#and in some ways he kind of is; when he talks about the trouble he got himself into and how he used to get into fist fights all the time

[spitdrunken]

Your Mr. Scarletella dear lord that was delicious!! I’m kinda obsessed w the concept of not knowing what you’re doing is bringing someone pleasure or at least not until they’ve cum from it. I praise you and I hope for more fics of that kind in the future <3

You're not sure why Mr. Scarletella has seen a bit more fidgety than usually lately. None of his behaviours present in typical, human ways. So, whereas you might have fiddled with your fingers, paced back and forth or talked too much, he's been eerily quiet and constantly distoring the space around him. Colours warp and twist. Sometimes, you'll blink and he'll be beside you. Then, you blink again, and he'll be in front of you. Before you know it, he's behind you again.

You simply can't shake the feeling something's going on. You stop walking. (Where had you been going again...?)

"You hurt?" You ask. "Upset? Troubled? Many quick... Move." Mr. Scarletella, usually eager to respond in his own way, remains quiet. He does appear right besides of you. You reach out for him, the brush of your fingers hovering right above his non-existent body. "Me want help you. You understand?"

"Me understand," he says. His voice is accompanied by more static than usual. The whole air around him seems to hum. Beyond that, his face looks a little different too, but you can't quite put your finger on it. "Me like you. Me want touch. Me want give you [...]... Happy. Enjoyable." He lowers his head a little, averting his face from yours. "You understand?"

You don't know one of the words he used. You try to repeat it. "[...]... Me not understand."

Mr. Scarletella tilts his umbrella a little towards you. "My body. ...Container. You want?" He shifts his hand so he is holding the handle of the umbrella out towards you. He wants you to hold it, it seems. If that'll make him happy, you're happy to oblige, though you don't quite see the significance. You smile at him.

"Me want. Give me." When you take it from him, you catch a glimpse of his face. It becomes obvious now what had been unclear to you before. A reddish flush has settled on his face, wide eyes only staring at your face for a moment before darting away. That should've been your first warning sign.

Even though he'd told you the umbrella could be touched, it's still a surprise that your hand doesn't go straight through it. There's a weight to the object that you hadn't expected. The handle seems to hum and vibrate in your hand with some kind of unseen power.

You twirl the handle in your hand, gliding your hands over the material. It's squishier than you would've thought. It's like holding an approximation of an umbrella made by someone who had only ever seen the object, rather than touched it themselves. You search and fiddle for the button to shut the top, just to make it a bit easier to carry, but you can't seem to find it. Static teases the edge of your hearing. You only see Mr. Scarletella out of the corner of your eye.

You twirl the handle in your hand, gliding your hands over the material. It's squishier than you would've thought. It's like holding an approximation of an umbrella made by someone who had only ever seen the object, rather than touched it themselves. You search and fiddle for the button to shut the top, just to make it a bit easier to carry, but you can't seem to find it. Static teases the edge of your hearing. You only see Mr. Scarletella out of the corner of your eye.

You sigh a little, your hands fiddling with the material before groping up and down the main body. Maybe it's unable to be closed? That would suck. Brow furrowed in thought about your silly little task, you extend your arm and press down on the outer canopy, trying to get it to fold in with no luck. When you push it in, it just pops back out again. Your arm is starting to ache from the weight. You squeeze the handle a bit tighter.

Then, Mr. Scarletella whines. Or, at least, you think he does. The noise is fragmented with so much static and garbled noise that it's hard to entirely tell. You whip around to face him, finding him in an entirely different position than before. He's slumped against the wall, feet facing outward, with an even deeper flush on his face as his fingernails scratch at his cheeks. His eyes are wide and his shoulders shake.

He looks downright loopy. He's lost control of his form, back having sunk several inches into the concrete wall behind him. Behind his fingers, he's grinning, eyes half-lidded and gaze unfocused. The sight sends an immediate, unmistakable shot of arousal through your body.

You're immediately overwhelmed with the desire to ruin him even more. If you had been able to touch him, you would've practically pounced on him, pulling his hand away and pressing your lips against his. Since that isn't possible, you lift up the umbrella and kiss it instead, intent on finding out how many more noises you can pull out of him now that you know what you're doing.

[syggwolf]

Not to hijack this post or anything, and I'm gonna share some seriously depressing stuff here, along with talk of injuries and blood, just as a warning, but I can easily pinpoint the (And I cannot stress this enough.) SINGLE most traumatic thing that ever happened to me in a long, long, long line of catastrophically traumatic things: It was a very specific incident of being told not to cry. And it wasn't like I wasn't already told not to cry already or anything because, you know, you have a dick, you're not allowed to cry past the age of six and all that. And I was about thirteen so, way beyond that point. But this time, I mean, it was sort of a big deal. You see, unfortunately for me, a very heavy falling object had split my forehead open, and the amount of blood pouring down my face had convinced me that I was pretty for sure probably maybe going to die. Also it really hurt. But because I went into shock, I started laughing instead. I want to stress: the laughing was a panic reaction, not conscious, nor on purpose. Then I proceeded to leave an unbroken trail of blood all the way up to the front door of my house, about a half a block away. All the other kids fled as soon as it happened, except for one; another boy who was a friend of mine, only slightly older than me, who walked with me up to my house and came inside. Well, my mom shrieked and put an icepack on it, which, if you've never had burning cold shoved against exposed skull, it kinda really hurts even more than getting your skull exposed in the first place. And so I'm sitting there on the couch next to my friend, who's still staring in horror at my head and the blood all over my face. By this point I have definitely stopped laughing or doing much of anything, and the sheer amount of "I am so fucked." is starting to sink in because they are calling a fucking ambulance. My dad is sitting there, yelling at my friend to explain what the fuck happened and my friend gets to the part where I started laughing and my dad looks at me, and no bullshit, at this exact moment, there's a spike of pain from my head, and I'm miserable and it's sinking in that I'm going to the fucking HOSPITAL in an AMBULANCE and I am definitely in trouble. (Which is another fun thing that happens in an abusive household. Imagine thinking you're in trouble for getting hurt. Spoilers, I did in fact get yelled at, excessively. My intelligence, character, moral fiber, strength, and foresight were all called into question.) So right there, with all of that hitting at once and my father staring straight at me, my chest hitches and I fuck up and I let out a voice cracking little whimper. My father looked at me with an absolutely haunting combination of anger, disappointment, and some kind of disgust, and he said in this very rough, clipped tone that was more threat than anything else, "Don't you dare. You will NOT cry." And that broke something inside of me that to this day I've never been able to fix. If the role of a "man" was not to cry even under circumstances as extreme as that, than I clearly was broken in some way and I would endeavor to never cry again. And even Now? I simply cannot cry until I fully and completely lose control of every aspect of myself and snap, and even then it never lasts longer than a few moments. I can't make noise while I'm doing it either. It's a silent affair that can only happen in the most extreme circumstances when I am alone. His reasoning for saying that to me? For looking at his wounded child, blood covered face and pain and misery and all, and saying those words? He wanted the story to get around the neighborhood that I laughed at having my head split open because he thought it would make me look cool and really badass. He literally told me that to my face a few hours later, and said it was for my own good because none of the kids would fuck with me if I looked manly. He also chewed me out for possibly ruining it for having the gall to break while my friend was still next to me. The patriarchy is fucking evil and must be destroyed.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 7

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

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve's half asleep on the couch when Dustin arrives the next day, and Robin lets him in.

“Hearts out,” Dustin demands immediately.

Steve winces. “Not a good idea, bud. My ribs are-”

“It's not your ribs,” Dustin interrupts. “You think I didn't see some blood when you were waving your heart around? Don't treat me like a baby, Steve, come on.”

Robin looks at him, and Steve shrugs.

“Okay,” he says, and Robin takes his heart out from her chest.

It looks better than it did yesterday, but it's still pretty pulpy, and Dustin goes pale.

“Steve,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“It's getting better,” Steve promises.

Dustin frowns, looking between him and Robin. “Are you having trouble breathing again? Why is Robin holding it?”

“It heals better when someone else has it,” Steve says. “Some kind of science thing.”

Dustin's frown deepens, then smooths out, and he holds his hands out to Robin. “My turn.”

“Dustin, I'm not going to ask you to-” Steve starts.

“You can't ask, I'm telling you I'm going to,” Dustin retorts. “I'm the first person who carried it, remember?”

Steve looks at Robin. She shrugs, and he can feel that she's not opposed to it, so he shrugs back. She hands his heart over to Dustin. There's some fumbling as Steve gives Robin's heart back to her and takes Dustin's instead, and then -

Huh.

