#for those of you who have read the salt and are going wait a minute! there was no car salesman in that!: stay tuned for Salt 2 ;)

[gyuswhore]

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

 [You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here. 

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents. 

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7  [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations. 

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway. 

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too. 

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table. 

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway. 

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order. 

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink. 

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved. 

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time. 

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence. 

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either. 

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence. 

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave. 

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.” 

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion. 

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least. 

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him. 

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing. 

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving. 

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him. 

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself. 

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever. 

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth. 

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too. 

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco. 

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.” 

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances. 

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after. 

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!” 

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck. 

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks. 

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault. 

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside. 

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire. 

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting. 

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?” 

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again. 

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little. 

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop. 

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway. 

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators. 

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of. 

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag. 

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask. 

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?” 

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside. 

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things. 

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.  

“Am I late for something again?” 

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all. 

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage. 

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you. 

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.” 

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard. 

“So you can fix it?” 

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.” 

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine. 

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you. 

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work. 

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him. 

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular. 

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close. 

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly. 

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row. 

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.” 

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.” 

You questioned if this was a mistake. 

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course. 

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again. 

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke. 

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t. 

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos. 

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often. 

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving. 

“Shall we go to the office then?” 

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra. 

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed. 

Cute. 

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet. 

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup. 

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side. 

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins. 

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space. 

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?” 

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?” 

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying. 

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues. 

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–” 

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.” 

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease. 

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name. 

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea. 

“Are you doing anything else today?” 

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly. 

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside. 

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt. 

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay. 

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly. 

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination. 

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars. 

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer. 

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched. 

“Fuck, yes you can.” 

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top. 

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers. 

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs. 

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster. 

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace. 

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth. 

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees. 

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy. 

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly. 

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs. 

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support. 

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him. 

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you. 

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash. 

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Archive: Rent-a-Cop Part 1 - 3

"It’s supposed to do what…? …Are you serious Captain?” Officer Grant Johnson sighed looking at his commanding officer with incredulity.

“Johnson, remember you volunteered for this. Now if the professor’s machine works like he says it does, its value to the force will be immeasurable," The Captain typed in some more information onto the panel, going back and forth between some hand-written instructions, furrowing his brow.

“Fine… So you scanned me in or whatever, now what?”

“Just a minute! I need to finish calibrating the damn thing or God knows what it’ll do to you!” Johnson rolled his eyes but nodded, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair impatiently.

“Okay okay… Just remember we do well enough without some freaky gizmo though. I’ve put away some of the baddest guys in this city in my day…” Officer Johnson patted his gut with a chuckle. “…I suppose I have been getting a bit soft though,"

“Well why don’t we see what we can do about that?" The Captain lifted what looked to be a simple wireless microphone.

“Load profile: Grant Johnson.” The machine behind them made a small noise, Officer Johnson looked to it then the Captain and shrugged.

“Reduce age by half, increase muscle mass 300%, and reduce body fat ratio by 80%—”

The Captain cut off and gaped at the sudden change in his subordinate. Gone was the weary looking Officer with the pot-belly looking forward to an ever closer retirement. In his place was a mountain of a man, who looked half bodybuilder/half cop. Johnson just stared at the Captain.

“…What? How long do we wait?”

“What do you mean what? You’re huge!”

Officer Johnson narrowed his eyes at the Captain then looked to his arm, pulling back the sleeve and flexing his massive biceps; it must have been around 24 inches.

"It doesn’t look any bigger… definitely not 200% bigger. And what was with the command to halve my age? You trying to send me back to highschool?” He chuckled a deep, rich, masculine laugh.

The Captain stammered a moment before looking back to the hand-written notes, thumbing through them before speaking into the small microphone again.

“Recall self prior to last command," that did it. Grant yelped, looking back to his arm, giving it a small poke then looking back to the Captain. 

“Holy shit! Captain! Look at me! I can’t believe it! That machine is nuts!” The Captain frowned lightly but nodded.

“Yes, yes. The possibilities are endless, but we’ll need to make sure we note any Officer’s previous self to their changed self… I think we’ll just keep this to ourselves until we can learn a bit more about it.”

“Aww– Fine… Too bad though, with this thing I’d be right back in the swing of it. All those bastards I’ve spent my career taking down would just be the beginning; I could be back on the beat full time.”

“Well, we’ll see. For now lets get you back to normal, lock this place up and head back upstairs. Don’t want anyone in the precinct getting nosy down here…”

-

The captain returned Officer Johnson to normal then the pair left; all without taking note of the surveillance camera silently blinking above their heads. 

In the security room, rookie cop Noah Bartlett stared at the camera footage. He’d been benched and given desk duty after none other than Officer Grant Johnson had accused him of being on the take… 

Nevermind the fact that he was, afterall there were several local crime bosses who paid good money for any tip or advantage they could get against the cops….

An idea slowly formed in Noah’s mind as he looked to the wall at the master security keyring and a smile grew on his face… He wondered how much they would pay for a chance to rent that machine and use it on Officer Oh-So-Perfect Johnson…

--

"You understand, Captain Diaz?"

The older cop replied in a dull monotone "Yes,"

"Yes....what?" the rookie replied, smirking vindictively

"Yes Master Noah,"

"Good," he pulled the machine's microphone close to his mouth and read off a little notecard he had prepared

"Captain Diaz won't consciously remember the events of the last 10 minutes or so. Captain Diaz will return to his office, wait one hour then call Officer Johnson in, and then follow the previously given instructions,"

With that, the Captain wordlessly walked out, while Officer Bartlett quickly reset the room to how it was, before hurrying back to his desk in the security room.

Rico Antonetti was one of the mid to upper level mob figures in the city and he and Officer Noah Bartlett had worked out a few arrangements before getting caught by one oh-so-squeaky-clean Officer Grant Johnson.

Noah had reached out to the mobster and informed him of the department's prototype machine. Rico was skeptical so the two worked out an appropriate demonstration.....

Precisely one hour later, Noah looked up to see Officer Grant Johnson on one of his monitors, step into the Captain's office and take a seat

"Listen Johnson, we've got a tip off about some new little bordello Antonetti has setup downtown. It might be bogus, but I need you to go in and investigate,"

"Sure Cap, let me get a team together and we'll be able to hit the place by tomorrow nig---"

"NO! Er......no, that will be too late, these places move around and we don't know how many ears Rico has in the department. If we want to hit him while this info is good, we need to do it tonight and I need you to go by yourself,"

"Uhh....that sounds more than a little bit risky, don't you think, Captain?"

"Yes, or at least it would be, if we didn't have our department's new toy," the Captain said sternly

"Oh....yeah, I guess so then. If you think it's that serious...."

"I do, let's get you prep," quickly replied the Captain as he stood up from his seat and opened the door briskly

Noah almost giggled with glee as he watched the two depart the Captain's office and head to the storeroom where the Professor had dropped off the machine. Everything was going according to script so far

"Alright Johnson, you ready?" The Captain picked up the wireless mic, flipping the machine on

"Yes Sir," Grant smiled, giving his somewhat rotund belly a gentle pat goodbye

"Load Profile: Grant Johnson." once more the machine whirred to life, humming softly and awaiting input. "Subject will recall self following this set of commands: Reduce age by 60%, increase muscle mass by 200%....."

The Captain's voice and face then seemed to go a bit slack and he took the microphone and opened the door to exit the room

"Err...everything alright, boss?"

"Yes, wait there, I need to check something,"

Captain Diaz quietly made his way down the hall to the security room, he opened the door where Officer Bartlett sat grinning

"Welcome Cap, I'll take that," he reached out, grabbing the mic and looking back to the video feed of the new, younger, buffer Officer Grant Johnson sitting patiently

"Subject will not recall self following this new set of commands. Change sexuality to homosexual. Increase libido by 300%. Reduce work ethic by 75%. Add behaviors: narcissism, arrogance, exhibitionism, bullying, domineering, perversion, and of course, corruption," Noah watched as the posture and attitude of Officer Johnson shifted. The man in the monitor crudely rubbed his genitals through his uniform pants and impatiently checked his wristwatch before noting the mirrored window in the room and stepping up to flex in front of it

"Perfect, now reduce subject employment standing to rookie, erase all experience of previous service and update it to 3 months," the stripes on Grant's uniform vanished, "Subject will continue flexing in the storeroom until Captain Diaz returns," there was no change in the cocky behavior on the monitor, but Noah knew Grant would stay like that as long as needed now

"Load profile: Carlos Diaz. Subject will believe that Officer Grant Johnson has always been as he is now and has not been changed by the machine. Subject will load in each member of the department's profiles overnight tonight and make the same changes to their recollection as well. Subject will not consciously remember the events of the last hour and will return to scold Officer Johson for being where he shouldn't be, then send him out,"

Captain Diaz silently left the security room and Officer Bartlett returned to his monitor. He watched smiling as the Captain entered the storeroom and clearly yelled something at the now rookie Grant Johnson. Officer Johnson replied by gripping his own groin and flipping the Captain off as he left.

"Now then, tonight should go on as planned,"

--

Grant drove down the street slowly. It was dark and while he may not have given a shit about what he was doing, he was still a cop. He saw the kid on the corner signal to someone as soon as he showed up. But that was fine, let 'em get their shit out of there, it would be less work on his part.

He parked a couple houses down from the address his tightass Captain had given him for this supposed brothel and slowly approached. From the front it looked like any other kind of shared housing in one of the city's projects

He eyed the door, strangely it was left ajar. He carefully slipped inside, having to squeeze his muscular form through rather tightly so as not to risk moving the door any further

The first floor was dark but as he peered up the stairs, he saw the second level was well lit......if anything's going down, it's up there

He thought he moved quite silently but in reality he was rushing and the house creaked under his weight with each step. When he reached the top, he saw a hallway full of closed doors, save one left half open with light pouring out of it

He crept towards it, growing annoyed at what a waste of time this was turning out to be. He paused by the door when he heard a young man speaking on the phone

"Yeah....yeah he's comin' so I called like you told me to....yeah, you're sure about this?.....Naw naw, I'm good for it.... Alright, alright, then do whatever it is you're gonna do, I'll let you know,"

The young man hung up the phone, Grant furrowed his brow at what he'd heard.....it sounded like something might actually about to go down....Looks like showtime. He stepped forward, kicking the door open and entering the room with his gun drawn

"DON'T MOVE!" yelled Grant with his deep baritone voice with that hint of coarseness from his smoking habit

The room looked like a simple one bedroom unit, hardly the sex den he was expecting. On the bed seated a rather handsome college-aged jock, he had his arms raised and was watching the police officer, but he didn't seem startled. Grant frowned and looked around the room before stepping to the man and patting him down; finding no weapon, he put away his firearm.

"We got a tipoff about prostitutes working out of this address to supply the mob. You know anything about that?"

The young jock paused for a moment looking at Grant just long enough to begin annoying him, before finally answering tentatively

"Of course Officer.....that's what I'm doing here," Grant just stared a moment......did this little twunk just admit to being a whore?

"You're a hooker?"

Sensing Grant's confusion, the young man smiled and nodded. He stood and approached the cop

"Yeah.....Rico said I was your favorite after last time, so it was my job to......cover your protection fee...." the jock's hands were a bit rough but his puppy eyes really caught his attention and radiate this submissiveness Grant cannot resist. He softly stroked Grant's chest and stomach, causing the ripped Officer to moan and shudder in delight

"Oh...oh yeah, now I remember you," Grant's stated with more conviction, his memories betrayed him as it created false imagery of the time he's sitting in the mob-run nightclub with all the male strippers dancing to tease him

The rather handsome hooker simply smiled impishly, his hand caressing lower, which caused Grant to growl in beastly burst of lust, pushing the young man back onto the bed

-

An hour or so later, Grant called in to Captain Diaz, the tip had been bullshit it seemed. The Captain was pissed but Grant didn't care. Meanwhile, Officer Bartlett popped open a bottle of wine when he received a call from one very convinced and very interested crime boss....

-------

Check out my spin-off from this beloved series originally made by coyote-r

More to come later this week

[eddiesxangel]

I Don’t Think We Are In 1986 Anymore? Part 2

Big thanks to @allthingsjoeq @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing for the prompts. The Stranger Prompts - directly from the Twilight Zone.

Sort of proof read, if you see mistakes no you didn’t… Sharing is caring. Reblog and comment 💙

You have to read part 1 for this to make any sense.

Cw: time travel, modern/Henderson reader, the aftermath of the upside down/ finding out who your father is and the reunion they never thought possible. Angst, fluff, smut 18+ content, fingering (f), oral (m) p in v sex, cream pie, MDNI

wc: 10k. oops

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

"What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck!"

You watch and listen as your father has a mental breakdown in your open-concept kitchen. You just got off the phone with your uncle Steve, telling him to get to your place ASAP.

Your dad was stunned… and Eddie was stunned… What were the odds that Eddie would stumble into the house belonging to Dustin Henderson’s daughter?

Eddie could barely discern any similarities. You resembled the woman who came in after Dustin, and Eddie could only presume it was your mother. If he squinted, your eye shape was somewhat reminiscent of Dustin's, but even that was a stretch.

“How?! When?! Holy shit, man, you’re-you’re dead! You died in the upside down!” Your father was dumbstruck, as was your mother, because Eddie died in 1986. Everyone mourned and moved on with life. 

“The upside down?” You looked to your mom to see if she knew what the two men were discussing. It seemed that she was also withholding something from you. 

“I don’t know, man! That was only a few hours ago for me!” Eddie yelled.

“Holy shit,” your dad whispered.

“Wait. You think I’m dead? Like you guys just left me there? In that place?! With those demo-bats?” Eddie’s eyes were wide and, if you were being honest, he looked a little crazy.

“Well… I mean… so much shit was still happening!” 

Your dad was interrupted by a frivolous knocking on the door. 

You rush over to the door. Standing on the other side are your Uncle Steve and Aunt Robin, aka the woman from whom you got your nickname. 

You grab both of them before they can even say hello and drag them by their shirt sleeves. 

“Woah, Birdie, what’s going on!” 

You didn’t need to speak because you were in the kitchen before they could continue. 

You hear your aunt audibly gasp, and your uncle’s mouth hangs agape, stunned. 

There he was, a dead man walking in your kitchen, clear as day. 

“What the fuck”-“That’s not?”

“Uh, hey,” Eddie waves. 

“Holly shit,” they both say in unison. 

Before Eddie knew what was happening, Robin charged at him and wrapped him in a bear hug. 

This was weird for Eddie. He hardly knew the woman—not really. He had only spoken to her for the first time a week ago… well, a week and thirty-eight years ago. 

“Ouch!” -“Sorry!”

“What the actual fuck is going on” she pulled back, still gripping his shoulders. 

“Hey, uh, Robin.”

Her long fingers trailed up his shoulders to grab him by the face, squishing his cheeks together, not believing the sight before her. 

Despite the passing years, her youthful features still shone through. Her face was adorned with a sprinkle of freckles, her hair, still a beautiful shade of dirty blonde with some strands of silver, was now cut a little shorter, but it looked just as radiant as ever. She was unmistakably Robin, just a more mature and refined version of herself.

“Ohhhh-okay,” Eddie forced her hands off his cheeks. 

“Okay, what is going on here?” Steve spoke.

Eddie's eyes lingered on his acquaintance, taking in the lines etched into his face like a map of time. Despite the signs of age, he still looked strikingly handsome, with broad shoulders and a sturdy frame that spoke of years of hard work. His hair, once a wild mop, was now tamed into a close-cropped salt-and-pepper buzz cut. Eddie couldn't help but admire how his friend had aged with dignity and grace, and he felt a twinge of envy at his own mortality.

“One minute, we're in the upside-down fighting off those… those creatures,” Eddie looks to your dad, “and the next…” Eddie waved his hands above his head before flinching from the pain of the bat bites. “I was here!” 

“I don’t understand,” Robin said. 

“You think I do?!” He looked at her. 

“Woah, guys, let’s just calm down,” Steve tried to defuse the room. 

“Calm down? I just learned everyone left me for dead.” Eddie’s voice hitched. 

God, you had a lot of questions. 

“Come on, man, we couldn’t go back without another one of us dying. You stopped breathing in my arms! I swore you had died. I-I-I,” Dustin stammered.

You had never seen your father so distraught. 

“Fuck, come here, man” Eddie reached out to hug his friend. 

It had been mere hours to Eddie, but for his friends, it had been years of mourning and grieving, the acceptance that Eddie Munson was gone from the world. 

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask, breaking the moment. 

“Not now, honey,” your dad spoke, wiping a stray tear. 

“Yes, now!” You screamed. “What are you all talking about? Leaving him for dead? Fighting off creatures? Bats? I saw his wounds! A bat did not make that so. What. happened. in. 1986? And do not tell me an earthquake…” 

After a long explanation, you still could not understand what the most important people in your life had been keeping from you for twenty-eight years. 

“So that brings us to now…” Dustin looked at Eddie. “Tell us exactly what you remember.” 

“I was with you,” he said, pointing to your dad. “And the bats got me; I passed out, I guess because I didn’t remember anything, and when I woke up, I was in the trailer park, but it wasn’t the trailer park anymore… I was here.” 

“There must be an explanation… do you think a gate is open now?” Steve spoke. 

“Not possible; that was closed years ago.” 

“Wait, so what happened to Vecna?” Eddie asked. 

“El dealt with him; he’s long gone.” 

“Wait… Aunt Jane?” You clarified. 

“Yes,” the group confirmed. 

You still cannot believe what the fuck was going on? How everyone seemed so casual about the topic of supernatural occurrences happening in the eighties. 

“I think I need to lie down…” you excuse yourself from the conversation. 

This was too much, too overwhelming. How were you to believe all of this? The evidence was right in front of you… Eddie had time-travelled, and your family confirmed that. 

“Birdie honey, I’m sorry; I never wanted you to learn about all the shit we went through.” Your father pulled you in for a hug before you got too far. 

You needed a second to collect your thoughts, so you went to your living room to lay on your couch. 

You replay the details of what just sprung on you. A man with supernatural powers wanted to take over the town of Hawkins, Indiana, and your aunt, who also has supernatural powers, defeated him. Your dad and his friends, your aunts and uncles, helped. Your super nerdy, uncool father helped save the world. And Eddie, their dead friend, was now alive; somehow time travelled unknowingly and is sitting in your kitchen…

You’re unsure how much time has passed, but you feel the couch dip by your feet. 

“Hey,” a deep voice you’ve now recognized as Eddie filled the empty room. 

“Hey,” you open your eyes and face him. 

“I uh… I just wanted to thank you for everything. You’re being super cool about all of this, about not calling the police on me, calling Dustin- uh, your Dad-that’s so fucking weird to say- I’m glad it was your home I broke into.” He fiddled with the hem of the borrowed shirt you lent him. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m being cool. Honestly, I’m freaking out, but you’re welcome.” You half-heartedly smile. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m just as freaked out about this whole mess as you are… in the same boat and all, I guess.”

You hum with acceptance.

When you finally came around and decided to get off the couch, Eddie had already returned to the group's elders, and you walked in on their conversation. 

“Oh, god! Wayne?! Is he? Where?” Eddie couldn’t believe this was the first time he thought of his uncle’s whereabouts. 

“I’m so sorry, Ed.” Dustin couldn’t look him in the eye as he spoke. 

“He’s… what happened?” His voice shook. 

“We would visit from time to time over the years; he found a wife, he never stopped talking about you, he loved you.” Robin smiled as tears welled. 

“The uh… the smoking caught up to him. Lung cancer. He was diagnosed about ten years ago. He fought it for a long time but passed in 2019.” you hear your dad sigh. “…but even if he were still alive, Eddie, you’d sure give him a heart attack if he saw you,” Dustin chides 

“No… yea... No, I guess he would be almost ninety-four now…” Eddie sniffles, trying to hide his glossy eyes.

