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joelmillerisapunk · 7 months ago

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Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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badbtssmut · 1 year ago

Note

Basketball players Ot7 rough fucking cheerleader reader in the locker room bcz her prettiness distracted them and they lost

Admin note: I normally don’t do poly requests but I thought this was hot 🫣 and I wanted to write poly

“We could’ve went home with a trophy.” Hoseok frowned, placing his hands on your hips. “But you are just too pretty, aren’t you?” He cooed, pushing into you more. “Pretty girls like you should get properly fucked.”

Your skirt was folded back, revealing your bare ass and pussy to the group of men. Your cheer top laid on the floor in front of you, revealing your breasts to the lustful eyes of the group. All of them handsome men, the popular basketball team of the school.

“But why does she take cock so well?” Yoongi asked from underneath you. His member had entered your pussy, the two moving in sync in your holes.

The crowd watched as you were impaled, the two large cocks stretching your holes.

“Have you taken two cocks before?” Namjoon raised your face by taking a hold of your chin.

“No… I didn’t.” You whined, your breath catching in your throat.

“You must be a natural.” Jungkook grinned, stroking his cock. “Open up.”

The boy fed his cock to your mouth, and you opened it as wide as you could. He fucked your face with his cock, all the while you were being fucked from both ends.

Taehyung came closer to admire you as he held his cock in his hand. You stared into his eyes as he gently played with your nipples, making you whimper as Hoseok and Yoongi pounded you, and Jungkook started to move his hips back and forth as you sucked him off.

Namjoon chuckled as he watched his friends getting themselves off on your body, a sweaty, sexed up mess.

They all took turns taking you as if it was some sort of contest, like a prize to be won. They were all too horny to take their eyes off you, you were just too perfect. They loved the way your body looked, your sweaty skin, the way you moaned out for them.

Your moans echoed in the locker room, only being interrupted by the sound of skin slapping against skin and your desperate whines for more. You felt the sweat drip down your forehead and your cheeks, your makeup long forgotten.

Hoseok and Yoongi had filled you with their cum and Jungkook stepped in to tuck you from behind and after he had filled you with his cum, Jimin eagerly took their place. Your back was pressed against the wall as he held you up, fucking you against the wall as he leaned his head against yours.

His grip on your thighs were firm as he kept them pressed against his chest. His body was pressed against yours as his lips attacked your neck. He was so strong and confident and the feeling of being lifted up and fucked like a toy was making you weak in the knees.

The feeling of his cock inside you was too much, and your mouth hung open in ecstasy as he fucked you, making your body shake. He grunted and moaned, his hot breath brushing against your ear, making you shiver.

His eyes stared into yours, his brown orbs full of lust as he kept you up with ease, holding you against the wall. You could feel the strength in his arms as he did so.

“I could hear this dirty girl’s sounds all the way from the hallway… She loves getting her holes drilled with cock, hm?” The door closed behind Seokjin before it was locked.

You couldn't reply, you just moaned, your body trembling as his large cock continued to pound into you. He laughed, throwing his head back, his dark hair falling past his ears.

His lips moved to your chest, his mouth taking one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. Your moans turned into squeals of pleasure, your body shaking more as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

You could see the other boys through your hazy vision, watching as Seokjin and Jimin made you moan. Yoongi and Hoseok were resting on one of the benches, while Taehyung stood next to you and wrapped your fingers around his cock, while Jungkook watched the sight. Namjoon stood there with crossed arms, proud of how hard Jimin was fucking you.

Jimin groaned as he pumped his cock inside you, the sound of your wetness filling the locker room. His eyes met yours as his hands moved to your ass, lifting you up some more, and you let out a squeal of surprise as he began to slam into you.

Your tits bounced in the air, and your hand tightened around Taehyung's cock, making him moan and lean closer. His eyes were glued to your face as you gasped and moaned, looking into his eyes.

“Fuck…” Jimin cussed, making you bounce on his cock harder as his body started to shake. You felt him begin to throb inside you and he came with a low grunt, pumping you full. He groaned as he filled your pussy, and you shuddered as he came.

His hips rocked back and forth, dragging his dick in your pussy, and you whimpered as you felt him paint your walls white.

“Do you want her?” Jimin asked.

“Yes.” Taehyung grinned.

The two grabbed you, pulling you from the wall and carrying you together as they placed you on the bench. They pulled your thighs open, and Taehyung smirked, moving between them as he spread your lips open, exposing your sensitive clit.

He wrapped his lips around it and you shuddered, the sensation making your body feel hot. His tongue played with it, his lips moving against it, sucking on it and flicking it.

You whimpered, and his eyes were locked onto yours as his hands held your thighs. His eyes were full of lust, his hands warm and firm on your body. His mouth worked its magic on you, his tongue swirling around your clit and lips, his tongue fucking into your cunt. Your eyes met with Namjoon's as he held his cock in his hand. He moved closer and pushed the tip against your lips, and you gladly accepted it.

You moaned around the thick member, sucking on it and licking it, swirling your tongue around the head. You pulled away, leaving out a gasp when you felt Taehyung pushing himself into you. You looked down at him, his cock entering your cunt and he let out a low groan.

A yelp escaped from your lips as Namjoon grabbed onto your hair and turned you back to his cock. He pushed into your mouth and began to thrust, his hips rocking back and forth. You whined, the pleasure making you dizzy.

The two fucked you at the same time, filling you with cock, their hips rocking back and forth. They moved in sync, one pulling out only to thrust back in, both of them fucking into you with ease.

Your body was too tired to move, your muscles weak as the two boys took turns fucking you. Your pussy felt hot and used, and your body was trembling, your orgasm close as your thighs quivered and your breathing was shaky.

You couldn't think straight, you could barely speak. Namjoon grabbed ahold of your jaw, his hand gripping you, keeping your face in place as his thrust became more rapid.

“Such a good girl.” Namjoon praised you, unable to keep his eyes off you.

He had seen many girls in this state, but none of them ever looked this good. He had never wanted a girl more than you in that moment, your mouth full of his cock and your eyes hazy.

You were a sight to behold. Your hair messy and sweaty, your makeup running down your cheeks and neck, your lips swollen and your nipples red from their sucking. You were like an angel, a mess of a goddess.

You felt a hand rubbing circles on your clit and you let out a moan. It was Seokjin, his fingers quick and his other hand squeezing your breast.

“You are gonna make me cum, fuck.” He cussed under his breath, his voice a little strained. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, his movements becoming erratic and quick. He grabbed your hand and wrapped it around his cock, guiding it to pump him. He moaned as his head hit the back of your throat, making you gag. Then, Namjoon pulled out, cum shooting over your face, some spilling on your chest.

“You need to try this pussy, it’s so fucking good. I promise you.” Taehyung spread your legs further. “Such a sweet tight pussy.” He panted, his tongue hanging over his bottom lip.

“Yeah? How about you prove it to me that that pussy’s sweet, y/n?” Seokjin challenged.

Taehyung pulled himself out of you, before gripping onto your wrist and pulling you up.

The room felt hot, your breath quick and heavy, your thighs trembling as you were guided to his lap, your back resting against his chest. He grabbed your hips and lifted you up, his cock aligning with your entrance and he began to push into you. You whimpered as you sat down, the feeling of his cock inside you making your knees weak.

Seokjin held onto your legs, holding them open as he leaned over to taste you, his tongue entering your folds as he moaned at the taste. You shuddered, your body shaking at the two sensations at your body.

“Look at that.” Seokjin hummed in approval. “That pussy really does take cock like a pro, huh?” He licked his lips and turned to you. You were struggling to keep your eyes open, your body unable to keep still.

Seokjin took his cock in his hand, pushing against your folds, groaning at the friction of Taehyung’s cock against his as he pushed himself into you. You whimpered as your pussy stretched around him and his head was finally in, making your back arch and your head fall back against Taehyung's shoulder.

The three of you moved as one, all of you thrusting at different speeds, but your hips moving in unison.

Your mouth hung open as you moaned, a high pitched whine escaping your lips, your eyes closing as the pleasure became too much. Seokjin and Taehyung pounded you together, the two cocks fucking into you at an angle that made you feel so full, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm built up inside you.

“You love that, babygirl?” Taehyung asked, his hands traveling to your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his lips leaving a trail of kisses from your cheek to your shoulder, biting and sucking the flesh, marking you as his.

“O-oh!” You whimpered, their cocks stretching your pussy. Seokjin placed your legs over his shoulders, his eyes focused on where his cock disappeared into you. You watched him too, the sight making your legs quake as your orgasm crept closer.

Taehyung began to move faster, and his hips rocked back and forth, slamming into you with more force than before. You were moaning at the speed he set, your eyes rolling back into your head as they fucked into you. You could feel your pussy quivering and clenching around their cocks, making you shudder. Your mind felt fuzzy, and your orgasm hit you hard, making your body spasm as they both kept you steady. You could feel their hot breath on you, their hands keeping you in place as they continued to pound you, prolonging your orgasm.

Your legs fell and you could feel their cocks pressing into each other inside you, your pussy gripping around them tightly. Their moans filled your ears as they came together, their cum mixing inside you.

You panted, unable to move as you felt them cum inside you, their hot cum dripping down your thighs as they pulled out.

They pulled you from Taehyung’s and you sat on the floor, still feeling dazed. Your chest rose and fell as you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath as you watched the boys get dressed.

“Let’s go before someone gets suspicious.” Namjoon called, before throwing a towel and your clothes your way.

Your body was tired, but you somehow managed to get up and pull your clothes on, wiping yourself up with the towel before pulling your hair back. You then walked out of the locker room with the boys, all of them dressed as if they had been training. And no one found out about your dirty little secret.

#bts smut #bts requests #bts x reader #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #poly smut bts #poly smut #bts poly

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

Text

Conservatives are fringe outliers - and leftists could learn from them

The Republican Party, a coalition between Big Business farmers and turkeys who’ll vote for Christmas (Red Scare obsessed cowards, apocalyptic white nationalists, religious fanatics, etc) has fallen to its bizarre, violent, noisy radical wing, who are obsessed with policies that are completely irrelevant to the majority of Americans.

As Oliver Willis writes, the views of the radical right — which are also the policies of the GOP — are wildly out of step with the US political view:

https://www.oliverexplains.com/p/conservatives-arent-like-normal-americans

The press likes to frame American politics as “narrowly divided,” but the reality is that Republicans’ electoral victories are due to voter suppression and antimajoritarian institutions (the Senate and Electoral College, etc), not popularity. Democrats consistently outperform the GOP in national races. Dems won majorities in 1992/6, and beat the GOP in 2000, 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2020. The only presidential race the GOP won on popular votes since 1988 was 2004, when GW Bush eked out a plurality (not a majority).

But, as Willis says, Dems “act like it is 1984 and that they are outliers in a nation of Reagan voters,” echoing a stilted media narrative. The GOP’s platform just isn’t popular. Take the groomer panic: 71% of Americans approve of same-sex marriage. The people losing their shit about queer people are a strange, tiny minority.

Every one of the GOP’s tentpole issues is wildly unpopular: expanding access to assault rifles, banning immigration, lowering taxes on the rich, cutting social programs, forcing pregnant people to bear unwanted children, etc. This is true all the way up to the GOP’s coalescing support for Trump as their 2024 candidate. Trump has lost every popular vote he’s ever stood for, and owes his term in the Oval Office to the antimajoritarian Electoral College system, gerrymandering, and massive voter suppression.

