprising you as he thrusted hardly against you, just once. "I love the way you taste, you're so sweet". One more thrust. "You look so gorgeous on your knees for me". Another one.

"Eddie, please" You plead, your voice almost faltering as you're still holding him. "Just keep going".

He likes to be dominant, but he also likes to be the bottom sometimes. But tonight, he wants to show you what he can do. It's not like he needs to prove anything to you, but he wants to make sure you have a good time with him. He wants to have all of it, he wants to enjoy it as much as he can.

"We're doing Ice Cream, remember?" He slowly asks, softly dropping his hand off your neck.

He gets on the mattress, sitting on his knees and he tries to adjust you on top of him, just like he saw in the picture. You position yourself on top of him, your knees up. You sink down and Eddie throws his head back, not expecting the sensation to be so overwhelming.

This time, you're doing most of the work. You ride him, your ass slapping against his thighs. Again, he wraps his hand around your neck and chokes you without much intensity. His other hand grips your hardened nipple and he tries to thrust up against you.

He knows his legs are going to hurt later, but he can handle the pain because it's worth it.

You throw your arm back and wrap it around his shoulders, holding him so you can easily ride him. The air started to feel damp, your bodies starting to sweat and stick to each other.

"You're so beautiful" He surprises you with a compliment and your cheeks flush. "So good to me. I wish I could've had asked you out before"

You don't know how to answer this. You're in pure bliss. Your head starts spinning and you're almost losing control of your body. He drops his hand lower until he reaches for your clit, but you stop him. You want to feel it all. You want to cum without that little help. He respects it and gets back to squeezing your breast firmly, pinching your nipple.

You're both in sync, him pounding on you, you sitting on him, balls deep. Eddie doesn't want to let go of you, but he knows he's going to cum soon. He kisses all over your skin, he savors your salty skin, he hums against it. He feels his stomach tying to a knot and he knows he's getting closer. But he wants you to go first.

"Cum for me, lovely. I want you to drench my cock" His words make you stagnant and you feel your legs squirming.

You start to roll your hips, squeezing his cock so hard he grips you harder entirely. You throw your head back as you feel yourself clenching around him, your hips stutter and your legs start shaking. He holds you closer and waits for you to come down from your high. Eddie feels your pussy throbbing against him, clenching around his dick tighter, swallowing him.

He feels your juices dripping down his cock as you tremble under his touch, you're almost convulsing. "Eddie, this is s'good" You mumble as you slowly start coming back to your senses.

He's not choking you anymore, he's not manhandling you, he's just holding you dearly for a few seconds before he starts stuttering as well.

His cock sputters cum all over inside of you, pulsing incessantly as he moans loudly against your ear. His arms squeeze you a little tight, his thighs contracting from both pleasure and tiredness. He rests his forehead on top of your shoulder, spreading lazy kisses against your skin. He stays a little longer, waiting for the buzz to slow down.

"This was so good sweetheart, you were perfect" He praises, dropping his arms down, gently lifting you up so he would pull out of you.

It's painful to leave from inside of you and he misses the feeling already. His dick still hard after a long orgasm. You don't have the energy to actually move, so you just sit there as you wait for him to throw out the condom. He puts on his underwear, crawling into your bed and sitting close to you.

He places his hand over your cheek that's still flushed and burning from the sweat. He licks his lower lip and smiles embarrassedly. "I think it's safe to say we've kinda ruined your dress".

You laugh kindly at his remark and nod. There is no way you're going to wear this to go out. And if anything, you probably need a shower. But before you get up, he pushes you closer and lays you down on your bed. He leans against his hand, his elbow resting on top of your pillow.

"Let's just take a breath for a moment, sweetie"

You agree, you just know it's going to be hard to walk now. Your legs are still shaking and they might as well feel like jell-o too. "You can still ask me out if you want, you know".

It catches him off guard when you say it. You've been wanting to go out with him for so long, it's only fair you two do it now. He smiles inwardly, looking down for a moment before he looks up at you again. He strokes your arm tenderly, going for your cheek again.

He's always been affectionate towards you, this time you think it's different and you feel butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

"I will, don't worry"

You stay like that for a few minutes, just trying to rest and relax before you decide to finally take a shower. He throws his t-shirt over his head, looking for his jeans and his socks. He doesn't even remember when he got rid of them in the first place.