Not even five hours into living in the future, and it sucked immensely; who knows if he would get to go back home to his time. you felt for him your heart yearned to hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay, but you just met the guy.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” Your dad touched his shoulder, and your mom looked at him sorrowfully. Like you, she had never met the man your dad idolized. 

As a kid, you were told stories of the great Eddie the Banished, and you worshiped what your father told you about him. But now, seeing the real man in the flesh, wounded, scared, and confused, humanized him. You felt so sorry for him; you wanted to do all you could to help him. 

“Ed, I think we should take you to a hospital,” Steve spoke, breaking the tension. 

“How? I don’t exist. I can’t pay for anything.”

“We have insurance and money; we can pay for it,” Steve rebutted. 

“What if someone recognized me?” 

“What if we gave you a makeover?” You suggested. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“My daughter is right, Eddie; you stick out like a soar thumb.” 

“What do I need to change?” He asks hesitantly. 

“The hair,” you nod. 

“No."

"Not like all of it, but, you know... shorter" You cocked your head, amazing his features.

He was very handsome, and you were attracted to him more than you would care to admit. You should not feel like this toward your dad's friend. Technically, he was thirty years your senior, but you were older than him in the real world.

Eventually, you will accept your supernatural time-travelling weird-ass family secret, but for now, you need to focus on Eddie healing and looking like he was from this century. 

You take to your phone for inspiration. Tapping away on the touch screen, Eddie is memorized by the new technology before him. 

“Can you uh- show me that stuff?” He points to your phone in your hands. 

“Yeah, of course,” you blush; Eddie's intense gaze on you didn’t go unnoticed by your overbearing father. 

“Woah woah woah, no—nope,” Dustin spoke as he wedged between you and the time-travelling man.

“Dad!” You scold.

“What are you even talking about, man?” 

“I know you, Eddie,” your father gave him a stern look. 

“I had no idea what you’re talking about?” he shook his head. But he was lying. He thought you were hot; there was no denying that. It was weird that you were Dustin’s offspring, but did that matter to Eddie? No. He has experienced much weirder these past few days.

“Let’s focus people.” Steve snapped. “Makeover—than a hospital.”

After some internet sleuthing, you and Eddie decided on a haircut you both agreed on. 

“You trust me?” You raise your brows. 

“No, but I don’t really have a choice.” He looked at your overprotective father, hovering, not leaving the two of you unsupervised. 

“Dad, there is not enough room in the bathroom for all of us. Can you leave?” You sass. 

“No funny business,” he points.

"No funny business? The girl has scissors to my head." 

“Mooooooom,” you call for her to help.  

This was ridiculous. You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices, and Eddie is injured; that’s probably the last thing on his mind… and he’s probably not even thinking about you like that. So what could possibly happen? 

You turn to Eddie with a smile as your mom drags away your father. 

As you work away chopping at his hair, rewinding, and re-watching the tutorial off TikTok, you are not paying attention to Eddie's reaction to cutting his hair. If you looked down, you would see a man in pure heaven, blissed out by your touch. To see Eddie's eyes close when your fingers run through his hair. Eddie hadn’t had someone touch his hair in years, not since he first started growing it out. Fully immersion making sure his hair is even, you also don’t notice that you’re standing between his legs and your tits are sat directly at Eddie’s eye level, bouncing around in your tank top, as your arms work above his head. 

Eddie tried hard not to stare; that’s another reason why his eyes were closed, but here he was, basking in your touch while fighting with himself to keep his eyes from zeroing in on your chest. He felt overwhelmed by you in the best way possible, your delicate voice and gentle touch mixed with your sweet-smelling perfumes and hair products. It didn’t take much for Eddie to get wrapped up in you. You had been so kind to him; he was so scared this morning. He was scared of the pain of his injuries; he was alone and the fact that he was no longer in his proper time. 

You made him feel comfortable and safe, but you also made him nervous because he is attracted to you. Once the fright wore off and the calm washed over him when you offered your shower and food, it was instant; how couldn’t he fall for your beauty? 

“What about my face?” Eddie speaks, his eyes still baring into your chest. 

“What about it?” As you step back, your eyes are drawn to the man beneath you. You can't help but admire the striking features that define his face. You trimmed his unruly, chocolate-brown hair, but it still falls in gentle waves that frame his face beautifully. The freckles that dot his cheeks and nose add a touch of playfulness to his otherwise serious expression. But it's his eyes. Those are what captivate you the most. Thick, dark lashes frame deep, earthy-toned irises that seem to hold a whole other world. You can't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight of him.

“Should I shave?” She cocks his head, a few wet tendrils fall on his forehead, and you can’t help but admire his beauty. His scratched face bore a five-o-clock shadow; the circles under his eyes only darkened as the hours passed. However, it only made his deep brown orbs that much more compelling.

“No,” you smile. “I like the scruff.” 

You step back again to admire your work, and Eddie’s eyes awkwardly try to look everywhere but you. 

“Okay, I think we are good,” you smile as you run your fingers through his curls again with a bit more holding mousse. 

Eddie holds back a whimper when your fingers are no longer in contact with his scalp, but he swallows it and stands up off the chair to look in the mirror. 

He smirks at the soft mullet look you’ve given him. It’s still a nod to the eighties but more modern. It’s long still, but he reluctantly doesn’t hate it. 

“I don’t have anything to tip you with,” he awkwardly giggles. 

“That’s okay. You can thank me later.” 

“SHIT” 

“What? What's wrong?” Eddie whipped his head around. He hated hospitals.

“It’s Andy.”

“As in Jason’s friend Andy? As in, Andy that tried killing me, Andy?” 

“Yea, he’s a doctor now.” 

“Fuck” Eddie whispered under his breath. 

“Ok, new plan. You’re my nephew, and your name is Jeremy.” Dustin removed his glasses and put them on Eddie as an extra disguise. 

“Jeremy?” 

“Jeremy.” 

“Dude no, that—“

“How can I help you, gentleman, this afternoon?” Andy. Dr. Andy pushed aside the curtain. 

“He was out hiking and was attacked by a… a….” Dustin stumbled. 

“Bobcat,” Eddie finished. 

“A bobcat in Hawkins?” Dr. Andy raised a brow in question. 

“I was up north. I patched it up, but I thought it should be looked at.” Eddie cleared his throat. 

“OK, let’s take a look. Where is the injury.” He puts down his tablet and watches how Eddie lifts up his shirt, revealing the amateur job you’ve done. 

“It’s also on my leg, but it’s uh, this is the worst of it.” he clears his throat, wincing as Andy peels back the medical tape. 

He lets out a whistle as he examines Eddie’s torso. 

“A bobcat you say?” 

Eddie nods his head silently. 

“Okay, it looks like it’s been cleaned pretty well. You did a good job, but I’ll have to suture some of the gashes that are still bleeding. Andy looks at Eddie and really looks at him this time. 

“Do I?  What did you say your name is?” 

“Jeremy Potter, my nephew! On my wife’s side.” Dustin interrupted. 

Eddie gave him a look to cool it. He was so jumpy it would be suspicious. 

“Huh. Ok. Let’s get you all fixed.” 

A half-hour later, Eddie and your dad stroll out of the examination room with some antiseptic creams and low-grade painkillers. 

“So, uh, it’s getting late; should we grab dinner and go back to Birdie’s?” your dad says. 

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” Eddie can hear his stomach growl again. 

After picking up the food, Eddie and your dad finally arrived at your place, almost five hours later. You had spent the entire time waiting at home, feeling anxious and restless. As you waited, you couldn't help but imagine Eddie being tended to by a cute nurse. You pictured her doting on him, taking care of him in ways you never could. The thought of him falling for her made your heart ache with jealousy. Despite your best efforts to push away these feelings, you couldn't help but imagine him walking away from you, leaving you behind.

You didn't understand why these feelings were happening. You’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, and the urge to protect and care for him was so strong. You were already starting to miss him and worry about him.

Your mom kept you company, as she felt it wasn’t good for either of you to be alone. The others had to leave, but your mom stayed, and you discussed more of what happened before you were conceived. She knew exactly how you felt, overwhelmed and crazy. It took a while for her to come to terms with what your father described to her all those years ago, but she loved him too much not to believe him, especially when she saw what Jane could do. 

A sense of relief washed over you as your dad and Eddie returned from the hospital. They were okay; his injuries weren’t bad, and he could return to you.  

“Could I stay with, uh, with you guys? Eddie asks your folks, and you set the table, and your stomach drops.

“Shit, man, we are renovating right now; we don’t have space.” 

“You can stay here,” you quickly offered. Your whole guest room hadn’t been used in months. 

“Are you sure? I don’t—you have already done so much for me.” He blushes. 

“Please? I insist.” 

You couldn’t sleep, and he wasn’t going out on the street.

“You raised a good one, Dusty Bun,” Eddie teased.

“Dusty Bun?” You giggle.

“Oh yes your dad had this imaginary girlfriend, Suzy, and—“

“She was real!” Your dad boomed back.

And the three of you laughed.

The house fell silent when your parents left. After saying your goodbyes, you and Eddie stood awkwardly by the door until you offered to show him the room in which he would be staying.

“Sorry if it’s a little feminine for your taste, but the mattress is really comfortable; it’s memory foam,” you smiled.

“Memory foam?” He questioned.

“You sink into it and feel like you’re on a cloud, trust me. Give it a go,” you gesture to the bed for him to sit on.

You watch as Eddie takes a few steps, and she’s his body to sit on the edge; when his bum hits the comforter, his eyes widen, and he falls back and lets out a moan.

“Holy shit, I’m never leaving” he splays himself over the mattress, and you can’t help but giggle.

“I mean-“

“It’s okay, Eddie, I understand. You can stay as long as you need to.”

Who knows how much time he will be here? How would you even begin to figure out how he gets back home? And can he even get back home? Would he have to go through the upside-down again? Or could he just appear back in the real Hawkins? So many unsolved answers were running through everyone’s minds.

Did Eddie even want to go back? Probably. That would be a bummer, you like him, and not only because he is your father’s good friend….

The longer you pondered, the more awkward the silence became.

“Hey, you want a drink?” you offer, not really thinking; you just need something to ease the tension.“Wait, are you old enough to have a drink?” you eye him. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, I can take a drink.” 

“How old did you say you were again?” 

“I’ll be twenty-two this….year? Well, uh, you know.”

You both walk back to your kitchen and grab the bottle of white wine from the fridge.

“This is all I have, I hope it’s okay?”

“I’ll take anything,” he smirks, and your stomach does a summersault.

You ignore the deep inner attraction and walk over to the cabinet where you keep your glassware.

“So, uh— you gonna call me Uncle Eddie?”

You turn to see that smirk still plastered on his face.

“Absolutely not,” you deadpan.

“Why not?”

Because that would mean I want to fuck my uncle…

“I’m older than you.” You uncork the bottle and pour two big glasses each.

“Not technically."

"Technically, you'd be old and wrinkly," you giggle.

"I would still be a badass, though."

"A badass?"

"Oh yeah, everyone is scared of me." He looked a bit sad.

Your dad did tell you how the town was scared of devil worship and shit but you never took it seriously.

“Not scary to me,” you smile.

“Oh yeah, you could handle all of this?”

“I’m a grown woman; you couldn’t handle me.” You pass him the wine glass.

“I’m technically older than you,” he reminds you again. 

“You’re lucky you’re the legal drinking age.”

“Still legal.” His tone implies something more. 

“I could run laps around you.”

“You think so?”

“I know sweetheart”

The name made your stomach flip, and you took a big sip of wine before you moved to sit on your sofa in the living room.

Eddie followed and sat on the other side facing you.

“So tell me more about the future.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Shit, everything.” He took a long sip and hummed at the flavour.

“What’s Ozzy doing?”

“Like Ozzy Osborn?”

“Yea.”

“He’s fine; he used to have a reality show," you giggled.

“About what?”

“Him and his family.”

“Really? And people like that?”

“Oh, yeah, it was huge. I never watched it, but it was pretty mainstream…. You like metal?”

“Like is an understatement. Had my own band and everything.”

“Oh yea dad mentioned that Uncle Jeff was in a band… coffin something?”

Eddie bloomed with pride that you knew of his band. His face turned flush but he could blame that on the alcohol.

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Yes that’s it!” You snapped your fingers. “You cover anything I would know?”

“Uh maybe? Metallica, Dio, Ozzy… obviously.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some stuff from those bands. Uh, here, let me put on something. “ you smile and grab your phone.

Eddie watches in awe as your fingers click against the glowing rectangle in your hands.

“That thing can play music?”

You nod your head and smile.

“Anything it can’t do?”

“Not really” you shake your head.

You find an 80’a playlist, thinking it will make him feel at home and he was in awe.

“Can you show me more about that?” He points to your smartphone.

“Um- yea sure.” You scoot closer to him so he can see and he looks down at the glowing screen.

As you show him the different features, he’s enamoured with Spotify. He loves how you can have any music at your fingertips.

Google was also another thing he had way too much fun with, asking anything and everything he could think of. He googled Metallica and was shocked when they were nominated for a Grammy only a few years later.

Online shopping was also a whirlwind to explain. Amazon was a trip for him; he couldn't believe in one-day shipping for anything you could desire.

“You mentioned you liked fantasy stuff, what do you like?” You snuggled into him closer so you could see the phone in Eddie’s grip.

“Lord of the rings, D&D, Excalibur— "

"Oh my god!" you jump, and so does Eddie.

"What?!"

You don't answer but scurry to find your TV remote.

"Woah," Eddie mumbles as he sees the crisp picture on the flat screen, which lights up the dark room.

You hold down the mic button on the remote and speak into it. Sure, you could have typed it out, but showing Eddie futuristic things was fun.

"Lord of the Rings"

You turn and watch Eddie to see his eyes light up when the trilogy of movies appears on screen.

"No way!"

"There are also three movies of The Hobbit," you giggle.

It was like watching a kid on Christmas morning. The pure joy on Eddie's face said this was the best news he’d ever heard. And to his defence, this was the best thing that’d happened to him in about three weeks.

“Well, I know what I’m doing tomorrow. I need to be all in and clear-minded when I get to experience these.”

“We can make a day of it.” You smile, not even thinking about your job or any responsibilities. Sure, you worked from home, but you were not getting any work with Eddie in the house.

“Really?” He smiles.

“Yea.” You smile back.

The look in his eyes was too intense. You had to break eye contact and excuse yourself to get the bottle.

You don’t even ask Eddie if he wants more, but you empty the contents into his glass and then return to get the second bottle in the back of your fridge.

The conversation held its own as you explained to Eddie about Tesla, social media, legalization of weed in some states, LGBTQ+ rights, 9/11, Obama, Trump, and the pandemic. You didn't want to overwhelm him with too much at first, but you settled on important things.

“Is sex still the same in the future?” He asked casually. And you almost choke.

“Explain to me how it is in the eighties, and I’ll let you know,” you giggle. The alcohol was definitely taking effect.

“W-w-well I….shit” he didn’t think you’d bite.

“Come on, Eddie. We are both adults.” You slide your foot across the couch and nudge his leg playfully.

“Never mind, forget it.” He blushes.

“No, come on, what do you want to know?”

“Is porn still a thing?” He meekly asks, and you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I promise I’m not laughing at you; it’s just like the biggest industry on the internet.”

“Yea?”

“Oh yea. Anything you are into it’s there. Trust me.”

“Trust you? You’ve paid for porn? Sweetheart, I didn’t take you as that kinda girl,” He accuses.

“Hell no, I don’t pay for it.” You laugh.

“Then how do you know what’s out there?” He retorted.

“Because it’s free.” You take your last sip of wine for the night.

Eddie stares at you, mouth agape.

“I’m a single woman, and I have needs.” You defend.

Eddie was stunned. Did he just hear that you touch yourself to free porn on that tiny electric box in your hands? Yes, he did.

“Uh— uh, is there any chance I could brow that phone thing you got there?"

"Absolutely not!" you laughed.

"Why not?! I’m a curious man! I need to learn I have needs too."

"Good night, Eddie," you laugh as you get up off the couch.

“Birdie, come on, please!”

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You shake your head and leave Eddie alone to get ready for bed.

The next morning you were tired, to say the least. You’d gone to bed late and decided to call in sick for the rest of the week.

You woke up around 10:00 a.m. to find the guest room door ajar, and Eddie was still sound asleep. He probably needed a good night's sleep after everything he’d been through, so you made your way downstairs to make breakfast for the both of you.

As the smells wafted through the house, they made their way to the guest room and woke up Eddie instantly. He woke up with a jerk, having forgotten where he was for a split second, but he calmed down once he remembered you.

“He pulled on the same sweatpants and shirt you gave him yesterday and stumbled down to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepy head,” you smiled over your shoulder.

Eddie wasn’t ready to see you in only a small tank top and tiny sleep shorts.

“M-morning” he stuttered as he took in the view of you.

“I’m making us some food; hope you like bacon and eggs”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“How about coffee?” You walk over to your specialty coffee bar. You loved making gourmet coffees with the syrups and milks.

“Black, please.” he walked over to see the different options.

“That’s so boring! Let me make you something special.”

He gave another funny look, but you insisted.

So you ignore his request, brew your cinnamon coffee pod, add dulce de leche-flavoured syrup and a splash of cream, and slide it over to him.

He looks at you suspiciously, sniffs it and gives a curious look.

“Oh my god, it’s delicious. Just taste it.”

“I’m not sure what freaky futuristic shit you put in this,” he teases.

You squint your eyes but then give a smirk of satisfaction as his eyes bulge as he takes the first sip.

“Shit, that’s good,” he mumbles before taking another sip.

“Told ya” you turn back to the food of the stove to start platting it.

It was fairly quiet as the both of you ate. Eddie was still scarfing down the food like he’d never eaten a home-cooked meal, which made you more curious about the events he’d been through.

“I was thinking we could go shopping today. Can we get you some clothes and maybe a phone?” You tease.

“A phone?” He perked up.

“Maybe, I’m not sure how long you’re staying, and if you wanted to keep in contact with everyone, it’s the easiest way.” You shrugged.

“O-o-okay. But then we can come back here and watch Lord of the Rings?"

"Of course." You smile

Your dad and Uncle Steve met you at the Starcourt Mall around noon. You never thought you would be shopping with these two and their dead friend, but here you were.

After a very long time in Target, and a fashion show, Eddie got a full wardrobe.

“Can we get Eddie a phone?” You ask as you hrough the familiar halls.

“Really? Do you think he needs one? We don’t know how long he’ll be here,

“We don’t even know if we can get him back home”

“I think I’d like one… if it isn’t too much money.” Eddie asked.

“Don’t worry about that Ed’s” your dad turns.

So you and Eddie walk over to the mobile booth and get him a basic smartphone so he can interact with everyone.

Eddie was still enamoured by the touch screen technology, especially in your car. You had to tell him off for messing with the music but he couldn’t help himself.

You let him know you’d help him with his playlist once you got home.

When you and Eddie get home, you teach him how to use it. After the painstaking lesson, he seems to eventually get used to the new technology. He seemed like a natural after an hour or so then the two of you settled down to watch the movie.

You had the whole set up with blankets, pillows, snacks, and drinks.

It turns out Eddie has a knack for new technology because that night, it didn’t take much for him to find porn. He was overwhelmed by the thousands of options. He clicked the first few that were featured and came within seconds of watching, but Eddie was determined and unbelievably horny. After the first time, he wasn’t satisfied, so he continued to look for videos. His curiosity took over with all of the categories, but he found himself going back to the ones where the girl resembled you.

As you’re laying in bed trying to fall asleep, you hear him. Did he not release how loud he was? How incredibly hot he sounded as his grunts travelled through your walls. You couldn’t get the image of Eddie touching himself out of your head, no matter how hard you tried to block him out. You couldn’t even get your headphones because they were in your purse downstairs, and you didn’t want to get up and alarm Eddie.

So you lay there on your phone, scrolling mindlessly until you see Eddie’s new contact pop up. You click on it instantly. It’s a voice note.

Do you dare? You know what he’s doing down the hallway. Even if it is muffled, it’s obvious. You can hear the moans of a girl getting fucked on the screen.

The little devil on your shoulder wins as you find yourself pressing play.

