#Rock n Roll Grad School.

[rocknrollgradschool]

Thank you for the music, Songbird.

[pedrostylez]

Secret

pairing: Joel Miller neighbor!au x fem!reader

summary: No outbreak, not canon in the slightest, Joel Miller as your neighbor growing up. You've returned home from grad school for winter break after your long-term boyfriend broke up with you, but now Joel is being inconsistent

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 3.9k

warnings etc: No outbreak Joel, no Sarah, age gap (9 years) mentioned, angry/mean words, fighting, arguing, fluff, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), p in v sex (wrap it, don't do as I write)

A/N: Welcome to the final part of Don't! This three-shot is left pretty open at the end for the ability to write drabbles of their following shenanigans, but not really enough to do a whole series on (at this time.) Hope you like it!

Recently, it seemed like you were always walking. Walking to Joel, walking away from Joel. Just fucking walking. 

You can hear the door to the bar close behind you with a slam, and then another squeaky opening before the sound of his boots follow behind you. You rolled your eyes at the sound, picking up the pace toward your car. “Get the fuck away from me Joel.” You yell out, not turning around as you click the lock for your car. 

“Can we just talk for a second?” He asks, sounding much closer than you had anticipated. It makes you jump, now jogging over to the driver's side of your car in the hopes that you’ll be able to lock him out. 

You don’t respond as you slide into your seat, slamming the door behind you and hitting the lock just as Joel’s hand comes to the handle and yanks. You can’t help the triumphant “Ha!” That escapes you, hands gripping the wheel as you make eye contact with him. 

“Darlin’, please.” He says, muffled through the door as he stands back straight with his hands on his hips. “Don’t act like this.”

You shrug, jamming the key into the ignition to roll down your window just an inch to reply. “Don’t know what you mean, I’m just a child fucking everyone in the neighborhood, old man.” You snark, watching the wince cross his features at your words.

“Okay, alright. You made your point.” Joel huffs out, reaching for the car door again unsuccessfully. “Let’s just calm down and talk about it.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. “Oh, I am calm. I went out tonight to find someone else to fuck, Joel. Since you don’t want to be seen with me.” You snap at him, watching his jaw tick in aggravation. He just about had it with you, just like he did a week ago. 

“Is this how you usually get out of these situations? By fucking your way out of them?” He snaps back, motioning around himself and back at the car. 

“Don’t fucking speak to me that way.” You snarl, rolling the window down further. His hair was still a mess, his eyes looked blown out and dark in the shadow of the emergency lighting behind him. The wind was cold against your face, chilling Joel’s arms while he was heated from anger on the inside. 

Joel laughs. He actually laughs at you. “Why not? It’s the truth, darlin’.”

You scoff, rolling the window back up and moving the car in gear. You press your foot on the gas and speed away, leaving Joel standing there with his arms up in the air at your departure in your rearview mirror. You were not going to let him berate you like this any longer. 

Two weeks ago Joel had you. He couldn’t believe himself when he had actually gone through with it, kneeling in front of you and eating you out like his life depended on it. In some ways, it did. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to reciprocate so heavily by pushing him against the same exact rock and sliding his jeans down to his knees while you wrapped your lips around him. You ignored his original decision of “next time” and went ahead to do what you wanted. Your eyes were dark when he looked down at you, fingers digging lightly into his legs and leaving tiny little imprints for him to revel in later. 

It hadn’t taken him long to finish in your mouth, you swallowing it down like the good girl he called you before he hauled you up into his arms to bury his face in your hair. He hadn’t really been sure how to move forward but knew that he didn’t want you to regret it. “Fuck, that was–”

“Good.” You had sighed, leaning back a little to sigh and smile shyly at him. “It was…good. Right?”

He nodded, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours quickly over and over. The taste of you mixing with himself on your lips made him groan. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

You had laughed, patting his hip lightly to step away from him. You were feeling shy, face red with a blush, and clearing your throat. You glanced up at him before biting your lip, and he moaned softly at the sight. “Is this okay?”

His head cleared at your question, pausing in his happiness and glory of finally having you, and swallowed. “You tell me.” 

He wanted to leave the choice up to you, to make sure even though he was positive it had already gone too far to take it back. You smiled softly at him, nodding and breathing out. “I want you.”

In that same week Joel had you again, but in the dead of night after you sent him a text. 

What are you doing tonight?

He had stared at your text for too long, looking at the time on his microwave. 10:37PM. He had just seen you unloading your mom’s car of groceries a few hours before, and he had come over to talk with your dad after his day at work. You had looked on while he chatted about the yard, and about the holiday season coming up, cheeks pink whenever he glanced in your direction. 

Home. Want 2 come over?

Maybe five minutes later he saw you sneaking out the back with a big sweatshirt on, shorts barely visible under the hem of the sweatshirt, and sneakers untied. You had glanced around before stepping over the property line, slinking up to his back porch and waiting. 

At the back.

You didn’t want to knock or have it be too obvious that you were eager, but when the back door immediately opened to a shirtless, freshly showered Joel, you were the first to initiate. 

His hands wrap around your middle as you launch at him, lips crashing into his with a grunt. He smells like soap, smooth skin under your hands as you grasp at his shoulders, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling you close, you smiled. This had been what you wanted all along. 

“Hi.” You sighed after pulling away, letting your hands slide up into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. 

His eyes closed at the feeling, smiling himself before looking back down at you. “Hi, gorgeous girl.” You physically melted, his hands holding tighter and a quirk of his eyebrows before he chuckled, liking that he made you react that way. “Want to watch a movie? I’m off tomorrow so I can stay up.” 

Your enthusiastic nod made his heart warm, leading you to his living room which was on the opposite side of the house. You looked around, not really having been in his space before beyond the shared-yard barbeques that allowed you into his kitchen and a guest bathroom. It was small but well-designed, and easy to maneuver without being a fully open-concept home. 

When you were sitting on his couch, you sighed out happily as he gathered you into his side and partially onto his lap. He clicked on the TV, and you assumed he would pop in a movie like he said he would, but he was quick to pull you closer and reattach his lips to yours. 

“Take your clothes off for me, darlin’.” He mumbled against your lips, his fingers reaching for the hem of your oversized sweatshirt and pulling back slightly to look at you. Embarrassment flooded your system as Joel’s hand reached out to your cheek, tilting you up to look at him. 

His eyes were earnest, wide, and hesitant. “If…if you want to.” He amends, pausing from removing any further clothing. His chest was calling your name, heaving with breaths you hoped were the same nerves you had. 

“I want to.” You whisper, reaching out a shaking hand to run your finger down his chest. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and a small exhale from his parted lips as he watches you. You realized quickly that you had to take the lead for him to be willing. 

When your finger swirled lower, circling his nipple and scratching at his side, he reached to grab your hand and hold it to his chest. His heart is beating fast, about the same speed yours is currently, and it forces your eyes to flick up to his. You find yourself leaning in, his lips parting and his other hand cradling your head to pull you closer to him. 

His lips touched yours briefly again before his heavy breaths fan over your face, pulling up the hem of your shirt. He wasn’t ready for you to be only wearing a sweatshirt, no bra, no tank top, no anything. His hands are on you instantly, groaning at how your chest fills his hand. “Shit, baby–”

“Touch me.” You beg, hands reaching down to his pajama pants and pushing down the flannel fabric with your hands until your arms don’t reach anymore. His cock slaps against his lower abdomen, thick and pulsing with want for you, his pants only halfway down his thighs. 

He doesn’t want to let go of you, but his hands slide down your sides and watch you shiver, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts and leaning away enough to fully take them off of you. “I can’t believe you.” He huffs out, smiling when you look up at him in confusion. “Did you come here just to fuck me darlin’?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your face straight, hoping to convey seriousness. “No, of course not.” 

He pauses for just a moment, locking eyes with you before a smile grows on both of your faces, quiet giggles surrounding you both as he leans back forward to swipe his tongue with yours. It isn’t rushed, how he pushes into you and holds your face to stay looking at him. The look on his face tells you he has been craving this as much as you have, the relief when he is seated all the way to the hilt. His curls brushing against your forehead and the groan filtering from his mouth has you sighing just the same, inhaling that soapy scent again. 

He begins thrusting loosely, with no rhyme or reason to his movements besides wanting to watch you on his couch with his cock in you. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”He groans out, hands caging you below him with one propping himself up on the back of the couch, the other on the seat below you. 

You bat your eyelashes at him, reaching your hand up to his shoulder blade and digging your nails into his skin. He inhales quickly at the feeling, pushing in roughly just once and stopping. “Want you.” You mumble out, reaching down to his hip and pulling him further into you. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Joel’s groan is almost animalistic, pulling his hips back before slamming them back into yours, watching your face twist up in pleasure. “So fucking perfect like this.” He mumbles, reaching one hand down to your clit and swirling it in a circle. “You–you don’t even know-fuck-how badly I wanted to fuck you in front of Jason.”

You gasp at his admission, biting down on your lip before sliding your hand up into his hair. “Why?” You ask quietly, listening to his breathing. Joel felt out of his mind at how you looked at him, at how you seemed to worship him just the same as he did you.

“Wasn’t fair.” He breathes out, leaning forward to catch your lips with his. “Didn’t deserve you. Wanted-wanted to have you to myself.” He closes his eyes from embarrassment at the memory, seeing you holding Jason’s hand, seeing you smile at him the way Joel wanted. How within just the past couple of years, Joel had this infatuation with you. 

The laugh that filters through his ears makes him smile, opening his eyes and looking down at you again as you say “Were you jealous?”

“Fuck, yes.” He admits, stopping his thrusts to watch you squirm. “Wanted you since you brought him home to introduce him to your parents.” 

His thrusts make you feel like you’re drunk, full of him, and want as you breathe out. “Wanted you for longer.” Like it was a competition, to see who had held out for longer. You lean your head back against the armrest of the couch, feeling his fingers lift off the couch and down your collarbone. You shiver at the sensation, looking down to see he’s continuing a path past your belly button to your clit. 

Joel presses his thumb into your clit, circling slowly and keeping a steady pace of his hips against yours. “Let me make you come.”

You nodded, dizzy with the sensation of his touch as you cried out for him. Your center squeezed him, causing him to grunt at the sensation and speed up his thrusts. It wasn’t long after that he pulled out and finished himself off on your stomach, breathing heavily at the sight. 

And just a week ago Joel had come home with his brother Tommy in the truck and watched you speaking with the other neighbor, John. He had to control his facial features to not give anything away to Tommy, but the way that you smiled and laughed made it difficult. 

Stepping out of his truck and pausing when you made eye contact with him was his mistake. It was like Tommy had mind-reading powers, whipping his head to his brother and back to you before waving. “How’s it going sweetheart? Haven’t seen you in a while!”

Tommy was always friendly, but Joel knew he had other motives. 

You waved happily, speaking quietly to John to where he nodded and went on his way, back to his house a few properties down. Tommy had loped over to you and given you a shove, only 4 years older than you instead of the 9 that Joel was. Your laugh made Joel snap out of it briefly, taking a few steps toward your driveway. 

“Same old over here, Tommy. What have you been up to?” You asked quietly, smiling at his brother before making eye contact again with Joel over Tommy’s shoulder while he regaled his tales from when he was out of town. Joel didn’t want to stop looking at you, completely infatuated with how you were eyeing him. 

But when he and his brother stepped into his house, Tommy was quick to change his demeanor. “You fucking her or something?” He asked gruffly, leaning against the kitchen counter like he owned it.

Joel had whipped around, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Woah, Tommy.” Maybe if he played stupid, Tommy would drop it. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, practically ripping his jacket off before pointing at his older brother. “You’re too old for her, man. She’s your neighbor, you can’t be doing whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Joel didn’t want to listen to what Tommy said-he was pretty sure that when Joel first moved in next door to you, Tommy had mentioned that you were cute and maybe still had a crush on you after all this time. There was no way that Tommy was upset that Joel had swooped in? When Joel said as much, he knew he was giving himself away, but wanted to make sure he wasn’t actually stepping on his toes. 

“Joel, that isn’t why.” Tommy amended, taking a long drag from his drink while he sat next to Joel on his couch. The couch you were just on the week before. “It’s going to get you in trouble. Sure, she’s an adult, but you’re asking to have issues with your neighbors. And you know how her dad is.”

It had stopped Joel in his thoughts about you enough that he had sent you a text later that night after Tommy had gone to sleep on his couch that he suddenly couldn’t look at anymore. 

We have to stop

Wdym? What happened?

I’m too old for you

Then his phone rang. He was quick to pick it up, not thinking about what he would say to you, and only wanted to hear your voice. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You had hissed into the phone, Joel’s eyes closing at how upset you sounded. 

He was going to have to be firm. “I think we need to not do what we did again.”

“Why would you say that?” You sounded breathlessly frustrated, shuffling around in what he assumed what your bedroom. 

He sighed heavily, rubbing at his forehead before stepping out on the back stoop. “I can’t keep seeing you.”

You didn’t respond immediately, but he listened to your movements come to a halt. “Do you not want to see me?” You sounded small, sad. Anger in your voice is gone. 

Joel paused for a moment, not sure what to say. “It isn’t right, what we’re doing.”

You scoff. “Says who?”

“Tommy.” He could hit himself for admitting it. “And I’m sure your parents wouldn’t appreciate it either–”

“I’m an adult.” You amend, sniffling briefly that Joel isn’t sure if you’re crying or not. “If you don’t want to see me, then just say so.”

This was it, this is what Joel had to decide. “I…don’t want to see you.”

A long pause came from your end, where Joel looked down at his phone to see if the call dropped. When he brought it back to his ear, he heard you inhale. “Fine. It didn’t happen. See you around.”

He stood there listening to the static in his mind, wondering why you would say it like that. It didn’t happen? Yes…it did. 

Now you’ve made it home after arguing with Joel in the bathroom of the bar, arguing in the parking lot, and you’re exhausted. You feel frustrated tears come to your eyes and begin flowing down your cheeks, unable to stop. You’ve absolutely had it with Joel, Jason, and your parents-was it worth it to skip the holidays? You came home to get away from the drama, but had it just followed you? You’re sitting in your car contemplating this, wiping at the ongoing waterfall from your eyes wondering if your friends will make it back to their rental when those familiar lights and the sound of Joel’s truck come down the road. 