You keep staring at him as he gets dressed. He has a few spare clothes in your closet, you know that. "You're not taking a shower after?"

He shakes his head, finally zipping up his pants, putting his sneakers on. "Nah, I'm a hard-rocker. We don't take showers".

Eddie shoots you the most generous smile and you can't help but giggle. You pick another dress and go to the bathroom while he just waits for you. The first thing he does is to text Steve and tell him what he just did. Not in detail, but he does. He can't rip the giant smile off his face.

This, thanks to the tweets he sees and shows you.

During the entire time you're with your friends at the karaoke bar, he can't stop looking at you. He can't stop thinking about the sex and how you trembled under him. He also can't believe he gave you one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life.

"It's never too late, man" Steve approaches his friend, tapping on his shoulder. Eddie looks at him and nods, staring back at you.

[21280]

SECOND DATE UPDATE!

izuku midoriya got ghosted by you after the first date! so, he turns to mic's radio show segment in an act of desperation to know what happened... fem reader (pronoun only used once), y/n had mic as a homeroom teacher before. post war.

midoriya is incredibly nervous as he stands by on the other line as mic's cheery voice blasts through his ear and through the radios of thousands, mic's words sounding incoherent as his mind races on the possible outcomes. though, he's sure there's only one.

he's going to be absolutely humiliated.

"so midoriya here had a nice at home date with a person named y/n, and according to him, everything was super fun! when he asked for a second date, he's been hit with nothing but excuses! so he’s waiting here in the other line while we ring up his date…"

riiiing.

it's an unknown number. you shrug, choosing to answer the call.

"hello?"

"hey hey hey! is this y/n?"

you recognize the voice coming from your speaker, your lips curling into a smile. "is this mr. yamada? oh my, yes this is she! it's been a while."

you can hear him chuckle, "how're ya doing, kiddo? i've seen you pop up on my newsfeed the other day—but we're here on official biz. i'm calling from put your hands up radio because there's this listener of ours that you went on a date with..."

"oh shoot" you say, "um, who is it?"

"do you remember going out with midoriya?"

oh god no, you think. your mind suddenly becomes flooded with images and memories of the past week, where you spent a few hours over at midoriya’s apartment. what was the purpose of all this—did he spill the beans to your homeroom teacher?

you sigh as you shake your head, "yes, i do remember him."

"that sigh tells me it wasn't a good date, now, was it?" mic asks, his curiosity is evident. "wanna tell me what he did wrong?"

you awkwardly chuckle, "midoriya's a really good guy, i swear!"

"but you've been blowin him off ever since your date! i've seen you on the papers, but are you reaaally busy or is that just a load of cap?" mic pressures, and you can only imagine his eyebrow raised in confusion.

"i did? my bad, i've been real busy with the agency i haven't had the time to reply to anyone.."

there's a few seconds of silence, before mic speaks up. "producer here told me you posted on your socials a few hours ago, so unless you have a team who posts selfies of you buying tea, you've been on your phone, my dear y/n" he laughs, "now spill. what happened with midoriya?"

"well, we had a nice dinner at his house, and we played some board games and watched three all might documentaries."

mic scoffs and laughs, “that does sound like a midoriya, alright. but hey—that seems like a nice date—what happened?”

you were unsure of whether or not you wanted to speak up, but decided to do so. “he just wouldn’t stop talking about all might! and, i know he’s his father figure or something but come on! even during dinner he kept mentioning how all might liked cedar from yakushima so he got a cedar scented candle because of that. we played all might themed board games. geez—even when i went to the bathroom he had an all might towel and soap dispenser. i damn nearly fell asleep during the second documentary and he shook me awake because i was missing the best part of it.”

by now, mic is exploding in laughter, the faint sound of his fist banging the table being heard. there’s a couple giggles heard in the background too, from his producer and other guests present.

“oh my god i didn’t know.”

your eyes widen in shock as you realize who the voice belonged to. mic clears his throat, “so, midoriya’s on the other line because he wanted to speak to you and know what he did wrong, and also to ask for a second date! surprise!”

you nearly choke on your spit as you hear his voice through your phone’s speaker. “i really didn’t know you didn’t like all might, but i mean you should’ve said something! we watched the top three documentaries!”

“did you ask me if i wanted to watch three documentaries about all might, midoriya?”