‘Uuuuuuuh fuck-yessssss, just like that! Unnnnnngh mmmmmmmm so hot, fuck-“

His voice was deep and gasping with need.

You didn’t even know you could record a voice note while watching a video, but who knows?

“Such a good girl. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm”

And it cuts off. You rewind it again to listen to him say goodgirl, and your stomach flip flops, and you can feel something burning in your core.

It’s been so long since you’ve been with anyone. You can’t help but reach for your vibrator hidden in your nightstand.

You replay the voice note and turn it on. You imagined Eddie’s body on yours, how he would touch your skin, kiss your collarbone, eat you out, praise you; God, his voice was so hot, you were quivering with pleasure. Before you knew it, you had been cumming within minutes.

The next morning, you, too, were oblivious to Eddie also hearing your needy breaths.

He had no idea that he was the reason behind them, but when he heard the toy's low humming and your moans, he had a slight hunch that you were also doing the same as him.

“Sleep well?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to see Eddie trying to figure out the coffee maker. He turns to see you in nothing but a large T-shirt, fuzzy socks, and bunny slippers, and he never thought he could feel more butterflies looking at someone. It’s fast, it’s strong, and it’s scaring Eddie. His attraction to you is nothing like he’s experienced before.

“Uh yeah— you?" you think back to how you fell asleep, blissed out.

“Yeah,” he smirks, also thinking back to how he made himself cum three times last night, a new personal best.

You think for a minute that you should tell him about the voice note, but you decide against it. It would only be an uncomfortable situation. So you leave it and pretend like nothing happened.

You drove both you and Eddie to Uncle Steve's house. It was a strange and surreal experience watching Steve and Eddie interact, as if no time had passed since they last saw each other. It was like they had picked up their friendship right where they left off.

As you and Eddie caught up with Steve, you learned about what happened after the incident. There was a funeral, which was attended by few people, but the ones who mattered were there. You discovered that the kids took turns visiting the empty grave, cleaning up the graffiti left by the townspeople. Eventually, the graffiti stopped and people ceased to care. However, Hellfire and the rest of the gang still visited the grave and left flowers from time to time.

Steve got married, but the marriage didn't last long. You remembered how much you disliked her when they visited you as a kid. Steve never got over Nancy; he still loved her, even though she chose someone else. He hoped they would find their way back to each other someday, but she had moved overseas for investigative journalism.

Eddie wasn't surprised to hear that Uncle Mike and Aunt Jane got married. Although he had never met her, he remembered how fondly Mike had spoken about her. Mike loved her with all his heart.

You also learned that Will, the other boy Eddie never met, became a big animator working in LA. Steve shared that Lucas was the basketball coach at Hawkins High, and Erica had become a CEO.

Eddie asked about Max, and Steve replied that she was okay now. It took a while, but after Vecna had gotten to her, she was in a coma for months. Her vision never came back, and it took a long time for her to recover. Steve half-heartedly smiled. Eddie cringed and asked if Vecna had any more victims, and Steve replied that Carver hadn't made it. There was a huge earthquake that came from the Upside Down that killed about ten people they didn't know. Talking about it was clearly bothering Steve, but Eddie needed to know.

"Can you show us some pictures?" You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, sure, kid." He smiles and leads you to where he kept the photo albums. After seeing all the memories Eddie missed out on, he felt a feeling he's never felt before.

"You okay?" You ask, noticing how quiet he was on the drive back.

"Yeah? No? I don’t know. I’m just— I missed out so much! I was supposed to be there with them! I'm starting to regret my choice of staying back… I. Shit that sounds awful, but I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be back there, in 1986, with my friends and my uncle! And now I'm stuck here and don't even know if I'll be able to go back home?!"

You don't know why you're hurt by Eddie's words, but you are. This wasn't about you, but the thought of Eddie not wanting to be here made you feel like he doesn't want to be with you.

"Don't say that, Eddie! What you did was brave; it was dignified! You chose to help save your friends. Sure, it was a little stupid because you died. Or didn't die? I don't know… but I always saw you as this hero my dad would talk about! You're honourable and kind and so selfless. And somehow, it led you to here…"

To me.

"Thanks, Sweetheart."

The nickname made your heart flutter. It's not the first time he called you that, but each time it doesn't go unnoticed.

"I'm scared," Eddie finally admits as you pull into the driveway.

"I know," you whisper.

You would be terrified if it were you in Eddie's position. You don't know how he's held it together this long. You weren't lying when you told him he was brave. He's the bravest person you've ever met."

Several weeks have passed, and you and Eddie have settled into a comfortable routine. You’re back at work, and Eddie has accepted that he is stuck in the future.

Your family had searched for anything and everything to research and look into anything that could be used as a portal to the upside-down or time travel. But the gate was permanently closed and had been for over thirty years, and there was no way they would risk opening it back up just of the possibility of Eddie getting attacked again, so maybe he could get back. The possibility of a gate on the other side was extremely slim because it had been sealed.

Eddie would spend hours sitting by the window, gazing at the vast expansion of houses before him. It was hard to believe that the once-desolate trailer park he called home was now this fancy. The years he had spent away from it had brought about so many changes that he struggled to come to terms with. He often found himself pining for a life that should have been, but he knew deep down that he had to accept the way things were now.

Despite feeling emotionally numb, he took solace in the fact that he was still here, breathing and healing. Each day brought with it small signs of progress, and he clung to them with all his might. He knew that he still had a long road ahead of him, but for now, he was content to sit by the window and watch the world go by, slowly but surely regaining his strength and sense of purpose. he was dead to the world but here he was, living, breathing... healing.

His physical wounds were healed; all that was left was a nasty scar. His mental wounds, however, were still ever-present in his mind. He would have night terrors; he couldn’t hide them. You would hear him screaming in the night, sometimes multiple times, if he was able to fall back asleep.

He tried talking about it with Dustin and the others, but nothing seemed to help. He was exhausted and mentally drained by the fact that nothing was the same; nothing was familiar. Sure, his friends were there for him, but they had changed; they weren’t the same people as he remembered them.

Eddie had another awful dream tonight if you could call it that. It was more of a memory; the exact events of that fatal night replayed as a loop inside his brain.

It always starts when he's with Dustin in the boarded-up trailer. Then, he watches as Dustin crawls through the gate. Eddie waits, watching him for a split second before running back out. He no longer wants to be a coward or a runner. He's surrounded by unearthly creatures, fighting for his life, but there are too many. He can't escape. All he feels is the pain, terror, and then nothing. It's all darkness, quiet, and loneliness. The worst part is the solitude, the feeling of being so alone. He longs for the day when he no longer feels that way.

Sometimes, when he's with you, he forgets that he's not supposed to be here. But as soon as he returns to this room, which is not his, it all comes crashing back down.

As the night wore on, Eddie's screams pierced through the stillness of the house. You had been lying awake for hours, listening to his panicked cries, feeling helpless and powerless to ease his distress. You can no longer take it; you can't listen to him suffer. You push the covers off, not caring that you’re only in a big T-shirt, and walk over to Eddie’s room and timidly knock on the door.

You slowly push it open as he never latches it fully shut. You can see him in the dim light of the moon fling the room and the light from the hallway. He’s a bit sweaty, trashing under the covers. He’s still sleeping, if that’s what you can call it. You can’t imagine the image playing in his mind as you slowly make your way over to wake him, to not get knocked out in the process. The room was dimly lit, and Eddie's ragged breathing was the only sound as he tried to calm himself down.

Eddie hadn't noticed you walked over to him, he was still sleeping. You sat beside him, gently stroking his hair, and whispered comforting words in his ear. Slowly but surely, his screams subsided, and his breathing became more regular.

“Eddie,” you gently whisper, brushing your hand across his bare back. His skin is sticky with sweat but he’s cold.

“Eddie,” you repeated, slowly circling your hand around his back in comfort.

He jerks awake with a gasp, and unexpectedly, he grabs you and pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m so scared, Birdie.” You can feel him trembling in your arms as your body slowly relaxes under his touch.

“Shhhh. I’ve got you; I’m here.” You hold him as silent tears fall down his cheeks, staining your shirt. You rock him slowly to help calm him down. You lay beside him in silence, there for him, holding him.

“I don’t- can you-“ he takes a deep breath. You stay quiet to let him gather his thoughts.

“Can.... you stay with me tonight?”

Your heart melts as you hear the words trickle from his lips. He’s so delicate. He needs to be cared for, and you’re more than willing.

“Come.” You take his hand and lead him to your room. You pull him into your still-warm bed, snuggling under the covers together.

This isn't the closest youve been to Eddie. You've managed to fall asleep on his shoulder while watching the lord of the Rings movies a time or two. But this felt different. It was more intimate, and you weren't sure how to go about it.

You let Eddie take the lead as you lay beside him. You feel his fingers intertwine with yours under the duvet, and you squeeze his hand before opening up your arms so you can hold him. He lays his head on your chest. The tears have subsided for now, and you kiss the top of his head without thinking. You let your lips linger on his head before he looked up at you. His pleading eyes long for any source of comfort, especially from you.

You have been there for him, even when you should have called the cops after he broke into your house. But you were selfless; you let him find shelter, a shower, clean clothes, and food, all before you knew who he was. He was so frightened, but you showed him compassion. He started falling for you then, even if he didn't really see it a month ago; he sees it now.

You're so kind and fun; you get him to the fullest degree, even if you're not from the same time. Maybe Eddie has Dustin to thank, but he is falling for you. At this moment, in another time of need, you're with him in the middle of the night, comforting him even if you have work tomorrow. Eddie sees that didn't matter to you. You're here for him. So can he really blame himself when he tilts his head further to seek more comfort from you in a gentle kiss? No, he can't. He's been longing for this, pining and itching to feel his lips on yours.

It takes you by surprise; his lips are so soft and delicate. It's been so long since you've kissed someone you've developed feelings for.

Eddie is desperate for more. He wants this so badly; he moans as he feels you start to kiss him back, but that snaps you out of it.

“We shouldn’t. This is wrong; you’re not in the right headspace.” You pull back, looking into his pleading eyes.

“Please, I want to forget. I don't know how else to forget," he begs you. He needs this to not be remembered, even if it is temporary. Eddie's lips hover centimetres from yours. His hot breath fans over your skin as you try to think of what to do.

You want this, he wants this, so what is stopping you?

"Birdie, if you don't want to, I'll go back to my room; I can move in with Steve or Robin or someone. I'm sorry; I overstepped. I just-"

You cut him off with another kiss, but you're not overthinking it this time. You need him to feel how you're feeling, how everything is only right when you're with him.

Before Eddie came into your life, you felt like everything was average and unremarkable. But since he's entered your world, he's brought a sense of excitement and adventure that you never knew existed. Even though his presence can be chaotic sometimes, you find yourself drawn to him and the thrill he brings. You feel like he's exactly what you've been missing and never want to return to your old, mundane life.

"I need this too, Eddie," you mumble into his lips, and Eddie sighs; his heart skips a beat.

You feel his weight shift as Eddie leans into the kiss. He leans you back into your pillows, taking the lead. You feel how his hands trace up your arms so he can cup your face.

He wants to feel you, breathe you, and be with you. No one has ever shown Eddie so much selflessness as you have. You deserve the world in Eddie’s eyes, and he wants to let you know how grateful he is to have you.

But he also wanted to forget it all—all the terrible things he’d witnessed and gone through. He just wanted it to go away for a while. So, for now, while he’s with you, his anxieties and fears are slowly being plucked away with each moan, gasp, and timid graze.

Eddie can feel your heat through the thin pyjama pants adorning his waist. You’re only in a shirt and your panties, but Eddie needs to see more of you.

“Can I take this off?” He mumbles in between desperate kisses as his fingers grip the hem of your sleep shirt.

You don’t let him ask again before you tug it over your head. You didn’t think his doe eyes could get any bigger, but here he was, proving you wrong, and it only made him look more endearing.

You reach out to Eddie as he sits there like a statue, staring at you. You take his hand, bring it up to your chest, and place his large hand on your breast.

“Hollyshit,” he whispered, realizing he was touching his best friend’s daughter. But that thought quickly passed as you leaned up in to kiss him; it's sloppy, it’s desperate, it’s wet, it’s so hot Eddie thinks he might just bust in his pants here and now when you ground your hips into his already painfully hardened cock.

You can’t help but moan when your pussy brushes up against him. You can feel how turned on he is, and it only makes you want him more.

“More,” you moan as Eddie’s hip grinds into yours.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers find the twists of your underwear, and he lets his fingers slip down to your slit. You widen your legs so you can feel it all. His long fingers trace up and down your slit, collecting your slick before he impressively finds your clit on the first go.

His lips travel down lower so they can latch on your neck.

“Oh, Eddie,” you breathe as the combination of his fingers and lips sends a shockwave of pleasure through your body. His mouth leaves a mark on your delicate skin.

“Good girl, say my name.”

Another wave of pleasure travels through you these words.

“Eddie,” you moan. You don’t even recognize your own voice. It’s so desperate and needy. If you weren’t so desperate, you’d be embarrassed.

“Fuck, that’s so hot” he slips a single digit up into you to test the waters. “Baby, you’re soaked. All for me?” He groans with need.

“Yes, Eddie, I want you so bad; I need you so bad,” You squirm under his touch. He pumps his thick, long finger in and out before adding another one.

His head travels lower, and his mouth latches onto your perked nipple. His warm, wet mouth feels so nice, but that quickly is gone as he nips at your bud, and you let out an unexpected yelp.

“Fucking love your noises” Eddie moved onto your other nipple doing the same thing, only this time you’re prepared, and you arched up into his touch. His fingers are still working on you, and you’re so close.

“Don’t stop” You’re so close, and he knows it; he can feel your pussy clamping down on him with each pump of his hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pleasing you has been the only thing that has made him feel this good in a while.

All his worries and anxieties were by the wayside. His only purpose was to please you, to touch you, to please you.

You could feel it coming; you were so close only a few more seconds, and you would be flooded with ecstasy.

A roar of Eddie’s name rips from your lungs as you soak his fingers. Eddie never thought he would be so lucky to experience this with you, but here he was, watching as your body shook with pleasure all before of him.

“Fuuuuuck, you did so well for me, baby.” You don’t even notice when he sticks his fingers in his mouth to taste you. You’re too blissed out.

You didn’t think your pussy would need anything more, but hearing his praises only makes you quiver with need. You need his cock; you need to make him feel good. This was about him forgetting; this was about the both of you making one another feel good. You needed to take care of him.

Once you caught your breath, you shuffled so he was under you.

Eddie watched as you discarded your soaked panties and were fully naked for him. Kneeling at his waist, drooling over what was under his tented pants.

“Can I?“ you bat your lashes innocently as you reach for the waistband of his pants.

“Fuck, you have to ask, sweetheart; any time you want to, just do it.”

You giggle at his eagerness, but it’s cut off when you see just how pretty his cock is.

The head is so pink; it’s just screaming at you to put it in your mouth.

Your mouth waters as he grips his cock in his hand, guiding it to your mouth.

You stick out your wet tongue and the moonlight reflects off of it, it’s that wet.

Eddie can’t help but tap it a few times before you take his tip fully.

Eddie’s messy curls fall back as he lets his head hang, you looked up through your lashes to see his exposed neck and it only made you want to mark him as yours.

Your attention shifts when you feel his large hand run along your scalp, gently tugging at your roots. Your eyes roll back as his grip tightens, and you sink deeper.

His hard cock feels heavy in your mouth. His small whimpers make your pussy drip as you bob your head up and down his shaft. His taste and smell are overwhelming. All you want is to please him. To help him forget. Selfishly, you only want him to focus on you, and it’s working.

Eddie can’t believe he’s in your room, in your bed, watching you naked as you give him the best head of his life. He’s forgotten everything; he only knows you and how you’re making him feel. He’s feeling good. It's the first time in weeks he feels good, amazing even.

“Such a good girl, Birdie.” He tried so hard to not thrust his hips up into your mouth, but it’s so hard when he feels you take all the way.

You nuzzle your face into the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. It’s soft and smells of him; it’s overwhelmingly Eddie. You drool out of the sides of your mouth as you finally come back up for air. Replacing your mouth with your hand. Jacking him off as Eddie takes your mouth in his own once again.

“Need to be inside of you.” he pulls you up so you're straddling his lap.

You adjust quickly so you can sink slowly on his cock. I'm not even thinking about a condom; you’re on birth control anyway. You need him. He needs you. Simple.

You hold his shoulders for balance as you ease your way on his thick long cock. It burns slightly as he stretches you out, but you need it. You want it.

“Fuck you’re so big, Eddie” your head falls back as you sink to the bottom.

Eddie watches in awe as your body envelopes itself around him. You’re so tight and warm around him that he can’t help but grip your hips to help guide you up and down his cock.

Slowly you start to rise and fall on his cock. Both your mouths hang open as the pleasure courses through your veins. You slowly build up your place until you’re bouncing on his cock.

“Got, you’re so fucking hot,” Eddie pants.

He can’t help but take your breast in his mouth again. This had to be the hottest experience of his life. An ‘older’ girl from the future wanting him just as much as he wanted her? Fuck maybe this was heaven?

“Does that feel good, baby?” you coo. All you want is for him to feel as good as you do.

“Shit, yes, your pussy is so tight, fuck me. You’re so sexy.”

“You’re so big,” you moan.

You silence him with another kiss. You feel his tongue in your mouth immediately. He’s so skilled it makes you think how he can use it elsewhere….

“I’m so close, Birdie. Are you close?” He pulls back.

“Mmmmmmmmmm” you nod your head yes.

You need more, but your legs are burning and about to give out. Your pace falters, and Eddie can see you’re getting tired, so he steadies your hips and fucks himself up into you.

“Oh my god!!! Eddie!!!” You hold on to his shoulder to brace yourself. His cock hits your g spot with each powerful stroke; it feels so good you can’t focus on anything else but cuming all over him.

“That’s it, Birdie, come on my cock, good girl.”

“Holy shit,” you cry out.

“I’m going to come. Where do you want?”

“Inside!” The aftershock still taking over your senses.

You listen to Eddie’s grunts as he releases himself inside of you, it sounds so hot you didn’t think he could be any more attractive, but he was holding you down on his cock, not letting any of his cum leak out just yet.

You collapse down onto Eddie chest as your heavy breathes become synchronized.

“I think they nicknamed you the wrong woodland creature.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to call you Bunny instead of Birdie.”

Your brain is still foggy, and you’re unsure what he means.

“You’re like a bunny hopping all over my cock”

“Eddie!” You playfully slap his chest before you decide to go off of him.

“So, is sex really that much different from the eighties?” You giggle as you roll over to lie beside him.

“I think it might be better,” he says as he pulls you in for another hot kiss.

“You wanna go again?” You look at him, surprised.

“What? Can’t keep up with a younger man?”

“It’s four in the morning, Eddie. I have to work,” you moan. Your heart wants it, but your head says otherwise.

“Shit! I’m sorry”

“Don’t be. Tomorrow, I’ll show you what I can do; that first round was nothing.” You giggle.

After Eddie helped you get cleaned up, the room was silent for a bit.

"Thank you for being there for me, Bridie." Eddie takes your hand and gently squeezes it.

"No need to thank me, Eddie, I'll always be there for you."

[wayshewas]

Craving Humanity

A Boston QZone-Era One Shot

Summary: It's the last time you'll see Joel before he heads West to find Tommy. After years of using each other to satisfy some very shameful impulses, can you end things as friends? Are either of you capable of that kindness? 

13k word count (i know, i know but iyeee care why they're fucking!)

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader (no description of skin, hair or eye color)

Genre: Hurt people hurt people

Warnings: This starts out pretty bleak. Lots of heartache and cruelty. Two broken people using sex to (maladaptively) cope with grief and fear of real intimacy. But there's room for hope! 

Tags: violence (Joel murders for love); dub-con (ish - things escalate without prior consent); infidelity (Joel is cheating on Tess); rough sex (more explicit tags below the cut) 

A/N: Reader, please be kind to yourself, and don't read if it'll upset you to experience Joel being abusive (to you). Remember that authors often use art to process shit, not condone it. Some people need catharsis! 

