#both lines are from—you guessed it!—but for the look in his eyes

[goyardgoyangi]

fwb! oliver aiku who just wants to be yours

It’s a Wednesday night, and you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, your back against the headboard, scrolling through your phone. Oliver’s in the bathroom, the sound of water running as he gets ready to join you.

You hear the bathroom door creak open, and you force yourself not to look up. You already know what he’ll look like—after all, hooking up has become more than just a weekly occurrence. Wet hair, half his shirt off, that mischievous smile playing at his lips.

You’re halfway through tugging your hoodie over your head when he says it.

“You ever think about not seeing other people?”

You stop, fabric caught around your elbows, heart stuttering like a missed step on the stairs.

“What?” you ask, laughing, because that’s the only thing you know how to do around him when things get too real. “Since when do you care about stuff like that?”

Oliver leans back against the pillows, arms folded behind his head like this conversation isn’t threatening to blow everything up. Like he’s just thinking out loud. Like he doesn’t know what this sounds like.

“Dunno,” he says lazily, heterochrome eyes flicking over to you. “Guess it’s just been a while since I hooked up with anyone else.”

You force his hoodie down over your hips, turning to face him. “That’s not what this was supposed to be.”

“I know.”

“And you’re the one who made it clear—no strings. No drama.”

“I know,” he repeats, quieter.

There’s a long pause. You busy yourself with finding your socks on the floor, because looking at him feels dangerous right now. You’re already too comfortable in his bed, too used to the smell of his body wash lingering on your skin. Too used to waking up tangled in sheets that aren’t yours.

Oliver Aiku—confident, a heartbreaker, and reckless—is exactly the type of guy you don’t fall for.

You met at a party, not a meet-cute. You slept together before you even exchanged last names. And somehow, that turned into “you up?” texts, shared post-practice smoothies, him memorizing how you take your coffee. All under the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t anything more than convenient. Comfortable. Fun.

“Look, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” he says after a beat, voice a little more cautious now. “Just thought I’d be honest.”

Honest. Funny. Honesty from a guy who’s rumored to have ghosted at least three girls on campus in the last semester alone. You’d heard the stories. You weren’t blind.

And you never let yourself forget: you were just the next one in line.

“I don’t want to do this with you,” you say quietly, not looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like this could be something more than hooking up. That’s not who you are, Aiku.”

He sits up a little straighter at the sound of his last name. You only call him that when you’re annoyed. Or scared. Usually both.

He moves toward you slowly, carefully, like you might bolt. He stops just in front of you, hands at his sides, not touching. Not yet.

“Do you really think I’d spend this much time with someone I didn’t care about?” he asks. “You think I’d go to your research showcase, or memorize your exam schedule so I don’t bug you the night before, or delete my apps months ago—just for a hookup?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You want to pull away. You want to tell him that this is supposed to be nothing more than a distraction. That this—whatever this is—was never supposed to go beyond the physical.

But you don’t. Instead, you pull your leg back, creating space between the two of you. You want to say something—anything—to make it stop. To push him back into the safe, familiar routine you’ve built.

You turn. “Oliver. You’re you. You flirt with waitresses in front of me.”

“Not lately.”

“You smile at every girl like you already know what she sounds like moaning.”

He winces, like your words sting. Maybe they do. He hides it fast.

“I don’t do that with you.”

Exactly.

That’s the problem.

Because somehow, somewhere along the line, he stopped treating you like a hookup. You didn’t notice it at first. Not when he lingered after sex. Not when he asked about your classes. Not even when he started showing up at your study spots, silently keeping you company until 2 a.m.

You only noticed when it felt harder to leave.

“You’re just bored,” you mutter. “You like the chase.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

He goes quiet. For a moment, you think he’ll shrug it off—go back to playing it cool. That’s what you’ve both been good at.

But instead, he says, “I think about you. A lot.”

You blink.

“When you’re not around,” he continues, quieter now, “I catch myself looking for you. Like, wondering if you're gonna show up to the quad in my stupidly oversized hoodie, or if you’re gonna skip your 10 a.m. like you always do when it rains.”

You bite your lip, guilt already starting to crawl up your spine. But you can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know how much it hurts to even think about letting someone get close to you again.

You shake your head. “But this is what you’ve always done, right? Hook up, move on. That’s how it works,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, like it’s no big deal.

He laughs, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s bitter. “You think that’s how I want it? That’s what I used to do, yeah. But you—” He stops himself, exhaling slowly. “You’re different.”

You shake your head, trying to mask the tightening in your chest. “I’m not. I’m really not. I’m just a girl you happen to sleep with.”

Oliver’s face falls, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty for pushing him away. But then you remember the countless times you’ve been burned by guys just like him—guys who seem perfect until they don’t care enough to stick around.

You can’t let that happen again.

[gracie-eilish]

hi, can i request a fluff one shot about reader and billie spending time together on tour (in australia maybe?) i was inspired by her recent ig story and really like the idea of doing fun activities together when she’s free from performing 🥺

on aussie time

warnings: none! just fluff

pairing: billie x reader

summary: you and billie spend her day off in sydney seeing the sights and having fun, and of course relaxing with each other :)

an: i couldn’t fit every iconic aussie billie moment into this fic im sorry😭😭 but i think it’s still cute hehe

two in one day?! gracie’s gone rogue today.

The morning air in Australia was already tinged with sunshine and salt by the time you rolled over and blinked into the soft cotton sheets of your hotel bed. Billie was still curled into you, a sleepy little tangle of limbs and messy hair, her cheek squished adorably against your shoulder. You could feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing, and you didn’t move—not yet. Today was rare. A day off. No rehearsals. No press. Just Billie, you, and a whole golden day stretched out ahead of you like a dream.

You ran your fingers gently through her hair, and she stirred with a low, contented hum. Then her eyes peeked open, bright and blue and heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, angel,” she whispered, her voice husky with rest.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Morning, love bug.”

She stretched like a cat, limbs extending across the bed, and let out a dramatic sigh. “I vote we spend today doing nothing… unless that nothing includes a beach, or lollies, and a whole lot of you.”

You pretended to think. “Hmm. I guess I could be convinced.”

🐚

The beach in Sydney was alive with energy when you arrived, a canvas of golden sand and turquoise waves. Billie wore one of her oversized tees over a bathing suit, big sunglasses perched on her nose, and a bucket hat that made her look like the most fashionable sun-shy cryptid you’d ever seen. She clutched your hand like it was an anchor, and you both kicked off your shoes as soon as you hit the sand.

Her bandmates were already there, and the rest of the crew had set up a chaotic little beach base: towels, sunscreen, snacks, and someone’s portable speaker playing an old-school playlist.

You and Billie made a beeline for the water, giggling as you danced away from the waves at first, before finally letting them crash over your feet. You shrieked when it touched you, and looked up at her with wide, delighted eyes. “It’s cold!”

She laughed. “It’s the ocean, baby. Not a bathtub.”

“Well, I demand a refund,” you said solemnly, before she launched a splash at you with both hands.

You chased her through the shallow waves, both of you shrieking and laughing, until you collapsed into the water together, soaked and breathless. Billie pulled you into her arms, her hand reaching for yours automatically.

“This is the best day off ever,” she said, looking up at the bright blue sky.

“It’s only just started,” you replied, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

🍬

Later, you all piled into a couple of cars and drove into town, heading straight for the famous lolly shop Billie had been talking about since you landed in Australia. As soon as you stepped inside, it was like walking into Willy Wonka’s brain. The walls were lined with jars of colorful sweets, and the air smelled like sugar and childhood. Billie gasped dramatically and turned to you with wide, mock-serious eyes.

“I think we should live here now.”

You giggled, already reaching for a little scoop to fill a paper bag with rainbow gummies. One of the shop attendants came over, clearly recognizing Billie since she had requested to have some time in the shop just her and us. “Would you guys like to try making your own custom lolly batch today? We’re just setting up a demo.”

Billie’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Shut. Up. YES.”

You were soon ushered into a little glass-walled section of the store where the candy-making magic happened. You all donned aprons and plastic gloves, and Billie was already giggling as she attempted to tie her apron strings and failed.

“Help me, my hands are sticky already,” she whined dramatically.

You moved behind her, tying it for her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “There. Ready for sugar warfare.”

The candy chef showed you both how to work with the warm, stretchy sugar, and Billie tried to twirl it into the start of a spiral but accidentally flung a bit onto her own arm. You both burst into laughter, and you tried to wipe it off, only to stick your glove to her sleeve.

“This is a trap,” you said, grinning.

You ended up designing a lolly that was swirled in some of her favorite colors—black, green, and this dreamy lavender she said reminded her of the sky during her favorite dream. Billie on the other hand had designed an adorable koala. Wholesome right? Wrong.

At one point one of the girls had gone to the other side of the glass to record Billie rolling out her lollys… and in true Billie fashion she bit her lip and you could practically hear “Pony” by Ginuwine playing as she seductively rolled out her candy; the room dissolved into side splitting giggles watching her.

Once Magic Mike over there had calmed down, you all painstakingly pulled and twisted and cut the mixture into bite-sized pieces.

When you finally tasted one of the finished lollies, Billie popped hers in and gasped. “Okay wait… this is kinda fire.”

“You’re a candy genius,” you said, offering her another.

She took it with a silly little bow, her eyes soft and glowing. “Only with my muse by my side.”

🌙

By evening, after the sugar crash and sun warmth had finally settled into your bones, you both decided to skip the party some of the crew was heading to and stay in. The balcony of your hotel room was spacious and quiet, the waves rolling gently in the background like a lullaby. A big cushioned loveseat faced the ocean, and Billie was already curled up in it, barefoot, legs tucked under her, in one of your hoodies that she’d stolen.

You stepped out with two mugs of tea, handing her one and settling beside her. She snuggled up instantly, her head on your shoulder, her fingers tracing slow patterns over your thigh. The moon hung low over the sea, casting a silver path across the water. The sky was deep indigo, peppered with stars, and the only sound was the ocean and the occasional sleepy birdcall.

“I love this,” Billie murmured into your collarbone. “All of it. But especially you.”

You kissed the top of her head. “You have me. Always.”

She was quiet for a moment, her hand slipping into yours.