You sank lower in your seat, praying that he wouldn’t see you, wouldn’t realize that you were in your car, but knew it backfired the minute he strode over to the driver's seat. You refused to look at him, his first two knuckles gently tapping on the car window with a faint, “Please, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, wiping at them again and hating that your heart leapt at the sound of the pet name. You opened the door, bumping Joel in the hip to open it wider. He sighed, leaning his frame towards you with his hands braced on the open door and side of your car. 

He stared at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, but only got your eyes reflecting back at him. “Anything?”

“You wanted to talk to me, asshole.” You huffed, crossing your arms and facing back forward. Maybe it was too dark to see how red your eyes were, or how it streaked down your cheeks. 

He huffed back at you, adjusting his stance to look at your front door and then back to you. You heard him grumble under his breath, rubbing at his forehead. “I didn’t mean what I said back there.” He said quietly. 

“Okay.” You shrugged, shaking your head at the stupidity of this. What exactly did he want? He had told you he didn’t want to see you and then avoided you. Avoided your calls, avoided your texts to ask what changed. Then to get upset that you were at the bar he was at?

Joel huffed out another frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry, okay? Would you just…can we talk somewhere else?”

It felt like a weakness, standing up out of your car and facing him head-on. A weakness because you wanted to crumble in his arms once he saw that you had been crying. His eyes widened, shaking his head at himself without saying another word, tentatively reaching out to you. You ignored his advances, stepping around him and toward his truck. 

Joel was quick to take you to the hiking trail, parking with his headlights still on and waiting for the right moment to say something. When you took a deep breath, he waited for the fallout. It would be easy for you to be upset with him-you weren’t immune to his comments, or to how mean he had been. But you had known Joel for years and seeing him act so mean to get you to walk away from him before pulling you back in had you on edge. “Go on.”

He sighs heavily, facing you to find you’re still guarded, arms crossed. He felt like a child, apologizing for his anger when really he was just angry at himself. He couldn’t get over what his brother had said, what he had been saying to himself since he first realized he wanted you. “I don’t want to ruin your relationship with your parents.” He groans out, waiting for your reaction. 

“Who cares what they think?” You’re quick to answer, digging your nails into your legs. 

“I do, darlin’.” He admits quietly, wincing when you look at him. “You’re not supposed to be with me.”

“They do like you, Joel.” You say quietly, furrowing your brow. 

A rueful smile appears as he says “They won’t like me if they find out.”

You both sit there and breathe together, unsure how to proceed. You can feel the tension rolling off his shoulders at the thought. You take a brave breath and say just above a whisper. “I’m okay…being a secret.”

Joel shakes his head, upset with himself for allowing his heart to speed up at the sound of your proposal. To keep you just a bit longer. “You don’t deserve that.”

You look over at him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes. His eyes flick to yours, holding it a second before you say bravely. “I don’t deserve you acting like an asshole just because you want me to hang on to your every word.” 

Joel’s jaw tightens, nodding once and looking down at his lap. “Yeah.”

Joel feels your fingers grab onto his shirt sleeve, yanking on it to get his attention. When he looks over at you, a small smirk has appeared on your bright pink lips that he suddenly can’t take his eyes off of. You don’t wait for permission as you lean towards him and slot your lips against his, holding his face to yours. Your eyes are pinched shut but you can feel him relax, giving up his control just a little bit to allow himself to enjoy your touch. 

Joel holds you tighter, releasing a groan before pushing away enough to speak. “What are you doing?”

You tilt your head, running your thumb over his jaw. “Making you my secret.” You whisper, leaning in again to take what you want from him. 

Joel groans heavily again, furrowing his brow at the way his cock jumps in his pants at you taking control. Something goes off in his brain, warning him that this was not what he had intended, but he gives in to the feel of your lips, your fingers, you, and submits to the idea of being your secret instead. 

[midnight-pluto]

MY MODEL: special features — broke bitches

SYNOPSIS: seems like the Xianzhou has hired a freelance photographer to help with their new magazine. however, this model seems to have fallen head over heels for a certain photographer - what exactly is their story?

CONTAINS: he fell first they fell harder trope, fluff, crack, humor, swearing, slight angst

my model master list

˙☆. Y/N :

a freelancer photographer that lives in an apartment alone. has been practicing photography for around 6 years including their degree they got in collage. always has a work mindset on and never spares any moment for failure.

“One Track Mind. One Track Heart.”

˙☆. SERVAL :

an ever growing rock n’ roll musician that came from a prestigious family. was always a rebellious child but always stood guard in case her father had one of his outbursts. was going to move out when she turned 18 but stayed out of guilt letting her siblings stay in such a shitty predicament.

“I guess I gotta stay now.”

˙☆. GEPARD :

a grad school student not to achieve a higher education, but to stay out of the Landau household and taking over his parents responsibilities. loathes summer and winter breaks because he’s practically forced to head back home, but always puts a smile on his face for his sisters.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

˙☆. BRONYA :

a secretary for one of the 7 biggest corporations. took over her mother’s position in the corporation yet loathes it at the same time. she wasn’t born into prestige, she was chosen. plucked from her world of poverty to young to remember but still wonders why it was her, and not one of the others?

“I used to know, but I’m not sure now.”

˙☆. SEELE :

a childcare social worker for Natasha’s Orphanage. hates to admit, but has a soft spot for the children around her. she never got these kinds of connections as a child, but that’s why she does it. to give these children something she never got much of: care.

“I loved you like the sun.”

TAGLIST: @zyphyrr @ohmyfinggod @not-creativequill @klementime @nekobluecute @theautisticduck [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[the-iceni-bitch]

Lap Dance

Birthday Domme Week: Day 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!reader (OTP ninja and puppy)

Words: ~1.4K

Summary: Ransom wants to start your birthday week out with a bang.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (lingerie kink, m receiving oral sex, brief daddy kink), subby but also kinda bratty Ransom, marijuana use, mentions of past sex work, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I would literally cut off my arm if it would mean I could physically manifest this man for myself, Jesus Christ 🥴

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!

You groaned when you walked in the front door, thankful your team had finally forced you to go home after dealing with that asshole caterer all day. All you wanted was some weed and maybe some Korean barbecue after the shit show.

So when you spotted the massive joint Ransom had left for you on the coffee table in front of your favorite chair with a note to just sit back and relax, you were in heaven. It was the good weed, too, damn this boy spoiled you.

“Ran?” You lit up and sat back with a sigh, taking a deep pull and undoing your cuffs as you looked around for him. “Baby where are you? Should we order some food?”

“In a bit!” You unbuttoned your blouse down to your navel and thought about undoing your garters when he shouted at you from the hall. “I’ve got a surprise for you first.”

“What kind of surprise?” You spread all the way out as you took another deep toke, sagging into the chair and sighing.

He didn’t answer you, the sounds of The Weeknd filling your living room and making you look towards where he should be walking out with a small frown. You almost dropped the joint when he strutted out wearing nothing but a button up shirt and what you were pretty sure was your fucking favorite black lace set, the way his body was moving languid and so fucking sexy you could already feel slick starting to pool warm between your legs as you throbbed.

“Happy birthday week, Daddy.”

“Um… what?” You didn’t think he’d ever surprised you this much, you could barely think while he prowled towards you like a damn cat. “Ran… what?”

“I said happy birthday.” He stopped in front of you and leaned his hands on your shoulders, giving a lewd roll of his hips that made you growl until he was grinning at you. “Surprised?”

“Uh-huh.” You groaned when he knelt between your legs and dragged the front of his body against yours until he was brushing his nose over your throat. “Christ, where did you learn to dance like this?”

“Not important.” He turned around and rocked his body against yours again before bending forward and jiggling his ass in your face, chuckling when you gave him a good smack and told him to spill it. “Fine, I danced for a year after grad school.”

“Ok.” You were still having trouble focusing on what words you wanted to come out of your mouth, especially when he slowly peeled the shirt off and revealed he was wearing a fucking bralette in addition to the garters and thong. And the way he was moving, all those fluid, sensual rolls and dips that really highlighted just how well built he was, not at all like the typical crotch jackhammering you had seen from most male strippers. “Where did you dance?”

“Oh my god, would you just enjoy yourself?” He grinned at you when he turned again and spread himself over your lap, shoving his chest in your face and shimmying a little to hopefully get you to shut up. “I’ll answer this one but that’s it! Slaughter’s.”

“The gay bar?!” This was a lot of information to process in just a couple of minutes, even though you could feel yourself getting wetter as he ground his hips into yours. “Can you pole dance?”

“Ok, that’s enough.” He ducked close like he was going to kiss you and cupped your jaw with one hand, stilling at the last second until your breath was barely mingling while he reached behind him to undo the bralette.

“But…”

“Nope.” He gave a rich laugh when you narrowed your eyes at him stuffing the bralette between your lips, your annoyed expression only lasting for a minute until he stood up and hooked a knee over your shoulder. “Just relax.”

You were trying, but the weed combined with the way his body was rolling across your vision was making you all kinds of worked up. Plus you could see his pretty cock leaking all over him through the sheer lace of the panties right in front of your face, how the fuck were you supposed to relax?

“Ay, watch your hands!” He swatted you off when you tried to grab his hips, tutting at your whine and tucking his fingers under your chin while you pouted at him.

“But it’s my birthday.” You spat the bralette out and threw it away, grabbing the back of the couch to try to contain yourself when he ground into your lap again. “Puppy…”

“Beg as much as you want, but no touching until the song’s over.” He winked at you then rolled all the way back, rocking his hips a few times before straightening back up with a snap of his waist and purring when he licked at your throat teasingly.

“Fucking brat.” You huffed when he nipped at your jaw before leaning back and running his hands over his torso teasingly, fighting the urge to bend forward and bite him right in the tit.

He just kept giving you that crooked smile while he leaned back with his hands on your knees, his hips swaying to the rhythm and barely teasing over your lap while you bit your lip and whined. If you couldn’t touch him you could at least get him as worked up as you were.

“You look so goddamn pretty, baby.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip and batted your eyelashes at him, ignoring his warning glance and shifting your hips under him slowly. “Fucking spoiling me with this shit. Love watching you work this perfect body.”

“I know you do.” Ransom was trying his best to keep his upper hand, but damn if you didn’t know just how to exploit his praise kink. “Love showing off for you.”

“Course you do baby, you’re so good at it.” You let out a deep hum and had to suppress a giggle when a flush started to creep up his chest and he started to press his cock into your lap. “You getting all worked up, puppy? You all wet?”

“You… fuck.” He stood up when you ground your body into his again, frowning at you slightly when he rolled his hips right in your face. “Yeah, I’m fucking wet, look at it.”

“Mm, I see, poor puppy.” You gave him a teasing pout before grabbing his hips without warning and wrapping your lips round his tip through the panties while he let out a hiss. “Gonna help you out.”

“Ah… shit.” He groaned when you smacked his ass hard when he tried to pull back, resting his hand on your head and rocking his hips into your face when you licked slowly over his cock before sucking on his mushroom head again. “I dunno what I expected.”

You just shrugged and sucked harder, your tongue tracing over his slit while you kneaded the firm meat of his ass and hummed. Ransom threw back his head and whined when you grabbed his balls and rolled them through your hand, his hips stuttering as he felt pleasure gathering low in his core.

“C’mon puppy, it’s my birthday.” You cooed as you rubbed your face all over his bulge, tugging on the soaked fabric with your teeth and letting it snap back into place when he moaned. “Give it to me.”

Ransom let out a sharp cry when you sealed your lips around his tip one last time, his knees buckling as you sucked him dry through the thin lace of his panties. He practically collapsed into your lap when you released him with a pop, burying his face in your neck and panting heavily as you ran your hands over his back.

“Could’ve let me finish.” He huffed when you grabbed another joint and lit up, resting his forehead against yours and parting his lips so you could shotgun him.

“I’m sorry, pup, you’re too yummy for your own good.” You bit his lip softy before taking another pull, blowing the smoke into his mouth as he pressed himself closer to you and purred. “Well if you can stand you can finish, wanna make sure I get the full effect of my first birthday present.”

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

A STUDY IN YOU, prologue

December 9th, 2017

Your legs were folded beneath you on Sophie’s couch when you mindlessly swiped: left, left, left, no, no, no. 

A container of Lo Mein was half-eaten (and half-cold) on the coffee table in front of you, the $11 bottle of red blend you’d brought was now empty. 

Winter was just starting to settle in New York as the Fall semester came to a close. Snowflakes fluttered out the window and Sophie jumped when you let out an audible gasp.

“Sudeikis is on Hinge?!” You flipped your phone around, eyes wide when Sophie’s lips twisted into a grin and she crawled towards you.

“No fucking way, oh my god,” she reached for the phone, held it steady for a moment when she inspected his profile picture. 

Speckles of gray in his beard, the same tweed hat you’d seen him in a few times on set. Sophie wiggled her brows when you brought your eyes up to meet hers. 

“Don’t make that face,” you warned your best friend, the proverbial devil on your shoulder and the metaphorical rock that helped you navigate grad school. Now her face fell and she looked incredibly unimpressed and fed up with you.

“What?” You laughed, clicking your phone shut and tossing it onto the couch cushion beside you. “Just because I had one stupid sex dream about him doesn’t mean anything.”

She watched you for a second, as if she was waiting for you to break. Just kidding!!!, you’d laugh, followed by a quick admission of your school girl crush. 

“He’s hot as fuck,” she eyed you suspiciously.

Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes at your friend. Was she wrong? No. Were you about to admit that? Double no.

She let out a weighted sigh before she explained. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge a hot daddy.”

“Okay,” you laughed, picking up your phone again when you crinkled your nose. “That’s the line, you crossed it right there with the ‘d’ word.”

She rolled her eyes, reached for your phone and started tugging. “Give it to me—just swipe right, live a little you giant prude!”

“No way!” You laughed, sure she wasn’t serious. “He’s our professor!”

“Y/N, you haven’t gotten laid in a year and if your hottie advisor is on Hinge there’s no way you’re not shooting your shot.”

Sophie gave one final tug and pulled it right out of your grasp, the app gave a buzz in excitement to signal your successful swipe before she could even do it on purpose. “See?” She giggled, “the universe also wants you to get laid. I didn’t even have to swipe!”

You grabbed it back from her quickly, scanning the screen in a mix of horror and amusement. “And you seriously think one of our professors is a viable option?”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a smirk, ignoring your question. “Worst case scenario you just tell him your cat did it.”

“My cat?” you rolled your eyes, “I don’t think he’s dumb enough to believe that.” You also didn’t have one.

“Calm down, relax, get laid,” she shrugged, looking back at her own phone as if you were being dramatic and obnoxious.