“you’re right—i’m so sorry” midoriya apologizes, and it seems genuine. you know he’s the type of guy to be oblivious at times, so you give him the benefit of the doubt.

“is there any way i can make it up to you? a dinner at a restaurant, a trip, we can even watch documentaries of your favorite hero in return! i really like you, y/n, and i would like another chance.”

you can’t stop your heart from beating quicker when those words left his mouth. he’s a lover boy through and through, and he’s truly devoted to what he likes.

“edgeshot. i want an edgeshot interview compilation marathon.”

you can practically hear midoriya smile, “okay, great! i actually know a lot about him, did you know that during the war he—“

“oookay! looks like it’s all settled” mic chuckles, “i think it’s the first time we’ve had a second date update success!”

[madebycloud]

What Would I Do Without You?

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you've been through hell and back with jinx, and despite it all, you couldn't leave her behind. (requested by anons) warnings/themes: HEAVY ANGST, character death (reader), blood, hurt no comfort harhar words: 2.6k notes: first time writing something so angsty like this haha i hope this is angsty enough... (this takes place when jinx rescued isha in prison) a repost cz tumblr is shti!

You could run.

You could run right now, escape with Isha and Sevika.

But-

How can you? You can't just leave Jinx alone—not now. Not after everything. Not when she's facing off against this monster.

Why didn't you listen?

Why did you have to play the hero?

Why, why, did you choose to stay?

“What are you doing?!” Jinx screams.

And that's the last thing you hear before you face off against the beast, watching as it launches itself at you-

At the last minute, you duck.

Too slow.

Too slow and too late.

In one quick motion, the beast tears into you.

It claws straight at your stomach-

You can feel the air leave your lungs.

You hit the ground.

Blood blossoms on your shirt.

But… it worked. The beast backed away. It fled.

You managed to scare it. You've saved Jinx. You've protected her. This is a victory.

Yet-

Why do you hurt so badly?

You look down, and your stomach is-

Oh.

Oh no...

Everything is red.

There's blood. There's blood everywhere.

Your blood.

You hear the sound of running footsteps. “NO!”

It's her voice.

“PLEASE, NO!” Jinx kneels next to you.

Your mind goes hazy, clouded by pain.

Arms grab you and move you into a sitting position. She's holding you. “Please, please,” she's sobbing as she puts pressure on the wound. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.” You know that's a lie.

You cough. Red bubbles on your lips and slides down your chin.

“No, no, you're okay,” she repeats. “Don't go,” she sobs. “Don't you dare go. Look at me. Look at me.” She grabs your face, trying to angle your face up towards hers. “Please, stay with me. Stay. With. Me."

You feel so tired. You want to sleep.

But she needs you to stay here.

“Sevika!” she screams into nothingness, holding you tighter. “I need help, please come over here!”

The pain is still there, but the adrenaline is starting to wear off.

Your body hurts. Your eyelids flutter, but you force yourself to focus on her face.

She's crying. Her whole body is shaking. She's a wreck, but even like this, she's the most breathtaking you've ever seen.

You think that if you were to die, you'd want the last thing you ever saw to be her face.

She's still holding your head as she screams for help. “SOMEBODY—SOMEBODY PLEASE GET OVER HERE!”

Your body is getting cold. You can hear your pulse, thump, thump, thump, thump, in your head.

There's an arm around your back, supporting you as you slowly slump against her. Your head rests on her chest, and you can hear her heart beating loudly.

“I'm scared,” she whimpers. “I'm so scared.”

She is scared.

She's scared that she'll never taste your lips, never feel your breath on her neck.

She's scared that she'll never again feel your fingers on her hip, or your hands on her waist, or your face in her hair.

She's scared that you'll never hold her close, or tease her, or say her name in a way that makes her heart flutter.

She's scared that this is her last moment with you.

“Jinx.” You call her name one last time, her heart breaking when she hears how labored your voice is. It sounds so unlike you.

“No, no, don't say my name like that,” she begs. “Don't say my name like that—it can't be. Please, it can't be.”

She's crying, her tears fall onto your face. You taste saline and sweat and sadness.

You look into her eyes. Those beautiful eyes, full of tears. The eyes that made your heart pound faster and faster whenever you met her gaze.

You think of her face, her laugh, her smile. You think of her hand in yours and the way she looks in the light of dawn. You try to remember her smell, her voice, her skin.