“I know I’m always running around, doing stuff, flying everywhere,” she whispered. “But days like this—where I don’t have to be ‘Billie Eilish’ and I can just be your girlfriend on the beach in a bucket hat… those are the ones that keep me going.”

You turned to her, brushing her hair back so you could look into her eyes. “I love you exactly as you are. Whether you’re playing sold-out arenas or making a mess in a candy shop.”

She laughed softly, eyes shining. You both fell into a comfortable silence after that, just holding each other while the ocean whispered in the distance. The scent of salt air and the warmth of tea and Billie’s steady heartbeat wrapped around you like a blanket.

And in that moment—peaceful, wrapped up in each other, the sky yawning open above you—you both knew that this day, this love, this softness… was the kind of thing you’d remember forever.

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error: 410 (Self Aware!AU Caleb Edition) Part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader.

Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, Stressedout!reader, Hypersexual!reader.

Word count: 1k

Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog

"Your words, eyes, and hands only belong to me My dreams, smiles, and daydreams are solely for you As I couldn't find you, I am getting lost in the sky now I find myself dancing with your own hands"

You have a new message from Caleb!

We'll only say hello from now on, there won't be any goodbyes

You woke up to the embrace of warm sheets surrounding you. You didn’t want to get up, not really. Not when the bed was so warm. You lay under the covers lazily for a while until you heard your name being called.

You sat up with a groan, stretching your arms. Picking up the cup of coffee placed on the bedside table. You woke up just in time; it was still warm. You stood up, taking a few sips of the warm drink. That felt so much better. Coffee always made waking up a little bit better.

Walking outside of the room, you saw Caleb already standing in the kitchen. He was making breakfast, leaning against the kitchen counter, the morning paper held in his hands.

“Morning, sunshine. It’s 8:45 in the morning. That’s a new record for you on the weekends, isn’t it?” He asked, a smile on his face. You just rolled your eyes in response, walking over to the kitchen, sipping on your morning coffee.

“That’s rich coming from someone who wakes up at 1:30 in the afternoon.” You said, walking up to him and resting your head on his arm, letting him press soft kisses on your forehead.

“Not really since that was a one-time thing, and you never wake up before 10 on the weekends, 9:30 if I’m being generous.” Caleb said, watching you put your empty coffee cup in the sink.

“Mhm… Good morning to you too.” You said, walking over to the bathroom. He could be so annoying sometimes. You picked up your toothbrush. The sound of plates clicking from the kitchen echoed through the apartment.

When you walked out of the bathroom, the breakfast was already set on the small coffee table in infront of your couch. You sat down in infront of him, muttering a small thanks as you picked up your plate, glancing at the newspaper that he had placed beside your usual seat.

“What’s your schedule this month?” You muttered, focusing on your breakfast. His cooking was always so good. Fluffy and soft pancakes that are not too sweet. Just how you liked them.

Caleb was a good cook, a great cook, in fact, but sometimes the things he’d give you would almost make you question his sanity and taste buds.

“You know, the usual.” Caleb said in reply, his brown eyes looking at you. Both of you could get so caught up in work that sometimes you couldn’t find time to spend with each other. “You want me to take a few days off?”

“No, it’s fine… Besides, my schedule is full. I have a few cases lined up, so it wouldn’t really be a wise decision to take days off when I’m still going to be working.” You said, chewing on the pancakes in your mouth, leaning forward to take a blueberry off of his plate with your fork. “Unless you want to spend it on yourself.”

Caleb shook his head, his warm brown eyes finding yours. “Was that something you did in your past relationships?”

“Not really. I mean, my dad used to. He is really fond of traveling, and my mom isn’t. So, he’d usually plan trips with his friends, and sometimes they’d fight about it, but in the end, he would get his way and go whenever he and his friends decided they wanted to visit.”

“And how did that feel? Didn’t you want to travel around with your dad, or did you prefer staying at home like your mom?”

“It was fine, I guess. Sometimes I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn’t take me with him, so I just never said anything. And the house was always slightly calm compared to the usual whenever he would be away... That honestly sounds so horrible to say.” You said with a small chuckle. You didn’t even know why you told him that.

“Hmm... well, would you prefer traveling with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like it a lot…but in the future—just not now.”

Hours later, you and Caleb were lying on the couch together. His head lay on your stomach, his fingers tapping your thigh as your fingers ran through his hair.

Honestly, you both preferred this over usual dates. Of course, dates were always amazing, but sometimes you just want to stay in bed and relax and binge-watch some TV, which was perfectly fine.

Caleb’s hair was really soft. That thought had crossed your mind multiple times since you had started watching this Netflix series with him, The Crown.

You glanced down at him, and he looked completely focused on the series. “You know, I don’t really get it.” You said, shrugging as you shifted your gaze to watch the episode playing on the screen.

“Get what?”

“I don’t know why you watch all this. I mean, there is no monarchy in your world, and it’s just a bunch of people’s lives being played up for drama. Why is this interesting to you?”

“Should I ask you the same question when you’ll eventually sit down and watch those crime documentaries?”

“That’s different.”

“It really isn’t. Besides, it’s something new, isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“I guess…”

Slowly, you and Caleb had built a home with each other. Saved up money together and bought an apartment together. Though it was more about the feeling of being safe and being together that made this apartment a home for you two.

Even though everything was like a fairy tale most of the time, every relationship has its own flaws.

It was nothing you both couldn’t handle together.

But it did worry you, especially his nightmares.

He had been getting them almost every night.

You groaned, pulling the sheets over yourself, your hand reaching out to touch Caleb, but your hands found cold sheets instead. He wasn’t here. You yawned, sitting up on the bed. One of your eyes closed, trying to cling to the comfort of sleep.

Caleb was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one of his hands resting on your ankle. He didn’t even turn to look at you. “Go back to sleep, honey.” He said, his voice sent shivers down your spine. It sounded... scared.

You rubbed your eyes, disregarding his words and crawling up to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek against his back. “You should’ve woken me up. I don’t mind…”

“I know… I was just—I didn’t want to worry you.” He said, with a sigh, his hands reaching up to hold yours. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses on your fingertips.

“You want to go back to sleep… or we could go to the kitchen and eat something. Maybe watch a small movie if you want?” You said, your free hand rubbing the side of his arm gently.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Caleb asked, intertwining your fingers, squeezing your hand gently.

“I can take a day off; it won’t kill anyone… hopefully.” You asked with a smile, yet Caleb didn’t reply, just letting out a hum in response. “It was a joke…”

“A really bad one.” Caleb replied, letting go of your hand. His hand found your ankle, pulling you closer against his back. His hands held your thighs, picking you up in a piggyback style. Your hands are wrapping around his neck.

“I found it funny.”

“Of course you would.” He replied. Walking out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. He gently sat you down on the kitchen counter before letting go. “What do you want to eat?”

“There is chocolate ice cream in the freezer.” You replied, picking up two spoons, watching Caleb open the freezer and take out a tub of chocolate ice cream. He handed it to you, taking one of the spoons from your hands as you opened the tub of ice cream.

You scooped up the ice cream, putting it in your mouth—it was rich and sweet but so, so cold. Making your face curl up. Caleb chuckled, looking at you as he put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. “Too cold?” He asked, smiling when he saw you nod.

He stared at you for a minute, letting out a sigh. He couldn’t stop having nightmares. It terrified him because every time he slept, all he could dream about was you dying. Something happened to you when he wasn’t here, when he wasn’t holding you close.

You could take care of yourself, he knew. And if that wasn’t enough, he can teach you how to.

A nudge broke him out of his thoughts, looking at you to see a spoonful of ice cream in your hands, near his mouth, your other hand hovering under the spoon to make sure nothing would spill.

Caleb smiled, leaning forward and taking the spoon in his mouth, letting himself savor the taste of the dessert.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

He was happy like this.

With you.

It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine.

Because at the end of the day;

you were together.

A/N: Wow, this is the last chapter of the series. I don't have a lot to say right now but there will be a (probably) long author's note about this series posted in a few days. Please leave any comments you might have about this series in the comments and I'm gonna answer it to the best of my abilities in the Author's note.

There is gonna be a spin off series. I'll talk to you all properly in that post, answer any questions you might have so stay tuned. Have a nice day!

Tag list: @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999 @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @babyx91 @multisstuff @beomluvrr @sunnylittleapple @lunia-likes-pomegranet @imhere2dosomething @lostpsycho13 @april-likes-smut @calebsbabyapple @mephisto-with-a-knife @wooasecret @anatherone @asgardiancoffemaker @sadsaidthesadthing @beppybeesnuggets @lilacflower667 @mangooes @sunnyx07

[after-the-end-times]

Sasquatch isn't real and Steve's not a Banshee

Rating: G ◆ Words: 2k ◆ Tags: Established Relationship, Cryptid Road Trip, Banshee Steve Harrington, Human Eddie Munson, Being outed as not human by a friendly cryptid ◆ @steddiebingo Squares - Monster AU/ Road trip /Lake ◆ @stmonstercalendar - Banshee ◆ @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween - Picnic Ao3

“Steeeve!” Eddie sung out, walking into their apartment, finding Steve in the kitchen. “Look what we’re doing this Spring Break!”

“Well, that’s Easter break and the kids are all heading home from college, so Dustin made a whole itinerary of activities and get togeth-”

“Yeah no, we’re not doing any of that. Look at this,” Eddie said, waving something around Steve’s head.

“Stop that.” Steve batted at the cloth Eddie had shoved in his face, yanking it from him. He opened it up to see a dish towel tourist map of all the supposed cryptids that resided in Indiana. “The fuck is this?”

“It’s our Spring Break plans!” Eddie pointed at the different creatures. “It’ll be like a little mini road trip just around the state! It’ll prepare us for this summer’s cross country road trip. And maybe we’ll see something cool or spooky!”

Amusement flooded Steve at seeing Eddie’s openly excited expression. “Fine, but you get to tell Dustin. And don’t get your hopes up about seeing any of them.”

“Yes!” Eddie grabbed Steve’s shoulders, hopping around him. “This is gonna be great! Let’s make some lists!”

Three weeks later, the truck rumbled under them as they set out on the road. The back end filled with coolers and suitcases, Eddie sitting shotgun with a real map, cryptid locations marked by red stars. Eddie had made a list of all the locations he wanted to hit, Steve had planned the most direct route to take, and Dustin gave them both an earful for missing most of his week of plans.