The ending is soft, but it might reach DDDNE territory in one part. Please read with caution! 

Further warnings/tags: rough sex; torn clothing; hair pulling; fingering; gagging-oral sex (M); verbal degradation and threats of sexual violence (this is the part some might find upsetting). I couldn't get a beta-reader for this, so please tell me if I need to add more explicit CWs. 

Please read with caution!

Can you distract me from all the disaster?

I. The pad of your index finger sweeps over the moist ridges of your tongue. Eyes narrowed in concentration, you resume leafing through the stack of crumpled ration cards. Trying not to lose count when the staticky crackle of the doorbell erupts throughout the house, you jot down that week’s earnings before tucking the pile back into the cash box, placing it alongside the dozen or so vials of Penicillin inside the wall safe. 

“Got it!” you shout up the stairwell. The security camera’s been down for at least a month, but it’s broad daylight, and there’s a FEDRA checkpoint at the end of the block. No one in their right mind is going to ring the front doorbell looking for trouble. 

No one in their right mind. It’s why you don’t lock up the painkillers—when you happen to have any. You’d rather let the junkies steal them from the supply cabinet and be on their way. Who are you to judge? Anguish could manifest painfully sharp as any wound. Christ, you know the truth in that as well as anyone.

When the heavy oak door creaks open, you recognize his silhouette instantly. The broad shoulders, the scruff on the back of his neck. That bronze skin. Salt and pepper hair. The way he stood with his hands on his hips.

“Oh,” you say, breathless. But loud enough for him to hear. He turns around to look at you, brows furrowed against the midday sun. “It’s you.”

Joel nods. Doesn’t smile. No allowance for what he feels when he looks at you. His eyes don’t soften or grow warm. They remain cold and distant. Devoid of sentiment.

It’s not that you were expecting him to smile at the sight of your face…and, yet. 

Too late to worry about that now.

He follows you into the foyer, his tall frame looming behind. “Give me a minute,” you say over your shoulder. “Yeun’s got a patient.”

When Joel grabs you by the arm, those strong fingers press into the heavy canvas of your coat sleeve. You feel the pressure through the layers of fabric and can’t help but remember what they feel like digging into your bare skin. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he cautions as his gaze trails over your face. You stare into each other’s eyes briefly before he glances down at your lips. He’s so close, if he dipped his chin a little lower, he could kiss you. 

But Joel would never kiss you. “I haven’t got much time. Gotta see Abe after this.”

You nod and leave him at the foot of the stairs.

Your husband, Nate, is the one who brought Joel Miller into your lives. Not a great decision, as it turned out, but it’s tough to make alliances when your line of business is considered a hanging offense. Collecting and selling maps would seem a pretty trivial criminal enterprise in any rational universe. Under the Emergency Measure Codes, though, they were classified as contraband. Providing material support or resources to those attempting to leave the Quarantine Zone without authorization is the official charge. 

After the outbreak, Nate had looted the map room in the Widener Library, where he’d worked for ten years. It’s how you two met. He’d helped you with your dissertation research, studying the contaminated estuaries of the Charles River.

“Just think,” he’d said. “No more GPS. This is the only way people are gonna get out of the city.” 

That was the plan. To leave Boston and head north to Novia Scotia. Then, FEDRA established the Quarantine Zone. In those early days, after they were done with culling, soldiers would capture folks on the road and send them to the nearest QZ. They didn’t have much use for a librarian or geologist, but they did need every uninfected, able-bodied person they could find. 

After FEDRA discovered you had some first aid training through the Wilderness First Responder courses at the Harvard Outing Club, you were assigned to work at the field hospital. When the hospital came down, they reassigned you to a ‘clinic’ operating out of a historic vine-covered brownstone you’d never have been able to afford before the outbreak. You lived in a 750-square-foot row house in Watertown without central heating. Bought with help from Nate’s parents. It was drafty and musty, but goddam, you missed it.

After everything had gone to shit, suddenly, just a small bit of life-saving knowledge gave you so much privilege. Given the state of things, you would have thought anyone left on Earth would resent your Ivy League credentials, but that shit still carried water with the West Point officer class. And made you both high-value prisoners. The absurdity of it hits you like a sack of bricks sometimes. Your FEDRA card says you’re a nurse. A fucking nurse who’s never taken organic chemistry. Your friend Sheila, an actual ER nurse, would have howled. You barely passed Intro Bio! 

Sheila might be dead, but you remember her booming laughter. That means she’s still with you, right?

Your husband first met Joel Miller when he’d gone to the site of an explosion after Fireflies had bombed the QZ’s only wastewater treatment facility. Nate had treated enough FEDRA officers to recognize that Joel’s hearing loss wasn’t the result of the bombing but of gunfire. You can only imagine how their conversation unfolded—Joel cagey and taciturn, Nate’s infinite patience and determination to seize an opportunity. It probably would have gone down better if he’d met Tess first, but at some point, Nate convinced Joel that they could help each other. Joel was a smuggler, and Nate had maps and knew, in theory, all the routes in and out of the QZ. But he needed someone to check if they were clear of rubble and Cordyceps. See if they remained viable.

That was back when you were a good person. When Nate was alive. 

Working for FEDRA made you both feel like collaborators. Like Vichy traitors in Nazi occupied France. Every soldier you healed just went right back to oppressing your neighbors. But you weren’t—aren’t—a fighter. Fireflies expect you to carry a gun. And use it. Hell, you’ve never even fired a gun. So, outright insurgency wasn’t an option. At the time, the only resistance you could provide was to help others escape. With maps and routes out of the QZ. 

When Tommy joined, you sold maps to the Fireflies, too. That was another act of resistance. And, an even worse mistake.   

But for a while, it was the perfect arrangement for Joel and Tess. When one passageway collapsed or fell under surveillance, you and Nate helped them map out a new route. Back then, Tess had a keen sense of who to charm. She liked your artwork and Nate’s mash whiskey—flattery earned her a lot of both. You were something like friends. You tried teaching her how to knit, but she lacked the patience. Joel was always there by her side, sitting at your kitchen table. 

Joel Miller never bothered with charm.

In the years that followed, you noticed that despite the fact they were clearly together…Tess and Joel never shared any physical intimacy. The folks who made up your clandestine circle of undesirables and ne’er do wells chalked it up to a distaste for public displays of affection. They were both tough as nails, after all. 

You could tell it wasn’t so simple. 

They were clearly partners in every way that mattered in this life. They were each other’s bulwark against a world burning down around them. Tess might be the only thing keeping Joel sane. But there was no yearning in their eyes when they looked at each other. Even when drinking. Even in the relaxed and happy moments, there was no hunger for each other. Joel would probably do almost anything for Tess. Maybe he would die for her. But it seemed he couldn’t be with her in that way. Or anyone else, as far as you could tell.

So, when, during what had to have been one of the hottest summers on record (if anyone was still keeping records), Joel had come by the studio you moved into after Nate’s death, and…well, that’s when it had started.

He’d come by hoping to sell some MBTA maps he’d scavenged from an abandoned museum. Covered in graphite and hunched over your drafting table, you’d been wearing this dress that was short but otherwise shapeless and unremarkable. Just two panels of some paisley fabric sewn together. You used to wear it around the house on Sunday mornings after sleeping in. Twenty years later, it was pretty threadbare. Not remotely sexy. Except, due to the humidity, the gauzy cotton clung to your sweat-soaked body. 

People don’t expect it to be humid in Boston. They imagine a coastal breeze to chase away the summer heat. It’s quite an adjustment for the refugees who make it to the QZ. Joel said something like, Nothing on the humidity in Texas, about how the moisture would bead on the elm leaves, about how it would keep a person up at night. It was the kind thing you’d say to a stranger in line at the grocery store. But you’d seen that flash of desire in his eyes when they roamed over you, and his gaze grew heated. 

Joel didn’t bother with politeness or small talk. Yet here he was, babbling about the weather, visibly embarrassed about his body’s response to thoughts of your nakedness. You were very obviously not wearing much of anything underneath the dress.

In a world where you had no power, it made you feel powerful to have that effect on Joel Miller. He was so nervous he couldn’t stand still. He paced the apartment, fidgeted as you looked over the transit maps, and consulted a First Year Russian textbook liberated from the Widener to work through the Cyrillic. Joel radiated with a tension you’d never sensed from him before. And, when he could avoid it no longer, when he finally came closer and stood beside your seat at the drafting table, you’d grasped him by the neck and kissed the rough stubble of his throat, below his ear, behind the curve of his jaw. 

You’d always admired the elegant column of his throat and the angular lines of his face. In another life, you might have asked him to sit for you so that you could sketch those handsome features and capture his coarse beauty. 

“You can do more than look,” you’d whispered, staring boldly into those fearsome brown eyes.  

Joel stiffened, grabbing you by both arms to hold you back. You waited for him to throw you roughly to the floor in disgust. Call you crazy. Demand to know what the fuck you’re thinking.

Instead, he pushed you back onto the table. Shoved your shoulders down so hard that you lay splayed on top of it. You remember feeling the raised ledge dig into your lower back when he pushed the hem of your dress up around your hips and sunk his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. The look of shock on his face—shock at what he’d done, shock at discovering how wet you were—you remember that, too. He groaned.

Joel worked quickly then, one hand tearing off your dress, the other on his belt, so that you only realized he’d unbuttoned his pants once you felt the press of his cock nudging against your entrance. Without a word, he tugged at your knees, wrapping your thighs around his waist as he buried himself inside you with one brutal buck of his hips.

Fuck. He’s so big. He’d nearly split you apart with that first thrust. The pain felt greater than the pleasure, and you’d pushed instinctively at his shoulders. Joel simply gathered your wrists in his calloused hands and pinned them against the table. “Be still.”

No! The word was ready on your tongue, and you’d been about to scream it, but that’s when the pleasure finally eclipsed the pain. Joel’s cock always feels so good inside you, filling you up so completely it blots out everything else.

The minute you arched into him, he pounded back into you. It made the table shake with each drive of his hips. One of his hands came up to grasp the nape of your neck, the heel of his palm pressing into your collarbone as he used the leverage to set a wild pace. The slap of his body against you was so loud in the small studio. The only sound apart from your frantic breathing.

You’d fantasized about this many times. A man claiming you, using you. Pumping into you faster and faster. You never imagined it would feel this good. Never. Yet, Joel Miller made you come harder than you ever had in your life.

A gasp, and dizziness as everything else melted away, until there was nothing left but the climax. You clenched around him, hips surging up involuntarily into his thrusts as the world disappeared.

You’d slumped back onto the table, reeling from pleasure. Joel was shouting out, his eyes tightly shut, as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your body. He thrust deeply, moaning, “Huh-unngh!” before pulling out to spend himself onto your belly, shuddering as he stroked himself through every spurt of come erupting from his wet cock. “Haa, aah, ahh!”

The whole thing lasted all of five minutes. 

Neither of you had spoken then, and you remained silent after, even as he wiped off your stomach with the torn pocket of your dress. Not a word while Joel tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his jeans.

He didn’t mention payment for the MBTA maps, thank god. Counting out ration cards moments after he’d fucked you senseless would have strained irony to the breaking point. What had happened between you wasn’t about longing or affection. It was transactional. You wanted—needed—one side of this dark fantasy, and he needed the other. You don’t even like Joel Miller.

“Hey Yuen,” you chime, popping your head into the exam room. “I’m going home for lunch. I’ll keep working on the inventory when I get back.” You try to sound casual. Cheerful. But it rings hollow even to your ears.

“Okay. Is everything alright?” she asked gently. Dr. Li and her family live in the brownstone now, but you can’t bring yourself to resent her for it. She’s a kind person. You find yourself praying that fate will spare Dr. Yeun Li and let her keep her kindness. 

“Mm-hmm,” is your only reply.

Joel had wandered into the sitting parlor, examining the still lifes the original owner used to maintain their ‘Gilded Era’ aesthetic. You like Impressionist painters, so you and Nate left the prints hanging in their golden frames. It seems the Lis also enjoy Impressionism. 

Apparently, so does Joel. He stares at the brioche bun painted by Manet. You smile inwardly. Maybe he’s just hungry?

“You ready?” Joel asks.

Falling in behind him, you make your way toward the studio located on the periphery of the Boston slums. It’s funny. Now that you’re neighbors, you see less of Joel and Tess than you did when you lived on the opposite side of the QZ. Joel takes you the long way around so you can avoid the Square. That was decent of him. Or maybe he’s worried you’re less likely to fuck him if you get lost in those painful memories. It was difficult to know what passed for decency and what was self-interested calculation with Joel Miller.

It didn’t happen often, but it had happened again. You’d been fucking him for years now. In Nate’s absence, you withdrew into imposed isolation. Meaning, at the very least, you don’t have to worry about seeing Joel socially. With Tess. And he never came to the studio for just sex. There was always some practical purpose for his visits. 

No one would have reason to be suspicious.

Especially since they all thought you hated Joel. That you blamed him for Nate’s death. Maybe at first, but you’d let go of that. The hate had crystallized into numb ambivalence. Yet, in the weeks or months that went by in between your…encounters, you fantasized about Joel Miller. It’s difficult not to when any time you aren’t at work, you’re at home, and most of your life at home is spent hunched over the drafting table. The same table he would bend you over.

You’ve had plenty of lovers before, skillful lovers who would coax you to climax with their fingers and tongues. You thought you needed that to come. 

A few brutal strokes of Joel Miller’s cock is all you need these days.

You’ve had these kinds of fantasies before. Most women do. But lately, it’s the only thing that gets you off. Thinking about Joel using you, his fist in your hair, pinning your hands over your head, being rough, sometimes violent.

You imagine him calling you a whore, or a slut. He’s never said those things to you…which is probably lucky because you don’t know how you’d respond. 

For better or worse, he’s stubbornly silent. Apart from the noises he makes, grunting and groaning. 

Sometimes he let out a fuck or a gottdam—his Texas twang hitting every consonant. The most you’d let slip is some breathless chants of yes, yes! There’s an unspoken agreement that giving voice to your desires might breathe life into some kind of connection between you. Or break it. This is a fragile, shameful thing that neither of you wants to ruin. 

Despite the walkaround, you make it to the south end of Commercial in good time. Tall as he is, Joel still has to leap up to pull down the fire escape, drawing back to let you climb up the ladder first. He’s not polite, but perhaps he can’t shake the good ole Southern chivalry. It’s like muscle memory to him. He’d open doors, offer you the first slice. Then he’d wrap his hand around your throat.

Your studio is an attic apartment in a grand, dilapidated five-story building, clearly inspired by the architect’s Grand Tour to Rome or Paris in the 1900s. It’s not an easy climb. You’re both winded by the time you crawl through the skylight to avoid the FEDRA officers patrolling the streets below.

The trip up the fire escape had tugged open the last couple of buttons of Joel’s shirt, and you can’t stop yourself from staring at the line of dark hair trailing down his stomach and under his jeans. He’d gained a soft belly with age. It was the only thing soft about him. You know the abdominals beneath are as strong as ever. You’d felt them contract and spasm against you while he pumped his cock relentlessly inside you. 

It’s not sick or unnatural to have these desires about sex and domination. Desires are not sick or unnatural, but it’s dangerous to blur the line between fantasy and reality. You’d taken human sexuality in college. You know there’s a healthy way to experience these kinks. One that requires communication and boundaries. A plan for what to do when those boundaries get tested.

What you and Joel are doing is not healthy.   

But, fuck, that first time had been brutal, terrifying, and perfect. You loved it. You love watching him come. Seeing that handsome face—stone-cold as he fucked you mercilessly—soften with pleasure. And before that, before you get started, when he looks so full of desperate yearning to get his hands on you. For a man who tamped down any emotion apart from anger, seeing him in that moment when the anger gave way to pleasure was the greatest high you’ve ever known. 

He’s the one who’s physically dominant, but his climax makes him absolutely helpless. In a world where you had no power, it felt powerful. 

It’s not real power. He’s using you. You know that. Just like you’re using him. And yet, for a short while, you can convince yourself that it is real. 

You thought things would continue on like that. Or maybe it’s that you never think that far ahead. But the ambivalence is shattering. You hate this about yourself. You hate it. You can tell he hates it, too. You’ve tried to stop so many times, but you don’t have the strength. You lost that along with Nate. 

Just thinking about Joel taking control, forcing you to submit, makes your pulse race. You feel it in your stomach, in your throat, and between your legs. Joel Miller was a knife that you used to cut yourself down to the bone. To prove that something was left inside you, beneath your skin, apart from grief. And if all you bled was wantonness and spite…well, at least that was a different sort of despair.

Now, finally, it will end. Because Joel is leaving Boston and never coming back. 

So maybe, just this once, with this last opportunity to exert some self-control, you can end things as friends and forgive each other for what you’ve been doing under the haze of lust and shame these past three years.  

II. [Joel]

Nathaniel Wallace’s death had heaped a pile of trouble onto Joel, the likes of which he could not have foreseen. It wasn’t that he counted himself responsible for the man’s death. Joel had warned Nate more than once that the librarian didn’t have enough grit to survive outside the QZ. That irrepressible need to help people would get him killed. And it had. 

But sacrificing himself to save Joel was simply the first burden. The second was you, his wife. 

Nate was smart, if nothing else. He could see the writing on the wall. The escalation between FEDRA and the Fireflies was about to tear a hole through the QZ, and cordyceps would run right through the gap.

Nate was anticipating the moment it all went to shit so he could save the woman he loved. Joel couldn’t fault him for that. So at Tess’s insistence, they’d started bringing the librarian along to Lincoln when they could use another pack mule, and in return, he kept a share of the haul. Tess trusted Nate implicitly.

Nate’s wife knew none of this. Joel had no desire to be pulled into someone else’s marital turmoil, but Tess said that’s how it had to be, so he went along with keeping it secret. Ration cards were worthless outside the QZ—that was the point after all—so the Wallaces would need more than their tidy FEDRA pay to get out.

Nate planned to sail north from the Boston harbor to Maine and then on to Nova Scotia, where the outbreak hadn’t hit so bad. He and Bill would debate the required length of the vessel, what kind of keel was needed and other such bullshit Joel had no interest in. 

Joel had no interest in much beyond surviving each day. He left it to Tess to plan for what happened the day after. But dammit, he’d put his foot down when she suggested traveling to Canada with Nate. Said it might not be such a bad idea.  With Joel, Tess, and Tommy to protect the group, you wouldn’t need to sail. 

Joel absolutely refused to be weighed down by such a liability.

Nate worried his wife couldn’t make the overland journey. Sure, they’d backpacked the Appalachian Trail to Katahdin. Hiking the route wasn’t the problem. She had panic attacks.  Nate alluded to something that had happened in her past. “A wild one in her youth,” he laughed. “Ran away from home to follow the Dead on tour. Had herself a helluva time…but not exactly a safe environment for a sixteen-year-old girl.”

Joel had buried Sarah’s memory so deep inside himself that she rarely came to mind apart from his dreams—but that hint of darkness evoked an image of his teenage daughter that cut through him. He’d grown up outside of Austin and knew what happened in those beat-down vans and school buses parked in the lot. The image of his daughter drunk and high outta her mind surrounded by strangers made him see red.

That vague little detail explained a lot about Nate’s wife. She always sat with her back facing the wall. She was quiet. Some might mistake her for timid since she let Nate do all the talking. But her eyes were always watching. In some ways, she was better suited for life outside the QZ than Nate. She reminded him of a doe–no matter how calm or curious they appeared, they were always poised to run.

That’s probably why she ended up with Nate. He was a gentle and patient man. 

Joel had seen Tess watching you and Nate, knowing that she was envious of what you had. The casual intimacy—fingers threading together when passing each other something, his hand palming your lower back as he stood beside you, the way you would kiss his forehead before leaving the room. He couldn’t blame Tess for wanting that. Part of him wanted it, too. But Joel couldn’t be that man for her. He couldn’t remember how to be gentle.