Willis correctly points out that Dem leaders are basically “normal” center-right politicians, not radicals. And, unlike their GOP counterparts, politicians like Clinton, Obama and Biden don’t hide their disdain for the radical wing of their party. Even never-Trumper Republicans are afraid of their base. Romney declared himself “severely conservative” and McCain “put scare quotes around ‘health of the mother’ provisions for abortion rights.”

The GOP fringe imposes incredible discipline on their leaders. Take all the nonsense about “woke capitalism”: on the one hand, it’s absurd to call union-busting, tax-dodging, worker-screwing companies “woke” (even if they sell Pride flags for a couple of weeks every year).

But on the other hand? The GOP leadership have actually declared war on the biggest corporations in America, to the point that the WSJ says that “Republicans and Big Business broke up”:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/republicans-corporations-donations-pacs-9b5b202b

But America is a two-party system and there are plenty of people who’ll pull the lever for any Republican. This means that when the GOP comes under the control of its swivel-eyed loon wing, the swivel-eyed loons wield power far beyond the number of people who agree with them.

There’s an important lesson there for Dems, whose establishment is volubly proud of its independence from its voters. The Biden administration is a weirdly perfect illustration of this “independence.” The Biden admin is a kind of referee, doling out policies and appointments to its competing wings, without any coherence or consistency.

That’s how you get incredible appointments like Lina Khan at the FTC and Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ Antitrust Division and Rohit Chopra at the Consumer Finance Protection Bureat — the progressive wing of the party bargained for these key appointments and then played their cards very well, getting incredible, hard-charging, hyper-competent fighters in those roles.

Likewise, Jared Bernstein, finally confirmed as Council of Economic Advisers chair after an interminable wrangle:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-06-16-team-biden/

And Julie Su, acting labor secretary, who just delivered a six-year contract to west coast dockworkers with 8–10% raises in the first year, paid retroactively for the year they worked without a contract:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2023/06/14/statement-from-president-biden-on-labor-agreement-at-west-coast-ports/

But the Biden admin’s unwillingness to side with one wing of the party also produces catastrophic failures, like the martyrdom of Gigi Sohn, who was subjected to years of vicious personal attacks while awaiting confirmation to the FCC, undefended by the Biden admin, left to twist in the wind until she gave it up as a bad job:

https://doctorow.medium.com/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband-4ce1ffb16dc5

It’s how we get key roles filled by do-nothing seatwarmers like Pete Buttigieg, who has the same sweeping powers that Lina Khan is wielding so deftly at the FTC, but who lacks either the will or the skill to wield those same powers at the Department of Transport:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

By refusing to stand for anything except a fair division of powers among different Democratic Party blocs, the Biden admin ends up undercutting itself. Take right to repair, a centerpiece of the administration’s agenda, subject of a historic executive order and FTC regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Right to Repair fights have been carried out at the state level for years, with the biggest victory coming in Massachusetts, where an automotive R2R ballot initiative won overwhelming support in 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/13/said-no-one-ever/#r2r

But despite the massive support for automotive right to repair in the Bay State, Big Car has managed to delay the implementation of the new law for years, tying up the state in expensive, time-consuming litigation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

But eventually, even the most expensive delaying tactic fails. Car manufacturers were set to come under the state right to repair rule this month, but they got a last minute reprieve, from Biden’s own National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, who sent urgent letters to every major car manufacturer, telling them to ignore the Massachusetts repair law:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/m7bbkv/biden-administration-tells-car-companies-to-ignore-right-to-repair-law-people-overwhelmingly-voted-for

The NHTSA repeats the car lobby’s own scare stories about “cybersecurity” that they blitzed to Massachusetts voters in the runup to the ballot initiative:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

The idea that cybersecurity is best maintained by letting powerful corporations gouge you on service and parts is belied by independent experts, like SecuRepairs, who do important work countering the FUD thrown off by the industry (and parroted by Biden’s NHTSA):

https://securepairs.org/

Independent security experts are clear that letting owners of high-tech devices decide who fixes them, what software they run, etc, makes us safer:

https://www.schneier.com/essays/archives/2022/01/letter-to-the-us-senate-judiciary-committee-on-app-stores.html

But here we are: the Biden admin is sabotaging the Biden admin, because the Biden admin isn’t an administration, it’s a system for ensuring proportional representation of different parts of the Democratic Party coalition.

This isn’t just bad for policy, it’s bad politics, too. It presumes that if some Democratic voters want pizza, and others want hamburgers, that you can please everyone by serving up pizzaburgers. No one wants a pizzaburger:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/narrative-warfare/#giridharadas

The failure to deliver a coherent, muscular vision for a climate-ready, anti-Gilded Age America has left the Democrats vulnerable. Because while the radical proposals of the GOP fringe may not enjoy much support, there are large majorities of Americans who have lost faith in the status quo and are totally uninterested in the Pizzaburger Party.

Nowhere is this better explained than in Naomi Klein’s superb long-form article on RFK Jr’s presidential bid in The Guardian:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/jun/14/ignoring-robert-f-kennedy-jr-not-an-option

Don’t get me wrong, RFK Jr is a Very Bad Politician, for all the reasons that Klein lays out. He’s an anti-vaxxer, a conspiracist, and his support for ending American military aggression, defending human rights, and addressing the climate emergency is laughably thin.

But as Klein points out, RFK Jr is not peddling pizzaburgers. He is tapping into a legitimate rage:

a great many voters are hurting and rightfully angry: about powerful corporations controlling their democracy and profiting off disease and poverty. About endless wars draining national coffers and maiming their kids. About stagnating wages and soaring costs. This is the world — inflamed on every level — that the two-party duopoly has knowingly created.

RFK Jr is campaigning against “the corrupt merger between state and corporate power,” against drug monopolies setting our national health agenda, and polluters capturing environmental regulators.

As Klein says, despite RFK Jr’s willing to say the unsayable, and tap into the yearning among the majority of American voters for something different, he’s not running a campaign rooted in finally telling the American public “the truth.” Rather, “public discourse filled with unsayable and unspeakable subjects is fertile territory for all manner of hucksters positioning themselves as uniquely courageous truth tellers.”

We’ve been here before. Remember Trump campaigning against a “rigged system” and promising to “make America great again?” Remember Clinton’s rejoinder that “America was already great?” It’s hard to imagine a worse response to legitimate outrage — over corporate capture, declining wages and living conditions; and spiraling health, education and shelter costs.

Sure, it was obvious that Trump was a beneficiary of the rigged system, and that he would rig it further, but at least he admitted it was rigged, not “already great.”

The Democratic Party is not in thrall to labor unions, or racial equality activists, or people who care about gender justice or the climate emergency. Unlike the GOP, the Dem establishment has figured out how to keep a grip on power within their own party — at the expense of exercising power in America, even when they hold office.

But unlike culture war nonsense, shared prosperity, fairness, care, and sound environmental policies are very popular in America. Some people have been poisoned against politics altogether and sunk into nihilism, while others have been duped into thinking that America can’t afford to look after its people.

In this regard, winning the American electorate is a macrocosm for the way labor activists win union majorities in the workplaces they organize. In her memoir A Collective Bargain, Jane McAlevey describes how union organizers contend with everything that progressive politicians must overcome. A union drive takes place in the teeth of unfair laws, on a tilted playing field that allows bosses to gerrymander some workers’ votes and suppress others’ altogether. These bosses have far more resources than the workers, and they spend millions on disinformation campaigns, forcing workers to attend long propaganda sessions on pain of dismissal.

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe

But despite all this, labor organizers win union elections and strike votes, and they do so with stupendous majorities — 95% or higher. This is how the most important labor victories of our day were won: the 2019 LA teachers’ strike won everything. Not just higher wages, but consellors in schools, mandatory greenspace for every school in LA, an end to ICE shakedowns of immigrant parents at the school-gate, and immigration law help for students and their families. What’s more, the teachers used their unity, their connection to the community, and their numbers to get out the vote in the next election, winning the marginal seats that delivered 2020’s Democratic Congressional majority.

As I wrote in my review of MacAlevey’s book:

For McAlevey, saving America is just a scaled up version of the union organizer’s day-job. First, we fix the corrupt union, firing its sellout leaders and replacing them with fighters. Then, we organize supermajorities, person-to-person, in a methodical, organized fashion. Then we win votes, using those supermajorities to overpower the dirty tricks that rig the elections against us. Then we stay activated, because winning the vote is just the start of the fight.

It’s a far cry from the Democratic Party consultant’s “data-driven” microtargeting strategy based on eking out tiny, fragile majorities with Facebook ads. That’s a strategy that fails in the face of even a small and disorganized voter-suppression campaign — it it’s doomed in today’s all-out assault on fair elections.

What’s more, the consultants’ microtargeting strategy treats people as if the only thing they have to contribute is casting a ballot every couple years. A sleeping electorate will never win the fights that matter — the fight to save our planet, and to abolish billionaires.

If only the Democratic Party was as scared of its base as the Republicans are of their own.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

[Image ID: The title page of Richard Hofstadter's 'Paranoid Style in American Politics' from the November, 1964 issue of Harper's Magazine. A John Birch Society pin reading 'This is REPUBLIC not a DEMOCRACY: let's keep it that way' sits atop the page, obscuring the introductory paragraph.]

#pluralistic #tgop #politics #centrism #centrism kills #qgop #democrats in disarray #trumpism #conservatives #robert f kennedy #Massachusetts #climate emergency #naomi klein #oliver willis #right to repair #pizzaburgers

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kquil · 1 year ago

Text

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS ⏤LOVE EYES

SUM. : you don't see it but the boys have love eyes for you

G. : fluff ; modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist james ; tattoo artist sirius ; piercer remus ; oblivious, innocent reader ; love eyes marauders ; sirius is a womanizer ; he doesn't care to notice though ; snack runs with sirius on his motorbike ; shoulder massages for remus ; james loves picking you up ; james is so silly ; domestic baking with james ; wolfstar moment ; lots of hugging

LENGTH : 2.7k

Sirius watches lovingly as you balance your laptop on your thighs and work through an essay you had to complete by the following week. When you had time away from final year lectures, seminars and practicals, you would usually occupy the private office and lounge room of the studio’s top floor in order to work through your uni assignments. The university libraries were quite suffocating in that they pressured you into unhealthy productivity mindsets, which often lead to unhealthy eating habits and a shortcut to burn out. However, you had found solace in the calm of the tattoo studio’s office that usually remained empty throughout the day when the boys were attending to clients. The calm silence was welcome and helped with your personal productivity and pacing of assigned workload.

Usually, Remus would accompany you, doing mundane admin tasks that helped manage the parlour and its clients but he had to leave as he had several appointments today. You’ve made some decent headway with the essay in Remus’s absence and you were using some of the momentum to get even more ahead when you felt a familiar presence take a seat beside you before throwing their arm over your shoulders.

“Hello, dollface,” Sirius whispers and presses a gentle kiss against your temple.

“Hey Siri,” you acknowledge him with a sweet smile and tilt your head against him briefly before continuing with your essay. Focused with your brows furrowed and gently gnawing at your lip, Sirius silently admires your concentration; it looks good on you, a meritorious contrast to your usually soft features and expressions.

However, as much as he loves this side of you, he loves your attention more, “...are you really gonna just ignore me?” he whines in his usual playful manner, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“Sirius, I have to finish this essay—”

“Not until the following week, so you have time right?” you don’t answer him. He was right but you still needed to work on the essay. Grumbling under his breath, Sirius leans his weight against you and sighs and huffs and whines in between minutes of silence. Even though this type of selfish distraction would typically irritate you, you know that you could afford stepping away from the essay so it was more than entertaining to hear his fussing. You also thoroughly enjoyed Sirius’s floundering and adorable attempts to guilt you into paying him some attention; it was almost adorable, like a puppy wanting attention.