You groaned, stared at his profile for a second as you tried to work out a plan. You figured that if anything, you’d just tell him that Sophie did it. After he had you both in a Film Criticism lecture this fall, there was no way he’d be surprised to learn your loud-mouth friend swiped right in your honor after a few glasses of wine. 

And besides, people swiped right on people they knew all the time, right? A subtle acknowledgement--hi, hello, we know each other. Totally normal.

Or maybe he wouldn’t even see it. Maybe his profile was old and he never even came on this dumb app to begin with. Maybe he was too old to even know how the app worked and he’d be none the wiser. He was 40-something, afterall. 

The sudden appearance of a little green dot by his name was a grim reality: no such luck. 

“Oh fuck me, he’s online,” you muttered. 

“He’s online?!” Sophie came close again, her cheek pushed up against yours when she grinned at the green dot, you let out another groan and covered your eyes in shame. 

“Okay, maybe I should just message him and say it was an accident. Apologize, you know, since it’s wildly inappropriate to swipe right on your academic advisor.”

“Or you could just wait to see if he says anything,” she eyed you innocently.

You glanced at her sideways.“You’re actually psychotic.” 

Your phone buzzed again, this time to inform you of a new match. Your stomach dropped. Sophie smacked you in the arm twice.

Another buzz, a new chat. 

Jason Sudeikis (9:43pm): I guess now is as good a time as ever to let you know your final grade haha

Jason Sudeikis (9:43pm): You got an A

Sophie smacked you in the arm three times now, obviously excited. “Oh my fucking god!”

You laughed, looked up at her again in shock. “What the fuck do I say to that?”

“He’s flirting with you!”

“No he’s not,” you said quickly. “Is he?”

“Uh, I mean, he could have just ignored that you swiped and acted like it never happened. That would be the professional thing to do.”

You thought on it for a second, stared at his words on the screen and wondered where he was. Sitting in his apartment in Brooklyn? Watching TV? Grading final papers? You pictured the rimmed glasses he wore when he read, perched on his nose when he smirked at the screen. 

No way, he wasn’t smirking. He probably thought it was weird and was trying to save you from embarrassment after an otherwise successful semester at NYU. 

“You have to reply!”

“And say what?”

“Something clever, something sexy,” her shoulders bounced a few times in anticipation. 

“Should I?” You smiled a little at your friend, only slightly annoyed by the way she fanned the flames. A wave of butterflies when you looked back at the screen and typed.

Y/N L/N (9:45pm): Will I still get an email from you next week or is this the official notice?

The green dot was still there, you waited a few seconds until a new message popped up. 

Jason Sudeikis (9:46pm): I guess I’ll send an email

Jason Sudeikis (9:46pm): You know, just in good faith 🤷‍♂️

Sophie let out a noise of excitement, she elbowed you in the ribs when she leaned back against the couch, clearly satisfied with herself. “And you thought I was a psychopath.” 

“I still do,” you shot her a glance, unable to fight the smile that tugged at your lips. 

She left you alone at that, scrolled on instagram and complained about an annoying classmate before rinsing your wine glasses in the sink.

You checked the chat on the subway ride home, no response after your last message. 

Y/N L/N (9:49pm): I’ll keep an eye out, then 👀

Oh well. You hung your coat by the door when it latched into place, toed out of your boots in your studio apartment in the East Village. 

At least you got an A.

table of contents | talk to me & join the tag list

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A professor/grad school fic????????? uh oh.

[carrickbender]

7 pour Dimanche

- I had a rare night off last night during our major maintenance outage(the whole mill shuts down and fixes all the big stuff that's been put off for a year), but I didn't find out until after I got up to come to work. So yeah, airfryer for the win for dinner! The aforementioned MMO is not really happening in my department(not a lot of projects), so the last 2 nights have been work for maybe 2 hours, look for stuff to do for 10 hours. All of us are very underwhelmed by this MMO- as compared to the amount of work that we are doing, the budget for repairs, and the amount of work that needs to be done, it seems to all of us that major work is being neglected for the sake of profit.

- School started this week, and it's go time for me to pump my GPA as high as I can before I apply to grad school. 2 classes should be pretty interesting and an honest go, but one is a retake due to my surgery last year and I'm already not impressed with this course layout, even less impressed with my own inability to get it done the first time. I'm looking at 4 different schools, but Penn St has a great programme which will allow me to get it done reasonably fast. So Penn St, UNC, Arizona St., and the University of Washington Foster school are the bunch I'm keen on, and thankfully none are a stretch- save for the University of Washington. Their median GPA is around a 3.6(!!!!!), and I'm going to be right around a 3.4. And plus, it's Foster, so it's more about who you know and while I'd be a UDub legacy, I reckon my chances are slim. But I haven't come this far to give up...

- Stomach is still destroyed. Like, I love the results but I'm honestly miserable. The loose skin thing has started big time, and the upside is that it's becoming a bit comical. I mean, lemme put it like this: there's no privacy in this house with Cabo and Henry, aka the threenagers. So yesterday, Henry just barged in while I was drying off from a shower looked at my skin and said, "Da, you are floppy", and smiled. But then I explained to him why, and he agreed, and that all bodies are different and different is OK. He gets it, this sweet little monster... lol

- Those shoes... like, talk about a seriously great take on a Rock n Roll classic. I mean, I don't need them, but damn...

- One of my best friends/body stasher/truly the coolest guy in any room is getting over a nasty case of something viral which lead to bells palsy, and hes talking about going to shows again. We have set our sights on maybe a jaunt to Texas in March to see the Killers. Yall, I've seen the setlists and I think that this might be a show on which to blow a few airline miles.

- I don't know if I'm alone in this, but I kinda feel like the next 2 years might be some of the most difficult in the history of the country and the world. I feel myself getting angrier and angrier, and while I'm not hopeless, it's not hard to understand why people get that way. I need to channel that anger, that rage, into something more transformative and positive and not be part of the problem. "Blessed are the peacemakers", sure, but that doesn't mean we have to go quietly.

- There's more I can and could say, but honestly, it's not productive. What is productive, and amazing, is the love and friendship I find in this community. I see do many of yall are doing awesome and amazing things and I just want to thank you all for sharing. You are loved and appreciated for the strength and stories you share. Many blessings yall!

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter.��

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[bump1nthen1ght]

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader). Prologue

Pairing: Gender Neutral! Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1206 words

Summary: The compass on your wrist points in the direction of your soulmate. Your other half, the person you will spend the rest of your life with. But why has yours never moved?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A/N: Alternate Title - Shape of Water 2: Electric Boogaloo

Cross-posted to Ao3!

You’ve known soulmates were bullshit since you were 14.

You’ve known since you first got a pitying look, a peppy quip to “look at the bright side of things.” Since people began deciding things about you before they even knew you.

-------

When you were seven, a year after your soulmate mark appeared, you and your family went to visit your aunt in Michigan. It’s a short flight from Virginia and you talk your mom’s ear off about jet-skies, lake monsters, and swimsuits. You’re so wrapped up in the excitement of travel that it's only when your cousin points it out do you notice.

The compass on your wrist hasn’t moved, not even a millimeter, away from the W point. Same as it had been on the east coast. You overhear your uncle joking about it one night, right before the kids are put to bed.

“Looks like ____’s got a long way to go, huh?”

Your mom gives a dramatic sigh, slapping her hands against her cheeks, slightly red from wine.

“I suppose so. I would’ve preferred someone closer to  home, just so I could check up on them, but it’s just not in the cards.”

You don’t know what she means, but your little kid brain registers any tone of disappointment as genuine. While laying in your cousin's bunk bed, you flick your wrist several times, trying to move that compass point.

Unsurprisingly, it stays still.

But it doesn't move when you visit family in Texas either.

You’re 12 at this point, your family taking a long Christmas in Bueda. You spend the flight with your nose stuck in a fantasy book. Most of family time as well, still too young to hang with the teens but too old to play with the little kids. It’s a good disguise for eavesdropping, especially when you hear the adult table bring up your compass.

“Dang, and I had my heart set on a cowboy son-in-law.” That dad-joke gets a laugh, but you feel the tips of your ears get red and force yourself to focus on the page in front of you.

By high school, you have a bone to pick with your soulmate.

You like where you live. You like the ocean, you like your friends, you like the picturesque four seasons.

Yet your whole life people expect you to get gone the minute you turn 18. The counselor puts emphasis on west-coast colleges (“They may not be Ivy’s technically but the UC’s are very good schools!”) and it becomes an accepted rumor that you’ll disappear the night of graduation, a note left and a suitcase packed to begin your cross-country soulmate search.

Spiteful as you are, you apply to University of Virginia and get a full-ride scholarship. The school is too good for anyone to make any comments, but you internally rejoice one-upping the system, as small as it was.

Those four years of pride feel less-sweet when you apply to UC Santa Cruz, one of the top Ocean Sciences schools, and have to move across the country to California. Your mother had grown out of soulmate jokes and a part of you knows she never really meant them, but you can’t help the stubborn 14 year old brewing in your mind.

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

When you're outside of the airport, hailing a cab to your new apartment, you fight the urge to take off your watch. Even the beautiful ocean view fails to completely distract you, your head forcefully locked into looking out the cab window instead of at your wrist.

While unpacking, you nonchalantly check, the compass catching your eye as you prop open one of your boxes.

The arrow points west.

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

For the first week of grad-school, you wear a scrunchie around your wrist. The unmoving point irks you, more so than you like. You are not sure if you could take any more questions.

That Sunday you walk down by the boardwalk to destress. You’ve made plans to visit the more touristy areas with some classmates next weekend, but today, you just want some time on the beach.

The sounds of the waves crashing reminds you of home, although the foam that tickles your feet is far warmer than the east coast. It’s probably an hour before sunset, a photographic time to be lost in thought. The sight of an endless horizon calms your mind.

“Hmm, maybe their Hawaiian? Or are there islands closer than that? Oh shit, maybe their Japanese, or maybe-” You shake your head, having unconsciously waded up to your ankles. “I wouldn’t even know what to do. I just started school, I have enough on my plate.” You pull up your pant legs a little more, letting the tide push against your calf.

The ocean looks infinite, beautiful in its possibilities and unanswered questions. You chose the right career to pursue.

“Yeah, I can wait a bit.”

The moment feels nice, the ocean water smoothes away the edges of your anxieties. For some dramatic finality, you pull up your watch and take a peek at your wrist.

The arrow points North.

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

“Sorry, excuse me!”

Damn, I really should’ve put my shoes back on.

The pinch of slightly missed splinters and small pebbles dig into the soles of your feet, shoulders bumping into multiple tourists as you keep up your gaze low and locked on your wrist.

The needle is fidgeting, beginning to point more West as you dart across the boardwalk. You mutter a curse as you take a swift turn, just narrowly avoiding rolling your ankle as you hit sand again. The added weight makes your calves burn, but you keep running. The arrow shifts more North.

You run for enough time to break a sweat and for the sounds of civilization to fade away. A jolt runs through you as your toes hit cold water and stone. You’ve reached a tidepool, small and secluded.

The needle is still, pointed out towards the open ocean. West.

Catching your breath, you feel your spirits drop as you stare at barnacles and stray bits of seaweed.

God, what am I doing?

A large sturdy rock juts out with just enough room for you to sit and lament on. You take a seat, racked by the feeling that you’ve somehow lost. To whom, you don’t know.

A large crab scuffles at the end of the tidepool. You look up and smile forlornly as it comes closer to you.

“ I guess you're my soulmate, little guy?” The crab clicks its claws. It looks as if it’s moving to snip at your toes.

But before you can slide your feet away, a large, grey, webbed hand slams down on top of the crab.

A line of electricity rolls down your spine and you jerk back.

“Gotcha!”

The clawed hand is attached to a grey arm, which leads to a muscular shoulder and a very large body, which stretches the length of a tidepool and ends with a tail. He has a big smile full of far too many sharp teeth.

He looks up when he sees the tip of your toes wiggle. His eyes are an abyssal black from corner to corner.

On his wrist there’s a tattooed nautical arrow, pointed directly at you.

[rocknrollgradschool]

Thank you support over the past 12 months. We couldn’t have done it without you. Happy New Year!

[trulymadlysydney]

1/ ok long anon :) back longer than ever ! because was there one time Harry was seen at like a western bar? or a bar that had a mechanical bull and he rode it ?? Then left with a girl? did that actually happen am I making that up? Anyways Harry’s in the middle of his American tour and has a 3 day break before his next show on Friday. And let’s pretend he’s somewhere around Nashville, or down further south near Dallas or Houston, or maybe west near Phoenix, or could be up in Boston, anyways point is, it’s Tuesday night and Harry just wants to find a place to have a beer at an actual bar with his band and some of the crew, and hopefully not be center of attention for a moment. And the bar he manages to make his way into isn’t packed whatsoever, but still has a nice crowd of what seems to be older locals, there for open mic night/karaoke. He and the band manage to make their way in to go sit at a booth tucked away and if any of the patrons do spare a look at him, it’s not really at him, but more so at his funky multicolored cardigan. And Harry’s having a great time just being able to be out drinking and having a good time with his friends, just laughing over stories told, pausing to listen to whoever is up at the mic if they catch his ear. Harry suggests another round of drinks, and he walks up to where you’re behind bar in a pair of Levi’s shorts, head turned away as you’re filling up a glass from the tap, and as if you could sense someone there behind you, you’re already saying “I’ll be with you in a second” without even turning around. And when you hear a “take your time” in an accent that’s definitely not from one of your usual crowd, you quickly look over your shoulder and just as quickly turn back to the tap because holy shit…it’s actually Harry Styles at this bar of all places. And as you turn to take the drink you poured to the patron at the corner of the bar, Harry gets an actual look at you and thinks to himself oh wow…she’s pretty. Really, really pretty even in this low lighting. And as you slide your way back over to him, you ask “what can I get you?” in the most calm cool collected way you can manage. And maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s because he’s naturally a menace, but Harry says “your name” with a slight grin. And you won’t lie, hearing that from Harry Styles did make your heart start pumping faster, and a smirk starts to make its way to your mouth that Harry catches, but is shaken away as you roll your eyes because men really are the same no matter who they are and you respond “it’s y/n. Now seriously, what can I get you? They don’t look it, but this crowd can get rowdy if they don’t get their drinks in time even if I tell them that it was a young big shot rock star decided to hold up the line” And there it is. The little weight that settled on your shoulders for a second lifted because you know that he knows and he knows that you know who he is. But you also can’t help but notice the little bit of hurt that crossed Harry’s face when you responded. And Harry, he’s a little taken back by your sharp response, mouth dropped, but not so much shocked that you know who he is (he’s not conceited just knows how relevant/big he is). And he doesn’t know what it is whether it’s the fact that you’re so pretty, or the fact you tried to play it cool (the shocked-knowing glance you made at him when you thought he didn’t notice turns out was noticed) the alcohol, or the slight bite in your response, but he turns to look back at the booth with his friends and notices that they’re so deep into conversations and laughs and (some even dancing with some of the older patrons) honestly, haven’t noticed that Harry’s been gone for a moment. He looks back to you and says “Y/N” (that rolls nice off his lips), “I’m sorry, I’ll have one of whatever is on tap.” And you nod as you turn to pour his drink while Harry decides to settle in and take a seat at the bar. And when you place his drink on the table, he goes “Seriously, I’m sorry if I offended you or made you uncomfortable in anyway.”