You know this is probably the last time you'll ever be this close to her.

You love her so much.

You try to reach up and touch her face, to wipe away her tears. Your muscles protest and scream at the movement. But you try, anyway.

She catches your hand, presses it against her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft, and you memorize the feeling of it. You hope you'll always remember how her face feels.

“I love you,” you manage to say.

Her lower lip trembles. “What?”

“I love you.”

“No, no, no… don't say that,” she cries. “Don't say that. You're staying right here. You aren't going anywhere.”

She can't let you go. Not like this. Not after she just got you. Not after being so close to a life together. Not after finding someone who loves her so much.

You'd give anything for a few more minutes together. An hour, a day, a week.

You want to stay with her. 

You want to stay and be with her and see her grow into the woman you know she'll be. You want to watch those eyes light up at a joke and see her smile. You want to sit by her side as she laughs and talk to her for hours. You want to hold her, for as long as you can, and tell her you love her.

You try to muster a smile. “It's okay,” you whisper. “I'm here, right now. I'm… I'm not going anywhere,” you lie.

She nods. She tries to wipe away her tears.

“Please don't cry. You're too pretty to cry.”

She scoffs as she smiles through her tears. You love her like this. Even just hearing her scoff, even if she's upset, makes you happy. 

“I'm a mess,” she says. “I'm a crying, snotty mess.”

“I'll love you anyway.” 

“Don't say that,” she pleads. “Don't say that, please.”

“Why?”

Her voice breaks. “If you keep saying things like that, I'm not going to be strong enough to let you go.”

“You won't have to.”

“Don't say that either,” she whispers. “Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“I'm right here.” You try to speak louder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Stop. You don't know that.”

And you don't. But you want to believe it. Oh, god, if anything, you want to be right.

You reach up again, brush the hair from her face. You try to be gentle so she won't notice how much it's hurting you to move at all.

“Please tell me a story,” you breathe. “Please. I want to hear your voice.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything… anything at all.”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and bites her lip in thought. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I… I have an idea. Do you want to hear it? It's a story, if—if that's okay.”

You slowly nod and take her hand. She's shaking so hard. You run your thumb over her knuckles. 

“When I was a little girl,” she starts quietly. “I used to watch the stars. They were so pretty… I'd stay up past my bedtime, just sitting by the window and trying to find the brightest ones in the sky. I always looked for that one star, and I knew I could find it no matter what time it was. I know it's silly…”

It doesn't feel silly to you. You like that she's talking, and even if it's a dumb story, just hearing her is making you feel better. 

“I—I wanted to know if there were worlds up there. I didn't know about planets and stars yet, so I'd sit there in my room and imagine all these worlds, full of people who had entire lives I couldn't dream of.”

Closing your eyes, you focus on the sound of her voice.

This is the last time you'll get to hear her talk. The last time you'll get to see her. The last time you'll get to hear her voice. The last time you'll feel her touch. The last time you'll get to be with her.

You smile.

Despite the pain.

You smile.

Even as things start to grow dark.

You smile.

Because even though it won't be for much longer, you know she's still out there.

And she will find her way through this, because you know she can.

Even without you.

“Whenever I couldn't fall asleep,” she continues, “I'd look at the stars and imagine what it was like to live there and what people there were like. I liked to think people on the other worlds would look up and see the same stars and wonder the same things, just like I was. I wanted to see those stars and know that, even if I was by myself in my room, I wasn't really alone.”

“I wanted to know what it was like to explore those other worlds,” Jinx murmurs. “What it was like to be one of those people, with real adventures and fun and families. No rules, just… freedom.”

She keeps talking and talking and talking and-

She notices your hands. Cold. No.

Her hands are shaking, but she reaches out. She reaches for your cheek, caressing it as her fingers tremble. Her hand trembles, and she can't focus on anything but the fact that she's touching your skin, that she's touching you-

She feels the blood on her fingers, trickling down her hand, but she pushes that out of her mind. She doesn't care. You're the most important thing. Always.

She watches your chest, your stomach, waiting for a twitch, a breath, anything to show her that you're still here. That her worst nightmare isn't happening right in front of her eyes.

But there's nothing.

She presses her ear to your chest. Come on, she thinks desperately. Come on, please.

Silence.

Her fingers fumble to find your pulse on your neck.

Nothing.