It wasn’t until Sirius gave a significantly frustrated whine that you exaggerated a sigh and saved your progress to close your laptop screen, “...I’m all yours, Sirius,” you finally conceded, reaching a hand up to lift his hair out of his face.

With a wide grin, Sirius leans his forehead against yours, his eyes sparkling with content and satisfaction at having finally won you over, “Snack run?” at his suggestion, you almost jump out of your chair in excitement.

“Yes please!”

With perked ears, Remus and James smile to themselves at the sound of you and Sirius giggling down the hallway and outside to the leather-wearing tattoo artist’s motorbike. They knew you both made a ritual of going on snack runs for them and, although they appreciated the snacks, they adored your happy laughter echoing in the halls much more.

As Sirius helped gear the two of you up with a helmet for the ride, he whispered his usual promise of taking a longer route than needed to get to the store all while you spotted a group of girls eyeing him up from behind. They looked to be in high school and weren’t subtle about their puppy love for Sirius at all, ogling him with lovestruck doe eyes, whispering amongst themselves and playfully hitting each other’s shoulders over their musings. You couldn’t blame them for their admiration, simply because Sirius was very physically attractive, with his inked skin, sharp features, steel grey eyes, sultry hair, seductive smile, toned physique and nefarious leather fashion—the man embodied an elegant but evil beauty. And, when you got to know him, he became all the more attractive; he was just the perfect amount of chaos and sensual audacity to pair with the softest heart —a dream come true for girls, especially those in their high school years.

Nevertheless, their giggling and kittenish gossiping were like nails on a chalkboard to you, although, that may just be the excuse you came up with for what you were about to do next.

“Woah!” Sirius chuckles, his arms going up as you suddenly wrap your arms around his waist and hold him close, smiling smuggling into his white vest when the group of girls immediately silence their gossiping and giggling at the sight, “what’s wrong, dollface?” Sirius asks dotingly as he lifts your gaze up with a finger under your chin and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “feeling needy are we?” you pout at his teasing, which he laughs at and finally wraps his arms around your shoulders. One hand holds the back of your head and gently presses your face further into his chest, ��anything you need, dollface… anything at all, I’ve got you,” he whispers and pulls away to stare fondly into your pretty eyes. You realise that, not once has he noticed the group of high school girls behind him, in spite of all their gossip and ogling.

“Siri-”

“Such a pretty face,” he coos, lifting a hand to tenderly cup your jaw, “pretty eyes, pretty nose, pretty lips, pretty heart, pretty everything,” just so pretty… sirius completes in his head, resisting the urge to give into his desires and take from you something he knows isn’t meant for him but desperately wishes was his…

His stare lingers on your lips long enough for you to notice but not enough for you to verbalise as the leather-clad tattooist quickly places the spare helmet over your head.

Remus groans gratefully as he tilts his head back with closed eyes, smiling at the giggle you emit, “That’s just what I need, dove,”

The tall brunette feels your gentle lips against his forehead for a brief moment and sighs pleasantly once more, “you need to better your posture when sitting Remmy,” you softly scold, continuing to massage his tense shoulders and the back of his neck as he slowly opens his eyes to admire you.

Ignoring your reproach, Remus loses himself in the feeling of relief easing into his tense shoulders and stiff neck through your pressing fingers and palms, “heavenly…” he utters in bliss.

“Don’t ignore me, Remus,” your tone is a little more stern but rather than make him nervous, Remus continues to smile at you.

“I assure you…” Remus turns his head and presses a kiss against the skin of your wrist, “that I never and will never ignore you, sweetheart,” his words and the look he gives you makes a heat crawl up your neck and spread across your cheeks.

“Then tell me you’ll aim for better posture when sitting for too long,” at your request, Remus spins in his chain and pulls you close by the hips. His head is at level with your xiphoid process as he looks up at you with a relaxed smile.

“You have my word,” he brings your hands from his shoulders, holds them together and kisses the knuckles that touch. Almost instinctively, you move your soft hand to hold his face and smile down at him from where you stood.

It’s a promise he keeps as you often find him squaring his shoulders and straightening his back when sitting in the office too long. It makes your heart flutter to know that he was proactive with your advice but his shoulder massages didn’t stop, which he appreciated greatly. He never said thank you but he always kissed your hands, wrists and knuckles during or after you ease some of the tension off his shoulders and neck.

“You truly are an angel,” Remus said one day as he buries his face into your stomach, arms wrapped around your hips as you softly squeeze at his shoulders, “James was right,” he chuckles under his breath which you join him with in a brief but twinkling giggle, “are you truly not hiding a pair of wings, dove?”

“Nope~” you chirp with another giggle as he leisurely stands, pushing his chair away with the backs of his knees. Remus keeps you close, holds you closer even, and sighs into the crown of your head.

“Lies…” you feel his big hands move up your back slowly, pressing his fingers into your taut muscles and arched spine as if to return the favour you’ve done for his rigid shoulders. Unable to help yourself, a soft sigh escapes you and you fall further into his embrace, “that…or you’re really good at hiding your wings —i feel nothing there,” with one final knead of his strong fingertips, he winks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, similar to the kind you often find in Sirius’s grey pools and James’s hazel jewels. Though different, they were all the same in other ways.

“I guess you’ll never know,” was your impish reply not registering how Remus’s expression subtly softens into adoring fondness when continuing to stare down at you.

It’s like she belongs there… Remus thinks to himself, playing with the ends of your hair while you turn your head to rest your cheek on his chest for comfort, perfectly suited to be in my arms.

“There you are!” James cheers with a laugh as you squeal in surprise. Not only did he sneak up on you but he had effortlessly lifted you into the air by your waist, a merit to his muscular physique.

“James!” you laugh, hands on his broad shoulders as he spins you around, “Put me down!” grinning widely still, he carefully lowers you, grinning wider when your face gets closer and he can press a kiss to your cheek upon finally setting you down.

“I have everything already, angel, ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he links your arms together and leads the way to his and the boys' flat as you try to hold in your eagerness and nerves.

The flat the boys share is more spacious than you expected, cleaner too, which you suspect is primarily because of Remus. You were shocked to find, however, that Sirius tended to be the clean freak out of the three.

“I just grew up with clean habits, I guess,” Sirius quickly shrugs off your questioning eyes before ushering you into the kitchen where James was helpfully laying out all the ingredients the two of you needed in order to bake some fruit tarts together.

“We’ll be in the living room if you need us,” Remus offers with a cordial smile. In his hand is a rather small book, though you’d guess it’s because his hands were so big that the book just looked petite. The pages appeared relatively worn, as if he had flitted through their pages multiple times already despite his pointer finger marking the page he was at being quite early on in the book.

“With James in the kitchen you may be needing our help sooner rather than later—“ Sirius begins to chuckle but is forced out of the kitchen when James throws a rolled up kitchen towel at him. This makes you giggle as Sirius gives a shout of mock pain and makes his way into the living room with a journal full of sketches in one hand and a pen in the other.

“Right! Let’s get baking Jamie!” You chirp, missing the adoring eyes James looks onto you with, loving the nickname you call him by. Before the two of you get started, James helps tie up the back of your apron as well as your hair. Upon doing so, you do the same thing for him and he makes a show of asking you to tie up his hair for him despite its relatively short length. Even so, James got to work with a scrunchie holding up a small, short tuffet of hair —it made you giggle multiple times but James would just flutter his lashes at you comically and make you laugh even more.

Regardless of the occasional shenanigans James pulled, the activity was very domestic and made your heart flutter in your chest, not realising that James was experiencing the same sensations ten-fold.

Everything begins well enough with James obediently following your instructions, helpfully preparing the dough before moving onto the pastry cream. It was when you had to prepare the summer fruits while blind baking the pie crust and chilling the pastry cream that things became a little more chaotic. James had innocently offered you a slice of a strawberry and enjoyed your elated reaction so much that he started feeding you an entire array of fruits. Fearful that there won’t be anymore fruit for the tart, you begin to pull away from James’s kind offerings.

“Come on, princess,” James pleads with you, offering up a small slice of mango, “one more, you look so cute when you chew your food,” he coos adoringly as you bring your hands up to cover your cheeks and pout at him.

“James you better not—“

“You’re like a baby chipmunk!” He offers the mango once more but you quickly run away, which initiates a playful chase around the kitchen island. A mischievous look is sparked in James’s eyes as he laughs at your feeble attempt at running away from him. He plays easy with you, however; he doesn’t want the game to end too soon.

“James is at it again…” Remus chuckles and sets his book aside to sink back into the sofa, smiling at your squeals of fun from the kitchen.

“Trying to read was a lost cause, Moony,” Sirius laughs to himself, a warmth blossoming in his chest at the sound of your joyful activities. Nevertheless, he continues to sketch in his journal of potential tattoo compositions for a client, “we both knew this would happen,”

“Which is why,” Remus stresses, “I chose a book I’ve read multiple times already,”

Sirius looks up with a smirk, “always such a smartass,”

“You love this smartass,” Remus shoots and leans over to kiss the tattoo artist sweetly with light fingers lifting his chin up.

“I’m not denying that…” Sirius answers with a smirk before realising that the noise had significantly died down in the kitchen. They didn’t have to wait long until it began once again, however.

“James stop!” You squeal in delight and laugh airily.

James swings you around and places you on the kitchen island, not too far away from where the pie crust was cooling off on a drying rack. Standing between your thighs, he holds you in an embrace and laughs into your shoulder, “I caught you, love,”

“You have an unfair advantage,” you huff with a pout that doesn’t linger for very long when you lean back to adjust James’s glasses with a soft smile. Loving the gesture, James squeezes his arms around you and a dopey grin stretches across his face. He’s the image of bliss and summer fun.

“Not true…deep down, it’s you who has an unfair advantage over me,” and on Sirius and Remus too James was tempted to add but neglects to when he is overcome with the urge to kiss your cheek at the sight of your loveliness, head slightly tilted, lips adorning the sweetest smile and eyes alight with boundless mirth.

As the three admire you from their seats on the sofas, they share a similar look. All smiling with a hidden secret as their eyes twinkle with agreement. Many times they’ve discussed their relationship with you, knowing full well that they wanted the same thing and that there wasn’t a chance on earth they’d let you go without a fight.

It’s too cruel to have met a sweetheart like you only to have you drift away so easily. You bring about a softness in them that is typically hidden away, masked by their inked skin and piercings. You are a missing piece and an essential cog in their system that they can no longer live without.

“Tea’s ready!” you call and turn to them with a tray loaded with mugs of the steaming beverage accompanied by biscuits and cookies. Their gaze isn’t on the tea, however, it’s on you. And their eyes are flooded by a feeling that can only be love.