2/ And you notice how genuine he sounds right now, and you were neither offended or uncomfortable, just more shocked that Harry Styles is asking for your name. You tell him “it’s fine, really, just wasn’t expecting /that/ from you. Anyways, what managed to bring you all the way over here?” And that’s how you two started talking about everything really even as you excused yourself to fill orders, the conversation was easily jumped back into. Harry told you of how he’s been on tour and just needed to feel like a person and you told him about yourself. How you took up bartending because you’re starting grad school in the fall and little stories about the old timey crowd that like to inhabit this place. Like how behind the dingy curtain on the little stage, there’s actually a mechanical bull that is hardly ever used now because too many drunk old people nearly breaking a hip trying to live out their Wild Wild West fantasy. And you both don’t really notice, but as the conversation has gone on, he’s leaned more across the bar as you’ve leaned closer to him as well. Harry’s noticing how your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the mole on your forearm as you stretch to hand people their drinks. And your beautiful doesn’t go missed by the kind elderly guests who he can hear make comments on how “you get prettier every time I see you y/n” And you’re really smart. When you told him what you’re going to grad school for, and what you’re researching, Harry was reminded how he stopped going to school at 16. And you’re noticing how easy he is to talk to. Surprisingly easy and despite being a huge celebrity, he’s really down to earth, still cocky but charming. He’s also so handsome, strikingly so, especially this close. Anyways, the night has gone on, more of the crowd turning in for the night, and you’re now around the bar, sitting on the stool next to Harry, knees occasionally knocking against each other, still talking. At some point you’re both broken out of whatever trance you’re both under by each other by one of Harry’s friends coming over to tell him that they’re all leaving and you think sadly to yourself that this weird, unexpected, encounter has come to an end. But when you see that Harry hasn’t gotten up from his stool, and he tell them that’s going to stay back and he’ll get a ride back later, something lights up in your belly. As they all wave back at him you send a wave off as well and Harry turns back to you and says “Is that okay with you? I’m honestly having a really great time talking with you.” And you swear steam could come out of your ears and your face is probably beet red right now as a high pitch “no, that’s fine, I’m really having a great time too. But I am going to have to start closing up now, so if you do want to leave…” and Harry is all “oh….well is it okay if I stay as you close up, give you some extra company? I promise I’ll stay out of your way, or I could help, you know?” And he adds with a smile, “Whatever I can do that’ll make you want me to stay, lovely” And that last part makes you smitten really as you nod okay to him. So the bar is now closed, and you’ve been going through your usual closing routine (it’s just you that night since it was Tuesday) and you just can’t believe Harry Styles is here helping you sweep and flip chairs onto tables (“I can help some. I used to be a baker you know?”) And you’ve plugged your phone into the speaker to play your Spotify as you clean and when you hear the opening of Canyon Moon, a shock runs up your spine as you pause mid tabletop wipe down and your eyes move to meet Harry who has looked up mid sweep. And you’re blushing again and stammering an apology of “I am so sorry let me change it” as you rush to your phone to change it as Harry who has gone back to sweeping says “no I like this one” with a grin and looks back to you. And you’re a little relieved but still embarrassed biting your lip as you tell him “yeah i do too” with a returned grin.

3/ And you both go back to cleaning and talking, you’ve both ended up in one of the booths, Your feet brushing against each other under the table as you finish up looking over inventory sheets between asking Harry about his tattoos (his sleeves rolled up,holding his arm out on the table as you admire and you didn’t miss the flex of his hand when you brushed against the one of the holy Bible asking if the placement of the bookmark means anything particular). And at some point Harry looks towards the stage at one point and asks “is there really a bull behind there?” And you told him “yeah and that bull has a name, and it’s Stella by the way named after an actual cow the owner had on a farm as a kid” and now you’re pulling the curtain to reveal, the very intimidating mechanical bull that takes up most of the tiny stage. And Harry’s all “can I ride it?” And you’re all “are you sure? I mean it hasn’t been used in awhile besides my coworkers when we’re fucking around after closing sometimes.” And Harry’s like “yeah it looks like fun.” And that’s how he ended up, on top of the bull, shoes discarded and socked feet, holding on with one hand as the bull bucked and you laughed at first because of how ridiculous he looked, and he’s laughing along with you having the time of his life too, but oh…the way he’s practically grinding against the seat is making you have some really impure thoughts. And you shake your head a little as he’s finally lost his bearings and has fallen off onto the protective padding below laughing his head off. And jokingly you say “23 seconds. And here id thought you’d last longer.”

4/ And Harry catches your shot at his ego as he gains his composure, rising up to where you are at the controls to say “heyyy now. Bet you can’t do better.” And you’re a little insulted at his assumption because you mentioned earlier to him that you and the rest of the workers here will occasionally ride the bull after work for fun and you’d managed stay on the longest several times thanks to your highly strategized technique you’ve developed, as you scoff “oh please I know how to ride” and your eyes widen because you didn’t mean for your response to be that saucy, but Harry is already looking at you with that smirk and says “well, show me how you ride then” and you swallow and agree and after giving harry a rundown on the easy to use controls, you’re perched on the bull. With the bull facing the away, your starting with your back towards Harry, and he can’t help but to notice your ass in your shorts again as it’s slightly arched on the bull with your hand in the air. Once he actually starts up the bull, he realizes how right you were about knowing how to ride. And he didn’t think this was possible but you’ve managed to make this whole activity seem graceful? In the way that you’re going with the motions of the bull. Harry also can’t help but notice how sexy you look up on it too, he can’t help but let his himself imagine you riding him like how you are on the bull right now. You rocking rhythmically back and forth on the saddle. Harry’s glad that he’s behind the controls right now as he reaches to his pants to discreetly adjust himself because he’s getting hard. And your gleeful laughter snaps him out of his dirty thoughts as you make eye contact with him, and it’s a split second but oh did you just see him? adjust himself? Oh… and it breaks you from your concentration as you’re flung from the bull a little harsher than expected onto the padding below. And Harry has exclaimed your name as he has stepped his way into the padding of the bull pen rushing to you as you’re rolled onto your side catching your breath laughing a little because this is, just so crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy that Harry Styles has not only showed up to your bar, but he /likes/ talking to you, he called you lovely and now, he’s hard over you. And Harry is leaned over you, rolling you onto your back, concern on his face, and asking “are you okay?” And you’re still trying to catch your breath as breathless laughs escape you as you tell him “yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

5/ And now you’re close, really close and really looking at each other as Harry goes to sweep some of your hair off your face. And you reach your hand up to softly brush against the bare skin of his tattooless arm. And you’re looking at Harry’s lips as he’s paused his ministrations in your hair looking down at you and smirks “you were right about knowing how to ride.” And a smile spreads across your face, and your eyes are doing that crinkled thing that Harry likes as you reply “oh, you think?” and your hand moves to tug on his collar, to bring him down to your face as you kiss him.

Anndddddd that’s all I’ve got lol.

---------

BESTIE....... BESTIE OH MY GOD HELLO??? IM SPEECHLESS IM... OMFG HIM BEING A LITTLE NERVOUS? YOU BOTH BEING SO EXCITED TO HANG OUT AFTER HOURS, AND THE REALIZATION THAT LIKE... OH FUCK HE’S ACTUALLY KIND OF INTO YOU... OH MY GOD

[moldisgoodforyou]

how lucky am I

gif by @toesure​ 

summary: jj and charlie return home to the outer banks after their engagement. jj shows charlie around where he grew up - and sees his dad again after six years. 

a/n: this is set in a post-grad universe (read this for background)! and thank you always to my friends @oopmyheartwent-obx​ and @sunnypogue​ for reading it over for me beforehand!! 

warnings: cursing, emotional abuse, mentions of physical abuse.

wordcount: 4.7k

Charlie and JJ took an Uber from the airport as they flew home for the first time since they were engaged, about six months since when they had come home for Christmas. They entered her parents’ house, leaving their suitcases at the door. Charlie took JJ’s cap from him first, fluffing up his hair and giving him a quick kiss before bringing him into the kitchen. Both her parents were busy in the kitchen with their backs to them, music drifting over the radio. “Hey guys!” Charlie greeted cheerfully. 

Her mom reacted first, whipping around at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “JJ! Charlie!” She hugged JJ first, catching him off guard, but he smiled and hugged her back after a beat. “Hi, Mrs. Walker. Whatever you’re making smells incredible.” Charlie had to resist rolling her eyes as her mom pulled back with her hand to her heart. “I told you, JJ, call me Suzie. We’re family now!” JJ nodded, grinning. “Yes ma’am.” 

JJ then extended his arm toward her dad for a handshake, like usual between the two - but her dad pulled him in for a hug, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you, son. Your flight go okay?” JJ beamed at the approval, nodding. “Yes, sir - uh, Mr. Walker.” He corrected himself. Charlie’s dad shook his head and dropped JJ’s hand. “Mike is fine, JJ. You hungry?” He pulled Charlie into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Dad, can we put our bags up in my room first?” Mike pulled back, giving her a look. “JJ’s bag goes in the guest room.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Dad, we’re literally engaged -”

Her dad shook his head. “Guest room. Go put them away.” She sighed but nodded, pulling JJ upstairs. They could hear her mom berating her dad for not being nice enough as they walked upstairs and Charlie laughed. “The second they go to bed, you’re coming into my room.” JJ shook his head, but stayed quiet as he lugged their suitcases upstairs and into her room. “You good, J?” She asked, kissing his cheek. JJ nodded, a small smile on his face. “He called me son. Your dad.” Charlie softened, not knowing how much that would mean to him. “You’ve been a part of the family for a while now, baby. Now it’s just official.” 

The next morning, the two took advantage of being back in the Outer Banks, visiting all their favorite spots from growing up. They woke up early to surf for a couple hours with the sunrise, then got breakfast with John B and Sarah afterward. Charlie and JJ then drove by the coast for a while, aimlessly. “Can we go by one more place?” JJ asked after a while. “Of course, what are you thinking?” JJ gave her a small, hopeful smile. “You’ll see.” 

_ 

He drummed his fingers on the wheel as they drove closer to the Cut, toward his old house. “We don’t have to go here if you don’t want to, JJ -” Charlie started, but JJ shook his head, cutting her off. “No, no, I want to check it out.” He gave her an uneasy smile, forcing it. Charlie nodded, squeezing his arm gently but stayed quiet. She had heard most of the stories before and had pretty much made up her mind about JJ’s dad - no in-person meeting could change that. 

He pulled up onto the gravel, taking a breath before turning the key and getting out. Charlie started toward the house, but JJ quickly grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Can - can you just wait out here first, just for a second?” She nodded, biting her lip out of worry. “Of course. I’ll be right here.” JJ seemed to relax slightly and released her hand, then flipped his cap backward before heading inside. 

“Dad?” He called out, tense. He walked through the house tentatively, listening, then relaxed more once he realized his dad wasn’t home. He surveyed the mess and shoved some trash (and a small white bag) into a drawer before heading back outside. “Charlie, c’mere.” 

Charlie was hesitant, taking his hand again once she reached the porch. “He’s not here, but, uh, you can see my room, at least.” JJ offered. He was clearly embarrassed by the house and Charlie tried to conceal her surprise at the state of disarray, holding his hand a little tighter. JJ led her to his room and pushed open the door - then smiled. 

His room had been untouched since he had moved out and into the Chateau with John B on his 18th birthday. It looked exactly like how an 18-year-old boy’s room would look - rumpled sheets, a few lewd posters on the walls, a spare history textbook used to prop up the uneven leg of the desk. Charlie rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t look too different from your freshman year dorm, I’d imagine.” JJ laughed, splaying his hand over one of the posters. “Pretty much.” 

She took a tentative seat on the bed. “It’s not as bad as you were describing it to me. It’s...homey.” JJ scoffed, looking around. “No, homey is how I feel at your place. This is just fucking sad.” Charlie frowned, reaching out for him, and JJ waved her off. “I’m fine, just. Feels weird being back.” 

Suddenly, there was a bang out front and the sound of splintering wood, like the door was just kicked in. Charlie jumped up from the bed, clinging to JJ. “What the -” JJ clapped his hand over her mouth and put a finger to his lips, shushing her. 

A gruff voice rang out. “I have a gun! Better get the fuck out!” 

Upon hearing the voice, JJ relaxed a bit and moved to walk out. Charlie gripped JJ’s bicep tighter, eyes wide and scared. “What the fuck are you doing!” She hissed, yanking him back. JJ shook her off, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “It’s fine, Charlie, it’s just my dad. And he’s a fuckin’ liar.” They could hear footsteps coming closer and Charlie’s heart rate quickened, tears welling in her eyes. “It might not be - JJ, please, we should hide.” She begged, stepping away from the door. 

JJ walked out of his room, hands up. “Just me, Dad!” He called out. Once Luke Maybank saw him, he stopped dead in his tracks - no gun in hand, just as JJ expected. “Oh. JJ? Why the fuck are you here?” JJ let out a sad, short laugh. “Good to see you too, Dad.” Charlie peered out from around the corner, tentative, and Luke immediately spotted her, pointing. “You’re 25 and you’re still sneaking girls into the house?” 

At JJ’s beckon forward, Charlie stepped out, standing slightly behind JJ. “He’s 24, actually,” she corrected before she could stop herself. “She’s got a smart mouth like you.” Luke pointed out, smirking. JJ grit his teeth. “Dad, this is Charlie. My girlfriend I told you about - well, actually, my fiancee.” He was still getting used to saying the word. Charlie took JJ’s hand, then took a small step forward. “Hi.” 