They’d tried once…but it was strained and awkward. Joel couldn’t relax, worrying he would hurt Tess, worrying he would do or say something that would break her trust. When her trust was all he had in this life. It had put up a wall between them instead of tearing one down. 

Instead, Joel watched Tess watching you, watching Nate. The perfect husband.

Or at least that’s what he’d thought. 

When you'd slapped him across the face hard enough to leave scratch marks, he’d gotten a glimpse of that wildness. You had this feral glint in your eyes, daring him to hit you back. As you stared at each other, he soon realized that tangled up in that fury was longing…and desire. You wanted his hand on your face—the blow—to feel anything other than the pain. He knew that look. It stopped him cold. He’d muttered some numb apology and carried you to the couch, trying to ignore the way his body responded to your soft weeping against his neck. 

For a while, he avoided you. Tommy and Tess kept an eye out, kept you working, helped you move. Joel was relieved he didn’t have to see Nate’s wife and her captivating eyes ever again. Until one night, Tess had a job for him. She’d pointed across the crowded food hall to where some FEDRA jackboot had you by the wrist, dragging you into a nearby alley.

“He’s been watching her for a while now,” Tess shook her head thoughtfully. “If it’s her idea, it’s a mistake. One that puts us all at risk,” she said coldly. “If it’s his idea, he needs to be taught a lesson.”

When Joel followed behind and peered down the alleyway, he had trouble making that determination. The soldier had you pressed against a wall, his mouth devouring, hands roaming over your body. Ashamed at his reflexive arousal, Joel turned away. But while it may have started out as consensual—and Joel tried not to hear the grunts and whimpers—he did hear you say, “Wait” and “Slow down.” 

At that, he looked up to see the soldier shoving you face first against the wall, one hand on his belt. He was halfway down the alley when you screamed “Stop!” and thrust yourself backward with every bit of strength in your body, breaking into a run as soon as you were free of his grip. 

Joel pulled back into the shadowed recesses of brick as the soldier cried out, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” and stormed off after you. He recognized the kid, Danny. He’d sold him oxies. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess where Daniel was headed. He took a short cut and waited for the FEDRA punk to make his way to your building. Joel guessed correctly that Danny, heady with impunity, would take the elevator up to your front door and simply break in. Despite smoking Marlboros well into his thirties and having two bad knees, Joel made it up the fire escape in time to open one of the attic apartment’s skylight windows. When Danny-boy stepped onto the roof with a “Hey! You out here?” he took the kid’s legs out at a run and tossed him over the side. 

Another FEDRA soldier who chose a long drop in the abject face of addiction. That’s how it would look. Joel reckoned Danny didn't need a lesson. He needed killin.

Joel had just closed the window when you walked through the door, drunk and disheveled. You’d likely doubled back and taken wrong turns to throw off Danny without realizing he already knew exactly where to find you. That’s probably why you felt safe enough to start stripping your clothes off as soon as you’d stepped inside the apartment. Joel knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then you’d thrown on some flimsy dress.

The dress itself wasn’t sexy, but the way you walked in it, the way your hips swayed unselfconsciously was very sexy to Joel. He should have left then, when you’d collapsed onto your bed. But he lingered long enough to see your hand creep up your thigh and between your legs. 

The glass windows were single pane. He could hear every hitched sigh and keen. They trapped him in place.

Joel listened and watched. Watched the rise and fall of your breasts with each deep breath. The outline of your pert nipples darkening visibly through the thin fabric of your dress. And most especially, he watched the ceaseless circling of your fingers, making you flushed and sweaty as you writhed on top of the mattress. 

It was wrong, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from palming his cock over his jeans, growing stiffer by the minute. Until it was so hard it ached, and he had to free himself of his pants to find relief. Joel continued to listen and watch, matching the rhythm of your fingers with each stroke of his shaft. He spit into his palm and slid his thumb over his cock’s sensitive crown, teasing the slit.

“Fuck,” he whispered silently as his hand moved faster and faster, the dark head of his cock sliding back and forth within his grip.

When he heard your cry of release filling in his ears, his cock pulsed so hard in his fist, he let go and let himself imagine spending himself inside you with each spurt of come that dripped between his fingers.  

Then, he kicked some debris over the wad of come he’d left atop your roof, tucked himself back into his jeans, and climbed down the fire escape ladder. He’d been so ashamed he couldn’t sleep. Just sat dozing at the kitchen table the rest of the night. 

So a few months later, when Tess had sent him to your apartment to sell off MBTA maps for some quick rations…and you’d opened the door wearing that dress…

Why was it so much easier to be intimate with a near stranger than the women he truly cared about? Was this just lingering Catholic guilt from childhood about sexual desire that he couldn’t quite shake? He didn’t think so. He’d never struggled with this before—with the women he dated, with his wife. But then, he’d never needed to wield force and domination to enjoy sex before.

After the first time, he could have put a stop to it. Made up some lie to avoid seeing you again. But for some reason, he couldn’t stay away. The next time it happened, you’d asked. “Why me?” 

“Tess doesn’t want to play rough,” he said honestly. “I think you do.”

That ought to have scared the shit out of you, except—Joel was right. You did want to play rough. You wanted the dirtiest, filthiest brutality, and he enjoyed giving it to you.

And almost, he would have worried, but you were always drenched and ready for him. Body passive and pliable, yet so responsive. Joel loved the sounds he drew from your lips as you writhed underneath him. Sometimes, you fought against him, a token resistance Joel knew made the sex hotter for you. For him too, if he was honest.

There was little that got him harder more quickly than his hand on the throat of this woman who had given herself to Joel, and nothing that got him as riled up as much his hand coiled, and firmly grasping the hair at the back of her head as he held her down to fuck her with every bit of force he could put into it…

He never felt more powerful. In a world where he had control of nothing, you gave him control of your body, and he used it to find release.

Afterwards, you would collapse onto that sad little futon mattress and sleep like the dead. You were usually out before Joel had even closed the door behind him. He’d stay away for months at a time, but inevitably, he would always return. 

At some point, he’d realized that he could see into your apartment from the roof of his and Tess’s building. So he took up smoking again, which is a terrible thing for a man in his fifties to do, but it gave him an excuse to go out onto the roof and watch you at night. Most of the time, you were slumped over the drafting table—not making maps like he expected but drawing. And though you looked harried and exhausted, it seemed to Joel that you came alive in those moments. You danced in your kitchen. There was a nagging regret in that pit of his stomach that he’d never tried to know more about you. But this was no world for regrets.  

Joel told himself he just needed to get this out of his system, and then he would figure out how to be with Tess the way she wanted. Each time he thought, this time I’ll try being softer, I’ll remember how to be gentle. But then he’d see that wild challenge in your eyes.

Joel sensed you wanted him to lose control. So far, he’d managed to hold back the worst of his lust and anger. And if he did slip a little, he justified to himself that you would tell him to stop, like you had told Danny to stop.

And he would. It was dark, some of the stuff you did together even scared him at times. He left bruises and teethmarks. But he would never force a woman against her will. And, eventually, he wouldn’t need force to play a part in sex at all.  

This time, the last time, he would prove to himself it could be different. He could be different.

III.

While the floor is slightly unsteady beneath your feet, you’re able to walk to the kitchen confidently, as if paying no attention to Joel Miller behind you. Yet you feel the reverberation of every footstep in your chest as he follows you further inside the apartment. 

It’s hard to forget that you’re usually fucking within ten minutes of his arrival at your door. You feel heat flush in your cheeks as you envision Joel inside you, pounding into you, going on and on and on without mercy—

“Want some tea?” 

Opening and closing drawers, your fingers tremble, lifting the kettle onto the stovetop. Your heart is racing so fast, you see the square neckline of your shirt rising and falling in your peripheral vision with every shallow breath. 

“What’s all this?” he asks, motioning toward the stack of folded maps you’d draped across the drafting table. 

He ignores your offer of tea, but you pull out a cup for him anyway. Nervously, you tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear and lift your chin to meet his gaze. This would all be a lot easier if you didn’t find Joel so attractive. In the glare of the skylights, his features are almost too rugged to be beautiful, but not quite. Straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw. His mouth set in a firm line.

And his dark brown eyes locked on you. You felt so sure of yourself moments ago. So strong and prepared. Your panties are already wet just from the sight of him that you feel the inseam of your overalls getting damp—your cunt is so tight and hot with anticipation that it almost hurts. 

“It’s a two thousand-mile journey, Joel,” you shrug, trying to cover for how flustered you’ve become.

You walk over to the table and unfurl one of the maps for him. “The 90 will get you to Wyoming, but you’ll be going through Buffalo, Cleveland. Chicago.” You have a map for each metropolitan area in the pile for him. “I’m giving you the originals since my facsimiles aren’t really accurate to scale, and I imagine you’ll have to calculate fuel…and what not.”

As you expected, Joel follows you over to the table, utterly unhurried. Completely and maddeningly calm. Has he even heard a word you’ve said? 

Joel stands behind you, saying nothing. He’s so close that you can feel the heat from his body radiating against your back, the stir of air from his deep breathing spilling over your shoulders. So close you can smell the scent of his skin. When you breathe in that scent again, you realize how badly you’ve missed it. Missed him.

This is it. This is really it. He’s leaving.

“I…uh,” you take a deep, steadying breath, “also found a map with all the ranger stations in Teton and Custer National Forests. I assume that’s where the radio towers—”

You feel Joel’s hand cup the back of your head, pulling the hairpin free from the messy knot at the base of your neck. He stands there, looming over you for a long while, breathing hard, before leaning forward to place his palms onto the drafting table. One arm on either side of you, enfolding you in his broad shoulders. 

Joel sighs and lets his forehead fall against the crown of your head.

This is how you usually start. Next, he’d push you onto your elbows, pull one of your knees up onto the ledge and fuck you roughly from behind. Or he might lift you onto the table, pull your calves over his shoulders, and grip your waist as he rutted against you. Never on the bed, even though it was just on the other side of the small room. You’d made a joke, once…about it being within eyesight. Your futon? he replied. Have some sympathy for an old man’s back. 

It was a funny joke, but he didn’t laugh. He still had those creases around his eyes, but you haven’t seen Joel laugh in years. Not since Tommy moved out. 

You’re glad Nate wasn’t alive for that—when Tommy left. 

Nate wouldn’t have been able to forgive Joel either. Not after what he’d done to that family. Tricking them like that, and then handing them over to FEDRA. Nate always believed that love could heal Joel’s grief and inspire him to be a better person. But, you’ve never had any illusions about the kind of man Joel Miller is. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to do this with him.

Imprisoned in his arms, you go still as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. Maybe he missed you to? His breath is hot against your scalp.

Joel’s hands slip into the bib of your overalls, beneath the hem of your sweater. You feel his fingers brush along the small of your back, tracing over your ribs. Urgently, he reaches for your tender breasts and kneads them in his calloused hands. Your cunt throbs. Wet with need, desperate to be full of him. 

Then your brain suddenly wakes up and takes over, as if someone had thrown a glass of ice water in your face. It’s not too late to stop this. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you say, turning around to face him, your palms braced against the table’s edge.

You’ve never told him no before. 

Joel Miller is a killer. A marauder. A man who took what he wanted. Part of you expects him to say something monstrous like, What makes you think it’s up to you? He could easily overpower you. Sure, you’d scream and fight him, but what difference would it make? No one cares what happens to a woman like you inside her own apartment. 

But Joel’s not a monster. Not really. He killed and raided out of selfish necessity, not perverse pleasure. Surely, there remained some inviolable limit to his cruelty. 

The look he shoots you is more impatient than enraged. You can see the tension in his jaw tighten. 

“Why’s that?” he asks. 

Don’t you understand, Joel? It’s not just fucking anymore. I’m baring my soul to you—this shameful, vulnerable need I can’t escape. The need to feel sexually desirable, to feel a man’s weight on top of me, to feel his mouth on me. To feel you inside me. 

I bear my soul to you and then we go back to being practically strangers. 

You should tell him that. Tell him that it’s eating away at you. That you can’t handle the emptiness that comes afterward.

Despite all your resolve, you have begun to have feelings for Joel. It isn’t love—not even its faintest imitation. It’s a fixation. You feel shame. You feel guilty about Tess. The woman who held you in her arms as you watched Nate hanged.

It took every ounce of will to force yourself to look into Nate’s eyes until the very end, when the trap door released and his neck snapped. You screamed so long and loud that you felt your soul leave your body, and Tommy had to carry you away before you got trampled in the riot that broke out. 

Tess did that. She saved you that day. And yeah, like everything else she did, it was probably calculated self-interest, but you’re alive aren’t you? Tess and Tommy dragged you back to their apartment in the aftermath of the execution as FEDRA soldiers swarmed the streets, implementing an immediate lockdown. 

Yeun later told you that the love you and Nate shared was so pure, and the profundity of your sorrow was so great, that it moved the QZ to riot. A sweet, indulgent thing to say to a friend in mourning, but it wasn’t true. It was people’s love for Nate and his steadfast goodness that made them riot. A bright light in their midst that they had come to rely on and then forced to watch it be extinguished. 

Everyone loved Nate. Perhaps even Joel. That’s probably why he’d let you take a swing at him. 

First, you’d slapped him. “You’re a coward, Joel Miller!” After spending the lockdown getting fall-down drunk on what was left of the whiskey, you’d swung so wildly at Joel’s chin that you collapsed to the ground, knees jarring against the wood floor.

“Nate’s dead because of you, and you’re such a fucking coward you couldn’t even bear witness when they killed him.”

Joel could probably count on one hand the number of times the word sorry had passed his lips. But his face dropped as he murmured, “I know it.”

Maybe that simple admission is why you’d come to forgive Joel. The others who abandoned Nate and left him behind all said the same shit. He knew the risks. This was always going to catch up to him. Joel was the only one who picked up the blame you laid at his feet and carried it.   

Which is why you’d like to part with Joel as friends.

Your shame and guilt weren’t just for yourself anymore. Or for Tess. This isn’t healthy for either of you. It’s fucked up that the one person Joel desired only had use for the worst parts of him. That means you have to stop this. Stop it now and part as friends.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Joel. And neither do you.”

“Hnngh,” he scoffs, scratching his beard. Voice hoarse with restraint. And something else you don’t want to acknowledge. “Don’t think that’s true.”

Joel leans closer. There’s a chill inside the apartment, but you aren’t shivering from the cold. It’s anticipation.

He doesn’t put his hands on you. Instead, he brushes the curve of your shoulder with his fingertips, slipping the strap of your overalls down over your arm. His touch is so hot it seems to scorch and burn.

Your thin sweater reveals the peaks of your breasts, pert with arousal, pressing through the weave. He brings his hands to squeeze one in his wide palms, stroking his thumb over your pinched nipple. 

“Your body tells a different story…”

Perhaps you and Joel fuck so well because you’re every bit the coward. Recognizing toxic impulses and behavior is one thing. It’s something wholly different to call them out. You don’t have the courage to put into words what you both know is true. That what you’re doing is self-destructive. That you’re using sex to harm yourselves and each other. All you can do is try to push him away. 

If Joel Miller is a knife, then you are another.

Your face goes cold and your voice becomes quietly vicious. “You and Tess don’t have sex. Probably because you actually love her. Instead, you come here to fuck. Because you don’t give a shit about what happens to me.”

Joel’s spent a lifetime crafting that callous exterior, and it doesn’t crack. 

His brows furrow, “That’s not fair.” But his words don’t sound so patronizingly reassuring any longer. Frustration grates in every syllable.

He’s right. It’s not fair. You’re fucking Joel Miller precisely because he’s not available—in any sense. You don’t want the butterflies or sweet yearning. If there’s another man you could love, you hope you never meet him. You want to die with Nate’s name on your lips. Like Sheila’s laughter, holding onto the grief is what keeps him near. 

Joel Miller fucking you like a submissive slut changes none of that. Just like it doesn’t change the way he feels about Tess. It’s why you both need this so much.

Joel brushes one fingertip along the length of your throat and down your chest, hooking his finger under the neck of your sweater and pulling it below your breasts. You shiver and draw back. He clucks his tongue. “If I didn’t give a shit, would I bother makin’ you come every time?”

Your cheeks flush. Arousal spikes within you. 

This is softer than usual. Not an angry act of brutality. Instead, Joel’s using coercion. Drawing you closer and closer to a line that he plans to drag you over. But it turns you on just as hard. You clench against the urgent, aching need between your thighs. Your face gets hotter with every pounding beat of your heart. 

Joel stares at your pulse, thundering against your throat, his moist breath pouring over your exposed breasts. He’s just as turned on—ready to claim you. You can see the bulge of his cock pressing eagerly against his jeans. And yet he says nothing more. He’s giving you one last chance to speak up. To use the word no. One last out. 

You don’t take it.

Say, no. Say it out loud. It’s not too late.

But it is. It’s been too late. You knew this would happen as soon as you let him inside your apartment. This is who you are. This is what you want. Best to make peace with that. 

Sometimes, you fight him. Sometimes, you immediately go limp in his grip. This time—if he tries to take you—you plan to submit. You’re going to drive him away in anger, slamming the door behind him, or he’s going to fuck out his rage on you. Let Joel decide what happens next.

“Make me come?” you scoff. The look on your face is contemptuous. “The Lord blessed you with a thick cock, Joel. Not some mastery over the female anatomy. You don’t know what to do with this pussy but fuck it.”

Joel lunges towards you. You stumble backward, your body acting out of sheer instinctive panic until you feel stiff metal press against the back of your thighs. With both hands, he pushes you into the drafting chair, shoulder blades pinned painfully into the carved backrest. 

“Please—” You can’t think of anything else to say. His face is livid now. Why did you provoke him? Why do you always have to provoke him? You’ve never been this scared of Joel, but you’ve also never been this aroused. You’re so drenched in heat it’s slicking down your thighs.

Joel’s hands tug on the buttons of your overalls, pulling them off. He rips your underwear away with your pants. Somehow, the fact that you’re wearing socks makes your nakedness feel more obscene. Like some amateur porn video. Joel shoves your thighs apart and thrusts two fingers inside you. You’re so unprepared it makes you gasp.

His eyes widen in triumph, feeding off your fear. “How you gonna say those mean things when I make you this wet?”

“Mmmph,” a grunt of deep satisfaction escapes his lips as he starts working you roughly with his hand, sending a gush of wetness welling against his palm. He pushes his fingers in and out, relishing the slick, squelching sound it makes.

“You like that?” Joel pushes in deeper.

“Aaangh!” you moan against the coiling tension building inside you. “Please.”

He nods his head proudly, “Knew I could make you want it.”

The rage you sense from him is so fucking real. If it’s for Tommy or for you, you don’t think Joel could say where it all comes from. It’s scary as hell. And still—still—it turns you on.

Joel’s thumb presses down over your clit as his fingers begin twisting inside you. He starts working you faster now. Your hands clutch at his wrist, thighs squeezing tight around his grip, but he just continues pumping his fingers, fucking you roughly with his hand. 

Your breaths come sharp and shallow. Joel knows exactly where and how hard to bear down. How fast to go. All the blood in your body rushes between your legs as your cunt gets hotter for him. He’s working his hand so vigorously it makes the chair shake. 

“You wanna come now, don’t you?” his voice is as sharp as a razor. “Said I couldn’t get you off, but here you are.”

Warmth ripples through you, building in waves that have your knuckles straining, gripping the armrests. Like your skin doesn't fit right over your bones. Your body tightens. You’re on the brink.

“Haa–aaaah!” you scream, but Joel’s other hand clamps down over your mouth. His thumb curled around your chin.

“Want your neighbors to think I’m killin’ ya?” Joel’s breath is hot against the side of your face.

That’s when his fingers stroke faster, his thumb presses harder, and you come. Your orgasm crashes through you. You clench around his thrusting fingers and wail against his palm. One long scream you can’t control.

He growls, “I fuckin’ told you to stay quiet.” But he keeps thrusting and stroking you through your climax until your body starts jerking in the aftershocks of pleasure.

“So wet,” he says, voice laden with desire and disgust. “How much you think you can take?” 

He slips a third finger inside you, pushing deeper. You burn with the stretch—and yet your flesh yields to him.