A/N : i have several requests for this au but i need to do a little build up on the storyline first, hopefully my lovely requesters don't mind the wait and that this can satisfy you for now (┳Д┳)

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @astonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms @susyelectra @fangirlninja67 @pagesfalling @thepunisherfrankcastle @axeofwars @imarimon @justkiyomi @in-love-with-4-marauders @chicken-taco-burrito @valencia-rou @feast0nmeee @lestat-whore @hvmxjjk @twilightlover2007 @diaryofabiwoman @woohoney @celestialfantasiess @willbedecided @lovelyygirl8 @iiirhiane-g @ghostgardn @mess-is-my-aesthetic

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yvesdot · 8 months ago

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80+ PROTESTERS VIOLENTLY ARRESTED AT UCSC

PROTESTERS ARE ASKING ALUMNI TO PARTICIPATE IN AN EMAIL ZAP: bit.ly/zap-ucsc

& FOR EVERYONE TO DONATE TO THEIR BAIL FUND: (Venmo) pizza_party_1312

[ID: UCSC students waving Palestinian flags and holding protest signs at the base of campus. /ID]

Longer write-up based on personal knowledge, news articles, and multiple direct sources below.

****

For roughly a month, UCSC administrators, including chancellor Cynthia Larive, have been essentially politely asking protesters at the pro-Palestine encampment to "voluntarily disband." I was told personally by members of the encampment that among the demands they were given by the administration, two were 1) to guarantee Larive's safety, in part by not allowing any calls for violence against her, and 2) not to use images of her to make memes. "They specifically said memes," said the protester I spoke to. Additionally, protesters were told the use of the word "genocide" in a public statement by UCSC admin was "off the table."

The consensus among organizers appeared to be that Larive was vainly hoping to "wait [them] out," knowing she was in a no-win scenario: call the police and risk looking evil, or let the encampment stay and risk looking toothless. (It was clear which side she leaned towards.) Additionally, @kiegotakami mentioned hearing from a source at the department that "none of the local cops want the public scrutiny nor do they care abt the encampment so they’ve been avoiding it."

Protesters escalated by first blocking the entrance/s to campus temporarily, then moving their encampment down to the base of campus, beginning an academic worker strike on Monday 5/20, and finally, as of Tuesday 5/28, blockading both campus entrances indefinitely. Classes moved online. There was a dispute as to whether an ambulance was blocked from entering campus to help a child who was choking; protesters maintain that it was police, not them, who formed an obstacle. Larive later claimed again that it was the protesters.

(Larive also characterized SJP's demand that UCSC cut ties with specifically pro-Israel groups as "demand[ing] that we end relationships with organizations that support our Jewish students and funders that support important student success work and happen to be Jewish organizations." (emphasis mine) SJP did not call for the disbanding of all Jewish groups, not even all Zionist ones. They singled out the ones which list furthering Zionism in their mission statements. The conflation of holding a specific political opinion with being Jewish generally is an unacceptably racist one that echoes the "dual loyalty" myth.)

After protesters refused to disband their encampment at the base of campus, 100+ police officers from Eureka, San Francisco, Watsonville, Berkeley, San Mateo, San Jose, Santa Clara, and Riverside, as well as the California Highway Patrol, slowly dismantled the blockade, bulldozed the encampment, and arrested anywhere from 80-100+ people. (Numerous student/protester/organizer sources list more than 100 arrested, as well as greater numbers of police.) The bulk of the conflict occurred between 12 and 9 AM on Friday 5/31 morning, marking the 31st day and a full month of the protest.

Students present at the demonstration say the police were outfitted in riot gear and focused their abuse immediately and especially on women of color at the encampment. Students were "stabbed... in the stomach" with batons, hard enough that some vomited. One was covered in a spit hood for saying the cops' "glasses looked stupid," and thrown to the ground hard enough to give him a concussion.

From an anonymous source:

We were thrown to the ground and dragged along the concrete. Our faces were clawed at, masks were ripped from our faces, helmets were torn from our heads so the straps dug into our throats, and our eyes were gouged out. Several of the women had their clothes ripped off, one particular trans comrade who was pleading for the cops to have any form of humanity, had “trick” screamed at her before her skirt was ripped off and she was thrown to the ground. All the while, they laughed. Snickering as people were beaten unconscious. After each one of us was detained, the police took selfies with us, grinning over their trophy. We were shoved into buses and vans where they blared music that rattled the cages we were thrown into until we couldn’t think. This went on for hours. In one of the buses, people were told to go to the bathroom on the bottom staircase. We were organized by sex (not gender) and the cops called non-binary people “x-rays” for the x identification on their license. First, it was the county jail, then a university parking lot, then a university building. The cops, with their hands on their pistols, shouted for us all to sit down. We all sat with our wrists tied behind our backs, the marks of which I still have on my arms a day later. The cops proceeded to play the “good guy” act as though all of us weren’t covered in bruises inflicted by them just hours earlier. Our restraints were cut, and they slowly called us by name. After several hours, my name was called. I was banned from school for the rest of the year, given a court date, and sent out like none of that had just happened.

Despite the brutality, protesters were back at the base of campus by the end of the day on Friday. Morale appears largely unshaken, and (despite bots brigading r/UCSC) student support across online and in-person spaces is at a high.

Some students were asked by KSBW about their arrests. “The people in Palestine are going through far worse than a citation," said Aydan Beavers. "So yeah, I believe it was worth it."

****

Once again, students are asking alumni to support them in an email zap at bit.ly/zap-ucsc, and for everyone to please donate to their bail fund, Venmo @/pizza_party_1312.

Sources: [Sentinel] [KSBW] [SJP Instagram] as well as multiple anonymous private sources.

#palestine #ucsc #santa cruz #free palestine #gaza solidarity encampment #gaza encampments #current events #txt #I could say a lot more about the organizations SJP is against/for but this isn't really the post for that.#Please correct me if you have firsthand information or a source contradicting what I've said here!

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scary-grace · 8 months ago

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WIP GAME: The Shigaraki x reader phone sex AU

@sophsiaaa requested more info about the phone sex AU, and it’s pretty straightforward. in short, the reader works as a dispatcher at a high-end end escort service, answering questions, doing admin, and keeping phone sex clients occupied while waiting for an operator to open up. On one particular night, she finds herself on the phone with a client who’s a different kind of weird than usual:

You’re in the middle of familiarizing yourself with all the parts of the cell when your headset starts beeping — and when you check your screen, you see that every single operator is busy. Again.

You get paid a flat hourly rate, but you really should negotiate that up for nights you spend keeping clients occupied while they wait. You answer the phone and run through your spiel — your operator’s not ready yet, but I’m here, and I’m super psyched to talk to a weirdo just like you — and wait for the inevitable question about what you’re wearing. You wait. And wait. And keep waiting, so long that you start to wonder if the call’s dropped when you weren’t looking. That, or the client got so wound up hearing a woman’s voice on the phone that they had a heart attack and died. You try again. “Hello?”

The call’s still live. You hear your voice echo on the other end of the call, and when you listen closer, you can hear someone breathing. Breathing sort of heavily. Great. “You know I get paid whether you talk or not, right?”

Oops. You shouldn’t have said that. Your boss will be pissed, and if whoever this is pays up, does it really matter if he says anything? Maybe he just wants to breathe heavily into the phone until time’s up. You’d like to think you can sit quietly while some guy does — something to the sound of you breathing on your end of the line, but it turns out that’s beyond your power to cope with. “Um, do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“What?”

“Clients usually ask that,” you say, trying to cover your shock. This client sounds young. Shiroiwa’s price point is so high that next to none of the clients are younger than forty, but this guy sounds like he’s barely out of high school. You should know — you’re barely out of high school yourself. “They want to know what I’m wearing so they can — um, imagine a little better.”

Silence. The breathing sounds a little less heavy and a little more hyperventilating, and you resist the urge to bang your head on the table with an effort. Why do you always get stuck with the weird ones? “So, like I said, I’m not actually the person you’re supposed to talk to. I’m just here to keep you company until your partner’s ready for you. We don’t have to talk at all.”

You’re rapidly coming to the conclusion that not talking is the best outcome for this situation. You and the client can pretend each other isn’t there until you can transfer him to somebody else, somebody who’s good with the weird ones or the shy ones. Kayoko, maybe. She’s great at bringing clients out of their shells. The fact that she and you and anybody else who listens in wishes they’d never come out of their shells in the first place doesn’t really matter.

“What are you, then?” The raspy voice is in your ear again. “If you’re not who I’m supposed to talk to.”

“I’m admin. Kind of a secretary.” You kick yourself instantly for the choice of words. “Not the sexy kind of secretary. Just — I’m the one who routes the phone calls. And the messages from our chat service. Unless it’s busy.”

“It’s busy?”

“Saturday night? It’s really busy,” you say. He sounds disappointed. “Is there somebody you were hoping to talk to specifically? I can let you know how long a wait there will be.”

“I don’t care who I talk to,” the client says. You hear that from new clients a lot, before they pick a favorite operator. All the regulars have a favorite. “This was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you say hastily. Your boss will kill you if you lose a client. Even a weird client. “Tell me what you want to talk about. That way I can pick the right partner to send you to.”

“I don’t know,” the client says. You glance at the info Mizuho sent and get a shock — the client’s nineteen, same as you. “It’s — fuck. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” you say on autopilot, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. You can practically feel the client’s embarrassment oozing through the phone, and you spin off into a sales pitch that sounds terrible even to you. “Well, you’ve called the right service. I know a ton of our companions who can make your day really special.”

#shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki Tomura x reader #Tomura Shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #clown hours

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hottiesforhockey · 20 hours ago

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mutual pining pt 2 ⎜n.hischier

pairings: nico hischier x reader genre: fluff ⎜ sequel ⎜smut ⎜ warnings: jealous nico ⎜ mentions of drinking ⎜praise as per usual ⎜ rushed sex ⎜ nico being needy and whiny ⎜ p in v ⎜ oral (m!receiving) ⎜nico is a physical touch boy ⎜unprotected sex (wrap it, ladies and gents) synopsis: 3 months after leaving nico behind in Switzerland after your whirlwind romance, you can't help but miss his stupid big brown eyes - maybe a trip to new jersey is in order. word count: 7.5k authors note: this is the sequel to mutual pining - it's definitely a way to wrap up the original for the people that wanted to see them reunited! I hope everyone enjoys.

(unedited)

“Did everything get there safely?” Your sister’s voice carries through your AirPods as you weave through the crowds in the airport, dragging your oversized luggage behind you.

“Seems like it — I’ll have to double check it at the hotel but it should be good.” You speak softly sending a quick smile to the security guard pressing the open button to the door.

“And you got the tickets Luca sent?” Mia asks again, a rustling noise cutting through the phone as Luca’s voice fills your ears.

“You should have the email with the tickets and the meet and greet pass — they shouldn’t give you any trouble.” Luca says softly, his voice filled with excitement as you let out a soft chuckle.

“I did, it looks like everything is in order.” You agree, hailing down a taxi as soon as you hit the curb, the driver rushing out of the car to help you place your bags in the trunk and you tell the driver where to take you.

“He’s not going to be expecting this.” Luca chuckles, the older brother in him bursting with pride at your plan to surprise Nico at one of his games. “He never shuts up about you.” He adds, quickly, the sound of a slap resonating as the phone rustles again your sisters voice coming back to your ears.

“Everything is going to go fine. Nico will be excited to see you and Luca’s right, he doesn’t shut up about you.” She says teasingly, you can almost see the way she sticks her tongue out at her fiancee.

“Look, I’m on the way to the hotel now, I’ll let you know how it goes after the game.”

You lean your head back against the taxi seat, heart racing as you take in the unfamiliar cityscape rushing past your window. The streets of Newark blur by, a patchwork of neon signs, weathered brick buildings, and yellow cabs jostling for space. Everything feels heightened, like the world is holding its breath along with you. You can still hear Mia and Luca’s words echoing in your head — he never shuts up about you. Your heart twists with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, offering a polite smile.

“First time here?” he asks, his voice friendly.