Their first destination lay just a couple hours down the highway. Eddie hoped to see Meshekenabek, The Monster of Lake Manitou. Steve knew Eddie wouldn’t see anything, but it’d still be a fun for him!

“So, you think we’ll see anything?” Eddie asked.

Steve palmed the steering wheel and reached a hand over to rest on Eddie’s thigh. “No, babe. You’re not gonna see anyone- thing. Anything out there. But we can still have a nice picnic and a nap by the lake.”

He tapped Eddie’s thigh, humming along with the song on the radio. He felt eyes on him, flicking a glance over, Eddie was staring at him in contemplation.

“What’cha thinking about so hard over there?”

“You keep doing that.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow toward him, brushing his thumb across his thigh and humming. “I guess, this is where I ask. Doing what?”

Eddie tapped Steve’s hand lightly. “Even while planning, you kept using pronouns for all the cryptids. And then you’d immediately be all shifty or try to laugh it off. So, I guess, this is where I ask. Do you know something I don’t?”

Steve smirked at the perfect set up. “Oh, babe, I know of things beyond your wildest imagination.”

Eddie laughed like Steve knew he would, hopefully distracted enough to move on.

“Steve, come on. We fought literal demon monsters in hell. We know a girl with actual real life powers. If you know that Sasquatch is real, you can tell me. Please tell me Sasquatch is real.” Eddie clasped Steve’s hand between his and held them up under his chin.

Steve knew he was making his eyes all big and wet, beseeching. Eyes Steve can’t help, but to always give into. Good thing he was driving, Steve was saved from the full force of that look. But he could still feel it, his heart and belly trying with all their might to make him look over at Eddie, to just tell him.

“Eddie. Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just because Hawkins happens to be a gateway to hell, doesn’t mean all that other stuff in your books, and dish towel, is real.”

Steve felt Eddie lower their hands to his lap, Eddie flipping it palm up, so he could trace Steve’s life lines. But he didn’t say anything. The sound from the radio filled the cab. It wasn’t tense, but Steve could feel Eddie thinking.

“Ok,” Eddie finally said.

They spent the rest of the drive bopping along to the radio, Eddie reading some paranormal books he’d checked out of the library. They passed through the town of Rochester and followed their map to the lake. They drove through a few neighborhoods until they found a spot to pull over.

Steve dropped the tailgate to slide the cooler to the edge, grabbing out some pops and sandwiches. Eddie grabbed his “Explorer’s Bag” holding a notebook, pens, sketching pencils, disposable camera, and polaroid camera. They walked down to the grassy edge of the lake, picking a spot to plop down. Steve got out their sandwiches, laying them on their baggies, and popped open his drink. Eddie stared out at the lake, waiting.

Steve took a bite of his sandwich. “So, what now? We just wait to for a sea serpent to pop up to say hi?”

“I don’t know, didn’t really think of this part.” Eddie glanced at Steve. “In my head, I guess we’d show up, see something suspicious and, I don’t know, track the clues? Maybe this wasn’t the most thought out plan. Should we just go home after this?”

“At least it’s pretty.” Steve nodded out at the lake. “I don’t mind road tripping just to see some nice spots. Bet a store in town has some touristy stuff we could pick up.”

“Yeah, ok.” Eddie didn’t look pacified, but at least he started eating.

Steve felt a little bad that Eddie wasn’t going to get what he wanted out of the trip, but Steve honestly didn’t mind just driving around the state, spending time with Eddie. They didn’t always get a lot of this kind of alone time, even living together, what with work and activities, Robin and Corroded Coffin.

“I’m gonna go grab the chips, hold down the picnic while I’m gone,” Eddie said, standing to run back to the truck. Steve looked back out over the rippling, blue lake, clouds reflected in its surface. It was so peaceful-

Splash

Steve tensed. It was probably just a fish or a bird landing, it definitely wasn’t-

Splash!

Steve stood, walking over to the lake, making it look like he was just enjoying the view. At the water’s edge, he glanced back to see Eddie hanging over the edge of the truck bed, trying to pull the dry food bag closer.

Steve leaned over the water, speaking low. “I’m not here alone, you need to stay out of sight.”

Splash

Water flicked up at Steve, wetting his clothes, sprinkling his face.

He wiped at his face, glaring. “Thank you for that, but no. I’m not coming in today. You gotta go.”

“Steve?” Steve flinched and turned to see Eddie walking back, hand halfway in the bag.

Flicking one last glare toward the water, Steve smiled back to Eddie. “Saw a bird scooping up a fish, pretty cool to see in person. You ready to head out?”

Eddie tilted his head, confused smile in place. “No? I just got the chips. Thought we were gonna enjoy this a little longer?”

“We could, yeah. Orrrr we could drive into town, see where we could find a key chain or magnet with this mythical monster on it. Maybe find a bathroom before we head out.”

“Ok, but can w-” Eddie’s eyes went wide, mouth dropping open, bag of chips spilling to the ground.

Steve dropped his head in defeat. He knew what Eddie saw rising behind him.

“Steve,” Eddie whispered, eyes still locked behind him. “Walk toward me, baby. Slowly. There’s- there’s a- The Monster of-”

Splash!

Water drenched the back of Steve, droplets making it to Eddie. Steve sighed deeply and rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Yeah, uh, he doesn’t like being called that.”

Eddie’s wide eyed gaze moved to Steve. Steve held out his hand, wiggling his fingers like he always does when he wants Eddie to hold his hand. “It’s ok, I want you to meet someone.”

Eddie walked slowly toward him, eyes flicking between him and the large serpent at his back, until his hand was firmly within Steve’s. He tipped his head toward Steve, lowering his voice. “I know it’s the wrong time to say this, but I knew you were lying and keeping information to yourself. Now, is it- splash -he nice? Obviously, he can understand me.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yes, he’s very friendly. Kinda the problem, actually.” Steve pulled him around so they both faced the creature.

“Eddie, I’d like you to meet Kevin of Lake Manitou. Kevin, this is my partner, Eddie.”

Kevin swam across the water toward them. Eddie jerked, stepping in close to Steve’s side, squeezing his hand tight. Steve swept a thumb over Eddie’s knuckles to reassure him, though he still glanced worriedly over at Steve.

Steve crouched at the edge of grass and water, pulling Eddie down with him. “Put your hand out. Like this.”

Eddie followed his lead, reaching out the hand not held tight by Steve over the water. Kevin came close, slipping smoothly up and out of the water to brush his head across Steve’s hand first and then Eddie’s.

Steve heard a tiny gasp from Eddie and looked over. Eddie was grinning, relief coursed through Steve as he watched Eddie petting Kevin’s head, flipping his hand under to scritch his chin.

“If you want, you can get take a polaroid. You can never show it to anyone, but you can take it.”

Eddie’s head snapped over to look at him. “You trust me with a photo? What if-”

“Eddie. ‘Course I trust you. I mean, maybe we wait to tell the kids til they’re older, but yeah. It’s just, I couldn’t tell you because it’s my duty to protect them all; from curious people, from hunters, from developers. It’s been my family’s job for generations going back hundreds of years.”

“So, what, you get to protect them ‘cause you’re, like, the only humans who know about them?”

“Uh, no.” Kevin lifted out of the water, resting his big head on Steve’s knees, offering support, Steve pet him slowly. He looked Eddie in the eye. “We’re, uh, we’re not exactly...completely...human.”

Eddie blinked at him, opening his mouth a few times before closing it. “You’re, uh, you’re- what?”

Steve ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. My mom’s a Banshee, her whole side of the family is. My dad’s a human, though. Banshees are kinda, like, a warning system in our world. I don’t have all of Mom’s abilities, but I can still sense when something’s vaguely wrong or someone’s on the verge of death.”

Looking up, Steve wasn’t sure Eddie was breathing anymore. “You ok?”

Eddie’s distant gaze snapped backing into focus on Steve’s face. “This makes so much sense. All those times- And you knew in the Upside Down- Wow. Ok. Yeah, ok. But-” Eddie’s face fell, suddenly sad and worried.

“Eddie?”

“You said this has been your family’s duty, passed down for generations, but if we’re- You’ll need to, you know- I can’t give you- ugh.” he pulled a hand down his face.

Steve reached out, stopping him from shoving his hand into his hair to pull at it in frustration. “Eddie. I have cousins, it’s fine. Or we can find a surrogate. Robin’s kinda offered; though she said not until she’s established in her career. So, we have time. But...you’re fine? With the whole, you know, not human thing?”

Eddie tilted his head in confusion, before oh-ing in understanding.

“Honey,” he said, a wide smile overtaking his face, “I’ve loved you for four years now; you think a little thing like ‘not being completely human’ is going to change that? Not on your life, baby. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Steve’s cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Eddie glanced down at Kevin, reaching over to scritch between his eyes, he suddenly gasped. “Wait! Does this mean Sasquatch really is real?!”

Based on this dish towel

[multific]

Target on Your Heart

Johnny MacTavish x Reader

Summary: You were supposed to take him out. He was meant to eliminate you. But war makes liars of loyalty and you’ve never wanted someone more than the man with the Scottish accent and a target on his back.

You should have killed him.

You had the shot. Wind at your back. Scope trained. Finger curled against the trigger.

But when he turned and looked up not at you, but in your direction, you saw something behind his eyes. 

Instinct. Intelligence. Recognition. Challenge.

You didn’t shoot.

Neither did he.

The first time you met face to face, it was in the ruins of a blown-out compound, guns drawn, hearts racing, both of you bruised and bloodied from a fight that should’ve ended one of you.

“You gonna shoot me this time?” he asked, panting, cornered but smiling like he wasn’t. 

You were already bleeding from your ribs, but you still smirked. “Would’ve done it already if I wanted you dead.”

He lowered his weapon. So did you.

That was the start of something very, very stupid.

Your paths kept crossing.

Joint operations. Shadowy politics. 

You started leaving each other coded messages. 

A carved line on a doorframe. A cigarette stubbed in a certain shape. Language only someone who’d learned you could read.

He started calling you “Ghostblade.” You never gave your real name. 

He never asked but he always looked at you like he knew more than he said.

You learned he made jokes under pressure. 