Dustin is just as stubborn as he's always seemed, but underneath that is a quiet fear and a sense of love deeper than anything Steve's ever felt - other than from Robin.

“Come here.”

Steve gives him a hug - or as much of a hug as he can manage - then leans back on the couch again. “Breakfast's in the kitchen,” he says, already closing his eyes.

—

The next time he opens them, it's to the sound of half a dozen gremlins talking in what's probably supposed to be hushed tones.

“How did you all even get in here?” he asks.

They jump, then Dustin juts his chin out.

“I called them,” he says.

“We are here to help,” El says solemnly.

“Dustin told us what happened,” Lucas says.

Steve grimaces. “Look, you guys don't have to-”

“Will it work?” El asks.

Steve blinks at her. “Will what work?”

“If I try to heal your heart. Dustin says he looked it up, and it works best if it's someone you care about. Am I?”

Oh, that's just cheating. How is he supposed to protest with those eyes looking at him.

“Yeah, Ellie, of course you are. It'll work.”

She holds out her hands determinedly. "I don't have my powers. I couldn't save my - my dad, but I can do this. I can help you."

And that's that.

The next thing he knows, they've scheduled up a rotation along with Robin, and taken over his house, setting themselves up to watch TV or play games or do whatever else.

He finds himself alone with El, and he looks at her for a moment before asking, “Do you like cookies?”

Of course she likes cookies.

Steve can't actually do much work, but he can sit at the kitchen table and give directions, and she determinedly follows all of them as she puts together cookie dough.

He can feel the rough edges of her grief and her hopelessness, and he tries to give back as much support as he can.

She isn't alone.

“May I ask you something?” she asks, when a batch of cookies are in the oven and they're eating cookie dough.

“Sure,” he says.

“Dustin is not your brother.”

That's not a question, but he answers it anyway. “Not the way Mike is Nancy's brother or Will is Jonathan's, no.”

She frowns. “I don't understand,” she admits. “Mike says you are brave. That he likes you better now that you're not Nancy's boyfriend. I thought - you are like Mike.”

Oh, he is definitely remembering that for later. “Like Mike how?”

“Mike stepped off of a cliff for Dustin.”

Steve's brain screeches to a halt. “Mike what?”

“There were mouth breathers - bullies. They threatened to hurt Dustin if Mike didn't jump. He did. I caught him,” she's quick to reassure him, like that's what he's stuck on. “So - I thought you are like Mike. You protect your friends.”

“Like you, too,” Steve says, deciding to table the whole Mike thing for now. “You protect your friends.”

She smiles at him, a tiny, fleeting thing before her face scrunches in confusion. “But Max and Dustin and Lucas were not always your friends. Max says you jumped in front of a demodog the day you met her. I don't understand.”

Yeah, Steve's not sure he really understands either - a feeling she must pick up, because she looks even more confused.

“I just - wanted to help.” It sounds even lamer than it did when he said that about cleaning up the graffiti at the theater, but it's what he's got. “Maybe - we don't have to be like anyone, you know? We can just be like us. We can just want to help.”

Her expression smooths out, and he can feel - she kind of likes that.

“What I like,” she says, which is clearly a call back to something else with the way she's feeling, though he has no idea what.

It's okay. He doesn't really have to know what, he thinks - they understand each other.

And they have cookies.

—

He calls Mrs. Byers, just to make sure she knows where Will and El are.

She does, of course, but he also wants to check on her.

Her voice is unsteady and thick with grief, but she tells him not to worry about her, asks how the kids are doing, how he is.

He doesn't want to worry her, either, but he tells her what the kids’ plan is, how hard they're trying to help him.

How guilty he feels about it.

She's gentle when she tells him to let them help, that they care about him and they want to be able to do something good. He promises he will, and that he'll look after them.

He wishes he could do more.

—

Mike's up next, like he wants to get it over with.

Steve wants to tease him about the whole thinking he's brave thing, but when he's hit with everything Mike feels - worry and love and pride and protectiveness and how can I keep them all safe what am I supposed to do, he finds he doesn't want to give him a hard time.

Mike's angry at him, but he's angry at him because he's scared. Because he doesn't want to like him, doesn't want to trust him, but he does.

Mike likes him a whole lot, actually.

And Steve guesses that Mike can feel his own slightly amused fondness, because the kid scowls at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies.

He thinks for a while, while Mike sullenly sits at the kitchen table with him and pretends like Steve doesn't know that he actually has feelings.

Eventually, even though he knows it's going to get him scoffed at, he says, “Do you know why teams have co-captains?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Because they're too stupid to figure out how to play themselves?”

He tamps down on his irritation, though he knows not quickly enough, because Mike looks smug.

“So there's more than one person to make the hard choices. So if one person can't be there, the other can. So no one has to be in two places at once. So one person doesn't have to be everything to everyone,” Steve continues.

Mike scoffs, but Steve can still feel that it resonates with him. “Your stupid sports game is way less important than real life danger.”

“Yeah, sure. But so is your dragons game, and you guys use that all the time.”

He can feel that Mike wants to protest, though he also reluctantly thinks that Steve's right.

“So, what, you think we should pick captains for our Party?” Mike asks.

“Nah. You're already the party leader, right?” Steve asks. He knows that's how Mike sees himself, knows that's the pressure he puts on himself.

Now more than ever.

“But last time and this time, we had to split up, right? And you can't be everywhere.”

“You don't get it,” Mike says. “It's my job to protect them. How am I supposed to do it if I can't look out for everyone?”

“You get some help. Look - that's what I'm here for, all right? Let me help watch out for you guys.”

Mike snorts. “You?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think it's worked out so far.”

Mike glances away. Whatever he's thinking of, there's the faint memory of fear and an unbidden, reluctant wash of relief, of safety.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever, you're in the Party.”

Steve doesn't point out that he's already been in it, according to some of them. He has a feeling that's the most he's going to get out of Mike, for now.

It's enough.

—

It's easy, with Max and Lucas.

Probably easier than it should be.

He and Max swap, and he sits with her angry, confused grief. He can feel her daring him to say something, so - he doesn't.

He opens his arms, and he says, “Come here,” and she's exhausted enough that she does.

He hugs her tight while she cries into his chest, angry with herself for crying and angry with Billy for being so terrible and saving her life anyway. Angry with Steve, too, but that one's too complicated for him to figure out with the echoes of the feelings he gets from her.

“I'm here,” he says after a while, even though it makes her cry harder. “I'm right here.”

He sits with Lucas, after, staring at the door where El and Max have retreated to try to get some sleep.

“I don't know how to help her,” Lucas says.

He doesn't sound lost, but his heart beats in Steve's chest, and he can feel it anyway.

“Me either,” Steve admits, because he knows Lucas can feel it from him, too.

“What am I supposed to do?” Lucas asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “Be there for her. Don't push her, but make sure she knows you're there. That you're not going anywhere.”

Some of the helplessness fades, and Lucas nods.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

They're quiet for a little bit.

“I want to try out for the basketball team,” Lucas says suddenly, then shoots an almost shy little look over at Steve at his pleased surprise.

“That's awesome, man. You want to get some more practice in after a few weeks?” Steve asks.

Lucas nods, then hesitates. “I don't think that Mike and Dustin and Will are going to like it.”

Steve frowns. “They like me okay.”

“Well, yeah, but that's different. We used to think you were a douchebag.”

It startles a laugh out of Steve. “Wow, thanks, Sinclair.”

Lucas shrugs, unapologetic. “We know you aren't now. But they're going to think I'm abandoning them.”

Steve considers. “Are you?”

“No! I'll still play D&D and stuff with them, we'll still be the Party. I want to prove you can do both. I want - I don't want people to mess with them. I want to do what you did.”

Steve swallows, suddenly a little choked up. He wishes he could blame it on his injuries, but he knows damn well Lucas can feel how touched he is.

“You're gonna be great, man,” he says when he has himself more under control. “You're gonna be way better than I ever was.”

—

When Will's up in the little rotation the gremlins have worked out, he lingers a few steps away, hesitant.

"Hey, man, you don't have to," Steve says awkwardly. "I can tell the other gremlins that you're needed at home."

Will looks at him for a moment. "Do I count?"

"What?" Steve asks.

"You didn't hunt a demodog with me, or barricade a bus in a junkyard, or fight off a bully, or go to the Upside Down tunnels, or invade a Russian bunker. You just let me into movies for free and let me hang out at your house with everyone. Is that enough?" Will's tone had been very matter of fact, but it goes a little bit more tenuous there.