You nod, barely able to keep your excitement contained. “Yeah, visiting a friend.”

The driver chuckles knowingly. “Lucky person. Visiting for business or pleasure?”

“Definitely pleasure,” you say with a soft laugh, your fingers drumming against your thigh as you glance at your phone. The email with the tickets and meet-and-greet pass sits at the top of your inbox, a glaring reminder of what’s waiting just hours away.

By the time you arrive at the hotel, the sun has dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. You thank the driver and pull your suitcase out of the trunk, nerves flaring again as you step into the lobby. Everything feels surreal — the grand chandeliers, the polished marble floors, the hushed conversations of travellers coming and going. You check in quickly, the receptionist handing you your room key with a cheerful smile.

You melt into the bed after placing your suitcase on the chair in the corner in the room - the twenty four hour travelling definitely taking a toll on your body - your back begging from a break as you take out your phone and start scrolling, liking the images from the New Jersey Devils admin on instagram, smiling at the photo of Nico bundled up in his coat and beanie - smiling at something his teammate is saying.

The doubt creeps in slowly at first and then all at once.

What if he’s not excited to see me?

Maybe he wants to keep what happened over the summer a secret?

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.

You phone dings with a message.

Luca😇: don’t overthink this… his brain's going to implode when he sees you.

You smile at the message, your soon to be brother in law already knowing you better then most people. When you had told Luca about your plan to meet back up with Nico he was ecstatic, the older brother going in depth about how devastated Nico was when you left.

Someday.

You two had agreed upon and it had become a lifeline for you both according to Luca.

Mia 😈: Wear something sexy.

Your phone dings again the message from your older sister lighting up the screen as you let out a snort of laughter, throwing your phone to the side as you let your eyes close and your body to melt further into the bed.

Fuck, you’d kill for a nap right now.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the sound of your alarm jolts you awake. It’s already dark outside, the city lights casting a soft glow through the sheer hotel curtains. The nerves settle back in your chest the moment you blink away the sleep, but this time, they’re tangled with excitement. You’re really doing this.

You sit up, stretching your sore muscles before grabbing your phone. There are a few more messages waiting for you.

Mia 😈: Don’t be late!!

Luca😇: Remember what I said — he’s been waiting for this. Trust me

With a deep breath, you push yourself off the bed and head to the closet, rifling through your suitcase for the outfit you meticulously picked for this moment. Something that would make you feel confident, something that would remind Nico of summer nights and quiet moments shared away from the world

After a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing out your outfit, the skin tight black bodysuit tucked into your denim cargo pants, your trust black converse on your feet. Your heart races as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving yourself a small pep talk.

“You’ve got this. He wants to see you. This is what you both wanted.”

The ride to Prudential Center feels like a dream. The city hums with life outside the car window, and you can’t help but imagine Nico somewhere inside that arena, completely unaware of the surprise waiting for him. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

When you arrive, the street is buzzing with fans decked out in Devils gear, laughing and chatting as they make their way inside. You clutch your meet-and-greet pass tightly, your palms slightly sweaty. The staff at the entrance scans your pass - handing you one of the VIP lanyards before directing you toward a section of the stands where fans can watch the players warm up before the game, and explaining how to get to the meet and greet section after the game. The arena feels larger than life, the ice glistening under the bright lights. You find a spot close to the glass, your heart pounding as the players begin to trickle onto the ice.

Your eyes search for him amongst the bodies —and then you see him.

The black retro jersey’s were one of your favourites from the moment you had seen it during your FaceTime hockey lessons with Luca, the sleek black uniforms standing out on the ice. Nico skates smoothly around the ice, occasionally stopping to read a sign or throw a puck over the glass - finally finding a spot besides his teammates on the other side of the ice, dropping into a kneeling position as he starts stretching.

“He’s doing that on purpose — look at him putting on a show.” One of the fans besides your squeals as she films Nico on her phone, his stretching routine looking overly sexual as her friend besides her joins in on the squealing. They both turn towards you, taking in your lanyard in surprise, whispering between themselves before turning back to you.

“How did you get that?” One of them asks pointing down to your lanyard.

“Umm, a friend got it for me.” You respond quickly, looking down at the lanyard nervously.

“Do you like know the players or something?” The other asks, your head shaking immediately, their attention quickly stolen as the players begin skating around the ice again, their hands pounding on the glass to try and catch the attention of the players closest to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you watch Nico skid to a stop in front of the two girls, taking in their sign with a smile as he reaches down to grab a puck off the ice, preparing to throw it over the glass towards them. His gaze flicks over to your for a second, his attention going back to the two girls before he double takes, his eyes locking with yours as you send him a shy smile.

Nico’s mouth falls open a little as he takes you in, you hand waving to send him a small wave as he shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut as he whispers something under his breath before skating straight off the ice, his hand rubbing his eyes as he makes his way back down the tunnel.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” You huff, as you look down at your ticket making quick work of finding your seat amongst the crowds before the game starts.

The buzz of the crowd fills the arena as you make your way to your seat, your nerves still buzzing, but now with a different kind of energy. You can't help but replay the moment over and over in your mind. Nico's reaction, that brief second of recognition before he skated off... it almost felt like time stood still, like the universe had paused to allow for that one perfect moment.

You settle into your seat, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart is racing. The game is about to start, and the lights dim, plunging the arena into darkness except for the gleaming ice and the spotlights following the players as they prepare for the opening face-off. The energy in the building shifts, becoming a living thing, vibrating with anticipation. Fans are chanting, clapping, and waving signs.

The arena feels alive, the sounds of skates slicing through ice, the thud of pucks against sticks, the roar of the crowd... it all feels so surreal, like you’re in the middle of something you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

A sudden pang of longing hits you — Nico, somewhere out there, likely focused on the game, unaware of your presence, unaware that you’re just a few feet away. You glance down at your meet-and-greet pass again, your thumb grazing the laminate. You can't shake the feeling that maybe he’s still processing the surprise, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here, after all these months.

Just before the game begins, you hear a voice over the loudspeaker announcing the start of the first period, and your eyes flick back to the ice. Nico’s already out there, his movements smooth and practiced, but there’s a noticeable energy to him tonight. A sharpness.

Maybe it's the game.

Maybe it's the surprise.

Maybe it's you.

You watch him as he skates across the rink, focused, determined, but every once in a while, your eyes meet, even if only for a fraction of a second, and it feels like something unspoken passes between you. The connection that’s been there all along, even when you were miles apart, seems to hum in the air around you, settling into your chest like it never left.

The game plays on, the tension building as each team fights for dominance. You cheer when the Devils score, feeling your heart swell with the crowd, but your mind is elsewhere, still floating between the excitement of being here and the uncertainty of what comes next.

The final whistle blows, signalling the end of the game, and the arena erupts in cheers. You grab your things, your heartbeat quickening again as you make your way toward the meet-and-greet area. Staff direct you down a narrow hallway that leads to a small lounge area. The walls are lined with photos of past players, some famous moments frozen in time, a shrine to the history of the team. There’s a small group of fans gathered around, all eagerly chatting, waiting for their moment with the players. You stand there, trying to calm your nerves, trying to steady the rapid pace of your heart, but it’s hard. The anticipation is palpable, and you can feel it crawling under your skin, an hour ticking by as you stick close to the walls of the room - watching the fans interact with each other, excited over being able to meet their favourite players.

And then, the door opens.

The players all trickle in, dressed in casual clothes as they find their space behind the table set up at the front of the room, the rest of the fans quickly falling into a queue as they make their way over to the table. The queue moves quickly, the staff ushering the fans along if their take over five minutes with each player, your gaze flicking over to Nico as you step up to the table, placing the jersey you bought down on the table as you look towards the player in front of you with a smile.

“First time here?” He asks softly, your head nodding as your gaze flicks back to Nico, the captain conversing with a young fan animatedly, your own smile growing as you watch him. “Our captain does tend to capture the attention of all the pretty girls.” The player in front of you murmurs with a laugh, quickly signing before passing the jersey to the player besides him.

“Hey, do I know you?” The next player asks, his voice clouded with a slight barely there accent as your gaze is torn away from Nico, looking down at the large player with a tilt of your head.

“Ummm, I don’t think so.” You say softly.

“No, I swear I’ve seen you before.” He starts again, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks over you, his eyes lighting up in recognition as he leans against the table shooting a look towards his captain before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “The lock screen.” He whispers before coughing slightly to cover up his words, signing your jersey and passing it down the line again.

The players leans over whispering into the next mans ear, whose face lights up as he signs your jersey and passes it off again mimicking the movements of the man next to him as he continues the whispers down the line. The speed of the hockey players in surprising as they work hard to fast track you to their captain, each shooting you a shit eating grin until you stand to the left of him, his focus entirely on the young girl in front of him, the girl handing her phone off to a staff member as Nico rounds the table to stand besides her as the staff member snaps the photos, Nico giving the young girl a long hug before leaving her to run off the her parent, sliding back into his seat as he slides your jersey in front of him.

“Thank you for coming.” Nico says softly as he searches for a spot to sign, “How’s your day been so far?” He questions, his eyes still glued on the fabric as he finds an empty spot on the large ’13’ on the back of the jersey.

“It’s been pretty good so far, just got off a really long flight earlier today though.” You respond, your heart pounding against your chest as Nico’s pen pauses, his whole body locked tight as he takes in a deep breath, his eyes shooting up to yours as he jolts into a standing position the jersey forgotten on the table.

“Schatz.” His voice is barely a whisper as he takes you in.

“Hi Nico.” You smile, Nico’s hands tremble as he rounds the table, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving. For a moment, it seems like he doesn’t know what to do — whether to pull you into a hug or simply keep staring, afraid you might disappear like a dream. His lips part, but no words come out. His teammates glance over, nudging each other with knowing smiles, but the noise of the room fades to the background. It’s just you and him now.

“I can’t believe…” His voice cracks slightly as he steps closer. “You’re actually here.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you take a shaky breath. “Someday came a little sooner then I thought.” You glance around the room, all the attention on the two of you as you send him a small smile and flick your head back towards the crowd. “I think you’ve still got some work to do, captain.” You tease, his eyes moving back to the group with a grimace.

“You’ll wait?” He questions softly, slowly taking steps back around the table until he sinks in his chair, finishing off his signature before holding his jersey out for you, holding it tight as you try to pull it out of his grip.

“I’ll wait.” You confirm, Nico only releasing the jersey once he’s sure you’re telling the truth.

The meet-and-greet eventually winds down, and Nico finishes signing the last few jerseys and taking pictures with the remaining fans. But his eyes keep flicking back to you, checking, making sure you haven’t left. The second the event is officially over, he excuses himself from his teammates and heads straight for you, his hand already reaching for yours before he even thinks twice about it.

“Come with me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s something pleading in it, something raw.

You nod, letting him lace his fingers through yours as he tugs you toward a side door. The hallways are dimly lit, the buzz of the arena distant now as he leads you deeper into the private areas of the facility. He doesn’t say much, but his grip is firm, like he’s afraid to let go, afraid that if he does, you might disappear again.

He pushes open a door, revealing a quiet locker room, the air still carrying the faint scent of sweat and cologne. It’s empty, save for the two of you. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the tension that’s been simmering all night boils over.

Nico turns to you, eyes dark and searching. "I thought I was dreaming when I saw you," he admits, voice husky. "I still can't believe you're here."

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. "I’m here, Nico."