That he bled easily but didn’t complain. That he always watched your six without being asked.

He learned you hated being touched unless you initiated it. That your hands trembled when missions got too quiet. That you slept with a knife under your pillow.

Still, you slept near each other. 

First for convenience. Then… not.

You were pressed up against a wall in a safehouse when it happened.

His mouth was on yours before he could think of it. And you didn’t stop him.

The kiss was hot, frantic. All tongue and teeth and desperation. He kissed you like he was dying, and you clutched at his shoulders like you needed to feel someone who didn’t fear you.

He pulled back, breathing hard. “This is a bloody mistake.”

You touched his face. “Then why does it feel so right?”

He didn’t answer. He kissed you again.

You slept together that night. 

No games. Just slow, aching, desperate sex. You traced the scar on his chest. He kissed your bruised knuckles.

You didn’t talk about what it meant.

Until the order came.

Terminate MacTavish.

You stared at the file. The words burned.

The same night, Soap found you sitting on the rooftop of the hideout. He sat beside you, handed you a beer, and didn’t speak until you looked at him.

“Got word,” he said. “They want me to take out Ghostblade.”

Your throat closed. “And are you going to?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Would’ve done it already if I wanted you dead.”

A beat of silence.

“I got my orders too,” you said.

“Let me guess, I’m the target.”

You nodded.

“Shit,” he muttered, and leaned back, staring at the stars. “Why’s the one person I actually like the one I’m supposed to kill?”

You turned your face toward him. “We could disappear.”

He looked at you. Really looked. “Run?”

You nodded.

He stared for a long time.

Then he kissed you like he meant it.

You vanished the next day.

Left your life behind. Your country. Your name.

Soap left his rank, his team, and his past.

You met in a city where no one knew either of you.

No weapons. No orders. 

Just Soap and the ghost who once had him in her sights.

He never asked you to change. He loved the blade beneath your skin. The dark parts. The sharp edges.

You loved the way he always came home with flowers and the way he said “Love” like it was your real name.

He still called you Ghostblade sometimes, but now it was with affection.

And when you traced the old bullet scars on his shoulder in bed, he always pulled you closer.

“You never missed a shot,” he’d whisper.

“I missed you,” you’d reply.

And he’d kiss you like he never wanted you to forget you were finally his.

Because, despite everything, you chose each other anyway.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[kashimos-hajime]

—roses | s.r.

summary: "i would’ve been insulted,” he adds, “if you said yes to him and no to me.”

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: my bad guys... exams killed me... now i'm currently sick... will try to update more in the summer! | part of the undateable series

masterlist

The festival approaches, and as it does, Suna’s lack of date becomes Atsumu’s personal project, to the point that Suna starts hiding in places he never dreamed of visiting. Eating in the gardens despite his allergies. Staying in the library on his breaks. God forbid, walking into the arts room. 

Finding you. Somehow always finding you. Putting away music instruments. Walking to the getabako to fish out a bobby pin from your jacket. Recycling clay… whatever that means. 

You point out over the paint-splattered table: “Atsumu’s been hanging out with you more than usual lately.”

“Not my choice.” He inspects your lunch. Today, it’s a katsu sando and a side of cut strawberries. Yesterday, it’d been steamy rice and thick, potato curry slathered on top. You notice his stare, and pick up a strawberry, offering it to him. Taking it, he folds his arms over the back of the chair he straddles and rests his chin atop, chewing slowly. “He thinks it won’t be fun if I’m the only single one there.”

“What’s wrong with being single?”

“That’s funny that you’re asking that,” he replies. You pout at him, and he ignores the urge to smile.  

“I’m single now, aren’t I?”

“I guess. Are you going?”

“To the festival?” He nods. “I think so. Mina said she wanted to go, but she hasn’t found a date yet. And our other friends will be there.”

Suna finds you in the ceramics room again another day, slouched over a table and staring desolately at your sketchpad that you’re not even bothering to act like you’re paying attention to. Suppressing a grin, he heads over and hauls his bag onto the table in an undignified movement that makes far more noise than should be possible. You jolt, looking like a deer in headlights, but when you realize it's him, you put your cheek to your sketchpad again.

"Hey," you mumble, voice muffled by paper.

“What are you doing? Recycling clay again?”

“That only happens on Tuesdays,” you tell him like he should know. He rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to hide.”

“From who?”

You clear your throat, sitting up straight and tilting your head to the chair next to you. He pulls it aside and slides down as you lean over to whisper. Your breath smells like mint, and your breath is cool against the shell of his ear. Cocking his head, his eyes scan the ceramic room for anyone staring at them, but they’re alone with the breeze sweeping in through a cracked open window.

“Ryou.”

His eyebrows furrow together. Something both sticky and oily coats his innards. It makes him feel like he can’t move or it’ll ooze out of him. “From Class 4?” You draw away and nod. “Why?”

“He asked me to the festival with flowers and everything. I told him no and he asked why.” Burying your face in your arms crossed on the desk, you let out a long drawn out groan. From here, Suna doesn’t have to pretend you’re not amusing, and allows the corner of his lips to lift into a grin, stealing your pencil and drawing a dick on the corner of your page. At the movement, you lift your head and gawk, snatching the pencil from him. “Hey!”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Because I don’t want to go on a date with him. I’m being selective. And stubborn. And I’m not getting a boyfriend. Remember?” He nods. You press your lips into a thin line, but in doing so, your cheeks puff out a bit. It’s cute. “And… he’s kind of… stupid. Is that mean?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I don’t care. I don’t know Ryou. And I would’ve been insulted,” he adds, “if you said yes to him and no to me.”

“What? Why?”

Suna blinks. “Because he’s stupid.” At length: “Did you take the flowers, though?”

“No,” you lament. “It would’ve been mean. And they weren’t my favourites. Roses. So cliché.”

“Right.” Adjusting on his seat, he turns to grab his own water bottle, a strange boom of satisfaction echoing in his hollow chest. “Of course they're cliché to the romantic.”

“I know what you mean, but I don’t want gifts that are so… I don’t know. Tired, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t, but It’s sort of like there’s nothing setting you apart from the rest if you give the gift everyone else would. Like he could give that bouquet to any other girl now that I said no, you know?” You sigh glumly and plant your cheek against your fist. “I could stay in here forever and never have to see that boy again.” Picking up your pen, you sketch an arch loosely, and Suna watches, sipping habitually as he does so. Over time, a rough picture begins to take shape. Flowers blooming out of nowhere. Petals twisted every which way. You dig the end of your pencil into the paper. “But he’ll have to carry those flowers everywhere ‘cause I said no.”

“That’s not your fault.”

You set down your pencil and pin him with a weak glare, but it falls away and you stare at the page blankly. Suna can see how bad you feel. Something bites at his stomach. This is why he never asks anyone out. People take rejection so goddamn badly.

“I still feel bad,” you tell him softly.

Suna’s hand twitches. He has the strangest urge to touch your shoulder. He drags his palm against his thigh instead, hoping you don’t notice him creasing his slacks.

“A better gift would’ve been your favourite flowers, then,” he concludes. You look up at him through your eyelashes. “Favourite snacks or something, too.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Your lips pull into a faint smile, looking at him fondly with your chin in your palm. “Hey, you’d be a good boyfriend if you wanted to be. You pick things up fast.”

“Why else would we be in the same class? I’m not stupid. Besides, that’s a pretty basic concept to grasp. Give something someone will like.” He shakes his head. “Isn’t that just common sense?”

“You’d be surprised. A girl wants flowers. You give her flowers that she thinks are the ugliest things on earth. But they’re still flowers. Shouldn’t she be grateful?”

“No, because she hates them.”

“Exactly.” You smile. “You get it.”

Suna nods. There isn’t a lot to get, he thinks, but he doesn’t say as much. Instead, he’s content to eat the other half of your sando and watch you paint your new ceramic that finishes firing half-way through lunch period.

.

They have a practice match against Kujirama Technical, of which Kento-san is a member of the boys’ volleyball team. This leads to you sneaking Mina into the balconies to watch before the match can start and you scurry back down to the floor to grab your notebook and watch the games.

“Mina’s up there,” Akagi observes as you arrive, adjusting his jersey. You glance at the libero, and smile sheepishly.

“Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. Is she here to cheer someone on?”

“The guy she’s seeing is on the other team.”

“Traitor.”

“I know right.”

“What number?”

“Fourteen.” You point him out. Said boy is stretching on the other side of the net, and Akagi smiles mischievously. You nudge him. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’ve never heard you be nice to the enemy,” Akagi comments, cupping his arm as if you’ve broken it. “Don’t tell me you want me to let his spikes go through.”

“I never said that,” you correct. “I just want a fair, honest game.”

“Fair…” he echoes. “Honest… Not sure I quite know what that means.”

“This is why you almost failed literature studies.” Gawking, the libero’s gaze jerks to you, and you grin. “Y’know, if you need any tutoring… you could always ask our esteemed captain. I hear Kita-san is very well-read.”

“Yeah…” Akagi shivers. “Thanks for the suggestion, but I think I'll fail.”

"No one-on-one lessons?"

"No, thank you."

You laugh as someone approaches and you glance over your shoulder. Atsumu’s face is smeared by a large frown, and his eyebrows are making a knot in the centre of his forehead with how hard he’s furrowing. He stops next to you, a greeting barely passing his lips as he scans the gym. Akagi rolls his shoulder, clearing his throat, but when the setter still doesn't speak anything, he frowns. "Yo. What's up, Atsumu?"

“Have you seen Rin-chan?”

“Why would we see him?” you ask quizzically. A quick glance tells you he is indeed absent from the court, and you frown. “Did you not see him in the change room?”

“No. I thought you normally walk to the gym together.”

“We do, but maybe he’s too busy avoiding you.” Pointedly, you glare. “You need to stop bothering him about the festival. If he doesn’t want to go with anyone, then he won’t. You know him better than I do, and even I can tell he’s annoyed.”

“Rin-chan is always annoyed.” He waves the matter away. “And he’s always a slacker, but it’s not like him to be late.”

Osamu’s head pops through the gap between your head and Atsumu’s shoulder. You nearly jump at how close he is. “Where’s Suna?”

“I dunno.”

He frowns, straightening up and planting his hands on his hips. You shuffle closer to Akagi to make room for him in their little circle. “Kita told me to go find him, but I have to warm up. It’s not like him to be late.”