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, it is."

Will comes up to the table, holding his hands out expectantly, and Steve drops his heart into them.

It doesn't hurt, but by now, he doesn't expect it to. Steve's not sure he'll ever be able to thank any of the kids for this, but if Joyce is right, if being able to do something helps them after everything they just went through, then he guesses he's glad for that.

The awkwardness lingers a little after they've exchanged hearts. Probably because now they can feel an echo of each other's feelings. It makes Steve scramble for a topic.

"Mike and Lucas apologize to you yet?" Steve asks.

Will looks at him in confusion. "What for?"

"You think I didn't notice they've been kind of shitty? My money's on Mike being more insensitive about it, but Lucas has been right there with him, you know? Ditching Dustin half the time since he's been back, and before that it was always you playing fifth wheel."

Will looks a little surprised. “How'd you even notice that?”

"Because the same thing happened to me," Steve admits.

"I doubt it," Will mutters.

"It did!" Steve insists. "I had two best friends growing up. Then in middle school, they started dating, and suddenly every time we hung out I was the third wheel. It drove me nuts at first."

Will frowns. "Wait, but. You were always dating girls."

"Well, yeah, because I knew I was supposed to. I did a lot of things because it was what I was supposed to do." Steve'd liked all of them well enough, enjoyed dating them - especially once he started having sex and realized how good at it he could be - but he's not going to pretend like there isn't a reason his relationships didn't last very long.

Nancy'd been the only one he could see a forever with.

The kid's brows furrow, like he's not really sure what to do with that information.

"My point is-” Steve points at him with his spoon. “-don't let them rush you, or make you feel like you have to do something you don't want to do just to fit in with them. They're a lot better friends than mine were; they'll understand."

Will considers that. "Jonathan says I should never like something just because people tell me I should. That it's okay that I'm a freak, because he's a freak, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. “What'd you say back?”

Will scrunches his nose. “I asked if that was why he didn't have any friends.”

He shouldn't, but Steve gives a little snort of laughter. Oh, no, Will is funny.

“Your brother has friends,” Steve protests, to counter his laughter. “He's got Nancy and me.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Nancy's his girlfriend.”

“Point in your favor,” Steve admits. “Still leaves me. And Robin will be his friend.”

Will toys with an apple from the fruit basket on the island. “Are you and Jonathan even really friends? It's not like you guys hang out.”

“Ouch, Byers, I thought you were the nice one,” Steve says, giving the kid a fond little smile to show he doesn't mean it. “There's different kinds of friends, I guess. Did, uh. Did Jonathan ever tell you how I got involved with all this?”

“Not really.” Will says with a shrug. “Just that you and him and Nancy fought a demogorgon.”

“That's because your brother's a good guy,” Steve tells him, then nudges the chair across from him.

It only moves a handful of inches, making Steve grimace - he'd wanted to kick it all the way out from under the table, but clearly he's not at full kicking strength. Still, it does the job, and Will takes a seat.

“I saw Nancy and Jonathan together on her bed one night, when she and I had just started dating. She couldn't tell me about the Upside Down stuff yet, but I knew she was lying, and I thought they were seeing each other behind my back.”

Will's looking at him, eyes huge, and it makes guilt twist in his stomach at the thought of what he said to Jonathan that day.

“We got in a fight the next day,” Steve admits. “I was really mean to him. So I went to your house later to apologize, and that's when I stumbled in on him and Nancy setting their trap. I gotta tell you, it was a really rude awakening, getting my apology speech interrupted by a demogorgon.”

“Try getting your bike ride home interrupted by one,” Will says dryly.

For a moment, Steve wonders if he should feel guilty bringing it up and potentially traumatizing the kid, but - Will doesn't look like he wants to be tiptoed around, and he can feel the faint trepidation from the kid's heart beating in his chest. The fear that someone's going to treat you different.

So Steve snorts instead. “Okay, you've got me beat,” he concedes. “You win the gold medal of demogorgon attacks.”

“Thanks.” It's just as dry, but Will's smiling at Steve like he said the right thing, so he'll take it. “Do I get an actual medal?”

Steve gives a surprised little laugh. “You know what? Sure. Come on.”

His pace is slow as he heads upstairs, and out of the corner of his eye, he's pretty sure he sees Will's hands twitch like he's debating trying to help him up. Steve resolutely ignores it until they get to his room, and then he unearths his first place medal from the medley swimming relay in eighth grade.

“Hang on, let me-” Steve digs around for some duct tape and a sharpie, then slaps a strip of tape on the back of the medal, pressing it down to get it to stick well. He writes demogorgan attack on the tape, blows on it to get it to dry, then hands it to Will with all the solemnity as if he was actually presenting him with a first place medal.

“Oh my God,” Will says, looking a little gobsmacked. “You're a nerd. You're one of us!”

“Hey! You spread that around, and I'll take your medal back!” Steve threatens.

“No way,” Will retorts. “Come back when you get dragged into the Upside Down by a demogorgon for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Steve says. “It's all yours.”

Will is beaming at him, and Steve kind of hates to ruin the mood - but he also really has to sit down. The downside to having them all on a rotation of heart exchanges is that he can't hide when it gets really bad.

He sits down on his bed while he can still do it without just dropping down onto the mattress. Will watches him for a moment, then carefully sits on the bed too, a foot or so away from him.

“So - that's why you and Jonathan are friends? You apologized and you fought a monster together?” Will asks.

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, there's different kinds of friends, right? There's the friends you have because you share a class together, or the ones you play the same sport - or, uh, hobby with, or the ones you just hang out with sometimes. And then there's the good ones, the ones who know you. Jonathan and I might not hang out outside of school, but I know he's got my back, and I've got his. Any time he needed me, I'd be right there.”

His feelings about Jonathan are - complicated, but that's the truth. Whatever else, Steve cares about the guy a hell of a lot, trusts him like he trusts very few others.

Steve's not sure what Will can pick up from him, but it must be enough to convince him that Steve's sincere, because he just quietly says, “Oh.”

“That goes for you, too,” Steve tells him. “Okay? You need me, I'm there.”

Will's cheeks go just a little pink, and there's a faint flutter of some kind in his heart, but Steve can't really tell what it is. “Okay.”

They're quiet for a moment, but it's not really awkward anymore - or at least, not beyond Steve trying to figure out how long before he's going to be able to get himself back downstairs without leaning on anyone.

“Did you date Nancy because you were supposed to?” Will asks after a while.

“Nancy's different,” Steve replies automatically, hearing an echo of himself saying the same thing to Dustin the day they were looking for Dart, and knowing it's just as true now as it was then, even if he's over her now - or as over her as he thinks he'll ever be.

Will mulls that over. “So - I might find a girl one day that's different, even if I've never liked girls before?”

There's something about the way that Will says it that sends him back into the Starcourt bathroom with Robin, watching her stare at him as he said but Tammy Thompson's a girl, waiting for it to click into place for him, and -

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit, he thinks he's accidentally implied something he didn't really mean to imply here. He thinks about trying to stutter out a clarification, that when Steve said he did it because he was supposed to, he didn't mean that he didn't like girls - he loves girls, girls are fantastic -

But.

But there's Eddie.

Will's voice had been so small, and whatever he can feel from Steve's heart in his chest is making his eyes go wide and scared, and it -

“Maybe,” Steve finds himself saying before he really knows what he's talking about. “But maybe not. And that's - that's okay. Whoever you like, or don't like, whoever you want to date or not date, it's okay.”

Steve pauses, feels like that isn't enough, and scrunches his face up. “Unless they're like, objectively terrible. If you get a crush on some little asshole, I can and will make fun of you.”

There's a ghost of a smile there. “Like Dustin and Suzie?” he asks.

“Way worse than Dustin and Suzie,” Steve says. “I had to be nice about Suzie, because everyone thought Dustin was making her up. I'm talking no holds barred here.”

—

"Do you think that guy's dead?"

Steve doesn't have to ask what guy Dustin means. He grimaces a little, because even if he wanted to, there's no way he can lie with their hearts in each other's chests. "We blew up their lab, man, I think most of them are dead."

Dustin frowns, looking like he's not sure if he thinks that's a good enough answer.

"I guess," he says finally. Then, so quietly Steve can barely hear it, Dustin asks, "Am I a bad person?"

"What?" Steve asks, thrown. "You've saved the world how many times now?"

Dustin gives him a look. "The same amount of times that you have."

Steve bumps Dustin's shoulder with the back of his knuckles. "Saved Nancy and Jonathan, maybe, but not sure how much world saving I did the first time. You got one up on me."