Her world collapses around her.

No.

No, not like this.

Tears blur her vision. She blinks them away, trying to fight off the tears so she can see you. Can't see you. She doesn't want to. She can't. Not now.

One minute.

Just one more minute, that's all.

Just a few more seconds.

Please.

There's a pressure growing in her chest. It's so tight, it's hard to breathe. She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? She needs to breathe. She needs to breathe, she needs to breathe, she can't stop crying, she can't stop because you're-

No, no, no. Don't think it, don't think it, don't think it-

“Hey, c'mon,” she says. “This isn't funny. Wake up.” She grabs your shoulders, shaking you. “Wake. Up.”

You're not moving. You're not talking. You're just-

Cold, limp. Nothing's different.

Please, not like this.

“You can't do this.”

Please.

“You have to wake up.”

Please!

“You have to wake up.”

Please, please, please, please.

“You don't just—you don't just get to do this to me!”

This isn't real.

It can't be real.

She closes her eyes.

She reopens them, looking down at your body.

It's real.

“Please wake up! I need—I need you, please.”

She's begging you, to the wind, to the moon, to the stars, that maybe if she pleaded hard enough, hard enough to the whole universe itself, maybe fate would be on her side just this once.

But fate was never on her side.

Life did this to her, it took everything she had and loved and was precious, it took away the only person she knew loved her. Life wasn't good, it was cruel and cold and harsh, and it was taking away everything she had. It was taking everything.

She hates this.

She hates what life was doing to her, what it had done to her. She wants to scream and pull her hair out. She wants to burn the world down and scream at the top of her lungs, at life, at the whole universe, begging it to bring you back.

Just. Bring. You. Back.

How many times had she watched you laugh, watched you smile, and done something as simple as breathing? How often had she watched you speak and talk and joke about something?

How many times had she told you she loved you, how many hours had you lost track of just the two of you talking? How many good moments had the two of you had that she would never be able to experience again?

It had been taken away from her.

You'd never laugh or smile again, that beautiful voice of yours is only a memory now.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much to think about how she's never going to hear your voice. How she's never going to see you walking around the hideout again. She'll never be able to see the smile you give every time she says something stupid.

She'll never be able to hold your hands, to kiss you, to lay her head on your lap. She'll never get to hear you laugh or feel your hands on hers.

She loved you. Every piece of you.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every word.

Every tear.

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every moment.

Every single time.

Every single time you were there for her.

Every single time that you'd given her the best hugs when she'd cried on your shoulder.

Every single time the two of you slept on a small couch just so she could feel safe.

Every single time you'd hold her in your arms.

Every single time you talked her out of a bad mood.

She'll never get to have those again.

She'll never get to experience all of those wonderful, beautiful things again.

And she wants to do it one more time.

One more time to hear you laugh. One more time to feel you put your arms around her. One more time, she wants you to tell her everything is going to be alright. To take her face in your hands, look into her eyes, and say that.

Just one more.

Because what would she do without you?

How would she go on living without you when you were the person who had kept her going for months?

For the longest time, you were the one person that she trusted. The one person that she felt safe with.

Without that, what was the point?

She can still remember the first time she met you. She can still remember the butterflies in her stomach each time she saw you, the way her heart raced whenever you spoke to her. She can still remember that first, awkward kiss, how you held her close in your arms afterwards and didn't let go.

She can still remember the first time the two of you had said, “I love you.”

It was so hard for her to say it because she hadn't felt loved in a long time. And she's nervous, she's scared. But you spoke first, you pulled her close.

It was a whisper, a quiet “I love you” spoken in her ear. And then she started crying, she turned and buried herself in your arms.

I love you.

She'll never hear those words again.

But she can still remember what you sounded like.

That had to be enough.

That has to be enough.

Those three words have to be enough for her.

They have to be.

But they weren't.

Because now, you are gone.

“I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much-”

But there's no one to hear it.

She closes her eyes again, letting the tears roll down her face.

This is what love is, she thinks.

This is what loving someone does to you.

She'd never hated something so much in her life.

“How am I supposed to live without you?”

notes: forgot that singed is literally right there… (might write pt2)

[revelboo]

Would Thundercracker's human friend from Better Open the Door ever be able to convince TC to let them go home? (Their actual home lmao)

Or would he just plain refuse to see reason forever?