Luke eyed the ring on her finger right away, skeptical. “Where’d you get the money for that rock?” 

“It’s my grandmother’s.” Charlie responded before JJ could even open his mouth.

“Hm.” Luke hummed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. Charlie stayed tense but JJ did the same, pulling out a chair for Charlie first. She hesitated, but he tugged on his hand gently to show her it was okay. “Where did you meet again?” Luke asked, feigning interest - though his eyes kept flicking back to check out Charlie’s ring. He kicked back in his chair, swinging his feet up onto the table. JJ ran his hand through his hair. “Well...in college. We’ve been dating since senior year, remember?” 

“But I grew up here, we knew each other from high school before that.” Charlie added. Luke raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What’s your last name?” JJ squeezed her knee gently underneath the table. “It’s Walker, Dad.” Luke nodded in recognition, then laughed. “That touristy ice cream shop? Marrying into money, then.” He directed his gaze to Charlie, cracking a smile. “How’d he trick you into bothering with him?” 

Charlie frowned, keeping her tone even. “He didn’t trick me into anything.” 

Luke looked smug. “I’ve known him longer than you, kid, I know how he works.” 

“You should be proud of JJ. He’s intelligent, and kind, and loyal as hell.” She paused, lifting her chin a little. “No thanks to you.” JJ set his jaw and nudged her knee under the table, a private sign to knock it off. 

Luke leaned forward, both hands on the table. “Better watch your pretty little mouth in my house, girl.”  

“Don’t talk to her like that.” JJ quickly admonished, tensing. 

“Am I invited?” Luke asked, a small smirk on his lips. JJ paused, trying to process. “To...to the wedding?” He glanced at Charlie, a mix of emotions displayed on his face. Charlie kept her hard resolve. “We only got engaged two weeks ago, we haven’t worked on a guest list.” She stood, trying to make it clear the conversation was over, and JJ followed suit reluctantly. 

“You’re making a mistake sticking yourself with this lazy piece of shit.” Luke told her, gesturing toward JJ. 

Charlie took a quick step toward Luke, ready to retort, and JJ wrapped his arms around her waist just as quickly, pulling her back toward his chest. “Don’t.” He murmured in her ear. She stayed tense in his arms. 

Luke just laughed. “She’s feisty, huh?” 

JJ kept his arms around Charlie, protective. “She’s loyal.” 

Luke nodded, folding his hands behind his head.  “How long are you around? Back home?” JJ fidgeted with the bill of his cap. “Just ‘til Monday. I gotta get back for work.” Luke made a small noise of acknowledgment and stood, pulling a beer from the fridge. “Well. You ought to come ‘round again before you leave, sounds like we need to catch up.” JJ managed a small smile, confused, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, if we have time.” 

Charlie stepped out of his arms toward the door. “Well, uh, we have to go, but. I’ll see you around.” Luke popped the bottle cap off the beer and took a swig. “No one’s blocking you. Door’s open, kid.” 

The tips of JJ’s ears turned red and he nodded, silently following Charlie through the door and out to the car. “JJ, I -” Charlie started, and he shook his head. “Let’s just go.” The two of them got in the car and he gripped the wheel hard as he drove away, jaw clenched. He flicked through the radio until he found a classic rock station and cranked the volume, foot pressing harder on the gas. 

“I’m just gonna drive.” He told Charlie, eyes set firmly on the long road. She nodded, quiet, but was analyzing his every move, noticing the way his shoulders were tensed up to his ears and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. 

A few minutes later, it was like JJ had a lead foot against the pedal and the car climbed five, ten, fifteen miles over the speed limit. He stared out at the road but was unfocused, radio static in his ears. “J.” Charlie tried again, for the fourth time. She reached out, shaking his arm. “JJ!” He swerved slightly and glanced over at her, blinking, then finally registered her worried expression and slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. 

Charlie reached over and pushed the car into park as his foot stayed on the brake, then unbuckled and quickly got out. She opened the driver’s side door and reached over, unbuckling JJ’s seatbelt. “Out. I’ll drive.” He nodded numbly and stood, turning into her touch. Charlie looked worried and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, but nothing more. 

“Get in and we’ll go home, hon.” He nodded again and did so, wordless. She started the car again, reaching to turn down the radio, but JJ reached for her hand, stopping her. She twisted her wrist to intertwine her fingers with his, resting their hands on the center console and holding his hand tight. 

They stayed quiet as she drove toward her house - but after a glance toward JJ and seeing how hard he was blinking, Charlie turned away from the neighborhood and toward the beach. “You missed the turn.” JJ mumbled, holding tight to her hand. She nodded. “I know. I want to see the beach.” JJ sighed as she pulled toward a secluded lookout spot. “Charlie, I’m fine.” 

Charlie shrugged, putting the car in park and turning the key. “I know. Come on, let’s go sit.” She got out and tugged on his hand, pulling him toward the beach and sitting down with him. After a beat, she scooted closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. JJ leaned down into her, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine.” He repeated, shakily. He swiped the back of his hand across his cheek roughly, not allowing any tears to fall. She tightened her grip on him, letting him rest his head on her chest. 

“It’s okay if you’re not, J.” She whispered, stroking his head. He mumbled something into her t-shirt, still for a moment, then slid his arms around her waist, clinging tight. Charlie frowned and pressed a kiss to his head. “Hm, hon?” 

JJ lifted his head slightly. “You scared me.” 

Charlie let out a short laugh, incredulous. “I scared you? He threatened a gun on you!” 

JJ sat up a little but kept an arm around her waist, looking serious. “You can’t talk to him like that, Charlie. He’s unpredictable. He - he could have hurt you.” 

Charlie frowned. “I can handle myself.” 

JJ furrowed his brow, frustrated. “No, Charlie, I’m serious. You can’t talk to him like that - if he did something to you, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

“His words aren’t gonna hurt me.” She replied, stubborn. “If you go back, I’m going with you.” JJ sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get anything through to her in the moment. “Yeah. We’ll see.” Charlie set her jaw, lifting it toward him. “I’m not letting you go back alone, JJ. I don’t trust him.” 

JJ gripped her chin gently, kissing her softly. “You’re too fucking stubborn.” She pulled out of his touch, frowning. “I just want you to be safe.” JJ nodded. “I know.” He glanced down at her phone as it chimed. “We gotta get back for your family thing soon, sweetheart.” 

Still annoyed, Charlie stood, crossing her arms. “I’m mad at you, you know.” JJ held back a small laugh as he stood, nodding seriously. “I know. Think you can fake being in love for the engagement party?” He teased. Charlie rolled her eyes and tossed him the keys. “I still love you. I’m just mad.” JJ smiled and got in the car with her, kissing her cheek. “Good. Love you too, Walker.” 

_

After the majority of her family left, Charlie dragged JJ upstairs by the hand to her room. She instantly flopped back onto the bed, kicking off her heels. “We survived!” She teased, tugged on his hand to pull him down next to her. “Do you think they liked me?” JJ asked, taking a tentative seat on the edge of the bed next to her. 

At that moment her dad Mike walked past, pushing the door open. “They’ll like you better if you keep the door open, son.” Charlie rolled her eyes, turning her head to glance at him. “Dad. Might I remind you we’re 24? And engaged?” Mike just laughed. “And you’re under my roof, and JJ’s staying in the guest room tonight. Again.” JJ nodded quickly, running his hand through his hair. “Yes, sir.” Mike grinned, walking away. “Night, you two!” He called over his shoulder. 

“Good night!” Charlie called back, then sat up to shut the door. JJ pushed her back down, grinning. “Did you not hear his rules?” Charlie smirked, lowering her voice. “I didn’t know you were into the idea of getting caught.” JJ laughed and stood, hands raised in surrender. “That’s it, I’m going to the guest room.” 

“No, stay!” Charlie reached out, hooking her finger in his belt loop, and tugged. “You’re trouble, Walker.” He teased, but fell forward onto her anyway. She grinned, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. “Yeah, yeah, but you love trouble. Anyway, I think - no, I know that they loved you. They’ve all met you before, too, so it’s not like you had to make a grand first impression.” 

He shifted to be on his side, facing her, and propped his head up on his elbow. “Yeah, but this was an extra big deal. First impression as your fiance.” Charlie nodded and kissed him, sound. “You did just fine, hon. I think my grandma would marry you herself if she was younger.” He laughed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “She was not happy about the last name deal. Mrs. Maybank.” He teased. 

Charlie rolled her eyes. “It’s a totally antiquated belief, and I’m working -” 

“Incredibly hard for your degrees, including your PhD, I know, I know.” JJ cut her off, finishing the speech he had heard quite a few times. “Just teasing you, Char.” She smiled, pleased. “Good.” JJ paused, like he was going to say something, then just sighed. Charlie frowned, picking up on it right away. “What’s up?” 

He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. “Um. I think I want to go see my dad again before we leave.” 

“JJ…” Charlie sighed. “Why?” 

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “Dunno. I’ve barely talked to him in six years.” 

Charlie bit her lip. “There’s a reason for that, J, he’s an asshole.” 

JJ started, then paused. “Well - I mean, yeah, but did you hear him when we left? He wants to come to the wedding? Maybe he’s trying to be better.” 

Charlie frowned. “He’s had six years to try. I don’t know about this.” JJ set his jaw, frustrated. “Well I’m not asking, I’m telling you out of courtesy. And you’re not coming.” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going alone.” 

He sat up, crossing his arms. “Yes I am.” 

She did the same. “No, you’re not. I’ll drive you and sit in the car.” 

He swung his legs off the edge of the bed, standing. “Fine.” 

“Fine. Where are you going?” She questioned. 

“I’m going to the guest room.” JJ replied, raising his eyebrows back at her. She rolled her eyes. “J, you don’t have to -” He waved it off, dismissing her. “It’s not because of this, it’s out of respect for your dad.”

Charlie softened, unable to argue with that. “Oh. Okay. Well...goodnight.” JJ offered a small smile and bent down, giving her a short kiss. “Goodnight. Love you, Charlie.” She smiled back, giving in. “Love you too, J.” He gave her a teasing salute as he walked out of the room.

_ 

The next day, they went back to JJ’s house around 6pm. Charlie drove, turning up the radio and humming along softly to their favorite songs, trying to ease JJ’s tension. As they pulled up on the drive, Charlie frowned seeing some broken glass bottles scattered around the yard. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in?” JJ nodded firmly. “Stay here. Please. He won’t do anything.” Charlie bit her lip, nodding back. “Don’t be too long.” He gave a small, tense smile and a short kiss. “I’ll be okay, sweetheart.” 

With that he got out, adjusting his hat as he walked up to the porch. The scene was all too familiar - empty beer cans scattered across the table, a medicine bottle with some pills strewn out on the glass. JJ nudged open the door and sighed when he saw Luke passed out on the couch, hand curled around an empty glass bottle that was cradled to his chest. 

“God damnit, Dad.” He said aloud, kicking one of the beer cans across the floor. Luke stirred, stretching as he woke up. JJ cursed under his breath, not sure if he wanted him to wake or not. Luke cracked one eye open, shooting at glare at his son. “The fuck are you back here for?” 

JJ flipped his hat backward, running his hand through his hair as he went. “You asked me to come back.” Luke scoffed. “Don’t know why I would have done that.” He leaned over, popping a cap off another beer and took a swig. “Your girl didn’t want to come back?” JJ shook his head, willing himself to not glance at her car outside. “I didn’t want her to have to see this piece of shit place again.” Luke sat up, gesturing at him with the beer bottle. “You should be grateful for this piece of shit, I raised you in it.” 

JJ crossed his arms, jaw set. “Saying you raised me is an overstatement.” 

“You gonna use some of that Walker family money to pay me back, then?” Luke stared him down from the couch. JJ scoffed. “Stolen bread and peanut butter from the store didn’t cost you shit, Dad.” 

Luke stood, swaying a little, and met him at eye level as he took another long drink. “You think the fucking utilities were free, boy? The running water? The A/C?” JJ stood his ground, his fists curling. “We had that maybe half the year, and a fucking box fan in the middle of the summer doesn’t do shit.” 

Luke shook his head. “Still cost money. You’re lucky I even gave you a place to stay.” He knocked back the rest of the beer and twirled the bottle in his hand. “Not sure how you even convinced that girl to stick around for long.” He grinned. “Just watch, she’ll leave too. They always do.” JJ swallowed, white-knuckled, but kept his fists by his side. “Fuck off, Dad, she loves me.” 

The corner of Luke’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Just like your mother loved you and then left in the middle of the night, first chance she got?” 

JJ took a deep breath to steady himself. If he was younger, his fist would have slammed into his dad’s cheek three insults ago - but he reminded himself he was better than that, too old to resort to injury. “She left because of you. We both know that.” 

Luke shook his head. “We got the same blood, boy. What runs in me runs in you.” 

“I’ll be a better husband and father than you ever were.” JJ shot back, chest puffed up and shoulders tall. 

Luke smirked. “That’s what I told my dad too, kid. Now look. Full fuckin’ circle.” 

JJ huffed in frustration, flipping his cap forward again and tugging down hard on the bill. “Fuck you.” 

Charlie had been sitting in the car long enough, anxious, and got out of the car, against her better judgment. Quietly, she walked up to the house, frowning as she heard unrecognizable yelling - from Luke or JJ, she wasn’t sure. Inside, JJ and Luke kept going, flinging insults at each other, the tension rising as they got in each other’s face. Charlie pushed open the screen door, staying quiet - but the hinges creaked at just the wrong moment. 

Luke hurled the glass bottle at the wall just behind Charlie’s head, making it shatter everywhere. She screamed, cowering, and JJ fisted the front of Luke’s shirt in his hand instantly. “What the fuck, Dad, she did nothing!” He roared, shoving him backward hard enough to land him on the floor. 

He ran over to Charlie, who had a small trickle of blood trailing down her cheek from a shard of broken glass. “Fuck, Charlie, are you okay?” She nodded quickly in response, eyes wide, a little stunned. JJ scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the house hurriedly, not taking a second look back. He set her in the passenger seat, then looked around worriedly. “Keys, Charlie, I need the keys.” She bit down on her lip, hard, gesturing toward the porch. “Keys, Charlie.” He repeated, looking her over with concern. 

“Dropped them. On the porch.” She got out, gingerly touching her fingers to her cheek. JJ cursed under his breath, nodding, and shut the door quickly. He jogged back up to the porch, glancing inside for a split second to see his dad still lying there on the floor. He hesitated just long enough to see his dad stir, no blood in sight, and grabbed the keys and ran back to the car. 