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Basically the same."

"All right, all right," Steve says. "We've saved the world a few times. Bad people don't usually do that."

Dustin fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "Billy did. Kind of. He helped, at the end. Does that make him a good person?"

Shit, Steve is way too concussed for this.

"No," he says after a little while. "I don't think so. Maybe if he had more time, but I don't think one good thing that he did while he was already dying makes up for all the other bad things he did."

Dustin screws up his face in concentration, then nods. "Me too."

Steve'd really like to just end the conversation there, but he's pretty sure Dustin needs him to keep going, and, well.

He's always going to be there when Dustin needs him.

"What makes you think you're a bad person?" he asks.

Dustin stares at his hands for a little while. "I don't feel bad."

Steve tries to make sense of that for a moment, then gives up. "You lost me."

"I killed that guy," Dustin says, looking back up at him almost defiantly. "And I don't feel bad. I'm not sorry he's dead."

Guilt stabs through him so strongly that he knows Dustin must feel some of it, and he grimaces a little when Dustin frowns at him.

"What was that?" Dustin asks.

"I'm sorry that you had to do that," Steve says. "It's not fair."

Dustin scoffs. "None of this is fair."

All right, yeah, Dustin's got a point. Okay, new tactic.

"Look at me, Dust," Steve says softly.

Dustin pulls a face. "I am looking at you."

"Ugh, no, I mean look at me." Steve waves a hand at himself.

"You look like shit," Dustin tells him.

"Exactly," Steve agrees. "You know why I look like shit?"

There's an echo of something remarkably similar to the guilt Steve just felt.

"Because of me," Dustin says, voice small.

Shit.

"What? No! How is this your fault?" Steve asks.

"I pushed the Russian message thing. You only looked into it because I wanted to," Dustin says.

"That's not - I looked into it for the same reason I helped you look for Dart, okay? Because I'm in this, and we're in this together, and if there's something out there, it's going to find us. That's not your fault."

Dustin doesn't look convinced.

"There is nothing that's going to keep me away from being in this with you, okay? Even if you didn't push me. Even if you didn't even tell me. I'd find out, and then I'd be mad." He pauses. "Like, really mad. Like telling your mom you ditched me and got in trouble so she doesn't let you leave the house for a year mad."

"Okay, okay," Dustin says, but he looks happier. "So what was your point, then?"

His point?

Right, his point.

"I look like shit because of the dead guy and his buddies." Part of Steve thinks he should hedge around this, try to sugarcoat it a little, but - treating Dustin like he's a kid who can't handle this isn't going to do anything. "You saw my heart, Dustin. You think the guys who did that were just going to let me walk out of there?"

Dustin looks at him, eyes big. "No," he admits quietly.

"The only reason I'm still standing here is because of you. I mean it, man - I'd be dead without you. And it sucks that you had to do that, and I wish I could have been faster or better, saved you from being the one that had to, but I'm not sorry that he's dead, either. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe I'm a bad person because I would do the same thing, because I'd have killed all of them to protect you and I wouldn't feel bad at all."

Dustin's lip quivers a little. "You're not a bad person, Steve."

"Neither are you," Steve tells him.

The kid's eyes look suspiciously wet. Steve shifts, straightening up a little and lifting his arms.

"Come here."

Dustin drops down onto the couch, squished into his side. Steve drapes his arm over his shoulder, gingerly hugging him, and pretending that he can't hear Dustin's quiet sniffles or feel the shake of his shoulders.

"You're like the best person I know," Steve says softly.

"You too," Dustin replies, voice a little wet. "You're gonna be okay, right?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

His heart might not ever be the same, but with all of them trying so hard to keep it together and help it heal - it makes him feel pathetic, but he kind of thinks he might be even better.

It seems a good enough response for Dustin, who stays tucked in against his side, eyes slipping shut like he's going to fall asleep right there.

Steve wants to bitch about it, but he also doesn't want to move, so he just lets it happen.

"I used to be so jealous of Mike and Will," Dustin mutters sleepily after a while.

"Yeah?" Steve asks absently.

"All this sucks, and they had Nancy and Jonathan," Dustin says.

"Mmm," Steve agrees, feeling pretty close to sleep himself.

"I'm not anymore though."

"No?" Steve asks.

"Nah," Dustin mumbles. "You're way better than Nancy and Jonathan."

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

----

Part 8

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally @thatdamnfan @justalittledrainbamage @strangerfolks @disrespectedgoatman @amber-ambience @anxietyfulloption @thepossummoldypasta

[mud-castle]

Was thinking about Maine Coon Firestar last night and just had the image of him playing with the kits when a queen, just trying to be friendly, asks how old he is. It was meant to be a joke, like "you're a little small for an apprentice, how old actually are you?" in a teasing way, but then he - not knowing the rules yet - very honestly and proudly says he's three and a half moons old. There's some confusion before the queen realises he's completely serious and this suddenly explains everything.

He gets asked by another queen and the elders. All of them come to the same horrifying conclusion that this apprentice is a baby oh fuck

So after some discussion, Bluestar suddenly has every queen, some former queens and every elder in front of her, complaining and trying to get her to realise she's training a toddler to kill. The most confusing day of her life honestly how did all these cats fit in her den

Bluestar, talking to Firepaw, realises he's absolutely lying through his panicked teeth when he says he's six and a half moons and definitely not three and a half. Well shit. What is she even supposed to do here? Un-apprentice him? Promote him to the name -kit? Just let him keep training but don't send him to battle?

I thought it would be kind of funny if they had to invent a whole ass new type of apprenticeship specifically for this situation. He's still an apprentice, but he will be 'mentored' by the queens in the nursery (cared for properly) and by the elders. It's his duty to help out around camp and learn what he can from the elders and queens, with Bluestar still being a involved, but less so. The elders give him tips and tricks for hunting and tell him every story they know, the queens mostly take care of him and he might get to go on herb gathering trips if he's lucky.

They just invent an early apprenticeship role for kits that mature a bit quickly or need something to keep themselves occupied specifically for him. I don't know if they'd ever use it again, maybe for four and a half moon old kits, but it's just funny to me they had to scramble to find a way to be reasonable adults in the situation whilst also not breaking his heart about not being old enough for an apprenticeship yet

Kid's gonna be so good at making comfy beds and knowing every piece of clan history possible by the time he's six moons mark his words. Boy got adopted by everyone and they had no say in the matter lmao

That would be really cute. A sort of pre-apprenticeship to keep older kits busy when they're old enough to be feeling agitated by being in the nursery all the time, but too young to be apprenticed.

Lol, the image of Firepaw smiling with a missing tooth and proudly saying that he's three and a half moons old. Same vibe as a little kid going "I'm this many years!" And holding up three fingers.

It would also be really funny if after all this Firepaw still managed to get in the exact same amount of trouble he would've as a normal apprentice. The whole clan is in a panic when he's missing from camp one day and he comes back with a banished medicine cat he found and fed (who taught him how to catch rabbits???)

The other clans probably think Thunderclan is irresponsible but no it's just this one child who has more trouble making ability than all the other apprentices combined.

[obsessive-reylin]

TW: mention of social anxiety and stalking

The yandere content that I’m writing is absolutely in no way me promoting this type of behaviour. I do not romanticise it; this is just a way for me to explore the more darker side of my writing. If you do relate to these characters or think that it’s romantic, please seek help.

You are welcome to send asks/requests about my existing characters or others. Just make sure to read my rules.

If someone had ever told you that there was still bullying present, in the final year of high school, you would have laughed in their faces. What kind of idiot has enough spare time and immaturity to go around and mock somebody with exams coming up and university/college applications, while also transitioning into the early stages of adulthood? Well, 13 year of school and there you were, trying to study in class while some asshole kept criticizing your looks, your handwriting, even the fact that you were reading out loud. You didn’t really care for it since you knew he was doing that to almost anyone who would let him get away with it, and frankly, you did not have the energy to tell him off or get confrontational. Plus, one of the reasons teachers let him get away with it is because his parents were also teachers at this school, so how the hell anyone could complain.

So, every day, whenever you would bump into him, you would just continue on with your life like any other day before meeting him. He would just throw insult after insult at you, before moving on to another one of his other victims. But the worst part, was that you barely had friends, only acquaintances that you would talk to frequently, so venting to them about your bully was obviously off the charts. You didn’t need to bother them and risk overbearing them with something they didn’t care about and be the loner of the school.