A shaky breath leaves him as he lifts a hand to your face, his fingers ghosting over your cheek before trailing down to your jaw, then to your lips. He’s hesitant at first, like he’s memorising you all over again, but when you tilt your head slightly, leaning into his touch, something in him snaps.

His lips crash into yours, desperate and hungry, years of longing pouring into the kiss. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s holding himself back, barely keeping himself in check. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

“God, I missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your back, pressing you even closer.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you kiss him again, letting your body tell him everything you can’t quite say yet. The weight of the past few months, the ache of missing each other, the relief of finally being together again—it all melts into this moment, into the way his hands grip your hips, the way your fingers trail down his chest.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath ragged. "I don’t want to let you go again."

You cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "Then don’t."

Nico exhales sharply, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. He kisses you again, slower this time, savouring it, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. The world outside the locker room fades away, leaving just the two of you, tangled in each other, in the heat of something that feels like coming home.

“Um… sorry to interrupt but you’re in a public space.” A nervous laugh cuts through the locker room, Nico pulling away from you with a grown - his glare flicking over to his teammate, his fingers digging into your hips in a squeeze before he releases you, tucking you against his side as he turns to face his teammate.

“Jack —” he acknowledges, “What do you want?” He grits out, the grumpy tone surprising you - Nico was anything but grumpy and it took everything you had to stifle your laugh, Jack’s eyes shooting to yours as a mischievous grin spread on his face before he looks back towards his captain.

“We were all going to that bar downtown but wanted to know if you would come along?” Jack starts, taking a deep breath before he adds, “we have so many questions for her.” Nico tenses again, your hand slipping into his as you shoot a smile Jack’s way.

“We would love to meet you there — trust me I’ve got plenty of my own questions.” Jack nods slowly, hesitating until you add, “Would you mind giving us a second, we’ll be there soon.” Jack takes the suggestion with a nod slowly slipping away from the two of you.

You don’t get a chance to fully turn towards Nico before he’s is kissing you again, deeper this time, his desperation palpable. Your fingers tighten on his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, as if you can make up for all the lost time in this moment alone.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead presses against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His hands remain locked around your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded patterns against the fabric of your shirt.

“I missed you too,” you finally whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.” Nico exhales sharply, like he’s been holding in a breath for months, and then he’s wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his chest.

“You left,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with something that sounds like heartbreak. “And I didn’t know if someday would ever come.”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the raw honesty in his voice. “I didn’t either,” you admit, gripping the back of his hoodie. “But I’m here now.” Nico pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, studying you as if to reassure himself you’re real. His thumb strokes your cheek, and his lips quirk into a soft, almost disbelieving smile.

“I have so many things I want to say,” he murmurs, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “But I also don’t want to waste a single second talking.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “We have time, Nico. We have time now.”

The bar is loud and bustling by the time you get there - Nico keeping you tucked closely into his back as he leads you over to the corner booth where his friends already gather - each of them letting out loud hollers as they spot their captain pushing through the crowds, their smiles lighting up as Nico pulls you in front of him, tucking you into the booth.

“I’ll go get us some drinks.” He says softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as his friends let out low whistles, your neck burning pink as you clear your throat.

“So…” Jack starts, the smile on his face seeming contagious as it spreads across the group, all of them turning towards you. “Tell us everything — why has cap been such a sad sack since he got back from summer vacation?” Jack starts the rest of the group jumping in.

“Oh, did he profess his love and you rejected him?” One of the players theorises your throat bobbing as you turn to the next one who speaks.

“What about his lock screen? Is he your lock screen too?” Another player pipes in, your mouth falling open as you look around at the grown men in confusion.

“I never knew hockey players were such gossips.” You laugh taking a breath before addressing each question individually. “I think it’s partially my fault Nico been so sad, and I didn’t reject him but I wasn’t as accepting as I should’ve been and he isn’t my lock screen and I had no idea I was his.” You answer the questions with a grimace, the players sitting back with a quick nod, accepting your answers with smiles.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jack interjects quickly, “I’ve never seen him so happy before.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You agree as Nico reaches the table, popping your ice cold coke in front of you with a smile.

“No alcohol.” He confirms, looking at each of his teammates with a pinched expression, “I hope they weren’t too hard on you.” He says, you head shaking as you scoot over in the booth, patting the seat besides you for him to sit down.

“Nope, just curious.”

Nico slides in next to you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours feels like coming home after a long journey. His teammates exchange knowing glances, their smiles widening.

"So, mysterious girl," one of them leans forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "how did you and our captain here meet?"

You glance at Nico, a silent question in your eyes. He nods, giving you permission to share. "We met last summer," you begin, a soft smile playing on your lips as the memory washes over you. "I was on vacation with my sister and her fiancé, who happens to be Nico's brother.”

"Ah, the infamous Swiss getaway," Jack chimes in, wiggling his eyebrows. "No wonder cap came back all moony-eyed and distracted."

Nico rolls his eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. His thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, a constant reminder of his presence. "It wasn't like that," he says, but the soft look he gives you betrays his words.

"Oh really?" another teammate chimes in. "Then why did you spend the first month back staring at your phone like it held the secrets of the universe?" A chorus of laughter erupts from the table, and you can't help but join in. Nico's cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn't deny it. Instead, he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Can you blame me?" he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. The tenderness in his voice makes your heart skip a beat. The conversation flows easily after that, the team's curiosity about you mixing with playful jabs at Nico. You find yourself relaxing, laughing along with their jokes and sharing small anecdotes from your summer together. Nico's hand never leaves your waist, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip, a constant reminder of his presence.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go get another drink, want anything?” You question, sliding yourself over Nico’s lap, his hands holding you steady as you slip out of the booth - Nico shakes his head, motioning to his still half drunk beer he had been nursing for most of the night. You nod as you start to squeeze through the crowd, slipping your way past numerous large groups until you find a spot to brace against the bar, waiting for one of the workers to catch their attention.

As you wait at the bar, you feel the heat of the crowded room pressing in around you. The bartender is busy, so you glance over your shoulder, just barely able to spot Nico at the booth, his eyes tracking your every move. You send him a reassuring smile before turning back to the bar, where a tall man with an easy smile has taken up the space beside you.

"Hey there," the stranger greets, leaning against the bar as he gives you a once-over. "Haven't seen you around here before. You new?"

You offer a polite smile, stepping slightly away without making it obvious. "Just visiting some friends."

"Lucky friends," he says, tilting his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, thanks," you reply firmly, turning your focus back to the bar, hoping he’ll take the hint. But he doesn’t.

"Come on," he coaxes, stepping closer than necessary. "Just one drink. I don’t bite." You stiffen as his fingers brush your arm, a forced chuckle leaving his lips when you recoil.

"I said no," you repeat, sharper this time, your patience wearing thin.

His smirk falters for a split second before returning, more insistent now. "Relax, sweetheart. No need to be so uptight. Just trying to be friendly."

"And I’m trying to be clear," you snap, shifting to put more space between you, but he moves with you, blocking your path. "Back off." Before the tension can escalate further, a strong arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against a solid chest. The scent of cologne and something distinctly Nico floods your senses before you even look up to confirm who it is.

"She’s taken," Nico’s voice is firm, edged with something dark, something possessive. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he levels the man with a stare that is nothing short of lethal.

The stranger raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. "No offence, man. Just being friendly."

Nico doesn't respond immediately, his jaw set tight. His fingers flex against your hip, a silent claim. "Then be friendly somewhere else."

The tension in the air is thick, but the stranger chuckles, shaking his head before muttering, "Alright, alright, message received." With that, he steps back and disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning in Nico’s arms to face him. His eyes are still stormy, flickering with something unreadable.

"Nico—"

"I didn’t like that," he admits bluntly, his accent thicker with emotion. "I didn’t like the way he was looking at you."

You soften, reaching up to cup his face, fingers grazing over the sharp edge of his jaw. “I think you’re overthinking things a little bit?” He exhales, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a brief moment.

"I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like other guys thinking they have a chance."

Your lips twitch, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Possessive much?"

He tilts his head, a slow smirk finally breaking through his jealousy. "Maybe a little."

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling the last of the tension melt from his shoulders. "Come on, captain," you tease, nodding toward the table. "Your friends are probably placing bets on whether or not you threw a punch."

“Or…” Nico starts, his gaze shooting over to the table of his teammates before locking back on yours, “We could go home?”

A shiver runs down your spine at the word 'home'. It's a simple word, yet it carries so much weight when Nico says it. It's not just about a place; it's about the feeling of belonging, of safety, of finally being where you're supposed to be. The thought of leaving the crowded bar, of escaping the prying eyes and the boisterous laughter, and going somewhere private with Nico... it's incredibly tempting. You glance at the table. His teammates are engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to the silent exchange happening between you and Nico. They'd probably tease him mercilessly if he left so soon, but...

"What about your friends?" you ask, even though you already know what you want.

Nico shrugs, his arm tightening around your waist. "They'll understand. Besides," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes, "they'll have plenty to gossip about tomorrow anyway." You can't help but laugh. He's right. His teammates are probably already compiling a detailed report of every interaction you've had with Nico tonight, ready to dissect it at their next practice.

"Okay," you say, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's go home."

Nico's smile mirrors yours, a mixture of relief and anticipation. He leans down, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips. "Let's go," he whispers, his voice husky.

He takes your hand, and together, you navigate your way through the crowded bar, his body shielding you from the jostling crowd. As you step out into the cool night air, the city lights twinkling around you, a sense of calm washes over you. The noise and the chaos of the bar fade into the background, replaced by the quiet intimacy of being alone with Nico.

The walk back to his apartment is short, but it feels like an eternity. Every step you take brings you closer to being alone with him, closer to finally having some time to yourselves, away from the prying eyes and the curious questions.

As you reach his building, Nico pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "I've been waiting for this all night," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips grazing the side of your neck.

You lean into him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Me too," you whisper back.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is filled with a charged silence. You can feel the anticipation building between you, a tangible energy that crackles in the air. When the doors finally open on his floor, Nico doesn't hesitate. He takes your hand again, leading you down the hallway to his door. The moment the door to Nico's apartment closes behind you, the last of the restraint you've both been holding onto snaps. His hands are on you in an instant, fingers digging into your hips as he presses you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath away.

You fingers take tight grip of his shirt, pulling him as close as he can get as his hands leave your body, bracing himself on the wall besides your head as he lets out a choked groan. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this.” He groans into your mouth, his hips trapping yours against the wall, his head pulling back for just long enough to glance down at you, his need for your reassurance gleaming in his eyes as you shoot him a soft smile.

“I wasn’t lying last time we were together.” Nico whispers, “I would give anything to keep you with me, right here, forever.” Your eyes widen for a second, Nico’s widening as well as the words fall out of his mouth, his mouth pursing shut as he grimaces his face scrunching as the weight of what he says lingers between you.

“Me too.” You breathe out, your hands releasing his shirt, skimming up his torso until you cup his cheeks, “I would give anything to stay, right here, forever.” You confirm, Nico traps his bottom lip between his teeth as your thumbs stroke his cheeks, his eyes squeeze shut as he drops his head against your shoulder, letting out a shuddered breath.

“Schatzi.” He whispers as you nods, your hands running gently through his hair as you let out a soft chuckle.

“I know.” You pulls his head away from your shoulder, gently pushing his body away from yours. “It’s my turn to take care of you this time.” You smile, taking his hand in yours as you pull him behind you down the hallway, the sight of his bedroom speeding up your steps, “clothes off.” you say quickly releasing his hand, watching as he strips the fabric off his body quickly, his cock bobbing against his abdomen as he pulls off his underwear.