His hands were shaking as he jammed the keys in the ignition, starting it up and driving away quickly. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. God - did he hurt you? Did it hit you?” He asked rapidly, glancing over at her. Charlie shook her head, pressing the heel of her hand to her cheek. “No. Um, just a small nick.” She paused before speaking again, her voice shaky. “I’m sorry, J.” 

“What?! No, no, why are you sorry?” He reached over and took her free hand, pressing the back to his lips. 

“You said not to come in, and I got scared, I thought he was hurting you.” She frowned, her voice small. “I can’t believe he talked to you like that.”  

JJ sighed, softly. “That was hardly anything, honestly.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he drove back to her parent’s house, trying to focus more on her than the thoughts running through his head. Charlie blinked hard, trying not to let any tears fall. “That was harsh, J.” He gave her a sad smile. “Been through worse, sweetheart.” He pulled into her driveway, thankful her parents were out for the night.  

They made it up the stairs and into her room, quiet, both not wanting to be the first to speak. “You’re sure the bottle didn’t hit your head?” JJ asked as he sat next to her on the bed, gently running his thumb over the small nick across her cheek. Charlie had her knees drawn up to her chest, closed off. “I’m sure.” He nodded, but kept a worried frown. 

“I’m proud of you, J.” She murmured, taking his hand. He raised his eyebrows, confused. “For what?” She gave him a small smile, for the first time since leaving the house. “You stood up for yourself.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the comforter. “Yeah, well. Thanks.” 

Charlie frowned and moved closer, pulling him into a tight hug. “You don’t have to see him again, JJ.” 

“I just -” JJ’s face crumpled and his voice cracked. “I don’t know why he’s not proud of me.” Charlie held him tighter. “JJ…” He pulled her into his lap to hold her closer, then buried his face against her shoulder. “I graduated high school, and college, and I got out of the Outer Banks on my own, I…” he faltered, letting out a single sob. “I don’t know what else he wants from me, Charlie. Am I not good enough?” 

“Oh, hon.” Charlie murmured. She nudged his chin up so he could meet her gaze. “You’re more than good enough, J. You’ve done all those things, but more importantly, you’re the best damn person I could ask for.” JJ pressed his forehead to hers, listening. “But I’m a mess.” 

She shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re responsible with your job, and hard-working and creative. You notice all the little things and you’re kind to just about everyone you meet.” He ducked his head away in embarrassment, not used to the praise. “Charlie.” 

She continued, giving him a smile. “I can’t wait to be married to you and show you off even more, JJ. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He lifted his head and kissed her, hard. “I love you.” 

“And how lucky am I to experience your love?” Charlie told him, nudging her nose against his. She caught his lips in a gentle kiss, threading her fingers through his hair. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry.” JJ told her with a small laugh, tears welling up in his eyes again. Charlie kissed him again. “Love you always, J, don’t forget it.” He nodded, kissing her back. “Love you always.” 

[qlistening]

Is Now a Good Time to Become a Hippie?

Ha ha fun little opening note: I opened my iPad to write this and saw the Cornell notes template and now I’m wondering how the people who had to take Cornell notes to get through college are doing these days. Probably not well.

I’m cracking open the blog again this summer to really do some justice to the two month identity crisis that I, and maybe you, have been experiencing since graduation. I’ve been through the wringer, like most people, with the classic post-grad crises of “What am I doing with my life?” and “What am I even good at?”, and “Will I ever have fun again like I did in college?”. But honestly fuck those crises. That kind of shit is so cliche and boring to talk about. I need bigger broader shit on my plate. The type of existential garbage that can really wreck you. The types of questions that can’t be answered by your Mom saying “it’s okay honey”.

So the set I came up with is as follows: “What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society will crumble to climate change in 1 - 2 generations?”, “How can I ever protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression?”, and “If I reconnect with my hippie childhood, will it destroy my chances of happiness and success later in life like it did for my parents?”.

I know what you’re thinking: “That’s an awesome list Ava. I wish I could have come up with that myself”. Sorry you can’t be me. 

It’s got just enough “this girl needs to lay off the acid” undertones to be dismissed by the common man, yet is valid enough to make any stoner or stoner+ (the + is psychedelics) a little itchy. 

Whithought further ado--I left this typo in here because I couldn’t stop laughing at it--, lettuce unpack these crises.

1. What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society as we know it will crumble in 1 - 2 generations? I wish the answer was as simple as “more whippets”, but sadly, it just never is. There are actually a lot of sub-questions here like “Is enough change to reverse the course of climate change even possible at this point?”, “Does our species even deserve to be saved, or should we lean into the suffering and let the deer dance on our graves?”, “What the fuck are you supposed to be with your life when you can’t bring yourself to reproduce because the world is ending so you have to constantly invent a sense of purpose for yourself instead of just using your kids as a cop out?, and lastly “What if you’re making a mistake by not going to Mars with Jeff and Elon na d the vibes there end up being super lit?”

You see, I’m really good at coming up with these questions, but pretty bad at answering them. All I’ve come up with in terms of the rules and purpose part is just to vibe it out and focus my energy on good ol’ drugs, sex, and rock n roll till the end. But UH OH! Now I’ve become my parents. 

Perhaps I could focus on nature, gratitude, and spirituality? OH CRUD! Now I’m Rose, who has definitely reconciled these issues better than me, but has the advantage of being an introvert. Shorty don’t need that social stimulation like I do and can just go hermit mode when the going gets tough. Not I. 

How about a commune? Tempting, but I’ve heard about a lot of commune drama in my day and don’t really want to get whisked into some Midsommer shit by accident. 

Comedy? Can’t go monetizing my best coping mechanism, now can I? 

Pose your questions to a broader audience in folk songs like Bob Dylan? I think I’m too street for that and I can’t play the guitar. 

Focus on work and being successful? Nope. Work blows and I’m supposed to be protecting my soul from capitalism.  

I tend to treat this question like the hard ones on the EOGs and just skip it and plan on circling back later.

2. How do I protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression? And when I say I need that shit, I mean it. New people. New shit to do. All the time. I ain’t havin’ no baby, so settling down isn’t in the cards either. There is no scenario where I am going to move out to the suburbs just to stare at my husband every night for 30+ years or, in a more likely scenario, stare at the wall. I’m staying on the scene for a long time, maybe forever. 

That being said, the city is ripe with capitalism. Everyone works like a dog 24/7, switching back and forth between 2 - 4 Apple devices to accomplish God knows what in the grand scheme of things. Tech, finance, and marketing (the classic city trio) have to be the most pointless and cutthroat industries we have come up with to date. It feels like you have to have to have one of those jobs to live there. To afford it, sure, but beyond that, to know that you beat out someone else to get it and that you have successfully stepped on your first of many necks on the way to the top.

I’m moving to Chicago in like 2 weeks to work in tech/finance and sucking my own dick for having a management position so, clearly, I am not above any of this. But I sure wish I was. Even the first month of my soul-selling transaction feels like it has taken years off my life and dulled my flame quite a bit more than school ever did. So I am on the LOOKOUT for ways to get my mouth on some deep dish pizza and fine Chicago men without all of these bullshit side effects. 

And Finally…

3. If I reconnect with my hippie childhood now, will it destroy my chances at happiness and success like it did for my parents?

I feel like this one needs to be elaborated on a little more. For anyone who doesn’t know, my parents are both raging Dead Heads who practiced the art of escapism together on tour for 20 some years until Jerry Garcia died tragically in ‘95. In a desperate search for a new purpose, they popped out me and my sister and now we’re all living the middle class dream in a ranch house on the outskirts of Greensboro. “But at least they’re happy and they love each other right?” Nope. Ls all around.

Sadly, this isn’t just my parents. This seems to be the classic hippie timeline. You feel good, get high, get laid, and indulge your senses in your 20s and you realize that none of it is monetizable and come out the other end begging for capitalism to take you back and bless you with a mediocre career. I know I sound like Nixon right now, but I’m just reading off the data from what I’ve seen. 

Shit is really fucking sad man. I just want to think and feel and vibe and enjoy the world for what it is before it gets too crispy but I feel like I can’t. Any step away from my career feels like it will just land me at the bottom of the totem poll with a job that sucks even more than the one I started with. And yeah, I’m a lot smarter and slicker and decidedly childless than my parents, but it feels like a big fucking dice roll to do the same thing that they did and expect a different outcome. I mean they are the two most genetically similar people to me on the planet, after-all. I really do think I have to be careful and stick with the straight and narrow for now. Bummer because I would like to just bool before the world ends, but unfortunately, that’s going to take a little too long for me to avoid these problems. 

In conclusion: I believe the answer to the question I posed in the title is “Not really and I should probably start hashing these things out with a therapist instead of a tumblr blog sooner rather than later”.

And if you are wondering, no I am not high right now, but I am about to be because that shit was heavy.

[steelyourhearts]

This semester was truly HELL but its almost over. I will be fine. Next semester is my last . And then grad school but we r rocking n rolling

[lovehugsandcandy]

One-on-One: Decisions (Colt x MC)

A/N:  Third one-shot for basketball!Colt. I have two more planned after this.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~1,500 words

Rating: R? (Swearing. One suggestive line. Idiots.)

Summary: Colt should never talk to the media...but Ellie will allow it this one time.

Ellie set up the media alert fairly early in their relationship; it allowed her to catch threatening situations before they boiled over into irrecoverable issues that inevitably would involve her bailing out her idiot boyfriend-yet again.

It allowed her to call him right after he lost his first game this season, interrupting the complete destruction of a locker room that could have resulted in a suspension. It was the reason she sped north, weaving frantically through rush hour traffic for hours, when a gruesome Achilles tear had prematurely aborted his senior year and he had to redshirt so he could actually play out his final season. It was the reason she convinced him he should never attend the post-game press conferences. Ever.

And it was now furiously dinging over.

She groaned and reached for the phone, eyes still closed, slapping the sheets once, twice, three times until she finally clasped her fingers around plastic. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and slow, as she internally prepared herself for whatever foolish shit he had pulled.

However, before she pulled up the browser, her phone rang; it was her dad. She declined and tried to pull up the search engine when the phone rang again. Ingrid. She frowned and declined. When her dad called again, she raced to her computer, sinking suspicion that the plethora of alerts and multiple phone calls were no coincidence.

Where was he again? Texas.

She scanned the gossip rags, relieved to find nothing damaging, and then navigated to ESPNU. Oh Lord, a video. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to the media. 

She hit play.

“Your third Nationals Title is looking more and more like a lock. What are your plans for after graduation?”

Colt shrugged, looking directly at the camera, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I don’t know. Maybe the draft. My wife’s gonna go to Yale for grad school though so, no matter what, I’m gonna be in the Northeast.”

She blinked. It was overall a calculated move, signaling to anyone interested in drafting him that there were only a few pro teams he would consider. But she was more caught by the word choice. But did he just call her his...