But then everything changed when you bumped into Devon at the local library. Devon was… a delinquent as teachers liked to call him: he always skipped classes, he didn’t listen to the teacher that he didn’t respect, and he always got into fights (that he never started mind you). But with you ? He was a sweetheart. Well, he was a sweetheart with anyone that didn’t ask for trouble, but it was different with you. He always proposed to hang out with you, help you with homework and such, and after you two became friends, there wasn't a day when your bully bothered you. His friendship really saved your final year !

And it seems like you fixed his attitude in return. Ever since you two became friends, he stopped getting into fights, often times just threatening the ones who asked for one and walking away. He came to school every day, not just for homework and tests, and he never talked back to teachers, no matter how much he wanted to point out their ridiculous rules.

Your friendship got so strong, in fact, that some students around the school theorized that the two of you were dating. You of course quietly laughed to yourself and got embarrassed by the subject. You finally had a friend, a true friend, and you were afraid that these rumours would ruin things for you. Sure, he was handsome enough and had a nice personality but dating him didn’t really seem like something that you would be satisfied with.

“So, [Reader], you and Devon are dating, right ? You two are totally in love.”

It was lunch, you were sitting with Devon and some other students when the dreaded question came up. You could only blush and stay quiet at that, due to your social anxiety, but your friend quickly stepped up to reject the accusation, as he always did.

“Me ? In love with [Reader] ? You're an absolute clown for thinking that.”

He always just got sarcastic responses when he denied anything between the two of you, but you were still grateful that he was decent enough to not joke about it. You had told him countless times how much public attention was making you uncomfortable, especially when it was directed at you by a bunch of people you didn’t really know.

And you thought he would always respect that clear boundary until one day, out of the blue, you’re standing in the school hallway, surrounded by a sea of classmates and others, with him professing his feelings and asking you to date him. He knew how much that would make you uncomfortable, he knew, and yet he still did it. He couldn’t have possibly done it on purpose, right ? Well, he did, he confessed it himself shortly after you two left, as he accompanied you to your home.

“Y-you are an ass… How could you do this to me, Devon ? Why the hell would you do this to me ?”

“Darling-” he whispers into your ear, “You cannot really blame me for this… All is fair in love and war, right ? So how could I ever deny myself the opportunity to love you ?”

After that, he continued to confess to every single thing that he did in order to get close to you. He confessed to stalking you ever since he laid his eyes on you. He confessed on threatening the guy that bullied you so that he left you alone. He also confessed that he asked you out in front of others because he knew you would be unable to say no. And worst of all, he told you that this was your fault for not being able to stand up for yourself, that if you could just suck it up and be normal around people, this wouldn't have happened.

And that got you thinking that maybe he was right. Perhaps this was your punishment for your behaviour. It didn’t make you feel better, though, just made you want to curl up into a ball and cry until it would hurt your eyes. And every single time you broke down, Devon would be here for you, offering his shoulder to cry on, and not so secretly relishing in the fact that he was the only one that could make you feel better. And you could only accept it, because nobody would offer you the same attention that he did, he was sure to make you believe that.

Thank you so much for reading ! Why don't you spend some more time on my blog and look through my navigation ?

[craetor]

So if Angel Bill has no great, evil plans, does he and Ford still have their falling out? Or do they stay together?

I'm kind of thinking of a plot point where Bill asks Ford to invent something that could sever their tie to their original plane (Heaven) so he gets to do what he wants (not, in fact, explore the universe but experience what it would be like if he took down the most followed faith on earth (Christianity) and, like, blow up galaxies and stuff)

Ford realizes Bill is a haughty, selfish prick after moving to Gravity Falls to study its anomalies. Bill gets really jealous and they have a falling out, after which Bill leaves indefinitely.

Bill, however, quickly notices how fond he's become of Ford. In a sense, they're both wide-eyed explorers, and he's always been loyal and devoted to them, which Bill, as a holy entity without the faith of its creator, craves more than anything. He also has trouble finding any revering scientist able to replicate what Ford had achieved on the unbinding them topic.

Bill slowly goes insane while Ford's life improves more and more the longer Bill is gone. He almost immediately invites Fiddleford to Gravity Falls to help study and experiment around all the reality bending phenomena the town has to offer, abandoning Bill's commission in the basement. Fidds encourages Ford to get back in touch with his brother as well, and when they find out he isn't well, Fiddleford is the only one ready to drive a few days cross-states to fetch him.

Ford's unforgiving stubbornness gets him into double trouble. During Fiddleford's absence, Bill returns to Ford completely in shambles. Ford states hesitantly that he's not on speaking terms with them, ignoring their pleads, attempts at sweetening the deal and bursts of rage. Bill begins to terrorize Ford in his dreams, also making sure he can't differentiate between dream and reality anymore, telekinetically dislocates and twists his limbs on several occasions and sets fire to items around the house, between which they appear to Ford physically, hoping he'll beg them to stop and talk or at least let them seduce him in the wake of stress relief.

When Fidd returns with Stan, Ford is in the same state he is at Stan's arrival in canon. Some interpersonal drama ensues and yeah, Bill is too hesitant to try fucking with Ford to the same extent after he's enlightened Fiddleford and Stanley about what exactly Bill is, but he'll find a way. Queue "He may be a god, but I'm a scientist", quote. Of course Bill decides that, when not if he reaches his goal, Ford will be given the chance to join him in the chaos or be the last thing in the mortal universe to go out.

Orrr you could assume that the two stay in a plain toxic domestic relationship for the rest of Ford's life, but if you want a plot line ^ there it is.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Ahhh thank you so much!! 🌹 Also I love the childhood friends to lovers trope😍so many possible backstories!!

Since you didn't specify I just chose the characters I found baby photos of.

gn! Reader | slight angst, you know their past | platonic with hint to romance | marysue

Maxwell

Children sure can be cruel, especially to a whore's child in a catholic orphanage. Not that Enrico even tried to fit in with his borderline misanthropic behavior.

He focused his whole youth on working hard to become someone important, always claiming to have no need for friends - the only exception was you, though involuntarily.

Despite his insistence on actually hating you, your stubbornly kind nature was impossible to resist. No matter what measures he tried to push you away, you'd simply brush it off with that damned sweet smile of yours. You always dragged him everywhere, tried to include him with others and made him enjoy his childhood for a change.

At some point he not only gave in to your friendship, but was absolutely smitten to say the least. He still considered anyone else beneath him, but you were special, and destined to raise above together with him.

Even way later in life the two of you remained very close, with him having made you his personal assistant.

Alucard

The two of you had stuck together from the very beginning, first struggling to survive on the streets just to be enslaved later on.

More than once the young boy had protected you by offering himself on your stead, unable to do anything but find solace in holding each other in the aftermath. You could slowly feel him become more cruel and callous, the light inside of him fading but you swore yourself to be there for him as long as he needed you.

You'd try to keep your sanity through telling each other stories, mostly about your hopes and dreams for the future. He was so firm about becoming ruler one day, conquering in the name of god with you by his side, providing you with a life you deserved.

In the end his endeavour would turn his wish into reality, and you stuck with him through everything, no matter what atrocious things he committed. And when the day came that he was about to lose you - the only thing tying him to humanity - his desparation made him able to turn you into his first fledgeling.

Anderson

Credits to my inspiring dear friend @tex-treasure-chamber! 💌

Even as a child Anderson was unnaturally tall and strong, so it was no wonder he would be chosen to become a holy warrior for Iscariot at some point.

Actually he was gentle giant, always calm, cheerful and soft-spoken - so it was hard for you to imagine him in this position. But on the other hand, he always cared for and protected the weak - including yourself.

He had gladly helped you adjust after having been surrendered into the orphanage he himself had lived in from his very birth. You stuck to him like a shadow ever since, and yet not once he complained about your company.

As soon as he started his training though, he started to change. He never behaved any different towards you, but there was a profound torment in his aura that soon turned into barely contained hate and rage. Sometimes he'd voice thoughts so vile, it felt like you were talking to a completely different person.

Nowadays you're working at his own orphanage, Ferdinant Lukes, trying desperately to keep him grounded.

Walter

While his origin is clouded in mystery, no matter how professional and nonchalant he might behave, deep down he's still just a troubled and lonely child with way too much responsibility.

So it's no wonder that one day, after saving you - the sole survivor of a vampire raiding your small village - he took you with him out of a whim, claiming he needed help around the mansion either way. Arthur allowed it without question - partly because of his unprofessionalism, yet also because he knew that you kids both were in dire need of a companion.