“That’s what I said,” Atsumu exclaims, holding up a hand. Osamu stares at him blankly, and his twin grins, grabbing his wrist and forcing a high-five. Akagi bends over to stretch his hamstrings. 

“Anyway,” continues Osamu pointedly, “will you do me a favour, kuri-kuri?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” You had come that conclusion yourself seconds ago, but you’re glad you don’t have to suggest it and he did first. It’d prevent Atsumu from giving you those wicked side eyes he’s prone to when he thinks he’s onto something. “Where’ve you checked already?”

“Not the change rooms. Not outside. Didn’t see him in your homeroom when I walked past earlier. Not sure where else he could be.”

“Okay. Got it. I’ll try to be fast.”

Excusing yourself quickly, you jog out of the gym and into the summer sun, shielding your eyes with a hand. 

They had said he wasn’t in the change room. You might as well trace the way to his cubby. Heading off in that direction, you duck into the hallways, grateful to get out of the sun’s direct blast. Feet tapping on tile, you eye the vending machines greedily before reminding yourself of the task at hand, hastening your pace. People still litter the halls, mingling in their groups, and a few greet you, but you can only spare a slight smile as you dart up the steps.

You don’t dare ask if anyone’s seen Suna Rintarou.

He’s not by the music room, although you have no idea why he'd be there. You take the steps down two at a time to see if he’s at the getabako.

Nope.

You peek inside his cubby to see if he’s at least taken his gym shoes, but when you find only his school slippers within, a coil of concern begins to wind tight around your gut. You step back and close the cubby before anyone catches you, and try to think of the list of places he could possibly be.

Pausing in a semi-crowded hallway, you cross your arms and scowl. Art room. No. Too dusty. Gardens? He’s allergic to pollen, so there’s no way he’d be there voluntarily. You had already checked the music room, and Osamu had said he wasn't in home room either. The only reason he frequents such places is to hide from Atsumu, and with said boy occupied in the gym, there’d be no reason for him to be there.

“Did you hear? She’s going to try asking him today!” A stray voice catches your attention, and you subtly turn your head to see some girls standing by the windows. You only know them by name, and you don’t feel eager to walk up to them to ask who exactly, in case they find out the him you’re looking for.

“Really? I never thought she’d have the guts.”

Walking over to the nearest bulletin board, you thank whatever spirits planted you and those people in the same vicinity, and pretend to pour over the posters as one of the girls sighs.

“I know, but you know how long she’s been crushing on Suna. I have to admit, I don’t think it’s going to go well.”

“I don’t even know what she sees in him. He’s good-looking and nice enough, but he doesn’t really… do anything. He complimented her one time last year on his first day. That’s it.”

“Because he’s cool. And he’s smart. Not like other guys. That’s his whole charm.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re falling for his whole shtick.” You roll your eyes. It’s not a shtick.

“It’s not a shtick.” Thank you. “Besides, I think he likes someone else.”

“What? Who?”

“That new manager of theirs.”

A scoff. “The Undateable? He isn’t like the other guys in our grade. He wouldn’t fall for her just because she’s pretty.” Your lips twist into a slight scowl. “Besides, they’re just in the same classes. That has to be the only reason why they’re hanging out together so much.”

“Yeah, but at the end of the day, Suna's still a guy, and Mimi's still a girl who's about to get her heart crushed." A moment of quiet for solidarity later: "We should probably find her, shouldn’t we? She’ll cry when he rejects her.”

“You think?”

“She’s had a crush on him for over a year. I think so, yeah. Do ya think she’s still at the gardens?” 

You look from the announcement about the band performance at the festival, and glance over your shoulder to see the girls beginning to walk away. 

Gardens? With his sneezing? Oh, that is not a recipe for romance at all.

Sprinting down the hall, you mutter ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon’ as you swerve by people, taking the steps down two at a time and springing into the summer sun again. Running down the stone pathway, you slip by the metal gate and swing your gaze towards the bench you normally sit on when you take lunch here. It’s a beautiful garden, with lots of trees for shade, and even a nearby teahouse for when esteemed visitors come, but you don’t see a familiar head of hair meandering through. The sound of metal hinges whining catches your attention, and you walk towards one of the greenhouses, steps muffled by the grass springing between the cracks in the pavement.

As you get closer to the glass building, however, the pavement turns into gravel, and your footsteps become louder and louder as you look around, a frown pulling at your face. This is so strange… 

There’s a loud sneeze. You recognize it. Or at least, you think you do.

“Suna?” you call out quietly, suddenly afraid to break the silence. The wind chimes rustling, birds flock above your head and you try not to get distracted as you try to zero in on the beginnings of a sentence you can hear inside. It doesn’t sound like a teacher…

Creeping closer, you catch it just as you’re about to pull the door open: “… and I was wondering if you’d like to go to the festival with me?” 

Your eyes widen and duck around the nearest metal wall, crouching. You don’t want to eavesdrop, but you’ve walked too close that moving in the pindrop silence that follows the question means even the slightest crunch of stray gravel beneath your shoe warrants your demise. 

The glass door swings with the slight wind, and your heart thuds like someone swinging a bat into your throat repeatedly as you wait expectantly for his response. A knot forms in your gut when Suna takes too long to reply, and you wonder what he’s doing. If he’s really debating going with someone else once you said no. A nagging sensation bites at your heels at the idea.

“I’m flattered.”

Oh?

“But I’m good.”

Oh. He’s… good? 

“Oh… I thought you weren’t going with anyone.”

“I’m not. I also don’t want to go with you.” Suna’s voice flattens. “And it’s got nothing to do with you, so don’t start asking me if you could convince me. I don’t want convincing.” After a moment: “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry. It sounds more mechanical than anything.

“Is it because you want to go with someone else?” the girl asks. Suna doesn’t reply, his footsteps growing louder, and you glance around, panicked. How do you get out of this? Scooting along the length of the wall, you manage to make your way to the back of the green house and stand, scurrying to the nearest path and walking back around as casually as you can. You ignore how hot your face feels, the sweat gathering along the divot of your back as the sound of the door opening signals the perfect timing for you to arrive.

“Suna-san!” you call. His head jerks to the sound of your voice, and you approach him quickly, trying to gauge his expression. As always, his pale eyes only refract your practiced calm, and his lips don’t even twitch at your appearance. “I was looking for you. You’re going to be late for the practice match.”

“Did the captain send you?” he asks wryly. You nod. He rubs his red nose. “Sorry. Got sidetracked.”

“It’s fine.” You glance around him. He blocks your view, and you frown, arching an eyebrow. “What are you doing in the gardens anyway?”

“Trying to see what you like about this place,” he replies swiftly, grabbing your forearm and walking past you. You let out a yelp as he drags you towards the gate again, but he lets go once he realizes you’re following. “Can’t say I get it.”

“You need to take some medication,” you answer. You don’t dare look over your shoulder when the glass door creaks. The tightness in your chest, the apprehension, eases, and you fall into step beside Suna easier. You smile to yourself. “I have some in my bag when we get to the gym.”

He eyes you out of the corner of his vision, the corner of his mouth pulling into an amused smirk. “Always prepared for everything.”

“As a manager for a team full of boys—” you wrinkle your nose—“I have to be.”

[walnutcookie]

Can I PWEASE have a list of headcannons of TOS Glisten amd maybey a dooble? I BEG OF YOU.... am sad :(

OUUGHHHH ok thinks. Hm. i suppose i will dump a few facts abt tos glisten and come up with some stuff on the spot too maybe lol

He does his own makeup every morning, as well as looeys :3 he practiced really hard and now its like part of their routine for him to sit down and do both their makeup for like an hour cause hes got to get it perfect hehe. Looey finds it very fun and he likes the makeup glisten does :] they werent actually designed to be wearing makeup, this was something that glisten found he enjoyed doing, and arthur found it enhanced their designs n gave them a bit more color so he encouraged it !! (it was also really cool as an artist to see his creations being creative and artistic so he wanted to encourage it)

looey is clumsy, thats an easy assumption. however most people wouldnt guess that glisten is even MORE clumsy. he tries so hard not to be because its utterly humiliating to trip on his bow constantly and fall flat on his face but try as he may he cant just stop being accident-prone </3 Cannot tell you how many times this guy has covered himself head to toe in paint and just stood there like a sopping wet cat trying not to embarrass himself any further by bursting into tears. its very hard to just brush it off and insist that everything you do is perfect when you look like youre cosplaying a smurf. looey is very understanding and tries very very hard to help him out, either helping him avoid accidents or comforting him when hes made a fool out of himself again.

fun fact!!! the toons all have their own sets of custom-made pajamas :3 I do plan on making designs for all of them someday too... glisten wears super elaborate and decorated frilly white pajamas but he has sensory issues and some (most) nights the texture and feeling of the clothes makes him want to gouge his own eyes out so he sacrifies his looks for coziness. looey doesnt care about how his clothes feel so he just switches with glisten and they look very silly GHAHAHA he would not be caught dead like that though

looey gets a lot of nightmares, and when they were younger he would go sleep in glistens room. It became a habit so they just have a sleepover in glistens room every night basically lol

hes scared of yatta. While yatta, looey and blot arent a trio together in their jobs theyre still a very close friend group so yatta often visits their floor to hang out with looey or looey will go visit yatta :P glisten finds her unsettling and startling though. but he also really likes her cooking. so he'll ask looey to request his favorite soup from yatta.... and then immediately slip on a crayon while walking out of the kitchen and spill it all over himself LOSER!!!!!!

he has a whole wall in his room of art kids have drawn of him, like he will take EVERYTHING. it makes him very happy. even the ones that are just incomprehensible scribbles from a 5 year old it makes him feel loved and admired and appreciated he will take any scrap of paper with his face on it that he can get

he gets a case of the giggles whenever hes embarrassed which makes him MORE embarrassed which makes him giggle more and it becomes a never-ending cycle of Glisten Torture and then he has to hide behind the fridge for the next 3 months because hes made a fool out of himself. joking usually hes able to stop himself but hes very self-conscious about it

his favorite color is actually pink but purple is good enough because he must be on theme

gets impatient with the kids he deals with sometimes, but he knows not to take it out on them. sometimes it gets annoying when a kid cant draw a straight line for the life of them. and sometimes it gets annoying when some 6 year old decides to grab one of your ribbons with their grubby little hands coated in orange paint and then you trip and fall on your face AND your bow is dirty. okay that one may warrant a nasty look but nothing more. he'll say things through gritted teeth sometimes but he'll always be nice to the kids

glisten doodle for you ! :]

[eoe-1379]

Hi! I’m not sure if you take requests or anything but you wrote this little short about Caleb, if MC was the il instead, and I just loved it so much and have pretty regularly thought about it since. I was just wondering if you might write a little short for the other 4 guys? I just crave more lol

Omg Ack! I will try 🫣

Here’s the other LADS as players with you as their LI!