Like, he seems reasonable enough, if a bit... Clingy. And lonely. And sad.

I mean, I'd gladly be his friend, and talk about movies with him. But being kept in his room like a glorified pet is a bit much.

He would when the guilt kicks in hard enough, wanting to prove he cares and listens, even if he hates it. That said, he’s absolutely going to spend every free minute he has stalking you from above in his alt mode to keep you safe.

Better Open The Door Pt 15

Thundercracker x Reader

• Drowsing sprawled on him, it’s strange to feel so comfortable. One of his hands on the small of your back and the other on your butt. Resting your chin on him you study that handsome, alien face that’s become so familiar to you. Knowing you’re falling for him despite still being unhappy with him and you’re tempted to ruin it all. Trying to gather up the nerve to ask again, because if he really cares about you, he has to understand he has to let you go eventually.

• Optics brightening when he feels you move on him, he tucks his chin to see you. And you look so lovely sprawled on him, servos flexing on you when you yawn. “Sleep okay?” He asks and you lay your cheek back down against him. This moment. He wants to keep it forever. The way you look waking up in his arms, hair messy and eyes sleepy. “I’m probably not a very comfortable bed, am I?”

• “You’re warm.” Painfully aware of your own nakedness when the servos of one hand slides up your spine and his other hand gently flexes on your butt. And there’s his spike hardening against your hip. “Already? It’s hard to have a conversation when you do that,” you protest. And he smiles crookedly at you, expression almost boyish and not at all ashamed.

• “You have that effect on me,” he admits, cupping your chin and tipping it up. Venting when you lean up on him, mouth brushing his in a much too brief kiss. “Not so fast.” Servos threading through your hair to cup the back of your head, he tugs you back to him, mouth lazily exploring yours.

• Laughing as you break away and his servos lazily comb through your hair, you push up to straddle him and his servos skim up your body and then back down to rest on your hips. Remembering his words from the night before. That he’d said he loved you when he barely knows you. Even if the way he looks up at you is almost worshipful. “Can we talk?” Does he even really understand what love is or is he just fascinated with those love stories he watches?

• Servos wandering to cup soft skin, he rumbles at you. Do you think you really need to ask? That there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you? “Of course.” Servos stroking over you, he wonders if he can bond you. What it would be like to feel you tangled in his spark, touching him intimately. Why are you frowning at him? “Is something wrong?”

• “No, it’s just- It’s nothing,” you say, one of your hands covering his as it wanders and squeezes. And he’s frowning at you now, reaching up to tap a servo against your bottom lip. Waiting expectantly and you cringe. “You know you can’t just keep me here forever. Right? I have family and they must be worried.”

• Expression closing off, he catches your wrist when you start to pull away. Upset with him. Hasn’t he taken care of you? Protected you? “You’re not a prisoner,” he says, voice flat. Empty as his spark constricts. Was it only fragging to you? Nothing more? “I just want you to be happy. Safe.” And if you don’t want him, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch over you even if you don’t want him. Set you free and protect you from a distance as it kills him. You’re everything to him. “Is that what you want? To leave?” If so, he’ll stay as close as he can, let you have your freedom while you can, because as soon as the war starts up again, he’ll bring you back home to him no matter what you want. Can’t lose you.

Previous

Probably a good idea to add a warning to the first chapters of it and TFA Blitzwing’s fic

[earthykinous]

Heck yeah! I gotta make some asshole menaces to spice things up! None of my ocs are saints tho, I'll take the chance to ramble about their flaws.

Token the Golett

He is a good guy most of time, he has a strong sense of justice and I wouldn't be surprised if he gets loved, I mean, I love him, he is my son, my baby. BUT he has a problem, he is way too emotional! He is prone to get so angry to the point to get physical, leading him to pick fights when it's not necessary, in that aspect he is not that different from the next character I'll talk about.

Saribi the Monferno

From the start she is a problematic individual, her flaws aren't hard to list, going from a bad sport to aggressive, you wouldn't be wrong in assuming that she has some inferiority complex and her way to make herself feel strong and better is messing and intimidating those she considers weak and inferior, a cowardly thing to do, also, she tends to take everything personal, that leading her to aggressive responses, if she is not picking fights she is sitting somewhere being a grumpy ass.