He's very possessive which can be quite overwhelming, seeing you as the only meaningful connection he has. Well, it kinda is, everyone else in his life is merely an employer or colleague. But in general he's very eager to make you as happy as possible and keep you out of harm's way.

This boy literally didn't know how to enjoy himself, he literally just worked ate and slept. Only through you he experienced a lot of new things, and the two of you would cause a lot of mayhem do innocent little pranks. But you also showed him things that gave him a sense of normalcry, like game nights, traditions for holidays, and so on.

Back then he used to be a nag about it, complaining that it's childish and silly - but as an adult he still talks fondly about those memories. They really have a special place in his heart.

In present times you're still an inseparable duo, tending to the Hellsing estate and each other no matter the circumstances.

Pip

When you heard the rumor about your sweet and sensitive classmate being part of a family of ruthless mercenaries, you first couldn't believe it. In the end it didn't matter to you, since you knew he had a heart of gold and that's all that counts.

For years you always tried to protect him from bullies, scolding him to finally stick up for himself. At some point - after a massive growth spurt in particular - he would become the one returning the favor of protecting you.

As time passed however, especially during his teenage years when his training began, it became apparent that there was no other choice for him than to follow the footsteps of his ancestors. During that time he surely developed some edges, and most likely you did as well in countless attempts to smoothen his.

He had planned to abandon you, granting you a long and fulfilled life he could witness from afar. That's more than he could've asked from you and yet you were so persistent on joining him that at some point his selfish wish to have you grew greater than his worry.

Eventually you've found a middle way with you being a passive member of his troup, functioning as their master at arms.

[vrystalius]

Can I have Kyojuro/ sanemi with a s/o who is having trouble with her acne? There are days when the otc doesn’t work and everything feels crummy during some days in the cycle, would love a pick me up <3

Ultimate comfort

It’s the time of your month again- no, not the bloody one, but rather the gloomy, acne and depressed part of your cycle. Although, Sanemi is always ready to comfort you!

Pairing: Sanemi x gn!reader

Sanemi isn’t the best with kind words, nor does he look like he is, but he’s rather observant and attentive to you and your behaviours, meaning he noticed rather quickly how you were avoiding the mirrors and picking on your face more and more often subconsciously.

While you two were savouring a peaceful evening together where your husband doesn’t have to go on a mission or attend some meeting, Sanemi was relaxing on your shared bed, dressed in simple comfortable hakama pants, watching you frown and pout at yourself in the handheld mirror. While he was stuffing his face with sweets and snacks he had prepared beforehand, you avoided all sugary foods as if your life depended on it and gulping glas after glas of water like you didn’t survive of half a cup of water just last week is making his head steam in thought.

You’ve been just miserable, so what’s up with you?

A groan escaped his lips as he rolled over and slid off the mattress, stepping over to you with a tired frown. He gently grabbed the mirror out of your hands and threw it aside onto a cupboard. As you looked up at him in confusion, Sanemi grabbed you by your cheek and pulled on it.

“Whatcha even looking at for so long, huh? You’ve been scratchin’ and pouting all day. All week, maybe.”

You groaned and let your head fall back, sliding out of his grasp.

“I just feel so gross. My face— there’s so much texture and damn cysts, and I want to get it all away, but if I do, it’ll scar and become even worse!! I don’t wanna look in the mirror but at the same time I have to to-“

“Shut, shush. Shhh.”

Sanemi cut you off by closing your lips with his fingers. His face contorted into a scowl while staring down at your face. He isn’t angry at you or disgusted in any way, he’s angry at why you’re thinking like that.

“Tch, don’ talk like that. You shouldn’t care about stupid spots. Hell no.”

Your cheek was gently grabbed by your husband, whining as he pulled at him.

“You’re gorgeous. Always have been, always will be. Shitty weeks come and go, jus’ tell me what to do and I’ll get on my hands n’ knees for you if it makes you feel better.”

“But-“

“Nuh uh, no buts.”

He harshly cut you off and leaned down to you, placing a long kiss on your forehead with a loud “mwah”.

“You’re too damn hard on yourself. Everyone’s got crap they don’ like about themselves, but you? You’ve got more good in you than you give yourself credit for.”

Sanemi’s hand came to rest on top of your head, gently running his fingers through your hair. His tone and words may be a little gruff and he may have pulled on your cheek a little too harshly, but he’s just trying to show his support. Again, he may not be good with words but he is trying his best to show his love in other ways.

He doesn’t let you spiral in your thoughts too long, instead dragging you to the kitchen for snacks, outside for a walk or to bed for a cuddle, forcing you to do something nice with him in order to keep your thoughts away.

And if you really, really want to, Sanemi’ll let you put on a stupid face mask on his face. Everything to make you feel better.

💠

I hope you feel better! Apologies for not writing for this much earlier, I hope the timing was right anyway :,) Also if you like, I can also write a Kyojuro part of this! I thought I should write a little something for Sanemi again since last week was pretty much all about Kyo XD Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this 🫶🫶

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves, mentally and physically <33

[deiaiko]

#19.3 Unravel

It had been some time since Agni felt this nervous. Not even talking with Jinsung Ha recently had made him feel like this. He fiddled with the mask on his hand as he waited for Grace to come back. He had thought hard on how to deliver the news, but he knew that no matter how he phrased it, Grace would be upset. Velt nuzzled under his palm and Agni gave her a few pats, before deciding that she would be better inside her bowl in his lighthouse, just in case the shinsu acted up around Grace after he received the news.

Grace came back wearing the comfiest shirt and shorts Agni knew Grace liked to wear on lazy days. He joined him on the floor, and they ate dinner together. Agni always finished last, so while waiting for him to finish his meal, Grace told him about his day with Bam. Grace was intrigued by how much his way of thinking had changed, and how glad he was to be able to be by Bam's side when he was having a bad day. It reminded Agni of the hidden floor, when Grace faced his sworn enemy.

They left the used bowls on the coffee table and went to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they turned off the light and went upstairs to sit on their bed. Grace's curious gaze never left him, and Agni curled his feet nervously.

Grace was the one who broke the silence. "So…what is it?"

Agni's breath hitched. This was the part he dreaded most. "I talked with the crocodile earlier. Did you know that he could manipulate stone already?"

"Huh." Grace needed a few seconds to let the information sink in. "Didn't Rak learn it on the Hell train? How does he know it?"

"Turns out our crocodile also traveled back to the past like us. He found the young crocodile and taught him."

"What?!" Grace gasped, wide eyed. "That means our Rak is–!!"

"He's dead." Agni quickly snuffed out that hope. They had been in delusion for long enough; it was time that they faced the bitter truth. "He suffered a fatal injury from the explosion. He couldn't have lasted long without proper help." Agni omitted the actual cause for Rak's death, but still kept his words true. "I'm sorry."

"…Oh." Grace looked lost, just like Agni was. His lips parted a little, but they closed before any sound escaped.

Agni gently squeezed Grace's hand, encouraging and comforting as he let the silence stretch on, giving Grace some time to process the information.

"Agni…" Grace whispered, "do you think Hatz and Isu…?"

Agni bit his lip and avoided his gaze, as the nightmare of that day replayed in his mind. He witnessed Hatz get his arm ripped off when trying to protect him. He could still recall the clang of a sword hitting the floor, and Hatz's suppressed scream that gnawed deep at his guilt. He witnessed Isu get beheaded after being taken hostage, the memory of warm blood painting them both still vivid like it happened yesterday. 

Agni refused to acknowledge their possible deaths, because it felt like a nightmare that one day he could hopefully wake up from. He avoided the topic when Grace brought it up, so he wouldn't have to say it aloud and make it real. He had been so hard on himself, because he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had failed Grace and everyone else involved.

Agni knew this had to change if he wanted to live better, now that they had gotten a second chance. So he swallowed down the lump in his throat that had built up over the years and asked mostly to himself; "What are the odds of their survival?"

"There's always a chance–"

"Grace." Agni looked him straight in the eye. "They were already severely injured before the explosion hit."

Grace fell silent and went still.

Agni felt a pang of guilt upon witnessing Grace's reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Agni fiddled with his hands. He realized that he didn't know how much Grace knew of what happened. "My scar…do you know how I got it?"

"I…was told it was from the family heads' battle." Grace looked thoughtful. Agni knew he was trying to be careful with his words. "A stray attack?"

"It could have been worse." The memory of the scorching heat on his skin felt like it had only happened yesterday. He passed out right when he was about to heal Isu, and only found out later that he also lost sweetfish at that time. The days he spent recovering from the burn, to withstand the excruciating pain every second he was conscious, and finally coming to terms that it'd be a permanent scar, was one of the turning points that had changed him forever. Were Grace not there to care for him, he might have ended up destroying himself even more.