“Sit on the bed, Nico.” You say with a tilt of your head, watching as the large hockey player takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, his eyes widening as you sink to your knees in front of him, flicking your hair over your shoulder.

“Wait— you don’t hav—”

“I want to.” You confirm, shuffling forwards until your slip between his legs, your hands bracing on your thighs as you look up at him with a smile.

You take a moment to admire the sight in front of you, Nico's muscular body tense with anticipation. His cock twitches under your gaze, making you smile. You love the effect you have on him, the way his body responds to your every touch.

Slowly, teasingly, you lean forward, letting your breath ghost over his hard length. Nico shivers, a soft groan escaping his lips.

"Please," he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

You don't make him wait any longer. Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, tasting the bead of pre-cum that's gathered there. Nico's hips jerk at the contact, a sharp inhale filling the room.

"So good," he murmurs, his hand coming to rest gently on your head, not pushing, just a reassuring presence. “Please.” He pleads again, “I’ll beg if you want me to.” Ignoring his words you take your time, you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, savouring the way it throbs under your tongue. Nico's praise continues, spurring you on, making you feel powerful and wanted.

"Your mouth is incredible," he breathes as you finally take him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. "So hot, so tight." His hands move slowly, gathering your hair away from your face, his grip ever so gentle as he stops it from getting in your way.

You moan your approval, the sound vibrating around his cock, and you can feel him shudder. Slowly, you start to move, bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper with every pass. Your hands find their way to his thighs, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch.

"Fuck, just like that," Nico encourages, his voice strained. "You're doing so well, Schatzi.”

His praise fills you with warmth, making you want to please him even more. You redouble your efforts, using every trick you know to make him feel good. You swirl your tongue around his head, you hollow your cheeks for suction, you even let him slip into your throat, relishing the choked moan it earns you.

“Wait...” He yelps, you mouth pausing on his, Nicos hands slipping under your arms as he pulls you off of him and into a standing position, his pupils blown out as he looks down at you. “I need to be inside of you.” He groans, his hands tucking your hair behind your ears as you nod.

“I don’t have a condom.” He says quickly as he watches you undo the button on your pants, sliding them down your legs, your eyes flicking back up to his as you take in his panic. “I didn’t think I was going to need one.” He says with a tight laugh, his hand raising to rub at the back of his neck.

You smile as your raise your brows, kicking your pants away as you raise your hands to the hem of your body suit, pulling it up and over your head once you undo the clasps, your bralette catching all of Nico’s attention, another choked groan leaving his mouth at the sight of you in your underwear.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He continues, a frown forming on his face as his eyes follow your motions, your hands pulling the bralette over your head, your boobs bouncing free of their confines, your hands slipping down to the edges of your panties next.

“I heard you.” You confirm, sliding your cotton underwear down your legs, a teasing smile on your face as you add, “I just don’t care.”

“But we should use protection.” Nico says in confusion, his head tilting as you walk towards his bed, perching down on the edge as you look up at him.

“We should.” You agree, “But we don’t have any, and I’m not about to tell you to stop.” You confirm, Nico’s mouth falling open in surprise, “I have an IUD, and I assume we’re both clean.” You say, leaning back on your hands as you watching Nico’s gaze trail across your body. He nods quickly at your words, hesitating for another moment as you slide further back onto his mattress, opening your arms to him as you fall onto your back.

“Then fuck me like you mean it.” You coo, Nico not wasting time in delving onto the mattress on top of you.

Nico's eyes darken with lust at your words, and he doesn't hesitate any longer. He settles himself between your legs, his cock hot and hard against your inner thigh.

"You're sure?" he asks one last time, needing to hear you say it.

In response, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I've never been more sure of anything," you say, your voice thick with desire. That's all the encouragement he needs. With a groan, he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes inside. You're wet and ready for him, but the stretch still burns. In the best way.

"Oh, Schatzi," Nico breathes, his forehead dropping to yours. "You feel incredible. Just like I remember.” He pulls out slowly, then thrusts back in, making both of you moan.

“Mhm,” you encourage, your hands finding purchase on the muscles of his back. "Just like that. Don't hold back." Nico nods, his hips starting to move with purpose. Each thrust is deep and powerful, his pelvis grinding against your clit just right. It's perfection, and your moans echo around the room, mixing with his.

"More," you beg, your nails digging into his skin. "Harder. I need more."

"So greedy," Nico chuckles, his speed increasing. The bed creaks under the force of his thrusts, and the sound is almost as erotic as the wet slap of flesh against flesh.

"Only for you," you manage to pant out, the coiling tension in your gut making it hard to think, let alone speak.

"Good," Nico growls, his hips moving at a punishing pace now. "You're mine, aren't you? This pussy is all mine."

"Yours," you agree shamelessly. "All yours." It's the truth. In this moment, you are entirely his.

"This is going to be quick," he warns, his voice guttural. “I’ve been waiting too long.” You can only nod frantically, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up on your elbows, your fingers linking with his as he leans down to catch your lips again. Nico's hands grip yours bruisingly tight, holding you still as he slams into you again and again.

“Come for me, Nico.” You whisper against his mouth, your pussy squeezing so tightly against him, his hips stutter.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, closing his eyes as he drops his head to your shoulder, his hips still moving as he shakes his head, holding off his orgasm. “I think I’m in love with you.” He whispers against the soft skin of your shoulder, his teeth digging into the skin there as he finds his release - one of your hands releasing his as your run your fingers through his hair, whispering soft praise in his ear as you collapse against the mattress, Nico still pressed tightly against you as he lets out a shaky breath.

“I just said that out loud, didn’t I?” Nico questions brings a bubble of laughter out of your mouth, yours hands still smoothing against his hair as you feels his hips shift, his dick sliding out of you as he rolls off your body, his cheeks flushed a bright red as he throws his arm over his face.

“You did.” You confirm, letting out another small laugh as you turn on your side to face him, sliding his sheet up and over both your bodies as you tug on his arm, pulling it away from his face with a lot of effort. “I think I’m in love with you too.” You whisper, as you lean forwards to press a soft kiss to his temple before sliding off the mattress, gliding into the bathroom.

“You can’t just drop that bomb and then leave me here.” He says through a groan, tuning his head against his bed to watch you walk away. His big brown eyes pleading as you turn in the doorway to his ensuite.

Those stupid big brown eyes.

“Then come after me.” You say letting out a soft squeal as Nico launches himself off the mattress after you, the man needing no more of an invitation to follow behind you.

“I’m grateful for someday.” Nico whispers as he tugs you under the hot spray of the shower, his arms wrapped around your waist as the water drenches your bodies, washing the smell of sex and sweat off both of you. “I want someday to last for as long as it can.” He continues, one arm stay wrapped around you as he reaches for the loofa.

“Someday starts now.” You confirm - turning in his arms to look up at him, his eyes shining as he catches your lips with his, your bodies pressed impossibly close as you add, “Someday can last for as long as we want it to.”

#nico hischier #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier smut #nico hischier fanfic #mutual pining #pt 2

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ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash · 2 months ago

Note

The Undertaker seems so malnourished, tired and (as Yana said he is meant to have dirty hair) problably not keeping up with good hygiene practices... I would like to request his s/o (fem if you do gendered) just taking care of him. Helping him through what seems like depression, bathing him, cooking for him and cuddling him to sleep.

Thank you, have a nice day/night!

Nourish (Undertaker x GN!Reader)

Fandom: Black Butler

rated: PG i don't know lol

warnings: slight mentions of nudity

Admin Wisteria: Aw that sounds like a sweet thing to do with Undertaker. I hope you enjoy this!

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The sound of the bathtub filling up echoed through the bathroom, you made sure that the water was a perfect temperature for him to sit and relax in.

"You don't need to this." He says, with a tired voice. You shook your head, you were determined to have him relax.

"Adrian, I love you and care about you...besides you look horrible. Please, get in the bathtub and let me take care of you." He stares into your eyes, which were puppy dog eyes. He sighs, he couldn't deny your puppy dog eyes.

"Alright darling."

Undertaker stripped each piece of garment that he had on, putting them in a pile in the corner of the bathroom. You smiled and tested the warmth of the bath water.

Perfect.

You looked up at him, and smiled, gesturing him to sit in the bathroom. He slowly got into the bathtub, a sigh of content escaped his lips as he splayed his body in the bathtub, the warm water welcoming to his pained joints. He closed his eyes, letting relaxation take over him.

You smiled and took the bottles of shampoo and conditioner from the counter, along with a small bowl.

"I'm going to wash and condition your hair."

He only nods, his eyes closed.

You took some of the warm water from the bathtub and gently poured it all over his long locks, making sure to coat every inch of his pretty hair in water. Then, you took the the bottle of shampoo and added a generous amount of shampoo on to his scalp, massaging into his scalp gently and soothingly.

"That feels nice..." He says, his eyes still closed.

You only chuckled, and massaging his scalp a little bit more so he can enjoy the feeling.

After that, you rinsed his hair off with more of the warm bathwater, entangling your fingers into his long locks, making sure you get every last bit of shampoo residue off of his hair. You repeated your efforts with the conditioner and did the same to the shampoo as well.

After washing his hair you got a bar of soap and a washcloth, washing every inch of his body with it, gently and soothingly.

"I think we are all done." You smiled down at Undertaker's peaceful face.

"Just another minuet..." He mumbled.

You only chuckled, "Take your time, my love." You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek a few times.

Undertaker smiled, and opening up his eyes and looking up at you.

"You are too sweet for your own good my dear."

You kissed him on the nose which caused him to chuckle.

He sits there for a minuet before deciding to get out of the bathtub.

You helped in his black bath robe, leading him back into the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed as your slowly brushed his long gray locks.

"You have such pretty hair." You said, brushing the tangles out of it gentle. He sighs, closing his eyes as he feels your gentle touch. He hums, a nonverbal thank you. He was too relaxed to say anything. Once you finished brushing his hair, you kissed him on the forehead.

"Lay down, I'll go and make you something to eat." Undertaker obliged, he laid down on the bed but before you could turn to make him something to eat, he says frowns.

"No, you can make me something later. Right now, I want you next to me."

You smiled, making your way towards the bed and laying next to him. He takes you and hold you in his arm, his fce smelling your shampoo which comforted him. You both laid there in silence, enjoying eachothers company.

"Thank you, for taking care of me...I love you, s/o." You were taken aback slightly, he was never known for verbally expressing his feelings but you knew he loved you dearly. You smiled up at him, "I love you too, Adrian."

You stared into his pretty emerald eyes, the love in his eyes can be seen.

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#undertaker imagines #anime #manga #imagines #anime imagines #black butler #undertaker #undertaker black butler #undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji imagines #kuroshitsuji #kuroshisuji imagines #black butler imagines

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mawofthemagnetar · 1 year ago

Text

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug.

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter.

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon.

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat.

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message.

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out.

He put his comm down, and took another swig.

And waited.

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out.

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet.

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance.

Of course.

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse.

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned.

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…”

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks.

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button.

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior.

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button.

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior.

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap.

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages.

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph!

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad!

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message.

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence.

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in.

Finally, Cleo broke the silence.

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds.

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah

<TinfoilChef> anyway

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee?