“How about my fist? Think you could take that?”

Your body tenses in alarm. Oh, fuck. You’ve never tried that, never wanted to try. Terror rises inside you. And, fuck it, the fear just heightens your arousal.

“Mm-mm!” You shake your head, teeth scraping against his palm. The sob that rises in your chest surprises you. Tears well against your eyelids and spill over his fingers. You really don’t want him to do this, but— 

“Cry more.” Joel’s eyes widen with a manic gleam. He pulls your knee over the armrest to open you wider. Four fingers inside you now. Your whole body is trembling. The rising hysteria and the sight of the muscles in his forearm tensing, his knuckles disappearing inside you is so hot, it might just send you over the edge.

“You don’t want my fist?” He’s breathing so fast through his nostrils, chest heaving, that his body strains with the effort of holding back. 

“Mm-mm,” you implore, shaking your head. 

He removes his hand from your mouth. “What do you want? My cock?”

“Yes,” you’re sobbing now, not even trying to hold it back. “Please!”

“Begging for my cock. Then take it out,” Joel says, slipping his fingers from inside you and placing them around your throat, warm and sticky. “Do it! Take my cock out.”

Your hands shake as you fumble with the zipper. His enormous cock slips free, jutting into your palm, thick and hot. Tentatively, you close your hand around it. Come beads from its pulsing slit, slicking your fingers. 

“Mmph,” Joel grunts as you start using your other hand, too. That lets you cover almost the entire length of his shaft, to feel each urgent throb beneath your fingers.

“Come on,” he says through gritted teeth, brows furrowing. “You can do more than that.”

So you begin using your wrists, working your hands up and down, fist over fist. Your body shivers, reeling as the adrenaline ebbs and surges. Tears pool against your eyelids before slowly dripping down your cheeks.

“Lick your hands,” Joel says. “Do me like you mean it.”

You drag your tongue from the heel of your thumb to the tips of your fingers and begin jerking him off in earnest, tightening and loosening your fists. He releases a deep sigh and lets his head slump back. Even now, you love seeing him like this— that steely resolve undone with pleasure.

“Do you want—”

He reaches out as if to caress the side of your face, then fists his hand in your hair.

“Take me in your mouth.”

You bend over, Joel’s hand clutching your hair, guiding you closer, until his blood-dark cock is in your face. Parting your lips, you take him in. You have to open wide. His salty come is warm on your tongue, your mouth waters in response, slicking your lips as they stretch around his cock. It seems incredible that this is the first time you’ve had him in your mouth.

“Suck it,” he groans.

You do. Slow little swallows at first. Then Joel pulls your hair tight enough for it to hurt.

“Look at me.” Joel’s voice is low. “Look at me when you suck my cock.”

Your eyes go up to his. He’s breathing hard, unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. The fabric falls aside, exposing the muscles of his powerful chest. His jaw is set, his lips curled at the creases—something between a grin and a grimace. The hand in your hair tightens painfully.

“More. Use your hands.”

You take stronger pulls, hollowing your cheeks. With one hand, you brace yourself against his leg. With the other, you start working him, twisting your fist around him with every stroke, pumping his cock in time with your mouth, feeling every ridge and vein.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Shoulda guessed you’d be good at this. Like to play quiet but you’re just a fuckin’ cock slut.”

Christ. Now that he’s said it…how does it make you feel? Hurt? Angry?

Honestly…it feels arousing. Excites you. Like you’re sharing a secret. Something most people would never suspect about you. That beneath your quiet demeanor, sitting at your desk getting your work done every day—you’re just a filthy slut who wanted his fat cock in your mouth. 

Sure, you could pick up a stranger from some basement party or a FEDRA soldier from off the street. They’d be more than happy to get their dick sucked and treat you like shit. But it’s never felt right—the way this does. For some twisted, fucked up reason, you only trust Joel Miller with this secret. Because Joel sees you. Knows what you really want.

You use your tongue, circling and licking. Work your head up and down as your hand pumps him in rhythm with your movements. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth. The noise he’s making tells you how much he loves this—loves what you’re doing to him.

Suddenly, Joel growls, “Be still, dammit.”

You immediately go motionless. He holds your head inexorably tight between his clenched hands, fists buried in your hair as you gag around his cock. Then he starts thrusting. 

You can’t suck. You can’t do anything but take it. He’s so big that it makes your jaw ache. You continue to gag around him, but he just keeps going.

“Fuuuck!” Joel gasps. You look up to find his head thrown back, his throat working as his breaths become ragged and quick. Then his eyes stare back into yours as he grits out between his teeth, “Yes.”

With each thrust down your throat, it’s a struggle to get enough air. And you begin to wonder if you might actually choke like this. What if Joel Miller just fucks you to death? Just used you until there was nothing left? Fear and arousal are inextricably experienced inside your body. Your nipples tighten, and your cunt pulses so hard you know you’re about to come again. All the while he continues to fuck your throat. 

Just when you think you can’t take another minute of this, he pulls out, leaving you coughing and gasping for air. Joel’s cock is so swollen it’s got to hurt, but he hesitates a few seconds longer. 

“You gonna talk to me like a slut, then I’ll fuck you like one.”

As you gasp for breath, Joel tows you upright by your hair. He spins you around, then forces you face-first onto the table. That’s when you feel his fingers sliding into you from behind, deep inside your cunt, before pulling his hand out again. “Yeah. I knew you wanted it.”

Then he’s on top of you, one forearm braced over your shoulder blades, his knee spreading your legs further. Joel’s weight pins you down as he shoves his cock inside you. He has you so opened up, and wet, that it’s effortless. But you can’t stop crying. Your sobs only get louder as Joel starts thrusting.

“Did your husband fuck you like this?” he pants. “He know you like it this rough?”

God, Joel, that’s cruel. Even for you. 

You swallow down your tears. 

“Are you crying again? Good. Maybe your neighbors will come. They can watch me fuck you like a whore.” He starts to pound into you so hard it feels as if he wants to break you. He might. The table creaks and rocks beneath you. You have to grip the edges to hang on.

God, you don’t want to love this, but you do.

Joel’s so big and so strong, that you couldn’t push him off even you if you tried. He could keep you pinned beneath him, fucking you like this forever—you can’t escape him. He grabs your hair again. Tighter. You sob, but Joel doesn’t even hear. The slap of his body slamming into you echoes in the small apartment. Through the haze of arousal, all you can see is the water in the kettle roiling, about to boil. But it’s like you can’t think of what to do. You can’t think of anything in the world beyond his cock and the way he’s using you so completely—

Shit, shit, shit! You’re so close now. So close! 

“Did it feel this good when Nate fucked you? Was it this good?” 

Joel grabs one of your wrists, yanking your arm painfully behind your back. 

“Was it?” he shouts down at you.

He tugs on your elbow, nearly knocking you off balance, and you cry out in alarm. Joel’s going to take whatever he wants. Humiliating you—making you answer him is just one more way he proves he’s in control. 

Joel Miller has set his demons loose, and he is holding nothing back. 

Maybe this is why he’s always stayed silent. If he knew this is what he’d unleash…but, then, what incentive does he have to hold back when he knows how much you love it when he loses control?

He pulls your arm up higher behind your back to remind you of how powerless you are. Then you feel his other hand gripping your ass before he slams into you again. The pleasure swelling inside you now isn’t just about the pain—it’s about your twisted satisfaction in the way Joel revels in his abuse. Your power over him comes from your powerlessness in his arms. It’s an intoxicating paradox.

“Tell me!” Joel growls.

“No,” you sob. 

It’s true enough. Your husband was a generous lover. Sex was always an expression of your affection for each other. Not this base desire. Humiliation. Fucking someone who treats you like they hate you as much as you hate yourself. Nate would never understand why you like this. 

But that’s what Joel is good for. He doesn’t have to understand, doesn’t want to. He just gives you what you need. Hearing his guttural grunts of pleasure as he keeps up his frantic pace, the slap of skin as he ruts into you like an animal—just turns you on even more. 

“Guys like that think you want it soft,” he mutters. “But this is what you need, isn’t it? To get used rough.”

“Yes–”

“My cock’s bigger than his, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Joel pounds into you harder, and harder, and you feel yourself breaking apart when you realize the pleasure building inside you comes from somewhere deeper within your body than you’ve ever delved. Sinking further inside yourself with every thrust, deeper into pure instinctive sensation, desire sharpens, and that coiling knot gets tighter. You tremble beneath him.

The room seems to be turning dark. You see black spots vibrating at the edges of your vision, and your heart thumps so loudly you can hear the rushing of blood in your ears. Ragged cries escape your lips. “Haaa! Aaaaah!” You couldn’t hold them back if you tried.

And then, in a blinding rush, you come. When the climax hits, those cries of pleasure are indistinguishable from your weeping. 

“There it is,” Joel grunts smugly, but doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He just fucks you harder—pumping into you with what seems to be thoughtless rage. 

He plunges in deep, and bites the soft flesh of your shoulder. Not enough to break the skin, but Joel hangs on with teeth and hands as—

Someone screams. Maybe you? One long, endless scream that pierces through the foggy haze of lust clouding out reality.   

Joel pulls out abruptly, his cock slapping against your thigh, hot and wet, as he reaches over to take the kettle off the stovetop. Turning off the burner, he collapses against the wall, head buried in his hands. The first sight of him is tantalizing—his erection still jutting out from his pants, ready to fuck you again. But then you see the expression on his face. 

Concerned. No. Stricken.

At last, Joel rakes his hands over his face and says, “That was too much.”

The tears finally stop. You try to stand up, but you can’t. You’re shaking too much for that.

Joel slips his arms behind your knees and carries you to the futon. He stretches out beside you, gathering you against his chest under the blankets. You’ve never held each other after sex. Such a simple thing, but unthinkable for both of you. For some reason, it makes you start crying again—deep, racking sobs that hurt your throat when you swallow them down. 

When did I last cry like this? Maybe when Nate died…I can’t remember.

You feel Joel’s cock—wet and sticky from your orgasm—pressing firmly against your ass. He must be in so much pain. He still hasn’t come. But he keeps holding you until there’s nothing left. No more tears to cry. Through the skylight, you can see a drizzle begin to fall, and Joel’s body behind you feels like the only warmth in this world.

“Don’t know if it matters anymore,” Joel whispers. “But you…you’re the only one…I haven’t done this with anyone else.”

“I’ve been to your place, Joel.” You sigh cooly, drawing up those walls to bar his gentle words. “There’s only one bed in that apartment.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” 

Whatever darkness Joel had chased moments ago, he didn’t like where it had led him. This was him trying to find his way back. To find some empathy within himself. Why, then, can’t you extend a hand to help him step into the light? 

“Glad I could save you the trouble of having to pick up other women.”

The huff of air he lets loose is hot against your cheeks. “How are you the prettiest and meanest person I’ve ever met?” 

“I’m—” 

“This isn’t how I wanted to end things.” 

When people push beyond their boundaries, they’re forced to discover what lies on the other side. 

What hides on the other side of Joel’s darkness? You know it, roughly. After watching the person you love most in the world be killed, while you are powerless to stop it—you can recognize its shape. But the full dimension of his pain remains unfathomable. 

“Me, neither,” you admit. “I…I haven’t. With anyone else. I know it doesn’t mean that we’re close,” you say, sighing. “Really you don’t know much about me. But the one thing you do know is the single most intimate, private thing I’ve ever shared with anyone.”

He responds by taking your face in his hands. One last teardrop escapes and trickles down your cheek. Joel brushes it away with his thumb, then leans in for a kiss.

“What are you doing?” you draw back.

“Dammit, woman. Let me kiss you.”

You relax into Joel’s embrace and feel his lips brush against yours. He winds an arm around your shoulders, and the kiss intensifies. Lips trail over your jaw and neck, down your throat—pausing only to pull your sweater over your head and toss it aside. His other arm slips around your waist, between the curve of your back and the mattress, sealing you together. Your breasts press against his bare chest. It feels strangely comforting from him, but your body responds eagerly. 

He wanted this time to be different. Not romantic—not love, but something softer, so he wouldn’t hate himself when he thought of you. The last time wasn’t like that, he would remind himself. We found some tenderness.

You don’t owe him that. Don’t owe him anything, but perhaps you also want to remember Joel Miller as better than he truly was. 

Then he’s atop you again, the hardness of his erection pressing insistently against your belly as you kiss. You tug his jeans over his hips and take his cock into your hand, guiding it downward. Joel closes his eyes in pleasure when he feels how wet you are. Ready for something different.

His eyelids flutter, and you wonder if he’s thinking back to another lover, from a time in his life when he was gentler. With Sarah’s mother? The thought doesn’t bother you. When his lips press lightly against the shell of your ear, you can’t help but think of Nate.

Joel pushes all the way inside with one long, slow thrust, “Yes,” you whisper.

Yes. You arch your back and close your eyes, sliding your hands underneath his shirt and over his back. 

“You feel so good,” he murmurs. 

You ought to enjoy hearing him say that. And on some level, you do, but—

Just pretend. Pretend that you care about each other. Try to share some vulnerability with this man, not rooted in shame or degradation. 

One of his hands comes up to cradle your head, the other grips your thigh, and he begins to move in slow, sensuous strokes. As Joel surges into you, you open your eyes to see him staring down at you. Watching. You hold his gaze, unable to look away, and that insistent coldness in his eyes begins to warm. You feel it crashing through the walls you’d tried to pull up between you moments ago.

No, no, no! We can’t have this. We’re supposed to be angry. Our intimacy is a toxic, tragic thing.

But you don’t really want that. Not now. Just be present in this moment you’re sharing. Soon, he’ll be gone, and you’ll be sorry when he leaves. Just let yourself have this. 

As you get closer to orgasm, your entire body tenses against him, and he feels it. Joel starts thrusting harder. Answering you. 

You fill your thoughts with his scent and study every part of his face—the way his hair clings to the perspiration on his forehead. How the brown of his irises are flecked with amber, which makes them seem so alight. The way his pupils dilate while he’s inside you, the way his jaw tightens with each deepening thrust.

The world fades away, and your vision of him becomes fuzzy as you clench around him. Your climax hits so hard this time that you think you might pass out. All the crying, and oxytocin, and adrenaline have made you exhausted—body and soul. You manage to stifle a cry of ecstasy against Joel’s shoulder, and he groans with satisfaction.

You hear him gasp your name, and then he’s there, too. “Nnngh!” 

Pleasure shudders through Joel’s body as he grips you tighter. You want to watch the dark head of his cock sliding in and out, but you can’t look away from the sight of his face—skin beaded with sweat, mouth open, eyes screwed shut as the sensation overtakes him.

You feel his cock pulse inside you, and he holds you close until his long, powerful orgasm finally subsides.

You lay there for a while, locked together, intertwined from knees to shoulders. Perhaps a little stunned to have achieved this—for your bodies to remember what it’s like having sex without violence or harsh words spoken.

“I have to get going,” Joel whispers against your temple.

“I know,” you say softly. 

He gets to his feet and begins buttoning up his shirt.

“Joel…” you take a deep breath, reaching for your courage. “You’ve scared me,” you say hoarsely, curling your legs against your chest. “Not enough for me to walk away, but…when I said those things….I’m angry with you for wanting this…because I’m angry with myself for wanting it, too.”

It’s time to find the words for all the things we’ve left unsaid.

“I hope you find Tommy. I hope you figure out a way to be with Tess. I hope you can learn to forgive yourself.”

He folds his arms over his chest as he studies you. After a long, deep breath, he says, “I think I liked it better when you were just mean.”

That makes you laugh, and Joel almost smiles hearing it. Almost. 

“Give Abe the ranger map. He should be able to find the right tower.” 

Joel looks down at you with such sadness that you’re taken aback. “You know you should think about getting out soon. FEDRA’s not going to hold on much longer. It’ll get bad real fast.” 

It’s not an invitation to join him on the road to Wyoming. Apart from the stratospheric levels of awkward tension amongst the three of you, he knows you’d only slow them down.

“There’s some fellas I know who…they’re getting older. Could maybe use some help around the house.” Joel plucks a pencil off the drafting table and circles a spot on the tri-state map. “Lincoln. Not too far from here. Bout a day’s walk. You’ve probably hiked most of the trails out that way. You could make it.”

“I’ll tell them Joel sent me?”

His face falls a little.

“Yeah,” Tess’ name would be better currency. 

“Tell’em you’re Nate’s wife.” The set of Joel’s jaw and shoulders is resolute. “Talked about you often enough that…show em the butterfly tattoo if Bill wants proof.”

Your brow arches. “My tramp-stamp from college?” 

What had Nate been telling these people?

“Still got his radio? Good. Keep it on this frequency.” He jots down the number. “When you start hearing 70s hits, that’s when you’ll know to head out.”

You raise the other eyebrow. 

“Just…trust me on this.”

It is better. Parting as friends.

“Alright,” you shrug, letting a genuine smile cross your face for the first time in ages. “When I hear Chaka Khan, I’ll know what to do.”

Joel tugs the door close behind him. Through the gap, he says, “She’s tellin’ you somethin’ good.”

Did Joel Miller just make a joke? If you had a gold star, you’d pin it to your chest.

IV. Epilogue

About a week later, Abe’s son comes to the clinic to give you a message scribbled onto a torn piece of note paper. 

Leave when you’re ready. You’ll have the place to yourself. Everything you need to know is buried under the cherry tree.

“And, um,” David shuffled his feet awkwardly. “In his message…Joel said you’d cover the, you know, the payment. So dad told me to…” he trails off, extending a hand out for his delivery fee. 

Fuck. Joel Miller.

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

Thanks for reading!

[theocddiaries]

[Tom cautiously patrols the area, blaster ready. He glances to his left at the sound of rustling bushes. He tiptoes over, pushes the leaves aside, and finds Knuckles and Wade watching a movie on Wade’s phone.] Wade: Hey Tom, wanna join? Tom: What are you doing?? Knuckles: Donut Lord, before you rightfully ashame me for my actions, you should know I was eliminated a while ago. Tom: Oh… and how? Like this? [Tom swiftly turns around and eliminates Rouge, who was silently descending behind him. She drops to the asphalt in defeat.] Tom: You’re in my town, bat. [Tom’s vest lights up, and he freezes in shock. Shadow appears out of nowhere, sprinting toward his next target.] Knuckles: Run, hedgehog, run! Rouge: Get him, Shadow! [Sonic is perched in a tree, pressing his vest against the trunk for protection. His ears twitch at every sound. His attention shifts downward when he sees a chili dog approaching the tree on a remote-controlled car.] Sonic: Oooh, dibs--Wait a sec! This is real life, not a dream. Something smells fishy… tasty but fishy. [Back at the Mean Bean, Robotnik is spying on Sonic while piloting the remote car.] Amy: That’s cheating! Robotnik: All’s fair in war, hedgehog! Besides, nobody said we couldn’t bribe with food! Maddie: You scoundrel… Sonic, if you come down from that tree, you’re grounded—three months, no console! [The remote car starts circling the tree.] Sonic: Eggman, cut it out! I’m not coming down no matter how many laps you do! [to himself]: Oh man, please let the battery die; he loaded it with extra chili, that jerk… [A drop of water falls onto his nose. Sonic sniffs and rubs it, glancing upward to check the sky.] Sonic: Is it raining?? Robotnik [through loudspeakers]: For you, it is. [An Eggbot emerges through the branches, relentlessly spraying Sonic with water. Sonic swats at it.] Knuckles: That’s cheating! You know Sonic’s hydrophobic! Rouge: So what?! He’s only up there because Shadow’s scared of heights! Nobody said anything about exploiting weaknesses! [Sonic loses his grip and falls. Shadow runs, catches him, gently sets him down, and hands him a towel.] Shadow: You okay? Sonic: Yeah, yeah… Thanks. [takes the towel] Shadow: Good. [eliminates him] [Sonic groans. Robotnik, Stone, and Rouge cheer and run to hug Shadow.] Robotnik: CHAAAAAMPIOOOONS, WE ARE THE CHAAAAAMPIOOOONS!!! Knuckles: Worry not, family, I’ve got the solution. I read in a book that rats follow flute music. Dang it, we don’t have one. Well, they can’t be that smart. Maybe I can fool them. [mimics playing a flute, whistling off-key] Shadow: Sonic, we still going to the movies tomorrow? Sonic: Yeah, sure. One thing has nothing to do with the other. Robotnik: Hey, for a little extra cash, I can set up a home theater-- Maddie: Aaaah, shut up! Yeah, you won, but we’re not stepping into your stupid café unless it's open for clients! We’re going to my sister’s place. Tom: Damn it. Maddie: Zip it! Robotnik: Ah, look at the sore loser! Na-na na-na-na! Better start naming those rats, cause you’ll have them even in your soup! Though, well, naming rats is something you’re used to. Tom: Joke’s on you. Our kids already had names by the time we met them. Maddie: Tom, shut up! Stone: And you, Ivo, ease up. No need to rub salt in the wound. Robotnik: Oh yes, there is! Let me bask in this, first time I win, after all! Rouge: Waaaaait a minute… You just beat the Wachowskis at a game and insulted the matriarch… and there hasn’t been a single witty comeback…? Sonic: True. [looks around]: Where’s Tails??? He was playing too! Everyone: … … Robotnik [inhales slowly]: Tell me that fox is pushing up daisies. [stares at his family; they exchange glances and shake their heads]: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! The Wachowskis: YEEEEEEEEEEES! Maddie [dancing]: THE WACHOWSKIS ARE STILL STANDING! Tom: Wait, where is Tails??