Agni hadn't realized he had his left hand clawing on his cheek until Grace pried his hand off and frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Maybe I should wear the mask…" Agni muttered to himself. After all, Grace gave it to him less so he could hide the scar but more to prevent him from unconsciously hurting himself. The only time he could safely take it off was when Grace was around.

Agni bit his lip nervously when Grace didn't reply. He no longer had the courage to look Grace in the eye that spoke so much concern, so he leaned close and rested his head on Grace's chest. "Rak, Isu, Hatz and Hwaryun were trying to get me out of that damned place. But we were caught while escaping, and…it was a bloodbath. I was…too occupied to react to the incoming heat. Rak shielded us from the explosion. And when I woke up…"

"They weren’t with you," Grace finished it for him after Agni trailed off a moment too long.

Agni nodded dazedly, "I've been telling myself that they're still alive, after a blow that could kill rankers. But…who am I kidding? I was lucky enough to survive with just this little–" Agni vaguely pointed to himself– "inconvenience."

Agni felt a hand gripping his arm, and he pulled away to see Grace looking at him with a pained expression. His eyes were glossy and his lips were pulled into a thin line. Trusting his instinct, Agni reached out to gently trace and cup Grace's cheek with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," Agni muttered. "I'm sorry, for not telling you sooner."

Agni silently witnessed tears that streamed down on his love's face. It was a bitter sight that Agni wished he'd never have to see again, that he had tried to avoid for so long by not telling him. He pulled Grace in and held him close to his chest, as if Agni was trying to gather his own crumbled heart back together.

Grace mumbled their late best friends' names as he held onto him tighter, shaking from each breath he took between sniffles.

Agni felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered the years he spent climbing the tower together with his old team. Despite their banter being his source of headaches, Agni knew he too had come to acknowledge them as his cherished friends. Only when they were gone did Agni realize how much he'd miss having them around. Seeing the younger them didn't exactly close the gaping hole in his heart, but at least the emptiness was more filled.

Agni squeezed Grace tighter. "We have their younger selves with us now. We will protect them better this time."

Grace only nodded and sank further into his embrace. And Agni planted kisses on his hair, relishing the thought that after everything he had gone through, Grace was still a constant in his life. As long as he had him, everything would be okay.

When Grace started shaking again, Agni caressed his hair and hummed a comfort song they had known by heart. Still, it didn't make falling asleep any easier for Agni, especially not after admitting that his nightmare was very much real. However, as he had been through grief…this, too, would pass.

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[googoothegodofblood]

Its like. SO surreal when you grow up "alongside" an artist- youre the same age, but they had a following bigger and better before you ever had social media to begin with, you two grow up, you follow their progress and they enjoy your support..

the clock strikes 19, and suddenly its like a ticking time bomb to see if they realized the responsability on their shoulders and that they need to grow up-their sudden power imbalance with younger friends, mutuals and fans. Do they know the damage they can cause? most of them dont.

Through a mix of self unawareness and selfishness, they hurt someone. they hurt a minor and now this person you watched develop before your very own eyes is the religated piece of shit of the week and shunned from the community.

Its even worse when thats your friend..

[electricpurrs]

i keep having embarrassingly deeper-than-they-should feelings about caboose that im not sure what to do about, with how i feel like i relate in a pretty genuine and sweet way to him in an autistic level and i do feel like reading him that way makes real sense but im just incapable of feeling very good about it when its very very clear caboose's neurodivergent esque behavior is applied exclusively to make the butt of the joke off how stupid he is. i care about him a lot as a character but i mostly just wanna rip him off r-slur-loving rooster teeth's hands and handle him with a minimum level of respect

[violetclarity]

my best friend is moving in with his boyfriend and I am Not handling it super well so real grown-ups of tumblr, how do you deal with it when a good friend has a long-term, serious partner who you think is...fine?

[tanadrin]

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

[tenok]

.

[kekewrites]

Tw. Bimbo reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, corruption kink, coercion, creampie, size kink, magic sex toy/onahole/fleshlight, loss of virginity, not proof read

***

Thinking about being a childhood friend of a yandere duo.

You were just so friendly and cute, approaching them with candies in your tiny hands and offering it to them. So kind as you always play with them, and sometimes they would argue who'd be your husband when playing house. They often fought whenever they wanted to play with you but in the end, it always results to sharing you.

Middle school was a little different than Kindergarten. They get more protective when boys try to get close to you, painting them as insufferable brats that only want clout. Being neighbors with the wealthy kids, got you too much attention much to their liking, often getting bullied whenever you finally have some alone time, but this didn't get unnoticed as you wonder why that kid who pushed you on your locker, suddenly have bandage wrapped around his head and his reputation down.

Highschool is where the shift started. You wanted to explore more, finding new friends, and hanging out with other people, and they did not like that. You were just too dumb, they said. Too dumb to realize people manipulating you so that they can get close to them. Do you even realize that the girl from your class only talks to you about them? Dumb girl.

Safe to say, you never had a genuine friend in high school, not like you even had chance to form a deep level of friendship (by people who genuinely wanna be friends with you) by the way they hog all your attention and time.

College is where it gets difficult for them to spend time with you. Different schedules, classes, course. They even insisted you go to the same university as them. It's frustrating how little time you spend together, always with your stupid excuse of "working on an assignment".

Without you around, they definitely have a hard time relieving some tension. They couldn't just walt into your room and steal some panties scoot free without getting into trouble, even though they were star students and had plenty influence over the school. No, no, they won't put their reputation to ruin, they're your perfect best friends.

Despite them being a duo, they were quite different in terms of personality. One is patient and mature, thinking logical and more on the rational side. While the other is playful, outgoing and rash. Both have their charms that got everyone around their fingers. However, they wouldn't sleep with just anyone, no. It's hard to get their dick hard, always imagining your cute face whenever they try to fuck a desperate bitch to finally release some tension.

But your impatient friend had enough of some random girl, high pitch moans that's not yours annoying his ears. It's miserable to even hump his own hand, so hard and cold, different to what he imagine your tight warm cunt to be. This just won't cut it. He needs more, to finally feel your wet insides without you knowing.

So what's a good way to relieve tension?

Some good ol' fleshlight.

The moment it arrived at his doorstep, he straight up bolted to his door. Slamming the door close as he finally gets his hands on the toy after days of waiting. Fuck, he can't wait to use this thing.

It's like the half body sex toy he used to watch in porns. He was quite impressed by the details it had, he gotta give props for that, but that's not what he's after for. After reading the instructions, more like skimming and skipping most of the words. He use lubricant, using plenty of it and spreading it around the artificial pussy lips. Rubbing and feeling the flaps, like how he usually does. It's kinda weird that he's doing this for a toy, but he could just imagine it being your cunt, practicing his moves. After a few moments did he slide his thick finger inside the walls of the toy... How weird, the texture was oddly real, like it was alive. Well, that's probably some mechanic shit that the factory put there or something. This is his first time using a fleshlight and it cost a fortune through some sketchy website so it better be worth it.

***

You jolted in your sit in class, listening to your professor's discussion about physics until you suddenly feel something brushing on your thighs. Your head panning around the room before looking ahead, brushing it off. It was probably the wind.

You yelp when something began rubbing your cunt, earning a few concern looks for you and your professor glancing at you before going back to his discussion. You shrink in your sit, head hanging low as you pressed your lips together. Confused and scared by the phantom touch assaulting your nether region. Clutching your skirt, you try to maintain confused whimpers as the touches didn't stop.

You're scared.

The moment something pushed inside you, you stand up and excuse yourself, running to the nearest restroom. Your feet quick as you open a random stall and sit on the toilet. Your breathing heavy as you shakily lifts your skirt, looking at the wet patch on your panty.

What's happening? Why are you wet? How can something touching you there? You're not imagining this, right?

Your mind raced as you become more terrified. Is a ghost haunting you? Tears pool on your eyes, sniffling as the assault become more aggressive.

***

Fuck, this fleshlight was the best thing he ever bought. How was this even made? Whatever. He continues to pump his thick finger, inserting another one and he jump a bit as he felt the walls suck on his fingers. Damn, it can even do that? Just how realistic can this toy be? He's not complaining though.

He decided to touch the clit earning another tight squeeze. What a sensitive toy. He continues to play, eventually adding another finger. It was weird how the warm walls didn't run out of lube, if this were any normal toy it'd need to be lubricated after few minutes but this toy seems to produce it on its on.