Tobo the Impidimp

Another problematic individual, not for aggressive behavior but his shenanigans, it is always nice to have someone to light up the mood but Tobo can go from being a comedic relief to be an absolute jerk, his jokes can go from lighthearted to rude and mean, and he doesn't care, as long as it's fun to him, he doesn't mind to mess with anyone for his own amusement, one moment he can be on your side, the next he'll make sure to cause you a headache. What's wrong with this guy?

Blueskee the Swablu

Just like Saribi, her flaws are easy to spot, she is the pompous and condescending with a superiority complex type, she has a tendency to look down at everyone, and it doesn't help at all that she is actually pretty capable and smart. She is also a hypocrite to a fault, believe me, you don't want her as a friend, unless you go with the "I can fix her" mindset, objectively she is a reliable companion in adventures and she has her moments, but better not to get too involved.

Zia the Blitzle

She can be described as the cheerful type, always laughing and getting amusement with simple things, she would make a nice companion, her problem is that she talks way too much and she hardly listens, also she is too much of an airhead to take things seriously, she is always getting distracted and in consecuence distracting everyone else, her lack of seriousness is a thing that annoys the more responsible folks, she is a good individual to hang out, but she is not the most appropiate to work with or to ask for advices, she just won't listen and downplay stuff.

Kosei the Murkrow

Objectively he is one of the least problematic, he is a reliable folk and makes a good friend, his problem is that he gets too bossy when he senses that someone is not taking the matter seriously as it should be, it would be good if it wasn't that he takes EVERYTHING as a serious matter, he usually maintains his patience but sometimes he can lose it and scold his companions when he is not necessarily in a position to do so, generally a good companion but a bit annoying.

Hanzō the Honedge

He is a tab bit meanier than Kosei, Kosei is all about honestity, but Hanzō is just outright blunt and rude, he doesn't care if whatever he says can be perceived as hurtful, generally he is not the most aproachable type, he has the "the ends justify the means" mindset, althought he is willing to play according to the rules, if he is allowed to sacrifice a fellow he will do it with no hesitation, he has the brains but lacks of a heart.

Geryu the Tirtouga

He and Palith are the very least problematic, but even he has some darkness in him, well, he compared to everyone else may appear harmeless, his flaw is not about being mean or aggressive or apathetic, he can't keep secrets, a total gossip if you will, sooner or later he'll slip it out, anytime, mostly in the worst moments, from little and silly secrets to very personal and dark ones, he can't help himself, as much as he seems to be a clueless and silly guy, his tiny brain can pack up some serious secrets, that's it, until his little brain has no more room and has to take it out.

Palith the Lileep

You may be thinking "But she didn't do anything wrong!", she is the least character you would expect to do something mean, but just like Geryu, she has a flaw, she is very secretive, not out of malice, she never has bad intentions but she is very reluctant to speak her mind or share things even when she has to, she is also very dependent, sometimes leading her to be a liability.

I love making a problematic oc and then people get mad because they're problematic. Buddy someone's gotta make the problems for the story to happen, might as well make the Problem Maker interesting.

[moodymisty]

Hello! So, this is based on an ask I sent a little while back, the one about how the reader keeps asking vulkan for various jewellery and basically coordinating it into jewellery lingerie one day, to try and make him snap. May I ask for a little scenario of his reaction, please? Thank you! Have a wonderful day!

Author's note: I ain't gonna just say no to Vulkan like, mmmmm

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size kink, Jewelry, Kind of rough sex but the loving kind, Creampies, breeding kink and tokophobia warning

"Tell me, Master of the Forge," Your smile was wide, teasing; Looking up at him with a mirth he's quite familiar with. "Do you take requests?"

Vulkan laughed, sticking something into the water with a deafening hiss. Steam rises from it- once it's cooled the primarch sets it aside and returns to you his full attention.

"From you? Always, my love."

Vulkan has made you so many things, beautiful pieces of jewelry that glimmer almost unnaturally. He's made you weapons, but he says he prefers not to. He wants to keep you away from such cruelty, and to widen his skillset with delicate little things you love.

"Could you make me an anket? Two, actually, that match?"

He looks at you a bit oddly, before smiling. He reaches for a few things and sets them on the anvil.

"Of course."

Those anklets had been the last pieces you'd needed for what you had in mind, made shortly before he left Nocturne. You stayed, guarded in his home by many of his sons.