Part 1

Part 3

[captainlondonman]

SHORT STORY- TURKISH BARBER

Sam decided he needed a haircut, only a trim but a tidy up anyway and went off to his usual barber. As he went to open the door he noticed a sign saying ‘On vacation. Back soon’

‘Shit now I need to find another place.’

He remembered passing several times a Turkish barber shop where there never seemed to be many clients and the older barber was invariably sitting reading a newspaper

‘Well’, he thought’ it’s only a trim he can’t go far wrong.’

He pushed the door open and walked in

The guy looked up and smiled

‘Looking for a haircut?’

‘Yeah just a trim if that’s OK.’

‘Come and sit down and let’s get started.’

After getting a gown around Sam’s neck the barber took out his scissors and started on the sides. Thinking of getting a conversation started Sam asked

‘Are you Turkish?’

‘Yes sure am but I’ve been here a good few years. Have you ever been to Turkey?’

‘Once a few years ago to Istanbul. I’ts an amazing city. I loved it. So much to see and do. Really where East meets West.’

‘Everyone goes there and you are right but have you been to any of the beaches in Turkey?’

‘No.’

‘That is something else, golden sand and blue blue sea.’

‘Not sure I would find it that easy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well with my fair skin and flat chest I would find it a bit daunting with all those hairy chested Turks showing off their masculine bodies’

‘You have a point I think.’

‘They all look so manly with their thick beards and dark hairy chests.’

‘You obviously look carefully at us Turkish men.’

‘Well, you cannot miss all that black hair.’

‘You would like to have hairy chest I think.’

‘Sure I would love to but clearly not going to happen so perhaps I leave out the beaches.’

‘Not everyone has black hairy chest. Look at me, mine is now grey.’

‘I see that but even though you only have your two top buttons undone I can see your chest must have been dark at one time and now its grey but a lot of hair. Lucky you.’

‘Wait a minute I have an idea.’

And with that he put down his scissors and walked over to the door locking it. ‘Now let me take off your cover and follow me to the back of the shop. Don’t worry. From what you said you will be happy trust me.’

Sam had no idea what the guy was talking about but got up and followed the guy into the back room.

‘So you like hairy men and even noticed the hairs sprouting out the top of my shirt so I now take off my shirt and you do the same.’

At first Sam thought the guy had taken leave of his senses but part of him wanted to see how the full chest hair looked like even if he was going to show nothing.

Sam stripped off his shirt feeling very self conscious.

‘I see what you mean young man, not much hair to show. Would not be well receievd on a Turkish beach I think. This is more like it.’

The barber slowly took off his shirt and Sam’s eyes were on stalks. Not only was the barber covered with a thick mat of chest hair but it came up all across his shoulders and down his arms to his very fingertips. It was almost like a gorilla. The hair was salt and pepper with a dark area around the navel getting greyer as it rose up over his chest and tits. The shoulders were thick in white hair.

‘Now that is a Turkish chest for you.’

‘Good god that is amazing I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as hairy.’

‘I think you like it judging by your eyes. Sadly my wife hates it she would prefer I was like you.’

‘Then she is totally wrong it looks great on you and I just wish I had some of what you have.’

‘You really would like to be hairy would you not?’

‘There is something really special about hairy and Turkish and arab men. They look so masculine.’

‘Hairy bodies are for men. Hairless chests for boys.’

‘Yeah but I am a man.’.

‘A man who would like to be hairy.’

‘Sure would.’

‘So would you like to touch my chest and feel the hair?’

‘Can I?’

‘Well I have asked you so yes, see what it is like.’

Sam gingerly put his hands lightly on the barber’s chest and felt the thick curling mass of hair.

‘Now come on boy just giving a little touch is hardly being a man. Run your hands over and deeply across my chest so you know what a hairy chest really feels like. Let your hands become entangled in the hair. Let me feel your hands.’

Sam started to move his hands deep into the hair letting the grey thick hair curl around his fingers. He had never felt anything like this. The sensation of touching and rubbing had started to make his cock so erect it was sore. He felt he could say nothing to this older man that he was becoming so aroused and just hoped his tent was not too obvious.

‘Why don’t you move your hands up under my pecs, the hair is thicker there just under my tits. You see how thick it is there?’

‘God I never felt anything like this before.’

‘Looks as if you are enjoying.’

‘Well you said I should move my hand around.’

‘So while you are at it why don’t you try and find my nipples among the hair. That’s it, I can feel your fingers just  touching my nipples. So while they are there I’d like you to give them a tweak. Get each nipple between your fingers and give a squeeze.’

Sam did not know what to do so very gingerly teased them

‘I said give them a squeeze not just a brush. That’s better a bit harder. Us Turks like to have good big nipples and some squeezing helps make them bigger. Now move your hands up to my shoulders. See how the hair continues across my shoulders. And you know it goes all the way down my back. You’d like to feel that as well no doubt.’

‘If you are asking. I have rarely seen a hairy back before.’

‘Well I tell you what, come into me, press your chest against mine and put your arms around my back and let your hands rub up and down my back and at the same time you can feel my hairy chest rubbing against you, so it almost will feel for you what a hairy chest you could have.’

Sam did as he was told and put his arms around the barber, the barber doing likewise and pulling in tight

’See my back is almost as hairy as my chest so let your hands rub into my skin.’

‘Christ it’s amazing,’ Sam replied as he started to move his chest tight up against the barbers hair letting the hairs rub against his skin

‘How does that feel?’

I feel as I rub against you as if I have a hairy chest. Its just what I have always imagined. I am almost feeling like a bear even with no chest hair but all your hair makes me feel as if its mine.

‘That’s the idea. Now I seem to think there’s a bit of a pole rubbing against my thigh. Feels as if you have a hard on.’

‘Not just a hard on but my cock is aching with all this rubbing.’

‘I hope you are feeling something more than a pole against your thigh.’

‘Shit is that your cock it feels more like another leg.’

Taking one hand away from Sam, the barber pushed Sam’s hand down between them

‘So feel that.’

‘Christ its huge.’

‘Of course it is. It’s pure Turkish thick cock. All us men have a good 9” and not just the length but thick and cut as well.. That cock of mine needs to get out and you can see properly so unzip me and take it out.’

Sam carefully unzipped the massive bulge and put his hand inside to feel the throbbing dick. ‘You need to undo the belt and let my trousers down so you can lift it out. It’s too big to just take out like this.’

As Sam let down the trousers so the meaty prick bounced upwards. Sam could not believe the size. If this is what all Turks have then I want one he thought to himself.

‘So now I have let you feel all my hair, I need a couple of favours from you.’

Firstly you get down on your knees and suck. My wife hates a blow job but I love it and only men know how to do it properly.’

‘I might choke with trying to suck.’

‘Trust me once you let your mouth open and breathe carefully this will slip down the back of your throat.’

The barber undid Sam’s zip and slid his trousers down over his cock which was tenting in his pants.

‘Not a bad dick but it could be bigger. I think you would like a thick dick like mine, yeah?’

‘I sure would.’

‘So get down and feel this big chopper into your mouth. I want to feel my cock all the way down the back of your throat. Take hold of my heavy balls and pull them down as you start to lick my head.’

Sam sat on the floor and took hold of the barber’s heavy balls.

‘Now pull down tight and move you head in. Get your mouth full of spit to cover my head.’ Holding the Barbers balls Sam started licking the glistening head covering it with more and more spit running his lips around the full helmet.

‘That’s good but now I need to feel your mouth get deeper. You don’t need to take the full length but go as far as you can without chocking.’

Still holding the balls Sam opened his mouth as wide as possible and moved it slowly down into his throat. It was massive but having such a thick member in his mouth was a real turn on.. The barber took hold of Sam’s head and moved it further into his cock.

‘Good boy you are doing this well now start move your mouth up and down my shaft. Let me feel you sucking  up and down. Christ that feels good but I need to stop you there as there is now the second favour I need of you. Take your mouth out of my shaft and stand up.’

Looking Sam in the face he said

‘My wife hates being bum fucked  but I love arse fucking and your arse is now ready for a fuck. Let me see that arse of yours.’

The barber let his hands move across Sam’s cheeks and started to push them apart to expose his hole.

‘Look quite tight to me but with all your spit you should be able to take.’

‘I’m not sure I can take your prick’ Sam said.

‘Don’t worry I’ll be gentle and I’ll just let a good gob of my spit onto my shaft so it will be easier. Now bend over as it will be better for you.

Sam wanted to feel the barbers cock insider him. He wanted to feel a real hairy man stick it all the way up..

The barber keeping Sam’s cheeks as far apart as possible guided his cock to the hole and with a gentle push started to move his helmet in.

‘Christ it’s huge. I’m really not sure.’

‘Just relax, be a man like us Turks and once in you will want the full length trust me. Now be a man. Pushing a bit more the full helmet entered his arse and then Sam felt he could relax a bit. It felt so good he started to shove his arse back towards the cock.

‘I want to feel those thick pubes of yours up against me and also feel all that body hair rubbing against me as you grind your cock.’

‘I’ll put my full cock inside you and the give you a moment to rest before we do the next part. This next one with be a changer for you. You will become a man just like all us Turks. Now stand up and squeeze your bum so you feel me deep inside you.’

‘Now let’s turn you to look at the mirror so you can see yourself and I start to fuck you harder.

‘Good you can see yourself with that smooth chest and feel my hairy chest against your back.’

‘It feels as if I have the hairy back when you are pressed against me.’

‘So you’d like to have a hairy chest and back would you?’

‘Seeing you is exactly what I’d love to have.’

‘Good I hoped you might say that. So are you ready for me to start a harder fuck and then come inside you cause there’s plenty of spunk in my balls and I want you to feel it shooting all the way up.’

‘I want you all and now even though that prick of yours is so big my arse is aching to be fucked by it.’

As the barber  starting to move his cock in and out down the length of Sam’s arse he moved his arms to the front around Sam.

‘This arse of yours is made for me and boy am I gonna fuck

Let me start rubbing your arms with my hands while I fuck ok?’

‘Please I want to feel those hairy manly arms all over me.’ Sam was almost begging

As he rubbed his hands over Sam’s arms, Sam was suddenly aware that those smooth arms of his were sprouting hairs and not just blond hairs but dark almost black hairs, long and curling from his shoulders all the way down to the tips of his fingers

‘What is happening my arms are now looking hairy.’

The barber replied as he continued to let his cock run the full length of Sam’s arse.

‘You said you’d like to be hairy. Looks good and manly does it not?

‘But they are not just becoming hairy they look more muscular’.

‘Who wants to be a skinny man. We all want to be real men don’t we?’

‘Well yes’

‘So now let me run my arms across your smooth chest and see what I can do for you.’

As the barber ran his rough large hands across Sam’s chest he thought it at first looked like a shadow across his whole chest and then as he looked down he realised it was hairs not just slowly sprouting out of every pore but quickly and looking like a forest of curling black hair all the way cross and down even on his shoulders. Not only around his pecs and navel but the entire chest was hairy. His whole chest was larger with now broad shoulders and dark skin and he had a 6 pack he’d never had before and such a big pair of pecs all covered in coarse hair. It was like a perfect Turkish man’s chest.

‘Let me bring my hands up to your nipples which I can hardly see for hair. You gave mine a nice pinch so let me do the same for you. All Turks love their nipples played with.’

As the barber started to work his nipples so Sam groaned with pleasure moving his arse in and out against the barber.s cock.

‘Christ that is amazing it so turning me on. Squeeze them harder’

Good I like to squeeze Turkish nipples. And you have a really big pair with extended nipple heads. Is that better? These will hsow nicely through all your shirts and everyone can see what a big pair of Turkish tits you have.’

‘It’s fucking fantastic.’

‘You like your new chest?’

‘It’s like a dream. I feel much more a real man. My arse feels bigger and more round and am I right is saying its hairy.’

‘It’s very hairy, all the way inside that nice crack of yours and you now have a big bubble butt and bigger hole so my cock sits well inside you.’

‘I’ts no longer sore and I want you to increase your rythmn I’m so wanting you to come inside me I can feel those thick pubes of your rubbing against my hairy arse. Shit it’s great.

‘Don’t worry “m coming round to put my hands on that cock of your but first I need to rub my hands over your face and head so close your eyes and just enjoy me thrusting faster and faster inside you.’

The more the barber thrust the more Sam pushed his arse back to see the full length of the thick shaft. He wanted every inch as he felt the barber’s hands rub against his face. As he rubbed he could feel that his face was no longer smooth but it was almost as though there was a brush in between his face and the barbers hands. His head felt different and that trim he came in for was as though he had had a very close cut even more than a number one.’

‘Now open your eyes. Look at yourself and the man you are’

The face staring back at him was no longer the wholesome blond Brit. The face he looked at in the mirror could for him almost have been a criminal. He was completely bald, shaven with a shiny top but from the top of his ears there was a thick black beard and moustache. So thick he could hardly see his mouth. The beard was at least 3inches long and took up all his chin and neck all the way down to where it met his hairy chest. He had a brown face, a squashed nose as if it could have been broken in a fight and thick bushy black eyebrows. He looked exactly like a middle eastern thug, a Turkish thug but he looked a man and man that no one would tamper with. He looked every part a man who would dominate but here he was being now aggressively fucked and loving the large cock inside him.

‘Now you look like a man. Makes me even more horny to fuck you like a brother Turk. I need to cum soon but first let me put my hands of your cock so you come at the same time.

The barber moved his hands down to grip Sam’s cock who was still staring at his new face.

‘Now look down’

Sam looked and what had been a good 6 incher before was now 9” and thick like the barber with such a forest of dark pubes. Now  Sam looked just like a masculine tough nut Turk. He was ready to come just staring at his new tool and he could feel the barber’s cock in him pulsating ready to shoot his load of cum.

‘If you are ready we both cum but I tell you this is a new beginning and you will feel at first for a short time a bit different but don’t worry it’s all part of what you want.’

‘I hope so.’ shouted Sam, ‘Just let me have everything you have and let me feel your pubes right up against my hairy arse as you cum so I am about to shoot.’

And with that the barber

Shouted ‘Fuck you Turk be one of us.’

As Sam felt the spunk shoot up his arse so his own cock exploded, arches of cum hitting the mirror and running down, great creamy drops.

When he opened his eyes after his orgasm everything seemed a bit cloudy not just his eyes but his brain. He was struggling to think what to say in English. He thought he knew what to say but he was rapidly forgetting words and instead other words of a foreign tongue were in his mind

‘I feel …. ‘He managed to say in English but even those two words he noted were in a much deeper voice and with a strong accent. It did not sound like his voice.

‘Tell me what you are thinking in your preferred language.’ The barber said

Sam said in a rasping deep voice in Turkish ‘That was a fucking great fuck.’

‘Yes Samir only we know how to fuck like real men. Welcome my Cousin.’ This was no longer Sam looking at himself in the mirror, it was now Samir.

‘Tell you what cousin I look fucking great. A hairy Turk with a huge dick and now you and I have a Turkish coffee and cigarette and then I fuck the living daylights of you. One favour deserves another. We keep it is the family eh?’

‘I get you good job in nightclub Samir.’

‘Sure Cousin, I like a good fight. No one gets on the wrong side of me.’

‘A tough Turk and a good fuck.’

‘Yeah but now time for you to turn round and I give you a good Samir fuck’

[spectresymptoms]

Don’t Make Me Cry

pairing. griffin lovell (harley) x gn!reader

part 1

synopsis. you get injured during a mission for hermes, and griffin is there to patch you up. sorta.

notes. it's kinda implied that reader does not like being touched, and that they —like griffin— have a hard time accepting help. this isn't to imply they don't want to be touched or helped. for all intents and purposes, it's meant to come across as not trusting people's intentions (which is also clearly implied, but still i feel the need to clarify this). this context is important for some of the later scenes, so please read with caution, as i've been warned that those scenes in particular can be read in a way they weren't intended.

cw. blood, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, angst, griffin makes the situation worse what's new, and minor character death. also probably ooc take this with a grain of salt.

wc. 6.5k

To his credit, Griffin did try to warn you about the explosives. At least a hundred times.

You can’t be angry with him for your current predicament, but you know for a fact that when he sees you, he’s going to be livid.

For all intents and purposes, you’d done your job exactly as he’d expected you to.

When you both arrived in Liverpool freezing to your toes, it was in good spirits. Your trip had gone well, and even your fellow Hermes operatives (who you rendezvoused with the night before your robbery was to take place) commented on it. You had to smother a grin when you and Griffin shared a knowing look.

You were responsible for keeping a watch out for dock guards. The ship you and your little crew of criminals were raiding was heavily protected, and slipping past the defenses had not been easy. Naturally, getting in and out, you had to be sneaky.

And you needed to be quick.

That, had been Griffin’s most stressed point. Once he lit his bombs, you all would only have minutes to escape or be caught in the destruction.

The plan was to go in pairs, breaking into the boat’s belly and taking as much silver as one could muster. With you keeping watch and alerting whoever was below deck that someone was coming. Once one pair was done, the next would enter the boat and leave just as stealthily.

It was meant to decrease the risk factor.

But Leon never made it out.

Each person left the ship with one crate of silver, making this Hermes’s greatest feat to date. Leon was the last to go under the deck and was supposed to be the last one up, accompanied by Griffin. But neither reemerged.

You waited, hiding in the shadows, but they never came back up. All you could do was continue to keep watch, staring at the dock guards pacing the wooden length of the artificial shore. You were certain the anxiety was going to send you into cardiac arrest just as Griffin finally reappeared.

Except, he wasn’t on the boat.

It was unmistakably him. His black coat fluttered around him as he dodged into one of the alleyways back on the streets. He’d already made it back safe. He must’ve gotten past without you noticing.

Which means he must’ve lit the explosives minutes ago.

You only had enough time to leap from the boat and roll over the wooden dock, scrambling to your feet hopelessly. The ship exploded in a great spectacle of red and orange fire, blasting your eardrums and blinding you.

You hardly remember how you managed to get to safety, only that the last few minutes have been the most painful of your life.

There’s a strange pressure in your stomach that’s making it hard to straighten your back, but you don’t dare look down, in fear of what injury you might find there. All you can do is pray your adrenaline will keep you sane enough to get to safety.

Instead, you brace yourself against the wall of the building to your right and shuffle further into the alleyway you think you saw Griffin enter earlier.

Sure enough, at the end of the path, Griffin stands, peaking out around the corner and checking to see if the coast is clear for his escape. The militia will be on the scene soon, neither of you will want to be here when that happens.

You’re so relieved to see him that you crumble down to the floor, sliding down the stone wall and biting back a quiet sob.

“Griffin,” You call, a little desperately.