He pulls out his fingers as he inspects the inside, it's undeniable that it's fake but the way it pulsates around nothing makes it a bit questionable on how it works.

Would your cunt also look like that? He could imagine your wrecked heaving face after fingering you. Poor little you never had something inside, let alone this thick fingers. He couldn't wait for the moment he'll ruin you.

***

You're straight up crying as an additional thick sensation pumped your insides. Squeezing your thighs shut, like it's gonna do something to stop the phantom. Everything inside you screams to remove the intrusion but you didn't know how. Opening your legs slightly, your shaky fingers removing your panty to see what's happening inside your cunt... but nothing was there. Only a gape.

Your fingers shifts towards the gape, gasping as the invincible touch was able to touch you yet you couldn't even see or feel it. Squirming uncomfortably, as you open your legs more to try and get "it" out with your fingers. Uselessly grabbing air, whimpering and sobbing as you fail to interrupt with its continuous pumping. Your stomach twisting and an unfamiliar coil was starting to unravel, your breath hitching and legs shaking.

But it's abruptly stop as the phantom pulled away.

Finally, relief and a little bit of disappointment fills your chest. Slumping on the toilet, panting like you run a marathon. You shift a bit as you sit upright, freezing as something thick pokes your entrance.

No way...

Your brain panics, your gaze staring at the way your hole widens and your legs subconsciously spreading more to prepare yourself for the inevitable. You clutch the wall of the stall, each hand gripping the surface. Tears streaming down your face and your cheeks getting hot.

This can't be happening.

You felt the thick thing stretch you open.

***

Something about fucking a fleshlight should embarrass him. But nah, with you in his mind there's nothing to be ashamed. This is just practice to him after all, he'll do this things eventually.

With his heavy cock around his fingers, he taps the opening of the fleshlight. His other hand grips the hip. Rubbing along the slit, he collects lube running on the head of his cock, catching the clit in the process. He lets out a breath, as he finally starts pushing his cock inside.

He's quite big, so he's a bit worried if he'll fit in some shady toy but he's sure he'll fit in you just right, even if he had to force himself in your tiny cunt.

But there's no need for consideration when it comes to a toy.

He sheath inside in one thrust.

Hissing at the way the walls clings to him, tightly wrapping around his cock and pulsating as if rejecting a foreign object. Shit, why does it feel like a virgin?

Warm, wet, and tight. The perfect toy pussy for him, this could even rival a real pussy if he were being honest. No time for adjusting as he starts to thrust. Pounding the onahole, roughly gripping the hips and fucking hard. Shit shit shit why does this feel so good? This stupid toy feels a whole lot better compare to a random slut.

His hips going hard and the way he feels the inside pulsating, sucking all his worth making him groan. Such a tight fake cunt.

He wonder if he can break the toy.

***

With a silent scream, your head jerk up as the big stretch was too sudden for your body to take. Legs wide open as you try to create space for the large object. You sob as quiet as possible, as the phantom starts pounding hard at your sensitive cunt. You want to scream but held back, tears blurring your vision as you pray for it to end.

Whimpering and sobbing was the only thing you can do. Waiting for the thrusting to stop, you teeth bite your lip to stop noise from escaping. It doesn't sound like you at all, it's weird, you're scared and confused.

Your mind tries to think of a distraction, to think of anything but the mysterious assault. How is this even happening? What did you do to deserve this? Why you?

Your breath hitched as you feel the tight coil in your stomach again. Moaning a little as you feel pleasure rising though you. Your hands clasp over your mouth, muffling your noise. You shake your head as the coil gets tighter and tighter, your legs shaking as you stutter words of apology to whoever's doing this.

And it snaps.

Your vision going white, body stiffening and eyes going into the back of your head.

Ah. You never felt this... good before.

It takes you a few minutes to recover. Your limbs feel like jelly, your chest rising up and down in a slow manner, and you greedily gulp air.

You were tired and exhausted but you were glad the assault has stop after that. You groggily starts to lift you panty's up however you felt something dripping down your hole.

... you wonder what it was.

***

After that day, the mysterious phantom would touch you at random times, when you're showering, classes, or even in bed late at night. It was torturous, you were becoming paranoid and it didn't go unnoticed by one of your best friend.

He's helping you study in the library as you'd ask him for his guidance in physics. You would've asked your other friend, but you can just imagine him play with your hair or something along of not really helping you study.

You're breathe hitch as you feel the phantom ghost rubbing your cunt. Shrinking on your sit, uncomfortably rubbing your legs.

"Something bothering you?" He ask, looking a bit concern of your shiftiness.

"O-oh, it's nothing. Just a little tired lately," You reassured, smiling as you pretend to be fine.

His sharp gaze examined your face before dropping the subject, deciding to just help you study.

"If you need something to talk to. I'm right here, ok?"

You smiled forcefully, "I-I will... Thank you."

***

You could never bring yourself to tell someone about it. No one would ever believe you.

You're laying in bed waiting for the phantom, already memorizing the way it'll touch you. You brace for the touch as you can't help but feel helpless. Are you going to live like this your entire life? You don't want to...

But would someone be willing to listen to you? To believe you? You don't wanna bother your best friend, you knew how busy he's gotten the recent days and you're doubtful that he'll even listen to your story when he's the rational one. That means...

Your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion as you clutch your pillow and close your eyes. You're panting as the phantom starts its routine.

You're scared... You're scared that it's starting to feel good.

No. You don't want to be alone anymore on this.

You need help. Badly.

You shakily gets up from bed, putting some jacket on as you heads towards someone who can help you... At least you believe who will do.

***

"Oh? What's my little darling doing here at this late of night?" He grins as he opened the door with the sight of you.

You fidget with your jacket as you feel small under his gaze, "P-Please help me."

He raised his eyebrow, his grin replacing with a thin line. Yeah, he's playful but he'll never joke around when you're having a problem, "Come inside, we'll talk there, sweetie."

Sitting on his couch, you took a deep breath as you prepare to tell someone about this problem of yours. He won't make fun of you right? He won't be weirded out, right? He's a reliable person and your best friend.

He sits beside you, a serious and concerned expression on his face. It was rare to see him like this, which encourage you to finally tell him.

By the end, you were crying and hiccuping in your hands about the experiences you encounter with that phantom. Feeling his hand rub your back, cooing at you in comfort. He pulls your head to rest on his chest, telling you that everything's going to be fine.

You sob out a thank you, finding relief to finally get it out of your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, the man was smiling.

***

He didn't know if God was on his side. But, he didn't expect this would happen.

Who would've thought that the toy he was playing with was connected with cute lil you?

He didn't believe it at first but the way you described the timing was too much of a coincidence. Sweet little thing, don't worry you won't experience any scary thing from now on.

"Sweetie, do you want me to chase that scary invisible phantom away?" He cups your cheeks in his hands, locking gaze with you.

You sniffle before nodding, "Y-Yes, please..."

He gave you a toothy smile before gently pushing you down on his couch. His fingers swiping away your tears, "Listen to me, ok? I need you to trust me on this." His nose touching with yours as he leans close.

"O-ok... I trust you."

Dumb little girl.

You shouldn't have said that.

Now you've sealed your fate.

***

He wonders what was going on with you back when he helped you study in the library. Something was very off about you, and you were clearly uncomfortable to brought it up.

He thinks of you very often even when he's busy and swarmed with school works. Sometimes, getting frustrated to even continue and wants to just go to your place. He massages his aching temple, resting on his chair before a box caught his attention.

Oh yeah, that stupid guy gave him that a few weeks ago.

He recalls their conversation about it, saying that it'll help him release some stress. Well, he's plenty stressed now so why don't he test it out now?

He saunters to the box, sitting on the floor to unravel it. Only to be surprised by the object inside it.

An onahole...

If he was his usual self he would've flung this across the room and throw it to the garbage bin. But sometimes he needs to be relieve as well, plus he's a man too,

He's not that picky too.

This'll do for him.

A temporary replacement while thinking of your cunt.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work. 

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes. 

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him. 

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels. 

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal. 

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline. 

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff. 

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night. 

And Jesus, he found it. 

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible. 

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair. 

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh. 

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man. 

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home. 

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time. 

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock. 

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager. 

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin. 

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too. 

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been? 

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything. 

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms. 

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.  

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips. 

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down. 

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in. 

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue. 

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat. 

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair. 

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck. 

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you. 

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole. 

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs. 

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle. 

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you. 

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him. 

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more. 

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away. 

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him. 

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure. 

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room. 

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’ 

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’