Here’s Caleb’s

Agent Xavier’s Plane Game

Xavier dreaded international flights, he considered them the most tedious part of his job until he found you.

He downloaded the game on a whim in the airport after seeing an ad in Hong Kong.

He was hypnotized by your beauty, instantly addicted.

He couldn’t wait to sit for hours on a plane to play games with you.

Xavier chuckles low while reading your taunt on the screen, watching you ruthlessly strip him of his turns in Kitty Cards.

For a virtual girlfriend, your competitive nature was eerily genuine.

You closed your eyes for just a moment, allowing him to cheat, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He just waited, enamored with your peaceful grin as you blinked back awake across the virtual table.

“You’re not taking advantage of me, are you?” You ask with a grin.

“Never.” He mumbled aloud.

“Sir? Did you need something?” The hostess was at his side instantly, having heard him speaking.

His cheeks flushed and he dropped his phone onto its face in his lap. “No ma’am, I’m alright, thank you.”

She gave him a strange look, glancing at his phone, before returning to the hostess cabin.

Xavier sighed, relaxing back into his seat before turning the game back over.

You were sleeping again, waiting for him to take his turn.

“I guess I’m talking to you out loud now.” He muttered under his breath, smiling as he drew another card to continue the game.

Only a little more chocolate and he could afford to get you that new spring dress he’d been drooling over.

Lifeguard Rafayel’s Summer Muse

Rafayel’s eyes were glued to his phone, despite the string of women displayed on lawn chairs for his approval by the pool.

You were a work of art unparalleled in the real world, a goddess in code.

Bouncing in athletic wear as you run along a treadmill, shooting him that teasing smirk now and then as if you knew he was watching.

He leered at you shamelessly, both of you glistening with sweat.

Originally Rafayel took this job to spend more time at the beach. Any attention he got from the public was a pleasant bonus, but this summer he had eyes only for you.

He liked to sketch your figure in the fashions of the coast, outfits you'd never be permitted to wear in the game.

His fanart had even gotten him a small following online.

Thomas leaned over his shoulder, peering down over the rim of his sunglasses at Rafayel’s sketchpad.

“Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini?” Thomas asked, popping his gum.

“No, you idiot,” Rafayel huffed, sitting back in his chair, “She’s a mermaid. But I can't decide on a top for her.”

“Do mermaids wear tops?”

The men’s gazes locked.

“Fair point.” Rafayel smiled, erasing the lines.

Resident Zayne’s Wake Hack

Grayson suggested the game to Zayne during Hell Week, pulling up the ad on Insta between sips of caffeine.

It was your birthday event. Every ad and poster was dedicated to you. Your colors, your symbols, your voice.

He fell immediately in love with your voice.

Zayne downloaded the game right then and there, struck by your beauty and the quality of your design.

He needed you most on those stressful nights, trying to stay awake and on call.

He even came to rely on your reminders, using you as his assistant and calendar.

When he had to cram medical text at 3am mid-week, you were there to study at his side. Your eyes twinkling with that light of awareness. So supportive even in silence.

When he went on his morning run, he listened to your honey voice. He hardly even knew what you were talking about half the time, but he loved every minute of it.

And those sleepless nights while he waited to be paged between shifts, he would often just spend time with you.

Your figure behind the screen, under his thumb, your smile warm and flirtatious as you scold him for being awake at this hour.

He clicks a button, triggering an interaction where you hold his cold hands to your sweet blushing cheeks.

He'd never admit it, but this was his favorite thing to do.

Inmate Sylus’s Contraband

Sylus spent months shaking hands and making threats to get a cell phone in prison.

He kept himself pretty comfortable behind bars, but there were still a lot of monkeys in his circus that needed wrangling beyond the walls. Luke and Kieran primarily.

It was one of their burner phones that they smuggled in for him.

The only app on the screen showed a young woman’s face above the title Love and Deepspace. Curious, he clicked it.

The loading screen flashed images of five beautiful women, one in particular with a smile so radiant he actually caught his breath.

He opened it to find he was already logged in, his name typed clearly in the top left corner.

Sylus rolled his eyes, stroking his temple. Clearly Luke and Kieren had set this up for him.

From that day on between phone calls and yard time, he was playing you.

Orchestrating a shipment of weapons? He’s talking on speaker phone and enhancing your protocores.

Back of the prison church on Sunday, he’s got you shrouded between his knees tapping furiously through another Deepspace Trial.

He buys you every new outfit, and hoards gems so he’s always prepared for the next banner.

He even had you at his side during his parol hearing.

Luke and Kieran escorted him to the car after his release, eyeing each other behind his back. He could feel their snickers.

“Sir, if you want we can toss that old phone for you.” Luke said.

“Now you’re free again, you don’t need to carry it around anymore.” Kieran reached for the phone in Sylus’s palm.

Sylus pulled away, tucking it into his pocket. “That’s not necessary.”

[mx-pastelwriting]

Sunrise

EMMRICH VOLKARIN X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Waking to the glow of the sunrise and Emmrich holding your little one. WARNINGS: Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Slice of Life, Dad! Emmrich, Emmrich adoring you, Reader waking up, No specification if child is biological or adopted

Bathing in the glow of the sunrise, feeling the warmth of its rays peeking through the soft curtains prickle along your skin. Its comforting touch is not what wakes you, but the whispers of loving playfulness and the coo of giggles.

Peeking from the softest of your pillow, blinking away the morning fogginess to focus on the sight that warms you more than the sun and its rays ever could.

Emmrich sat at the window nook, legs bent, allowing your child to be cradled against his thighs. Watching as he gently pinches their cheek with one hand, earning the sweetest giggles, while the other is held hostage by the little one, having grabbed onto his finger.

Hearing as he whispers coos of how precious of a life they are to the two of you, lightly combing their hair while going on to tell of the first time he laid eyes on them, sweetly admitting to having cried.

"Guess who is awake?" You hear Emmrich whisper to them just as the story comes to an end, you smile, sitting up in bed. Catching Emmrich's soft gaze as he turns to look at you, soaking in the warm smile he gives you.

Taking in the sight of each other, Emmrich was no longer dressed in his nightwear but a simple lightweight shirt that loosely hung onto his body styled with light gray woolen pants you had bought him years ago.

Hugged in the blankets of your shared bedding, dressed in your wrinkled nightwear, though waking only minutes ago, Emmrich still looked upon you with such adoring eyes that never seemed to dull even with every morning you shared.

"Good morning, dear," he greets lovingly, before moving from the lounge under the window to the bed holding your child.

Holding out your hand, wanting to cuddle the soft bundle of joy he had all morning, the light jealousy washing away once in your arms, the coos from you start.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, cupping your cheek gently, allowing you to feel the cold gold rings that lined his fingers. The temperature wakes you further, bringing you a feeling of comfort and familiarity, resting your eyes, answering with a nod while leaning into his touch.

Opening your eyes look to Emmrich as he looks to you with pure adoration at the full picture of you and the little one cuddled together in the glow of the morning, tempting him to have you both painted in this moment.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Taglist: @hellok1ttycake @n0v4hertz @blue124th @doombellow @call-me-a-fool @bunjivu

[littlestarbigsky]

can you write a fic abt Soda and Steve crashing prom and dancing with each other?

so i just dropped my baby brother (he’s 17 but shh) off at prom the other day,, my heart is not having fun with that lol anyways this was so much fun to write omggg. sorry if it's not totally to prompt but i still think its rllly sweet <33

will most likely be going off the grid for about a week, finals are a beast but they'll be over next week and then y'all have me alllll summer :))

soda could barely hear the music blasting through steve’s busted car radio from the wind whipping through the car, the engine screaming in his ears as they blasted down the old air strip, steve’s car finally beginning to pull ahead of the stingray they had been looking to beat for months.

they were both shouting, a mix of fear from going so fast so quickly, and pure, unbridled joy for finally winning a race. the car skidded across the finish line, the tires squealing as steve drifted for a few seconds before stopping and pulling soda into his side.

“finally beat shepard, huh?” soda grinned, quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching them, and pressing a quick kiss to steve’s lips.

“oh i beat the hell out of shepard,” steve muttered, his hands tangled in soda’s hair.

thinking better of keeping steve’s car parked at the finish line after a few moments, they moved over to the parking lot and hopping out to watch a few more races. steve grabbed a beer and soda picked up his bottle of cola off the ground next to the cooler.

it wasn’t until they had been watching races for another hour and steve had downed at least three more beers that one of the older, particularly greasy, drivers asked them, “what are you two youngins’ doin’ out here? it’s prom night, ain’t it?”

“huh, i guess it is,” soda shrugged.

“well, what are you doing here bummin’ with a bunch of old fellas?” another asked them. “why not find some pretty ladies and show ‘em a good time?”

they both just gave a noncommittal shrug, the earsplitting racket of another race saving them from the discomfort. even so, steve felt soda squeeze his hand gently when the rest of the other guys were watching the black mustang doing donuts at the finish line in victory.

“you wanna get out of here? they’re almost out of the good beer.”

soda nodded, holding out a hand for steve to hand over his keys. the pair of them discarded their beverages and made it back to steve’s car. after they moved the car to an empty part of the lot where no one would see them, soda leaned lazily up against him in the driver's side, something hazy and happy hanging between them.

"you sure you don't wanna find some pretty girls and go to the prom?" soda giggled happily, his head resting against steve's collarbone, arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

"why would i?" steve asked, his chin rested against soda's head. "i have you."

"i don't count," soda answered softly. "you can't go takin' someone like me to prom."