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #TFC fic

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justallihere · 5 months ago

Text

opened my document of sitq scrapped scenes for reasons i've now forgotten, but there's a couple things there i really liked that never fit in what i published, and it's been a while since i've shared any of these, so here you go! these are all entirely unedited and cut off in weird places, so don't take it too seriously. enjoy!

a deleted scene between vi, ridoc, and sawyer from the planning stages of the journal heist (also, proof that the idea of malek and his consort was in my head for a long time before i ever wrote it):

“He’s fucking useless,” Violet muttered to herself, channeling her restless energy into straightening the papers and books on her desk until everything sat in neat piles.

“No, he’s terrified of your husband carving him up into tiny pieces,” Ridoc corrected.

“I still can’t believe you broke into your mom’s office without me,” Sawyer said for the third time. He’d been understandably upset when he found out about the late-night adventure he’d missed out on the week prior, but Violet hadn’t apologized.

Neither had Ridoc, who’d quickly grown bored with Sawyer’s complaints. He scoffed. “You would rather knock out infantry and sneak into the admin building because Violet got that look on her face than go down on your girlfriend?”

Sawyer blushed. “Okay, look—“

“No one’s blaming you,” Violet said, flipping open the front cover of The Unabridged History of the First Six. Jesinia had found her this morning to pass the book off after her unproductive conversation with Cam yesterday. She’d skimmed most of it already and hadn’t found anything particularly useful. “Jesinia gave a glowing review. Good for you.”

Despite the color in his cheeks, Sawyer persisted. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to pull off a fucking heist, you could warn me. Or at least not wait almost a week to tell me.”

“I’m just saying,” Ridoc retorted, “that if you want to be included then you could try celibacy like the rest of us.“

“You spent the night with that third-year from First Wing two nights ago,” Sawyer pointed out. “And Rhiannon and Tara aren’t quiet. Violet’s the only celibate person in this squad.”

“Let’s not talk about my sex life,” Violet interrupted.

“You don’t have one,” Ridoc said with a charming grin. “But when you do, I expect to hear all about it.”

She glared and changed the subject back to their initial discussion. “We’ll try to make our breaking and entering schedules align better next time.” Because there would almost certainly be a next time.

“That’s all I ask,” Sawyer said with a pointed look at Ridoc.

The three of them were alone in Violet’s room. Rhiannon was in a leadership meeting, and Liam was taking a shower and likely to join them at any moment. Violet hid the book on the First Six beneath another history text and tucked them both into the bottom drawer of her desk. It was where she kept Brennan’s journal and The Fables of the Barren. With the conversation from this past weekend and Brennan’s request still fresh on her mind, she pulled out the Fables and set the book on her desk.

“There’s nothing useful in the book Jesinia gave you, Vi?” Ridoc asked.

“It’s a very abridged version to be unabridged,” she said dryly, flipping open the worn leather cover. “I don’t know what to try next. Jesinia says there isn’t much else in the Archives, about the Six or the wards in general. Nothing useful, at least—it’s all about expanding, not creating.”

“It’d be nice if we had their journals,” he said. “Maybe that’s one of the things your dad was after.”

The first several fables were about the gods—the very first one was about Malek and his consort, and Violet had always liked that one best. She ran her hands over the illustrations of the god of the dead and the shadowy figure at his side. “Whose journals?” she said absently.

“Warrick and Lyra.”

Violet paused, let the words settle, and finally turned slowly to look at Ridoc after a beat too long. “Warrick and Lyra,” she echoed dumbly.

“Two of the First Six riders,” he confirmed.

“I know who Warrick and Lyra are,” Violet said, too sharply. “Why do you think they have personal journals?”

“Because they’re in the Archives.” Ridoc was staring at her like she’d lost her head. Sawyer looked between the two of them, openly curious. Violet’s jaw dropped open. “When we broke into your mom’s office last year for Squad Battle, she had a ledger that listed them as being stored in a sublevel vault. I flipped through it while you were stealing the map.”

It was an effort to close her mouth. “We don’t have sublevel vaults.” But even as she said it, it felt wrong. Why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t the scribes store information in spaces even more secure than the general Archives, spaces that the average cadet or citizen had no idea about?

History changes depending on who’s writing it, Cam had said. Did he know about the journals? Was that why he was here—looking for actual first-hand accounts of the history he seemed to be so interested in?

Ridoc shrugged. “According to the paperwork in General Sorrengail’s office, we do,” was all he said.

“Markham would have told me. My dad would have told me,” Violet whispered, pulling her desk chair out to sit down heavily.

His expression slipped into something a bit more sympathetic. “You already know he was keeping secrets about his work before he died,” he reminded her gently. “I’m not saying he did it to hurt you, but it’s likely he was keeping a lot of things from you. If your mom knows, doesn’t it make sense that he would have known, too? He was the scribe, after all. He spent a lot of time in the Archives, didn’t he?”

Violet only shook her head. Not in a real form of disagreement—she just didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want there to be even more secrets to uncover.

“Maybe he didn’t know,” Sawyer offered gently.

She shook her head again. “He probably did,” she said, and it hurt to admit, but it felt like the truth. She turned back to the book still open, the only piece of her father she had left. She flipped through the pages again, unseeing, and made herself shake off the crushing feeling of disappointment and hurt. “What are we missing?” she asked Sawyer and Ridoc.

“Clearance,” Ridoc said dryly.

She threw him a glare over her shoulder. “In terms of information.”

“Clearance,” Sawyer said, and earned the same dark look. He held up his hands. “Look, Vi, I know you want to know everything, but whatever this is, we don’t have the rank to find out, and I don’t think this is something you can stubborn your way into if Riorson isn’t going to just tell you himself. How do you expect to get in a sublevel vault of the Archives? Your mom’s apartment where you grew up is one thing, but breaking into probably the most secure place in Basgiath that we didn’t even know existed five minutes ago? That’s extreme, even for you.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, scrubbing her hands over her face. “If it’s something so bad that Navarre has hidden it or erased it from their history entirely—“ Then what? She didn’t know. She didn’t have a plan for that. But that was what Cam had implied inadvertently, and it seemed to be what they were doing with her father—erasing him and his work. What could he have possibly known that was so dangerous Navarre didn’t even want a reference to it existing after his death?

“We might never figure it out,” Sawyer said.

“No,” Violet said firmly. She didn’t believe that; she couldn’t.

“Even if it’s not written down, people know. We just have to find the right one to tell us the truth.”

“If not Riorson, then who?” Ridoc asked.

That was the part Violet was still deciding. Cam was the most obvious choice, and he seemed to want her to know whatever it was—unlike Xaden and Brennan and her mother, who were actively hiding things and not dropping so much as a cryptic hint. Liam was a possibility, but she was fairly certain his loyalty to Xaden and his desire to keep her safe would win out over any desire to tell Violet the truth.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Helpful,” Ridoc drawled.

She rubbed her eyes again. “Xaden will be here tomorrow. Maybe I can—“

She cut herself off when a knock came on the door. Violet was closest, and when she opened it, Liam was waiting, damp-haired and holding a physics textbook. “Please help me,” he said, holding up a half finished assignment, and Violet waved him in.

She nudged The Fables of the Barren out of the way as he took a seat at her desk, her perusal of it forgotten in favor of his homework.

***

a funny little moment between sloane and violet about dain:

“Enjoying the view?”

Sloane jumped at Violet’s approach. “I’m not staring,” she said quickly.

“What do you call it, then?” Violet asked, amused.

“Watching for technique.”

Violet laughed. Dain and Ridoc were sparring, both of them shirtless and sweaty. On the mat next to them, Rhiannon was working with Tessa, patiently walking her through several offensive moves. She was much better than she had been three months ago; she looked stronger, had better posture, moved more smoothly.

“Which one are you watching?” Violet asked.

“Both,” said Sloane imperiously, lifting her chin.

“Well, they’re both trouble, so good luck.”

“I thought Aetos was all straight-laced.” Sloane rolled her eyes. “That’s what Liam says, at least. Told me to avoid him.”

“Dain has a strict sense of morals,” Violet said carefully. “But he’s a good man, or he wouldn’t be here.”

Sloane turned a critical eye her way. “Were you two ever. . .”

“No,” Violet said. Sloane raised an eyebrow, and Violet smiled indulgently. “He kissed me once. It was nothing.”

Sloane’s mouth dropped open. “You’re lying,” she hissed.

“I am not.”

“Does Xaden know?” she whispered, like it was some sort of dirty secret.

“I’m sure he’s guessed.”

***

and finally, an alternate take on xaden and violet's first kiss, taking place at athebyne immediately after xaden woke up from his injuries during the fight:

“Violet—“

She lurched forward, cutting off whatever else he might be about to say by covering his mouth with her own. He caught her, his hands bracketing her waist, but he was otherwise still beneath her touch. She waited, pressing closer, and finally he responded, his mouth slackening as he parted his lips to kiss her back.

“Violet.” It was a groan this time, and he pulled her closer, hungry, urgent, impatient. Wanting. She kissed him again, again, tasting blood on his tongue. He lifted a hand to cup her face, his thumb pressing into her chin beneath her lower lip, and he drew back. “Violet.” Now it was cautious.

“Xaden.” She waited for the rest of the sentence.

“You never answered my question earlier.” He paused, and the silence stretched for a beat too long.

She brushed their lips together again. “You technically never asked me a question,” she pointed out. “But in case it wasn’t clear, this is my answer.”

“I want you to say it,” Xaden whispered.

Violet tipped forward until their foreheads touched, and she stayed there for a moment, sharing air. “I love you.”

He swore, low like he couldn’t quite believe it, and kissed her like he’d never get to do it again. His hands tightened on her, one hand sliding from her waist to her hip, the other tilting her face so he could kiss her deeper, nipping at her lower lip. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but she felt the sensation all over her body. She wound her hands into his hair and shuffled closer. His hands slid down from her hips, gripping her ass to pull her body flush against his. He broke the kiss, tugging her lip between his teeth as he drew back. “Say it again,” he ordered in a rough voice, and she shuddered.

“I love you.” She found his mouth again, unsure how to be separate from him now that they’d started this. Between gasps for air, she murmured, “I love you. Tell me you love me.”

He groaned. “I love you.” He gripped her thigh, pulling her knee up and over so it was braced on the bed against his hip, straddling his thighs. “More than anything.” She pushed forward until Xaden leaned back against the bed and she was half-kneeling above him, still trying to memorize the taste of him. “More than everything.”

She licked into his mouth, shivering when he dug his fingers hard into her skin and pulled her up higher so she sat atop his stomach to reach his mouth easier. Her hands roamed, sliding from his hair, down across his neck and shoulders and broad chest. She reached the hem of his shirt and was sliding her hands beneath the material to touch his bare skin when the door opened.

Violet jerked back, startled, but Xaden only followed her, levering himself upright to try to kiss her again—until he looked over her shoulder and glowered.

“Go the fuck away,” he ordered, wrapping both arms around her waist to pull her close, like whoever had entered might try to steal her away from him. He kissed the curve of her jaw, and Violet tried again to squirm away, but he held her too tightly.

The person at the door made a low sound of disgust. “I wanted to check on you, but I see you’re doing fine,” Brennan said.

Violet jolted again. It would have been bad enough if it was Bodhi or Garrick, but for her big brother to see her plastered against Xaden like this—she’d never hear the end of it.

Xaden didn’t seem to agree, or to care. “You’re going to see a lot more that you don’t want to see if you don’t leave now.”

“Xaden,” Violet hissed.

He only tipped her chin up and brushed his lips over hers. “You tell him to go away,” he murmured.

“Brennan,” Violet said firmly. “Leave.”

#storm in the quiet #deleted scenes

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