The phone rang again, and this time she connected to her dad screeching over the phone line, “Did you get married?”

~~~~~~

She waited up for him. He usually crashed in the city once their plane landed, ditching the team bus to crash in her apartment before heading back upstate, and they would spend a few carefree days lounging at her apartment and strolling the city streets as if they weren’t facing impending graduations that would thrust them into a future they could never prepare for.

Sometimes, she would greet him with pizza and commiseration over a tough loss.

Other times, she would greet him with a shared bath, ostensibly drawn to ease sore muscles, but always ending with them both soaked and sated, huddled close under her covers, reconnecting in the most satisfying of ways.

This time, she perched on the sofa, toe ticking by the seconds, mentally mapping his route through airport corridors, then where the Dryve would crawl down crowded city streets, to where he would walk through the lobby, up the three flights of stairs, and turn the spare key in her lock. She seethed with every imagined step.

Finally, twenty-three minutes after landing, 1,387 furious taps of her toe against hardwood, jingling sounded outside her door and the knob turned, opening to reveal a broad-shouldered figure that she was going to murder.

“Hey!” He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, locking the door behind him. “You waited up?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

He froze, forward progress halting as his jaw dropped at the venom dripping from her words. “Uh… baby? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her eyebrows climbed her forehead, and she stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong?!?!”

He blinked, mouth opening and closing, and she could practically see him reflecting on his day, the day prior, hell, the last week as he tried and failed to figure out why she was glaring daggers at him. “Uh… are you mad that I fouled out? Because, I mean, the game was over and there was forty seconds left in the quarter and-”

“No. Not that.”

“Uh…” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Is it because I told Logan that if he sat next to me on the plane, I would cut his hair off in his sleep?”

She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I had no idea you said that, but I appreciate you adding it to the list.”

“Ellie, just fucking tell me. I don’t know what the fuck you’re pissed off about.”

“Your interview.”

He blinked blankly down at her. “What interview?”

“After the game? About your plans once you graduate?”

“I thought those…” He paused, uncertain. “I thought those were our plans. Are… are they not?”

She winced at the stab of guilt; she did not mean to imply that they wouldn’t move in together after school. “Urgh, yes, they are but you… Colt, you called me your wife.”

“That’s what you’re pissed about? Seriously?”

“Yes! It’s not true and my phone has been literally ringing off the hook, and some ESPN talking head devoted ten minutes to it during one of their trashy shows and-”

“Elie, we’re basically-”

“We are not-”

“Babe, I just meant-”

“Don’t you babe me!” She stomped closer to glare up at him. “This is why Logan is the one who talks to the press.”

“What? Fuck him. And what was I supposed to say? She cornered me!”

“Oh, how about anything but that?”

“Come on, babe.”

“Don’t even.”

“Who cares what the hell they say on tv?”

“Colt…” she put a hand to her temple. “You created not only confusing press for you but also drama. For me! My dad is convinced we eloped.”

“Babe, it’s like wifey. Everyone knows I meant it like that, come on.”

“No, no one knew that.”

“Come on, wifey,” he pouted.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t you dare-”

“Wifey…” he complained while she bristled, traitorous lips twitching regardless of how hard she tried to fight the smile down.

“Stop calling me that!” 

“Oh, wifey. You-”

She groaned, jumping away to stalk into the kitchen, yelling “Oh my God!” Footsteps followed her and she spun, glaring. She tried to stay annoyed, she did, but he was fucking ridiculous, lips curved in an exaggerated frown and eyes brimming with mockery.

“Wifey....”

“I swear to God!”

His hands wrapped found her hipbones, pulling her close to kiss her neck before whispering in her ear, “Wiiiifeey.”

“Jesus!” She pushed him away, barely able to get the words out through hitching giggles. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me.” She couldn’t speak through her laughter, but she hoped the fond grin stretching over her face betrayed her thoughts. “How about wifey like marry me?”

She froze. “... What?”

“Marry me.” Time stopped and the air left Ellie’s lungs.

“This isn’t…”

“Ellie, marry me.” His eyes were intent on hers, and she had to lean against the counter to hold herself up.

“You…” she stuttered. “You asked me that before.”

That brought him up short. “I did?”

“Kinda.” Her shaking hands found the counter top behind her, and she held on for dear life. “When you got your concussion junior year against Hartfield.”

“When I was in the hospital for two days?!?”

“When you were bleeding out on the court.”

“Oh. The perfect time for major life decisions.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Well, what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything! You passed out!”

His mouth dropped open. “You left me hanging?”

“What.”

“Seriously, you just ignored me, what the heck, El?” he jeered. “You can’t leave a man hanging like that!”

“What the-” She rolled her eyes. “Colt!”

“Well, what do you say now?”

“You don’t… you don’t have a ring.” His lips stretched into a self-satisfied smirk. “You have a ring.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the piece of jewelry and holding it out between two fingers. “What? You want me to do this right? Get down on one knee and all that?” She couldn’t even answer, eyes welling with tears; he rocked back on his heels. “Uh, Ellie? You gonna answer me?”

“You-” Her voice trailed off as the tears started falling, rivulets over her cheeks, her smile; she tried to blink them away, tried to speak, tried to do something, but she could only stand there, watching him gaze at her in absolute adoration. Finally, she gave up and just nodded, slowly at first, then frantic, giggling, leaping  into his arms, not even caring that she was crying all over his university tracksuit as he cradled her close.

When she finally thought she had control of her face, she glanced up and the smile on his face made her heart skip.

At least until he spoke. “I knew you would wanna lock this up.”

“Don’t make me immediately regret my decision.”

He pulled back to shoot her a cocky grin, eyes gleaming. “You’re not gonna.”

She only smiled back, thinking, No, I’m not gonna.

.

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Colt

ROD

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[alywats]

June/ July 2021 Reading Wrap-Up

So, it’s been a minute, huh? I finished my first year of grad school on June 8th, turned 23 on June 9th, and went face-down-head-empty on June 10th. I am trying to be better about managing burn-out, but that is a discussion for another time. Let’s get caught up on my spicy literary opinions, shall we?? I read significantly less than normal in June and July, but we still have 8 whole books!

1. Shrines Of Upper Austria –Phoebe Power (71 pgs) 4

This is a special poetry collection, because it was written by the person who taught me the most about poetry. In 2018 I signed up for a poetry class during my semester abroad in England, and Phoebe was my workshop leader. Cut to 3 years later, and I still think about pieces of advice Phoebe gave me, every time I write. This collection was published while I was there, and I actually went to the release event and heard her perform some of the poems, but for some reason I hadn’t gone back and actually read the whole book until now.  I love this collection a lot, it’s a mosaic of European stories and histories, specifically as they relate to WW2. I think Phoebe has such a strong voice and such a unique style of writing, in ways that may make some of her work a little difficult to unpack for some readers. Anyways, Phoebe was the first person I ever showed my writing to, she even gave me feedback on a poem that went on to circulate tumblr (lol), and she understood my voice before I really understood it myself… anyways I think you should read this if you’re into poetry!

2. Crush –Richard Siken (62 pgs) 5

I don’t know if I have the right words to describe this book. Are they love poems? Sometimes. This was an absolutely haunting reading experience. All of the poems in this book are so desperate, so obsessive, so panicked, that by the end you just need a deep breath. There is so much blood in the lines of these poems, and I think that’s the best sell I can make? I HIGHLY recommend this.

3. Grocery List Poems –Rhiannon McGavin (80 pgs) 4.5

The last thing I read on The Day I Read A Bunch Of Poetry, and it was by one of my favorite poets. This is Rhiannon’s second collection, and uh, can we get some commotion for the fruit imagery??? I really like this collection, it is very cohesive and so full of her voice (which I have come to love a lot). My favorite poem in this book is Elsa la Rose and I want everyone to read it.

4. West Of Here –Jonathan Evison (486 pgs) 3

Here, my guys, is where things took a turn. I started reading this book on like June 10th, and I did not finish it until JULY 12TH. I don’t know if my brain just finally needed to shut down after finishing a year of grad school, or if this book was actually just that painful to read. Maybe it was some combination of the two, but good lord this book was hard for me to get through. The premise was great: historical fiction about when Washington became a state with a current day Bigfoot B-plot. Woof though: I was  annoyed by every character in this book (oh and there were about 37243875 characters to keep track of across two different timelines), plus I was also kind of annoyed by how #woke and #girlboss some of the characters from the 1800’s timeline were? Clearly Evison was trying to skirt around some of the *ahem* problematic elements of colonizing Washington and treating Indiginous people the way they were treated, and also the way women were treated in the 1800s, etc… but it came off as oversimplified and cringy. This would have been a 2-star review BUT THAT BIGFOOT B-PLOT? I am a simple woman.  

5. The Pisces –Melissa Broder (270 pgs) 3.5

Haha, what? This book has mermaid sex. Okay, it also has some big Ottessa Moshfegh-esque character study elements, where we meet an unlikable narrator and relate to her *too much* for comfort. This is a read where you feel uneasy the whole time and the ending kept me awake for a little while after I finished it. It’s gross, it’s weird, and most of all there is a fish man ready for action. Did I like this? Who’s to say, really.

6. All The Light We Cannot See –Anthony Doerr (531 pgs) 3.5

This I read as a buddy read with my good friend Carly! Carly and I met the first day of college and we did music stuff together throughout. Now, we are both yelling about books on the internet (her book instagram is @book.trunks if you want to check out her hot takes!). But on to this book…. sad, just sad.

This book kind of wrecked me? And I did really like the writing. I became invested in the characters immediately, and the structure of the book felt like a kind of fragmented flashback, which is fitting for a traumatic book about WW2. I am becoming really sensitive to the ways authors use trauma like this though, did this book make me feel things because it was full of good, emotional writing? Or did descriptions of extreme suffering evoke those feelings because I am a human and WW2 was a nightmare? Does this matter? I don’t know, but this book was sad and I *think* I liked it?

7. Sweetbitter –Stephanie Danler (356 pgs) 2.5

This is pretentious lit-fic in its most pure essence. An overwritten coming-of-age/ finding yourself novel with minimal plot set in New York City, baby –the city of dreams! Our protagonist has a tragic past, and working in a fancy restaurant shows her things about the city and its people that make her question her place there. There’s sex and drugs along the way, and maybe NYC isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, hmm? Or, maybe this is *exactly* where she’s supposed to be. Does this sound exceedingly boring and predictable, because it was.

8. Supernatural Strategies For Making a Rock ‘n’ Roll Group –Ian F. Svenonius (250 pgs) 4

This is a quirky little nonfiction (memoir?? art piece?) about what it means to start a rock ‘n’ roll band! I thought this was super interesting and it reminded me of Chuck Klosterman’s writing a bit, so no complaints here!

[headoverhiddles]

You and Me and The Devil Makes 3 - Marilyn Manson x Brian Warner x Reader [Smut] - Part II

Synopsis: Both you and Brian can’t get the substitute teacher off your mind. Thankfully, Brian needs some extra help before an upcoming exam, and your regular teacher still hasn’t come back. 

Notes: Long ass title. Anyway, someone asked for a sequel, so here’s more filthy Mancest ft you! IT’S FILTHY! We could all use the porn. 

Part One 

You bring your lips to your boyfriend’s, lazily making out after an hour of stressing the springs in his mattress. 

A KISS record plays in the corner of his room. The afternoon sun seeps in over the countless Judas Priest and Nine Inch Nails posters all over the walls through the blinds that you’ve kept unturned. Both of you like the thrill of knowing Brian’s Christian neighbors might see you and your “filthy sex acts” again. Barb, Brian’s mother, hadn’t been too pleased after receiving that phone call, but Brian’s dad Hugh found it quite funny.

His parents liked you, called you a sweet girl. They don’t know much about Brian, and they don’t make much of an effort to—they know he’s into some dark music and he has a band, but they don’t know he’s interested in guys too, and they don’t know how far he wants to take his musical persona.

You’re also anything but sweet, but Barb and Hugh are well meaning, and you love them to death, always appreciative of the cake Barb feeds you when you visit the house. You think the two of them have some kind of idea that since Brian is almost finished high school, he’d take you somewhere and settle down with you. Neither of you want to settle down, but as far as either of you have shared, you have no plans of breaking up after grad.

You move your kisses down to Brian’s neck, and he keens under the attention, before reaching up to pull you back to his lips.

“I want you again,” you whisper, and Brian stares up at you.

“We just went four times, you brat.”

“But I’m horny.”

“And I’m soft, roll offa me. Gonna have to… watch some porn or something to get hard again…”

“This is better than porn,” you grin, unhooking your bra, and he pauses in his act of drinking down his bedside water glass, smiling too.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughs, and smoothes his hands up your rib cage to cup your breasts and fondle them. You lean down to drag them against his bare chest, and his hands move down to once again get himself ready to fuck again.

“So. We gonna talk about what happened on Friday?”

Brian’s breath hitches as he jacks himself to hardness again. “Do you want to?”

“I certainly think it raises some new… things, that we’re both obviously into.” Brian flushes a little, and you grin, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Hey. You know you can be comfy with me.”

Brian nods, thrusting up into you finally with a hiss. “It was hot… the stuff he did.”

“I know,” you breathe, shuddering as you slide back down over him, “I just wanted the two of you to double team me forever.”

“So is this a thing, then?” Brian whispers, “Like, a third person?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “We could explore a polyamorous relationship. But for now, I’m okay with secret threesomes involving hot teachers.”

“You think he’s still there?”  

“I think before he left on Friday, he mentioned he’d be around for another week. Mrs. Nordman wasn’t just hungover, she had the flu or something. Why?”

“I mean… we’ve got that English exam coming up soon.”

You smile. “We could use the extra help, hm?” He groans at that, pushing up into you harder, and you tilt your head back, riding him into his bed.

---

At school on Monday, you meet Brian at the front doors. He’s standing with Daisy, waiting for his friend to finish smoking, and doodling something on his hand. You see it’s a bunch of needles and lollipops.

“You know, you should’ve been an artist,” you smile, taking his hand.

“I am an artist. Different kind.”

Pogo approaches, swinging himself up onto the railing. “Morning, you sad fucks. How’re the losers today?”

“Depressed,” Daisy answers.

“Good to hear. I myself am in a fucking marvelous mood, seeing as I banged not one, not two-- but THREE chicks this weekend at a college tit party. THE MAD CLOWN HITS HOME AGAIN!” He lets loose his usual flurry of crazy laughter, the sound that could tell anybody the bald student was coming from a mile away.

“How’d you manage that?” Brian mutters, amused.

“Sorry, Mr. Big Dick, some girls have refined taste, unlike (y/n) or Mr. Manson in there, don’t argue, I know you fucked him.” He pauses his manic rocking, leaning forward. “I also told them I was in a wildly successful rock band.”

“There’s the kicker,” you nod.

“I did not fuck Mr. Manson,” Brian protests. Everyone turns to look at him, and he smirks your way. “He fucked me.” Laughter erupts.

“No smoking on school property, you goth weirdos,” some kiss-ass cheerleader snaps as she walks past, and Pogo catapults Brian’s pen at her head.

“We’re gonna be late, hurry up.” Brian nudges Daisy.

“This is my last one, and I’m too broke to afford another pack until I get my next paycheck,” Daisy complains, savouring another drag.

“Here, lemme have a puff,” Pogo says, motioning for it. Daisy passes it over, and Pogo flicks it into the grass, pulling everyone inside. “Problem solved!”  

You giggle as Daisy shakes his head, and all of you turn when you hear screaming. There’s Jeordie, running toward the school like an idiot.

“I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna make it!” he’s shouting, then the bell goes. He tosses his backpack to the ground, kicking it. “SHIT!”

---