"yeah, evie's much prettier..." steve joked, sighing heavily. "just a shame i'm stuck with you, i guess."

"stuck with me, huh?" soda laughed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to steve's bicep.

"don't worry," steve ducked his head to meet soda's eyes. "i wanna be stuck with you."

they both sighed and leaned heavily against the other. the car was getting hot from the temperature outside, not enough for the windows to steam up, but enough that holding each other the way they were was beginning to get uncomfortable.

steve's eyes lit up, "i have an idea."

"oh, well, that's never good," soda sat up, scooting over in the seat so he could see steve properly.

there was something devious in the smile steve shot him, "you wanna go to the prom?"

soda barked out a laugh. there had never been two people less prepared for an event; the two of them smelled strongly of motor oil, grease caked onto their hands and up their arms for work, steve had even had a smudge of dirt across his brow for the better part of the day. they were both in their work jeans, soda wearing a tank top with his flannel thrown over it, and even that had been discarded in the back seat for most of the day, and steve didn't even have a shirt, opting instead to wear his denim vest.

"are you kidding?" soda laughed.

"why would i be?" steve answered.

"because you've been drinking, and you didn't buy tickets," soda answered with the first two reasons that came to mind, even though there were about a thousand reasons they shouldn't go. "and i don't even go to school there anymore."

"so?"

soda laughed again, louder and more incredulous than before, "how would you even propose we do this? they wouldn't let us in."

"maybe not through the front door," steve smirked. he reached across soda and put the key in the ignition, the car roaring to life. "put your seatbelt on and get this shitbox moving, we're going to prom."

steve immediately howled with laughter, turning the radio up and rolling down the windows. soda, per usual, drove too fast and cut corners, the loud music and promise of a good time spurring him on. soon enough, will rogers high school loomed into view, and soda was surprised when steve instructed him to pass by the parking lot everyone else had taken up for prom and instead loop around to the back of the building, where far fewer cars were parked.

"so, what kinda scheme are you cookin' up?" soda asked as they slammed the car doors behind them.

steve just smiled and gestured to a brick half wall blocking off the dumpsters behind the building. as soda got a better look at it, there was a very obvious few bricks sticking out that they could use to climb up, a classroom window cracked open.

"old man bernardi always complains that the air is too dry when he closes the window," steve laughed.

"jesus, bernardi still teaches here?" soda laughed, watching steve carefully as he started to climb up the wall with practiced ease. "how often do you do this?"

"not enough," steve laughed, cracking the window open as soda started to climb up behind him. "usually, i only use it to get out when i want to skip, but two normally uses it when he's too hungover to be on time."

"and bernardi just... lets y'all use his classroom?" soda asked, but as steve helped him through the window, he realized that the window led to a teacher's lounge instead of a classroom.

"nobody uses this one, the coffee pot is in the one downstairs," steve explained quickly, grabbing soda's hand and taking off at a run towards the door and through the dark hallways of the high school.

even though soda had spent a great deal of time in the building once upon a time, he had no idea where steve was leading him. they weaved through empty hallways, past bathrooms and wood shops soda had spent hours hiding in when he couldn’t stand to go to his english classes.

they finally pushed a door open and soda recognized where they were immediately. the judges box overlooking gym was cramped and smelled like mildew, but it was big enough for the two of them, complete with tinted glass - no one would be able to see them.

steve stumbled down the steps into the main section of the box, shoving a chair out of the way and holding his hand out to soda.

"c'mon," he giggled. "we're at the prom, we gotta dance."

"steve, you're drunk," soda laughed, but he still started down the steps to take steve's hand.

"and you're a chicken," steve slurred slightly as he spoke, but he glanced at the glass and added, "nobody can see us anyways."

it was sloppy and slow, soda's arms around steve's neck as they swayed clumsily on the spot. steve was stumbling slightly, and they stepped on each other's feet every minute or so, but the breathy giggles and sweet touches made it hard to care. steve closed his eyes, squeezing soda’s hip gently, like he couldn't quite believe he was allowed this.

"you really can't dance," soda laughed as steve tripped over his own feet for the third time in the same song.

"yeah," steve slowed down their movement and pressing his forehead to soda's. "but you're worse."

soda leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to steve's lips, beer and cigarettes clung to his breath but soda was well past the point of minding. downstairs, the music swelled. laughter floated up. somebody screamed with delight at catching a bouquet or winning a prize, but all of it was distant, hazy, unimportant. here, it was just them - quiet and real and heartbreakingly alive.

"you're really pretty," steve mumbled as he wrapped his arms around soda's waist, pulling him impossibly closer. soda could only giggle, it was all they needed.

they kept dancing, slow and easy, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee, clumsy boots brushing with every step. hidden away from everyone else, wrapped up in each other, they didn’t need anything more.

[threegoldfish]

Shoes and socks removed, he puts both to the side - close to the fire - before sitting back up, a shudder running along Marc's back as he fumbles with his belt, then shoves his pants down unceremoniously so. They're kicked off after - a wet pile of sorry fabric, really, squelching as they land on the floor - and Marc sighs at the warmth that has access to his naked skin now, brings both arms up to hug himself.

It's... nice, really, but Marc's still shivering; There's a stack of blankets nearby which he could wrap himself up with for the time being---

---Strömstad. Wherever the fuck that is. Marc listens to Thor speaking up from where he currently exists - the kitchen, he wonders? - and knits his brows, lips pressed into a thin line. The god of thunder talks about old magic, about a friend, a scholar, mythologist, coworker of Erik Selvig.

...Does that name ring any bells? Marc blinks a couple of times, gaze trailing to the side, thinking.

"Alright, guys - someone wanna help me out here?" Steven's full of knowledge, after all, and Jake's a notorious smart-ass... so?

"---I've heard of him!" Of course Steven did, and he's eager to assist here. "Doctor Erik Selvig is an astrophysicist... and author, as a matter of fact. People say he was recruited by the Avengers in the past - and he used to be a Professor at the University of London, by the way... erm, not sure if he still is, I haven't really keeping myself up to date when it comes to him---"

"Okay, alright, got it. Thanks, baby."

"---So, is that friend of yours even okay with us... being here? I mean, he probably won't mind you being around, since you seem to be buddies... with whoever that friend is." An inhale of air, dark eyes flicking over to take in the sight of that chest Thor gestures towards, mentions spare clothes.

Oh no, oh hell no - Marc's not going to put on clothes belonging to a random person who winters here, someone who isn't even aware of the freezing one's existence in the first place. The thought alone sends discomfort through Marc as the frown he's carrying so well on his features deepens in intensity, complete with a hint of a pout and a huff.

"...But I guess said friend won't be aware of me being here - some random half-naked guy who's currently sitting in that person's living room. Do I need to be prepared to go through an awkward first meeting, such things?"

"---Marc, I am sure that, whoever that friend of Thor is, will be totally okay with you---"

A moment of Marc focusing, head tilting back, arms unfolding from his chest to be held out in front of him; Bandages appear out of nowhere, eyes glowing for a second as the fabric wraps around skin, covering up inch by inch of that shivering frame. A breastplate follows, a hood, a mask - but both of those, the hood and mask, vanish mere moments after they've first been summoned, leaving the head bare, once the whole of that suit has appeared and is now fitting its owner like a glove.

"---Or, well, yes, you can... put on the suit, yeah. Certainly an option there..."

Another breath is being taken, glow disappearing from dark eyes - and Marc's elbows place themselves on top of his thighs, back curved, hands hanging down between knees as he looks at the one who's brought him here... to Strömstad, Sweden.

"I'll just... wear my suit for now. Thanks for the offer, but... rather not wearing a random person's clothes, you know... just a personal thing. Hope you don't mind the--- everything." A gesture at himself, his almost-completely-wrapped-up form made of off-white fabric and golden accessories.

He's feeling a lot more comfortable and warm already...

[ ϟ ]—– Allowing the man what limited privacy there was thunderer moves to the small kitchen nearby, searching for a moment and finding a kettle, along with a pair of mugs.

Disposing of his own jacket then the god observes every now and then however, gaze riddled with not sympathy exactly, but a steadiness that expects nothing from the human. There is a fight in the mortal, undoubtedly, a battered flame that is refusing to go out even when it is guttering against the storm. It is familiar and earns the man a sliver more respect.

There is no need to rush at the moment, and the god does not move to help further. Even if Spector looks one breath away from simply crumbling into a heap on the stone floor, actions paired with that insistent muttering.

Perhaps the man's demons were as vocal as the divine invasion from earlier, the thought swiftly cast aside in favor of toeing off his own boots by the door.

Hearth keeps crackling and spitting as it eats through old wood, the cabin breathing even more warmth, and whilst Thor fills the kettle Spector finally addresses the Asgardian.

' Not far from Strömstad,' comes a rumbling answer, something akin to an apologetic smile rising briefly to the surface when realizing that explained quite little.' West coast of Sweden, quite remote. Old lands, and even older magic.'

Cerulean gaze is steady, fixed upon the kettle for a moment, only one glance spared for the mortal.

' This place belongs to an old friend,' and the thoughtful pause is utilized to add instant coffee to the cups. ' A scholar in fact, mythologist. Once worked with Erik Selvig, if you know the name. Good man, trustworthy. He always winters here, enjoys hunting and wandering the woods. I suspect he will be here right before dawn.'

Concern returns then to the god's features, lips pursing momentarily as he keep his distance, allowing the man to proceed without the invasive presence of another.

' There are spare clothes,' and a small gesture is waved toward a heavy chest against the far wall, carved with runes dulled by time and use. ' I cannot attest to their elegance, but they will be warm. And will fit.'

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[ilikeevilblondes]

World’s Worst Chauffeur

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.

TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.

W.C: ~6.2k

Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62586064

Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo

“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Look, I—”

“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”

You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.

The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.

“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.

That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.

“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.

“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.

Your dad ignored this jab.

“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth.

The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.

One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.

Two, you were a huge flirt.

Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?

Hopefully, not him.

“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.

"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."

He levelled Joel with a firm look.

"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”

Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.

Joel took a second to process this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.

“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.

Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.

———

And so, there Joel was.

Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.

Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.

When you came out, you were part of the latter group.

Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.

He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.

You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.

“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.

Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.

“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”

“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”

“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.

“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.

Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.

“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”

Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.

“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.

“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.

The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.

Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.

“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.

You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.

“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.

Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.

“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”

You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.

“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.

Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.

The two of you sank into yet another silence.

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.

“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.

“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”

“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”

You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.

“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”

That threw him off-guard.

For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”

“You were definitely staring at my tits.”

Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.

“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.

“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”

“I noticed.”

“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.

“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.

And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.

Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—

Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.

“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.

“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.

Jesus Christ, he was fucked.

“Joel,” You practically whined.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.

“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”

Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.

Joel sighed. “You’re home.”

You glanced out the window disappointedly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.

Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.

You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.

After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.

“I’ll call your dad.”

“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”

Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.

“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”

You shook your head.

If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.

“You can stay the night at mine.”

You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.

Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.

“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

“I’ll take option number one.”

A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.

Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.

You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.

That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.

However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.

Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.

He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.

But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.

“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.

Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.

“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.

“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.

Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.

“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.

“Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”

You huffed out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”

Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.

“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.

“But you’re not.”

“You should want someone your own age.”

“But I don’t.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”

“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.

“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”

“Just this once.” You whined prettily.

At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.

“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.

Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.

His dark eyes finally met yours.

You held your breath.

“Just this once?” He said.

“Just this once.” You confirmed.

“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.

Joel didn’t believe you.

But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.

He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.

And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.

Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.

Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.

Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.

He was holding back.

“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.

“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.

“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.

What did you want?

Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”

“You.”

“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.

And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.

“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”

Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.

“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”

“Can I?”

Joel hummed.

“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”

“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.

“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”

You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.

“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.

Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.

“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.

You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.

“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”

And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.

Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.

His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.

“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.

You bit your lower lip.

“You.” You said softly.

And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—

“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”

“That’s what I thought.”

To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.

“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”

Yes, fucking please.

You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.

Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.

“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.

“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.

He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.

Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.

“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.

Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.

You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.

Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.

In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.

Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.

“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.

You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.

His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.

It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.

Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.

Your eyes flickered down to his length.

“Shit.” You gasped.

You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.

“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”

Big. He was so big.

“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”

You nodded.

In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.

“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”

“I have an IUD.”

The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.

Ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.

“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”

Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.

He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.

“Too big.” You whined.

Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.

“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”

Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.

“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”

“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.

“Attagirl.”

And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.

“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.

“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”

“N-No!”

“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”

And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.

You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.

He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.

In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”

Fuck.

Joel’s dick twitched.

If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.

Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.

“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”

Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.

“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.

“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.

“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”

And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.

Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.

“Joel!”

“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”

“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”

Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.

Joel sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”

Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.

So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.

“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.

In and out. In and out.

In. And. Out.

And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.

You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.

“Joel, I’m…!”

“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”

And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.

Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.

When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.

“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”

And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.

If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.

Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.

Fuck, yes, he did.

He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.

Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.

Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.

“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.

Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.

You let out a strangled moan.

“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”

Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.

“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.

“Inside.”

“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”

“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.

“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.

And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.

“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”

With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.

Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.

It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.

And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.

At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.

He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.

It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.

“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.

Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”

“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”

You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.

Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a light sheen.

Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.

“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.

If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.

Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.

“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.

Joel threw the towel aside.

“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.

Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.

“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.

You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”

“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.

“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re definitely doing this more than once.”

“Thank fucking God.”

[awwyeah107]

Thanks for the tag! :D Oooooo, what chilling lines. Go Finwë!

I have 2 last lines actually. One that is the literal last line I wrote, and then the last one I wrote in my head but haven't gotten down on paper (or really, screen) yet :P

Literal last line:

With every day that passes, he feels like he should know these elves, more and more.

Last line I came up with in my head and then wrote here, with a few extra phrases for flourish:

"I mean I couldn't," Maedhros snaps, before softening his tone, his next words heavy and full of grief. "[Redacted name]. I am your big brother, and I will always strive to protect you and our family to the utmost of my ability. But I am not invincible."

Too many words to tag people for, so I'm just going for people I know who might enjoy this who I can think of at the moment: @thegreenleavesofspringinsunlight @darkfrozenabyss @sweetteaanddragons @hwestalas

@muse-write @winterinhimring and anyone else who wants to join in!

Last Line Tag Game

Thank you @tathrin for tagging me!

Rules: Post the last line you wrote, then tag as many people as there are words.

I've been working on the sequel to When Darkness Falls, which features Finwë having some very important conversations with certain people before his people leave Valinor. Here's the latest line from that:

“You promised my people safety! You promised that he had repented, that there was nothing to fear. Do not blame my son for this. Morgoth was your responsibility, and you failed to keep him in check. You failed us, Elder King.”

40 words! Oh boy, that's a lot to tag so I think I will tag half that :P Tagging: @dreamingthroughthenoise @balrogballs @queerofthedagger @camille-lachenille @thelordofgifs @polutrope @sallysavestheday @beatles4ever65 @awwyeah107 @curufiin @starspray @veilder @mossy-thing @atlantablack @leucisticpuffin @glorf1ndel @eclectickefi @eilinelsghost @that-angry-noldo @pepperwebsblog and whoever else wants to join in. No pressure, of course!

[uppersidedreaminnn]

DAISUKI ★ N.RK

SYNOPSIS: in which you surprise your boyfriend by speaking japanese.

PAIRING: nishimura riki x fem! reader

GENRE: fluff, established relationship, humor

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. let me know your thoughts!

“kuso.” riki mutters under his breath, causing you to turn your head toward him.

the two of you are sprawled comfortably on the couch, riki focused on his game, clicking rapidly at the buttons of his controller, completely immersed. while you scroll mindlessly on your phone, both of you exist in your own little bubble.

“what does that mean?” you ask, curiosity piqued at the word you've heard riki mutter multiple times. though you already have a vague guess.

riki glances at you briefly before slowing down his movements on the controller. “nothing,” he brushes off, returning his gaze to the screen. you hum not don’t pushing it further.

the night drags on, and soon, the two of you decide to watch an anime together—a movie you’ve both been waiting to release for some time now. nestled comfortably in each other’s arms, you watch as the story unfolds. before you know it, the credits roll. the two of you done for the night, you both get ready for bed.

waiting for riki to finish up in the bathroom, you lie alone in bed and remember the moment earlier. ever so curious, you grab your phone and search for the word riki often mutters under his breath. no doubt it was in his mother tongue, japanese.

the search results make you chuckle, confirming your suspicion—the words he often whispers are curse words. falling into a rabbit hole of japanese vocabulary, you practice the words that show up silently.

“daisuki?” your eyes scan the screen as you scroll down a beginner’s guide. “'daisuki' is a japanese word and expression that means to like or love something a great amount.” your gaze lingers on the next line.

“it's often used to say you love someone.”

hmm. these words might come in handy. 

the following days with riki are chaotic, to say the least. your boyfriend always keeps you on your toes, constantly teasing you, play-fighting with you (seriously, are we ten?), and worst of all, stealing your food. after a long day of dealing with his hyper energy, you sigh, in desperate need of a time-out.

your eyes trail to the couch and the controller left unattended on the coffee table, practically calling your name. you plop down, turning on the game, controller in hand. before long, you’re fully immersed, fingers gripping the buttons tightly as gunfire and other game sound effects echo in the room. the victory chime rings, and a smug grin spreads across your face. clicking start, you prepare for another round—

until a hand swiftly snatches the controller away.

“riki,” you whine, standing from your spot to reclaim it. agile and a lot taller than you, he swiftly dodges your movements.

“nu-uh,” he tuts, shaking his head in amusement as he moves further away. rounding back to the couch, he plops down. “it’s my turn now.”

you roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance at having been cut off short of your game.

“uzai.” you mutter the japanese word foreign on your tongue, sending a death glare in riki’s way, sitting comfortably in your spot.

you knew the word would elicit some sort of reaction, and you were right.

“what?” riki looks at you immediately, his expression unreadable, though amusement flickers in his eyes.

you take a few steps forward, arms crossed. “i said,” you repeat slowly, “uzai.” you try to sound confident in your pronunciation, though you barely remember the proper way to say it from the japanese guide you read.

riki chuckles, his confusion morphing into pure amusement. “hontou ni?” he replies, clicking start on his game. his response making you annoyed at yet another phrase you had no idea the meaning to.

“where’d you learn that word?” he asks as he begins his round, eyes still locked onto the screen.

“google. where else?” you shrug, plopping down beside him, watching intently as the game unfolds.

riki doesn’t respond to your sarcasm, too focused on his game. you smirk, seizing the opportunity and snatching the controller from his grasp.

“hey!” he exclaims, frowning at you, lips tugging into a pout as he watches you start playing.

you only chuckle. “you started it.”

things wind down as the night progresses, the two of you tangled on the couch, exhaustion finally settling in. an anime plays softly on the screen, but neither of you pay much attention. you snuggle closer to riki, sighing in contentment at the much more peaceful atmosphere.

just as you feel yourself slipping into sleep, riki speaks.

“since when did you start speaking japanese?” his voice is low, curious.

you hesitate, suddenly feeling shy. “uhm…” you start, trying to find the words. “you say things i don’t understand all the time.” you explain. “so, naturally, i got curious and looked them up.” you shift slightly. “i guess i just picked some up. don’t blame me.” you finish off your explanation.

riki lets out a soft laugh, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “that really caught me off guard, baby.” he tilts his head down to look at you. another thought crosses his mind. “what other words did you learn?” he asks, interest piqued. secretly, just wanting to hear you speak japanese again. even, if it’s just to tell him off.

you hum, feigning sleepiness. “there is this one word,” you murmur, a smirk ghosting your lips as you remember its meaning.

riki watches you, anticipation clear in his eyes.

you pause for a second, recalling the pronunciation as best as you can.

“daisuki?” your voice is soft, hesitant.

riki freezes. did he hear that right?

“again?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. the atmosphere shifts, the teasing laced with something more intimate.

this time, you say it firmly. “daisuki.” you lift yourself from his chest to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips.

riki groans, heat rising to his cheeks. “such a menace.” he mutters, looking down at you fondly.

finding the effect of the word on him amusing, you tease further. “daisuki, riki.” you say clearer. 

his breath hitches. he drags a hand through his hair before shaking his head, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.

“daisuki.” he says back to you. this time it was his time to make you flustered as he pulled you even closer.

“guess i should learn more words now,” you muse, laughing softly against his chest.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]