Your sons as well soon enough, if Vulkan has his way. Though they already seem to treat you as if that's the case judging by their vehement defense of you and fondness of your guiding words. They're cute, you won't lie.

Putting every piece of jewelry he's made for you on it bathes your body in gold and a gallery of gems both names and not, shining from the dim light you meticulously set up. You glimmer brighter than a stained glass window, a jewel encrusted crown couldn't spit at the feet of how embellished you were in finery.

You know he's finally returned, his men were quite eager to tell you, and after he removes his armor and greets them, his next stop will be you. You need to make sure it's all ready in time, clasping the last of many necklaces around your throat and scurrying to lie in bed.

It takes significant effort to get on the massive mattress, but Vulkan had it lowered off it's frame so the inhumanly large bed is just about on the floor, and rests at the height of a normal bed for you. It's still wide as a sea however, and you splay yourself out in the ocean of blankets and fiddle with the various chains and gems that lay on your skin as you wait for him. You didn't want even a single one tangled or flipped, they had to be perfect.

It should be any moment now, if you timed it out correctly. Your eyes are locked in the door listening for even the slightest movement on the other side of it; Though only when your eyes begin to wander back to one of your bracelets does something change.

"Love?"

You hear his deep voice come closer, through the thick door before he opens it. It gently creaks open, as if he's wondering if you might be asleep.

"I have returned, It's been so long since I last heard your-"

Vulkan enters the room and stalls completely upon the sight of your gilded form. You wanted to say hello, but the look on his face makes your throat close up completely in something nearing fear.

Vulkan slams the door shut and locks it with newfound force, approaching you with speed in his strides. You let out a delighted squeal as he grips your ankle and yanks you to him from the center of the bed, bringing you right into his arms.

"Ah, ah, ah,"

Coherent sentences were long since lost on you, panting mindlessly as Vulkan pushes the fat head of his cock past your loosened, cum filled entrance for the umpteenth time. Each time he pulls out it stays ready for him, bullied open and used to him. Your voice is far past screaming, you used most of it up well over an hour ago. Now it's just a sore, scratchy whimper. The blanket below you is stained with spit, but cradles your head gently.

You were worried that someone might hear, there are guards posted not far in any direction, but Vulkan fucked that concern out of you along with most of your other factulties.

He's had you in so many different ways you've since lost track, now simply laid spread out beneath him on your knees as your face presses against the blankets. He'd hunted these pelts for you, they were one of a million gifts, and now they're stained with cum as he fucks it out of you and it dribbles onto the fur. All of your jewelry clinks against each other and glimmers, and you swear the noise reignites Vulkan every now and again as he stuffs your cunt full of him.

"You look so beautiful like this, the most valuable of all my treasures,"

You grip his hand like it's your only safety, an island of gentleness as he ruts into you like an animal.

"Let me make you my wife. I can make you the mother of my genesons, and I can give you your own to carry as well."

You've never said no to him, you wanted to be his wife, but you still yelled out a million and one enthusistic 'yes!' until he trailed off into sweet nothings that he panted into the air around you. You can hear the sticky, sloppy noises as a cock that is for all intents and purposes far too big for you stuffs it's way into you, cum leaking down your thighs and smearing on your skin. You can feel his heavy balls smack against your clit, only adding to the primal bodies of the room.

You cum around him again, thighs aching and shaking as even they threaten to give underneath you. Your arms long since had, and soon Vulkan has to use a hand to wrap around your waist and keep you held up, lest you fall to the mattress flat like a limp body. You clench around him with a loud, scratchy cry, almost as if trying to milk his cock for more than he's already given you.

Your jewelry remains still mostly untangled surprisingly, clinking against eachother on your skin as he fucks you. It still shines you imagine, though it's hard to see it. Your thighs and outer lips are slick with juices both yourself and his, mixed together after so long of him mercilessly hammering his hips against yours.

He's always loving, there's a gentleness to him always with you, but you can tell this pushed his limits with you and teeters on the edge of something he has more trouble controlling.

You'd never dream of asking him to stop, this is what you wanted by dressing this way; At least the feral nature. You never expected Vulkan to snap fully, pushing your face down to mount you and growling about filling your womb with the children he's wanted since dawn infinitum.

You aren't complaining, though you also don't exactly have the faculties to do so.

"Relax my love, you wanted this, and now I'm going to fill you until it takes."