It’s an uneventful Monday, until the last class. When you get in and sit down, Mr. Manson is at the front of the class already, writing the day’s class plan out. Today, he’s dressed in a black button up, with a black vest over top of black pants. His hair is brushed back in a fairly respectable style, and… he turns around. His lips today are a soft coral pink, with black and blue eyeshadow. Brian stares at him, in awe once again at the man’s swaggering confidence and style. Why is it that with bisexuality, it’s always a question of if he wanted to be the other guy, or be in the other guy? Or have the guy in him, as the case may be.                                                

“Alright. Before we start, does anyone have any questions about today’s makeup?” Manson’s tone is playful, and a light titter of laughter comes from the students. He grins. “Alright. You sure?” More laughter. “Okay. Today, we’ll be covering a new chapter of literary theory, and applying it to the first act of Hamlet.”

His dark eyes sweep the classroom as he marks off attendance, and when they come to rest on you, he looks up. “Is there a reason why you and Miss (y/l/n) were late today, Mr. Warner?” Your entire friend group looks at the two of you. Your boyfriend just shrugs. 

“Yeah, there was a reason.” You raise an eyebrow right back with a smirk, and Brian leaves it at that. You’re surprised when Manson accepts this without a cheeky little order to see him after class, but that’s fine. Brian has an excuse to see him anyway.

While Mr. Manson is talking, Brian writes out some lyrics for a new song he and the Spooky Kids have been working on. He nudges you, and taps the paper, which has a verse written out.

VCRs and Vaseline

TV fucked by plastic queens

Cash in hand and dick on screen

(who said god was ever clean)

He’s drawn a big question mark under it, so you give a little check mark on the paper, with the note:

Hot.

“I know this shit is boring, but pay attention,” Manson says from the front of the classroom, glaring daggers at you two. 

“Imagine that lipstick all over my naked body,” you whisper in his ear. Brian glares at you.

“Stop trying to get me hard in class.”

“Why?” you tease.

“Cause it’s fucking working.”

“Do you one of you guys have an eraser?” Jeordie whispers (far too loudly) from behind you. You pass him back yours, and look at him sternly.

“Don’t pick it apart like you did all my other ones.” 

“What did I just say?” Manson snaps from the front of the class.

“We were just—!” you try to protest.

“No talking. Last warning.”

You and Brian exchange looks. He’s in a mood today, and you can’t wait to see how the two of you can test him even more after class.

When the class is finished, you all wait until the rest of the students are gone. Pogo looks back at you two from the door, making obscene blow job gestures. Mr. Manson doesn’t look up from the desk.

“Did you need something, Mr. Bier?”

“Not me!” Pogo snickers, dashing off to go catch up with Daisy and Jeordie.

“Mr. Manson?” Brian asks, “I need a little bit of help with studying for the upcoming exam. I dedicate a lot of time to my band, and… don’t study as much as I should.”

“Mm. And (y/n)? You just gonna watch your boyfriend... ask for help?” Manson asks. 

“I might learn a few things too, by sticking around,” you say, and lean forward against your desk. Manson’s eyes roam down to your cleavage, and he closes his book, getting up. He walks over to the door, locks it, and comes back over.

“The English exam. Yeah. As you know, I don’t know much about your curriculum, or really, about the exam itself.” 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t try to help us out,” you say. “Please sir? We really need help.” Mr. Manson looks at you, blue and black shadow making his hooded eyes seem supernatural.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brian walks over to his desk, chin jutted out in confidence that will be lost as soon as Manson looks him in the eye. Sure enough, when the substitute gives your boyfriend one of his looks up and down, sweeping his entire body as if he’s a meal about to be devoured, Brian shudders. But he’s not about to lose his cool.

“See… I don’t get the whole psychoanalytic theory,” Brian says, putting the book down in front of Mr. Manson, “I don’t see how it applies to Hamlet.”

“Of course you pick the Freudian thing.” He sighs. “Well first, you have to understand psychoanalysis.” Manson looks over to you pointedly. “I’m sure you know all about Freud and his phallic symbols. You two had a lot of fun drawing them on your notes last Friday.” 

Brian laughs a little at that. Wrong move. Manson gets up, and in one quick stride, he has your boyfriend pushed down and bent over the desk, ass up.

“What the fuck?” Brian mutters, but you can hear the whine at the end of his protest. Your legs rub together as your finger grazes your lower lip… you want to see how this turns out.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Manson says slowly, “I’m gonna help you two, since you fuck around in class all the time and never pay attention.” He leans in close to Brian, and your boyfriend glares up at him for holding him in such a vulnerable position. Manson just smirks, and gets out a ruler from the desk. “Our angel over there is gonna answer some questions of mine, baby. Got it?”

“What do you—?” A sharp slap echoes, as Manson hits the desk with the ruler hard.

“You say yes sir, and no sir, or this desk will be that pretty little ass. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Brian breathes, laying his face down on the desk. You raise an eyebrow, spreading your legs just a bit.

“You really have enough confidence in me that I know these answers?” you grin.

“Nah. I’m counting on you not knowing a single one, baby girl,” Manson smiles, and traces the ruler up Brian’s back. “But try your best. He’s counting on you.” Manson gets the ruler ready again. "Tell me what the basis of psychoanalytic theory is."

"It's a theory that draws from psychoanalyzing the behavior of the characters in the... in the story," you say, eyes trained on Brian.

"Good start," Manson nods, rubbing his hand up Brian's back, "Saved you this time, sweetheart." Brian makes a noise, akin to a moan, and Manson looks at you again, expectantly, from the depths of that eyeshadow. "What are some examples?"

"There's... a response to modern day literature from a new and improved perspective."

"Wrong," Manson says, "That's postmodernism." 

“Aw. Guess that must’ve slipped my mind.” You shift in your seat, reaching down to touch yourself. Manson sees this out of the corner of his eye, and lifts his chin. 

"Mr. Warner?"

Brian obediently pulls down his leggings just enough. Not satisfied with this, Manson pulls them down to his knobby knees, and hits him hard with the ruler. Brian's hips rut against the desk, and your pussy clenches as you rub faster circles.

"Again, sir," Brian whimpers.

"You want another one?" Manson asks.

"Yes, sir."

"(y/n)... your boy here's a bit of a slut."

"I'd have to agree," you grin, head rolling back as a moan is drawn from your throat.

"I guess I should know that by now. Have you ever tried fucking him?"

Brian's breath hitches, and you think about this. "He's never asked."

"Imagine how that'd feel, hm?" the teacher whispers in Brian's ear, "Her fingers inside of you... filling you up. You like that?"

"Fuck, fuck," Brian groans, hips pushing forward against the desk. He's painfully hard.

"Gonna cum in your pants?” Manson rasps.

“No...” Brian clenches his jaw. “Ugh...”

“What if she fucked you with three fingers? Spreading this perfect ass wide open?" he continues to tease, snarling, "What if I did? You like the pain, don't you? It turns you on." Manson spanks him again, harder, and you can see the red imprint he’s left.

"Yeah..." Brian moans, his usual grumble raising in pitch. "I want you both to fuck me."

"First, you get to watch." Mr. Manson looks over to you, and beckons. You make a show of teasing back, mouthing 'me?' Before Manson has a chance to threaten, you stand, walking over to the teacher. He stands a full few feet taller than you, the height difference still as hot as it was in the washroom the other day. He takes you by the shoulders, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is sloppy and heated. You moan, sliding your hand down to cup his cock through his black slacks. You can feel the hefty erection respond to your touch, but you want to feel it inside you, fucking you. Brian watches, and reaches down to give himself some relief. 

"Ah ah," you break away from the kiss to say, "Someone's being naughty." Brian shoots you a glare for ratting him out, and you blow your boyfriend a kiss as Manson turns to look at him.

"Do I have to tie you up, baby boy? Or can you stop those hands from wandering, hmm?" Hearing that in Manson's deep growl is such a turn on. You pull him back to you.

"Let him stay like that. If you spank him again, he's gonna cum all over the desk."

"Disgusting," Manson chastises, licking his lips, "Filthy filthy, Mr. Warner."

"At least I didn't take out my cock in class and start stroking it for you to see," Brian mouths off.

"I'm sure you would've loved to do that," you smirk, going back to stroking Mr. Manson through his pants.

"Mm. Yeah. Bet you would’ve loved to take it out, show everyone how hard you were. How ready you were for your girlfriend and your fucking teacher to take turns on you.”

"I..." Brian groans.

"Use your words, slut."

"Yeah," he breathes, "I might... I don't know, get embarrassed, but--"

"Sluts don't get embarrassed," Manson says sharply. "Besides, as a big rock and roll singer, I'd imagine that you do much worse onstage. Or am I wrong?”

“Tell him all the shit you've done onstage," you moan.

Brian shifts his hips, recalling everything he'd done during a show. Mr. Manson was right-- when he was onstage, it was as if he became a different person. A persona. Someone darker, maniacal even. Someone who's willing to do anything.

"I've fucked (y/n) onstage," he growls. "Fucked her til her tight little cunt couldn't take it anymore."

Mr. Manson takes his cock out of his pants, starts stroking it himself as you lay back on a desk in front of him. You watch his cockhead disappear in his fist with every stroke, licking your lips. 

"What else?"

"I stripped her down naked in front of everyone... and ate her pussy."

"Oh god," you whine, picturing that night. You had both been so high you had forgotten there was even an audience. 

"That must have felt good." Manson looks to you.

"It did. It did, and I love it," you murmur, glancing down to your exposed breasts, "Just like him. I wanna be filled by you, sir. Just like Brian fills me up."

Brian rolls his hips against the desk as Mr. Manson slots himself between your legs, dragging his cock between the folds of your pussy. "So fuckin' wet. It'll be so easy to get into you, baby girl."

"Please, Mr. Manson," you moan, “I need you.”

"Fuck her," Brian gasps out, "She's such a fucking cockslut, she needs it." You nod. Manson reaches his hand up to cup one of your breasts as he slides in, filling you to the hilt. 

"Oh god," you manage out, hands grabbing at the edges of the small desk. Manson’s cock isn’t as long as Brian’s, but it’s thicker, so thick you can feel the pain of the stretch. 

"Fuck," Brian whines, watching Manson pull out almost fully then pound back into you. He’s frustrated—he can’t touch himself, and his cock is heavy and weeping against the desk. He could cum from any little touch at this point.

"If you even think about touching your cock, the punishment will be unimaginable," Manson growls to your brat of a boyfriend. Brian groans in complaint, resting his head against the desk as he continues to rock his hips and watch. "Tell me more about how you fuck (y/n)," Manson says, thrusting in hard. The desk skids back a couple of inches, and you gasp. "Ah, nope. The principal could still walk by, baby girl. Don't want him to hear the three of us acting out our own little porno, do you?"

"No, sir."

"No. That's right. Mr. Warner? You were saying?" 

"I fuck her all the time," Brian says, words tumbling out of his mouth as he loses his grip. "We fuck between classes, before class, after class. She always wants my dick.”

"Yeah?" Mr. Manson asks, humming low in his chest. "Seems like you just can't get satisfied baby, hm?"

"I get satisfied," you reply, grinding your hips down obscenely, "I just love his cock so much that I want it all the time. I love feeling full."

"Why don't we make good and sure you're nice and full then?" Manson beckons Brian over, not stopping his thrusts for a second. Brian’s surprised for a moment that he gets to move or do anything, but quickly complies. Manson’s belt jangles as he grunts, balls slapping your ass. "Give our baby girl a mouthful."

Your eyes light up, and Brian's lips quirk up. He loves watching you get used, and being a part of it is almost too much for him. He stands, and gets over top of your face, willing himself not to blow the minute he pushes between your pretty pink lips.

"Lemme see that nice cock, baby boy," Manson rasps. His breath hitches when Brian strokes his fist all the way up the length, over the head, and back down. "Mmm, perfect. Give her some, she looks thirsty."

"Take it, baby," Brian whispers, biting his lip as he smacks his cock against your lips, "C'mon, you know you want it."

"You know her safe word?" Manson mutters. Brian nods. You open wide for your boyfriend, and he slides his cock into your mouth, stopping before it hits the back of your throat. He raises his eyebrows down to you, and you nod again, feverishly. It's almost too much, the older man fucking you into the desk so hard and your boyfriend using your mouth to get off. But you love the thrill, and you're getting closer to your climax every second.

"You're doing so good," Mr. Manson says to you, stroking down your pelvic bone to caress your stomach, your clit, down to your inner thighs. Your hips buck. "Shhh. Taking us so good, sweetheart."

"Isn't it "so well?' You are an English teacher, right?" Brian asks, grinning. Mr. Manson shoots him a look daring to go any further with that. Brian knows his place, casting his eyes downward.

"You like to piss people off, don’t you?" Manson asks.

"Yeah. It's part of my, uh... my thing."

"Your thing right now is to quit being a smart ass, fuck your girlfriend's mouth, and do what your told."

Brian sucks his cheekbones in, biting his bottom lip hard as he feels his cock throb. "Yes, sir!" He gives a sarcastic mock salute with a big dumb grin, and that does it.

"Back over the desk."

"What?!" Brian's eyebrows furrow angrily.

"You heard me. Get back. Over. The desk. Now."

Brian whines, and removes himself from your mouth. As he's walking back over though, the fearless streak continues. He fondles Mr. Manson's bare ass as he walks by, clucking his tongue. "Damn, daddy. Great ass, for an old man."

You smirk, knowing it'll get a rise out of the teacher. But he just goes back to fucking you-- albeit much faster.

"Oh... oh yeah. Oh god," you hiss, trying still to keep it as quiet as possible. Mr. Manson's short black hair falls from his coiffed mohawk and into his eyes as he starts to get close. "I'm gonna fucking cum," you moan, tits bouncing in your bra. Manson pushes in one more time, and you cum hard on his cock, mouth falling open.

He pulls out of you when you're finished, and Brian comes over, kneeling down and taking Mr. Manson's cock into his mouth. He suckles for a few seconds, then takes him down all the way as the older man shudders, buries his fingers into your boyfriend's hair, and cums down his throat. Brian swallows, blinking up at the teacher, and Mr. Manson looks down at him, at the teenager’s painfully swollen cock resting on his thigh. 

"You've been a good boy," he mumbles, “Helped daddy cum. I think you deserve something.” Brian's eyes flutter shut, and Manson strokes his cheek. With a gasp from the touch alone, Brian suddenly cums untouched all over his leg and the floor. You watch him convulse through every wave of his orgasm, then rest back on his hands when he finishes. 

Manson sits on the edge of his desk, and you stand, helping Brian clean up. He runs a hand through his long black hair, and fiddles his tongue against his lip ring.

"You know... you should come check out the Spooky Kids in concert sometime."

Manson runs a hand through his hair, making sure he looks his best-- comfortably disheveled. "Your band?" 

"Yeah. You were in a band yourself, weren't you?" Brian smirks. 

“Yeah.”

"As long as you bring some good, uh... you know, nose candy-- gotta make the sacrificial offerings to the band-- then feel free to show up."

“He doesn’t do nose candy, bring some ring pops and lollipops and that’ll be more than sufficient,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“What makes you think I've got drugs on me anyway?" Manson deadpans. "I'm a fuckin' high school English teacher." Brian stares at the debauched man with lipstick smeared down his chin and hair standing up from all angles. Manson bursts into what can only be described as giggles. "Yeah. Well, I’m not about to give my drugs away to a group of 18 year old musicians. Then you’d turn out just like me.” 

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Brian teases, tugging slightly at the silver skull brooch on Manson’s lapel. Manson strokes his knuckles.

“If I'm still in town, I'll see if I can make it to a show. You seem like you’d be good. Like you’ve got rock star in your blood.” It’s as if Brian’s whole body blushes—it’s freaking cute you think, as you fix your hair. “--But only if I get to come backstage with the rest of the groupies." 

"Oh," you smile, approaching  to fix Mr. Manson’s black tie, "We'll be waiting for you."  

“Who else is in this band?” Manson asks out of curiosity. “Anyone else from this class?”

“Stephen, Scott, Jeordie. Another kid named Freddy, doesn’t go here.”

“Bier is crazy enough to be in a band, I’d believe that. Putesky, that’s interesting. He doesn’t seem the type. He seems like he’d be the type to yell at people like you to turn the music down.”

 Brian nods, “Yeah, we tell him that all the time. He looks like someone’s grandpa. He shreds on the guitar, though, you’d be surprised. So does Jeordie.”

Manson huffs, getting his bag together, “Jeordie? That doesn’t surprise me as much.” The substitute teacher lets you two out of the classroom, and checks the time. 4 PM now. “Well. I hope you feel ready for the exam. I didn’t do shit to help you, but...” 

“We got what we needed to,” you say, fixing your skirt with a small smile.

“Good. Cause I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what’ll happen if you get a fuckin’ F.”