His head instantly snaps over to you, and you see the exact moment he realizes you’re injured. Badly.

Griffin is at your side within seconds, practically falling over himself to slide down to his knees and yank you closer by your sides. There is no time for embarrassment, no time to think about how nice it feels to be within his embrace as he lifts you to your feet. He throws your arm over his shoulder to support your weight and strides you both down the alleyway as quickly as you can manage.

Your vision swims for half the journey, barely picking your feet up off the ground as Griffin does most of the heavy lifting. You think he might be cursing, or calling you names, but the ringing in your ears hasn’t completely faded.

“Le—Leon- He didn’t make it?” You manage, feeling breathless.

Griffin’s grip on your side tightens. You watch his lips move, you try to make out the syllables you know he’s saying. “If he isn’t with you, then no.”

Your heart sinks, but you keep your face passive. It would’ve been a miracle if no one died during this mission. One dead and one injured is a record for Hermes, at least for a robbery this big.

At the end of the alleyway, Griffin looks in both directions, like he’s searching for something. The road ahead is empty thanks to the late hour, but you’re certain people will be flooding the streets any moment now to see what all the commotion is about.

Griffin seems to realize this too, and begins swearing again. He forces you both back into the narrow alleyway, and then into a nearly nonexistent gap between two buildings. There’s not a chance he can carry you back to the safe house, he’s too thin and brittle, and you’re basically deadweight.

He helps you lower down to the dirty, moist, cobblestone floor, face scrunched with concentration.

As you bring your hands to your stomach, where you felt that strange pressure before, you notice how badly you’re trembling. Your body must be in an awful lot of pain, and you fill with dread as you realize your adrenaline is going to start wearing off soon.

That's when you spot the large, sharp, wooden spike caught in your abdomen. There’s blood soaking your shirt and the wood, dying everything a deep red color that sends a chill down your spine.

“Shit—Griffin-” You whimper, and Griffin’s eyes snap down to the wood stuck in you, damp and dripping with red blood.

“Fuck. Fuck, what the hell happened out there?” Griffin asks, grimacing. His hands hover over the wood, he’s shaking almost as bad as you are. “I told you to get off the boat the second I was up.”

You have never known Griffin to be a healer. In fact, as much as you adore him, you would never want him in charge of your stitches. But you have no choice except to rely on him now, and a little part of you dies at the thought.

His hands are indelicate as they tug the fabric away from your wound, and he glances between the red of your shirt and the roots of your hair, where you suspect there is another gash dripping in your blood.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” You say, breaths becoming short and quick.

Griffin gives you a sideways look, before ripping your shirt further off to expose the wood and fire underneath. He tries, and fails, to push your face away so you won’t see the grotesque scene.

You both sit in a tense silence, a heavy sense of doom settling in your bones. The wood is stuck, and it’s stuck deep. Your heart is racing like a tiny bird thrumming between your ribs trying to break free.

Even around the wound, tiny splinters decorate your skin and threaten to infect you. The sight of your body split in such a violent state feels unreal, and you are suddenly grateful that your veins are pumping with adrenaline to withstand the pain.

“No point in apologizing now. This is punishment enough,” Griffin says gruffly, finally breaking the looming stillness between you. He looks frozen in place, uncertain of how to proceed. Neither of you are equipped with the skill set necessary to save you from something this severe. He knows it. You both know it.

“Well,” You start, sounding entirely defeated. Your voice shakes like a leaf. “It didn’t hit anything important. I’d be dead by now if that was the case.”

This time when Griffin forces you to face away, you let him, allowing your head to lull against his touch. He pulls back after a hesitant moment, then drags his hands down his face in a scrubbing motion, groaning.

“We can’t leave this in,” Griffin says, rolling up his sleeves.

“If you pull it out, I’m going to start gushing like a fountain,” You huff, still breathing like you just ran a marathon. “Do you have anything to close the wound?”

“You’re going to bleed out at this rate anyway, we’re running the risk of it ripping something vital open,” Griffin says, frustrated. “Damnit, I’m not a medic.”

You fight the urge to slap his hand away as it closes around the wood, instead relaxing your weight against the wall and resigning yourself to an early death. “I hope Anthony speaks at my funeral. I wonder if Playfair will throw a party to celebrate.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the optimist between us?” He asks, though you know it’s meant to be a distraction. “At least try to hold out.”

“Have you heard the word contumacious?” You say, ignoring him. “It comes from the Latin roots con and tumere. It means to be stubbornly disobedient to authority.”

“That right?” Griffin says, goading you on. He holds down the top of your stomach with one hand and inhales deeply.

You keep talking, even as his grip tightens on the wood and you feel your skin tug around the wood. There’s a rippling sensation, like electricity running under your skin as you try to refrain from tensing up, your voice is catching and stumbling as your anxiety peaks. “Yep. Reminded me of yo— fuck!”

Griffin yanks half the wood out in a single, harsh pull, but the sensation of it dragging against your insides and the space left behind has your mind spinning.

He slaps his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming any louder. The last thing you need right now is for militia to find you, rationally you know this, but it becomes increasingly difficult to stay rational as blood spills over every inch of your abdomen.

“You need to be quiet,” He says between his teeth, though you hardly hear him over how you're hyperventilating into his hand.

Pulling his palm away to give you room to breathe, he takes another deep breath and then —with absolutely no warning— rips the wood from you clean.

He slaps his hand over your mouth again.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Somehow you feel both warm and cold. The feeling of your blood running over your skin is like a gentle summer rain, but your wound might as well have been touched by the Arctic.

Griffin spends that time attempting to apply pressure and stop the bleeding with ripped fabric from his sleeves and whatever bandages he already has on. Nothing works. It’s entirely futile against the rush of blood pooling out of you.

You feel delirious, lightheaded, and suddenly very entertained. You giggle.

Griffin shoots you an alarmed side-eye.

“Griffin,” You say between gasps for air and cackles.

“Don’t start,” He warns, perhaps a little scared.

“Too late,” You giggle evilly. “That ship has sailed.”

Griffin gives you an incredulous look. “We’re not doing this.”

“No?” You ask, grinning in a way that must be very concerning. “Oar what?”

Griffin’s expression hardens, and you’re certain you’ve done it now.

You laugh louder anyway. “I’ve got a sinking feeling about this.”

He digs a finger into your wound and you nearly black out again.

“Take this seriously,” He hisses, and you resist the urge to weep because you know it would only make him angrier.

“I'm coping,” You hiss back, writhing under him. He lets up after a few more seconds, satisfied with your punishment.

“You can cope later. Right now I need you to think.” Griffin straightens out, but keeps his hands over your cut. “You’re supposed to be medically inclined.”

“The wood was holding the blood in place. Like a scab would. Rip off the scab, you’re gonna bleed,” You explain. “Hence.” You gesture to the red covering Griffin's hands. “The blood.”

“I know that,” Griffin’s nostrils flare with a thinly contained outburst. “I’m asking you, what do we do now?”

“Do you have a thread and a needle?”

“No.”

”A lighter?”

“…No?”

“Guess I’ll die then.” You shrug.

You see Griffin move to dig his fingers in the wound again for your petulance and start flailing like a fish out of water. He only manages to get you to stop when he holds down either side of your hips with his knees.

“There has to be something else,” Griffin insists, like Christ himself will appear and save you from damnation. Briefly, you wonder if that’s how Griffin approaches most of his injuries. “I’m not just leaving you here to bleed out.”

“I didn’t realize you cared so much,” You say humorously, a little strangled. Just to break the tension of your steadily approaching death.

“Of course I care,” Griffin snaps back, heatedly, “isn’t it obvious?”

You both freeze.

The nerve of this man.

“I guess so,” You manage, blinking slowly as black dots begin to dance in your vision. “I hadn’t noticed at all. You do care about me.”

Griffin scoffs. “How many times have I covered your bill?”

Point taken.

Still, the audacity he has to hold that over your head even as you're bleeding out in his arms.

“Guess you’ll be glad to be rid of the hole in your wallet,” You say dryly, deliberately ignoring the very obvious confession he just made.

Griffin, probably against his better judgement, is not so eager to move on. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I'll fix the hole in my wallet as many times as it takes for it to stop bleeding dry.”

“Ha,” You say. “Ha ha.”

Your shirt is in tatters around the leaking opening that you try very hard not to look at. Griffin takes the liberty of ripping the bottom half off and shoving it over the wound to try and soak up some of your blood. You do not protest.

It’s only when he starts to press down on it do your hands shoot up and wrap around his wrists, a hissing sound escaping your lips.

“Don’t be a baby,” He tuts. He takes your hands and links them with his own, pressing them down against the wound so you can feel your shirt grow more damp.

“This isn’t helping anything.” You wince. “Seriously we can’t just sit here and wait for the bleeding to stop, I can feel my lifespan shortening.”

Griffin retracts a hand, digging for something in one of the inner pockets of his coat. He pulls out a thin, delicate silver bar that gleams under the moonlight.

“We’ll try this,” He says, with as much confidence as you think he can muster.

You see the match-pair inscribed on its shining surface and audibly gulp. On one side, “修” , Xiū, to fix. Or at least that’s what Griffin told you it means. On the other, “Heal”. This is the silver bar Griffin has been tweaking for the past few weeks.

It’s a prototype at best and a pipe dream at worst. You know he hasn’t had the opportunity to test it, which is probably why he’s waited until the last moment to use it.

But you’re fresh out of any other options, and with how numb your limbs are starting to feel, you doubt you could run away even if you tried.

Griffin hesitates as he holds the bar to your stomach. You see a flash of uncertainty in his eyes and swallow thickly.

Even if the match-pair can save you, there’s no guarantee the bar will respond to Griffin. They’ve always been finicky with him, especially when he needs them most.

“I’ve only got so much blood I can lose,” You say, kicking one of your legs to snap him back to attention. “I'm not getting any younger.”

Griffin huffs, giving you a weak grin as he breathes deeply. “Would it kill you to have good manners and say please?”

”Don’t you lecture me on my deathbed about manners,” You grin back, tasting something metallic on your tongue. “I’m dying anyway, I’ll go out how I want.”

“You’re not going to die,” Griffin drops his gaze the silver bar, gathering his courage and finally speaking the match-pair.

Nothing happens.

Your eyes droop, lashes fluttering.

Griffin hesitates again, then repeats the match-pair, stronger each time. He keeps repeating it until the words stop sounding like strength and start sounding like a prayer. His hands are locked with your own, pushing down on the wound as the remnants of your shirt soak up everything it can.

You don’t have the heart to tell him the pressure is making it hard to breathe. You’re not sure it even matters at this point.

You try focusing on something else, try looking up at the night sky or listening to the sound of footsteps somewhere beyond the tiny crook Griffin has tucked you both in. But your attention keeps coming back to him, back to the little details of him you finally get to see up close.

You’ve never noticed until now how much longer his hands are than your own. His palms and knuckles are littered with thick calluses you don’t recognize. When you manage to tear your gaze away from where your fingers interlace, you see the expression he’s making.

You feel sick.

You expected his face to be scrunched with anger, for him to be glaring at you.

Instead, his chin nearly quivers, and his face is taut with mounting grief. There’s a look in his eyes as he stares down at your blood-soaked shirt, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re breathless, finally taking in things about him you’ve neglected for years.

He never had stubble when you were students. His brows have gotten thicker. He’s painfully thinner. Scars decorate every little crook you can spot on his skin.

Most of all, he looks so exhausted, so much older than before.

You want to trace the worry lines of his face, but when you go to lift your hand, he clamps it down tighter.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Griffin fumes, sensing your gaze.

You don’t answer him.

“Please. I can’t get through this when you’re looking at me with pity, even at the end,” He says, weaker now. It shocks you enough that you lose your grip on his fingers.

“I’ve never pitied your Griffin,” You say, just as softly.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not pity.”

Griffin isn’t brave enough to answer. His teeth dig deep into the skin of his bottom lip, drawing blood. He’s still not looking at you.

“Griffin, I lov—“

“I know, goddamnit!” Griffin shouts, “I know you do.”

You find it hard to speak, even though you want to answer him. Your head is so heavy, it nearly pounds as it aches, and your vision is dizzying; but still, you continue to search Griffin’s face as emotions take him whole.

“You don’t get to say that now. Not at the end. Not when it doesn’t matter anymore.” Griffin is shaking, there’s so much pain on his face, but you can’t spot a single scratch on him.

“I love you,” You say it anyway. You say it because even if he’s right, and it is for nothing, even if he never loves you back, you want him to hear it. To know it, undeniably.

He won’t say it back. You know he won’t, even if he might feel the same. Griffin has always been too stubborn, too proud. He can never accept any type of sympathy or adornment from people. He’s too scared of what it will do to him.

Considering you’re about to die in an incredibly traumatic way before his eyes, you don’t blame him.

“You’re unbelievable,” He scoffs, voice cracking. “You’re going to be embarrassed later that you said that.”

Your hands slip away from his, covered in your warm blood. They drape at your sides uselessly.

“I hope so,” You agree. Later sounds nice.

He’s hunched over you, hands clutching the silver bar so tight in his grasp that his knuckles turn white. No amount of pressure will stop the bleeding. His knees cage you in, on either side of your hips as he nearly straddles you.

When did he get so close?

The match-pair falls from Griffin’s lips so many times that he starts to mispronounce it, and you tug at his sleeve weakly to make him stop, staining his coat with your blood. He continues anyway, now more desperate.

“Griffin, you’re going to have to leave me,” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Everything is so unbearably heavy and cold. You’ve never felt so desolate in your life.

You smile. You’re certain this is the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to him.

Griffin’s anger reaches its peak, and finally cracks, giving way to fear. Giving way to the scared boy you’ve always suspected lived underneath.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt,” Griffin’s voice is thick and deep in his throat. “I can’t do this again.”

Your smile falls, and you are very quiet.

You know what he means. You know you can’t absolve him of the guilt. You know your death is probably going to make it worse.

You know there is nothing you can do.

“Better that they find me, and not you,” You try to soothe, but your whispered voice sounds panicky, even to your own ears.

Not for the first time, you see Griffin cry.

It never fails to remove you from reality though. The sight is so unusual and shocking, little tears streaming down his cheeks that are normally stretched to accommodate his wolfish smile. A red rim lines his eyes that so often gleam with mirth as he teases you. His lips tremble like he’s fighting back a sob, as if he’s certain it will doom him.

You really, really wish you could hold him right now. Or maybe you wish to be held in your final moments.

It’s the strangest feeling. You aren’t disappointed that the bar won’t work for him, that his Chinese is failing him at the worst possible moment. You can’t imagine holding it against him, can’t imagine feeling bitter. You can’t even bring yourself to hope anymore.

All you feel is an overwhelming urge to bury your face in the crook of his neck and close your eyes.

You’ve seen him brush off the deaths of so many of your friends. You’ve seen him shoulder through it with nothing more than a “These things happen. They knew what they were signing up for.” , and never speak of them again. You’ve seen him swallow down an inhuman amount of grief for his closest friends and mentors.

Part of you always wondered how he would react to Anthony or you dying. Part of you always suspected it would be the same, and he would move past your death with practiced indifference. Part of you always withered at the thought of being so insignificant.

He hasn’t cried since Evie, and the implication wrecks you, body and soul.

He holds the bar to your wound, where the warmth is leaving your body and everything is an awful, dreadful red color. He repeats the words like a prayer, desperate and furious.

“Griffin,” You plead. “Leave, please.”

Griffin finally looks up at your face, and you realize you must be crying too, from the way your eyes are becoming bleary. You're both breathing heavily, but you are certain you forget how to when his forehead presses against your own.

He’s so close. His breath fans over your face, and you can feel the shudders of his body against your own. It’s the strangest thing, how you nearly expect him to kiss you. You want to close the distance, to be selfish and take it from him; but somehow, the feeling of his skin against your own, and the look in his eyes so focused on you is infinitely more intimate.

One final time, he speaks the match pair, “Xiū.” then “Heal.”

The bar hums to life.

You both gasp and look down at it, at where your skin begins to manifest a spider web-like design as it stretches to fix the hole in you.

Instantly, pain shoots through you like a bullet.

Your back curves as you try to curl around it, jaw dropping open and vision blacking out. You scream silently, then begin heaving in sobs as the ache overwhelms you. It’s so hot, everything is on fire, and your wound is a pit of lava.

Griffin nearly drops the bar trying to pull away your arms as you go to wrap them around yourself. All your muscles tense and you nearly vibrate as you swallow down a loud cry of anguish as another wave of pain washes over you.

And then it fades.

Everything fades.

Your senses start shutting down, and you go slack in Griffin’s arms. Your relief is immense, nearly euphoric on the comedown.

Griffin’s calling your name, his hands on your shoulders shaking you vehemently. His face is so blurry in your vision, and you think you feel one of his tears hit your face as he leans over you.

Those black dots in your vision expand until there’s nothing left except the swimming in your mind and ringing in your ears.

You think, dully, that this is a terrible way to go.

.

.

.

When you wake, it’s in a soft bed.

The room faintly smells of mildew, and there’s water damage on the ceiling’s edges, but you feel unbelievably cozy tucked under your bed sheets.

You stir, and the sound of a quill hitting the floor brings your attention to your side.

Griffin sits at a small wooden desk, a few glowing candles decorating its surface and dimly illuminating the room. His face is tight, but his eyes are wide and hopeful as they meet your own.

“Gr—griff-“ You cough, your throat unbearably dry.

Griffin’s chair scrapes the floor with a terrible screech as he hurries to stand. He snatches a cup from off the desk and briskly makes for your side.

You sit up in time to receive the drink from him, holding it in both your hands as you swallow down the water from inside. It isn’t until the last drop is gone that you finally hand it back.

“Griffin,” You manage, this time without coughing.

The man stands rigidly, studying you with a small furrow between his brows. He blinks a few times, then smirks. “Figures my name would be the first thing you say when you wake up.”

You reach out and hit him as hard as you can muster, making him laugh and swat back at your hand just as playfully.

“What the fuck?” You say, bringing a hand to your head and dragging it down to your nape. “Where the hell am I?”

“Somewhere safe,” Griffin answers vaguely. “I’ll tell you more about it once the others are back. Right now, you should focus on changing your dressing.”

“My dressing?” You parrot, raising a brow. “What does—“

Your memory catches up to you, and you clamp your mouth shut. Griffin’s lips pull into a firm line, eyes darting down to where you were injured, like he can see the wound through your clothing. He steps away to set the cup down.

Right, you almost died.

Taking a moment to absorb your surroundings and current situation, you realize you’re not dressed in the same outfit you were when Griffin used the bar on you. There’s a familiar tightness of bandages around your midriff, and you trace the outline of them with your thumb. Someone must have dressed your wounds and changed your clothes for you.

You shudder.

Griffin pops open a wooden box upon the dresser opposite your bed, riffling around in it until he pulls out a spool of fresh bandages made from torn fabric. “I’m down a few shirts thanks to you.”

“Ah, I didn’t know you even owned a few shirts,” You say with mock pleasantry.

Griffin barks a laugh, pulling at the end of the wound fabric in his hands. “You’re welcome, brat.”

He stops just beside you, and you realize after a tense moment that he intends to change your bandages for you. You’re caught between feeling alarmed and flattered, because the mere idea of Griffin changing someone’s bandages for them is simply outrageous. He just isn’t that type of man.

How are you supposed to tell him you don’t think your heart will survive something so intimate?

“I’ll be fine.” You catch his wrist, then try taking the bandages from his hand. “I can manage myself perfectly well.”

“You savage.” Griffin pushes against your grasp, his brow twitching. “Let me change your bandages at least.”

You gawk at him, uncertain if you heard him right. This is the same man who will practically hiss like a cat when someone tries tending him. “Griffin Lovell, you have the be the biggest fucking hypocrite in the world.”

Griffin bristles, shoulders rising. He yanks the bandages out of your reach, straightening them out again and then holding them up at you like a weapon. “I’m trying to help you, stop being difficult.”

“Is that a threat?” You scoff, but you can’t fight the grin off your face.

Griffin grins back. “Only if you struggle.”

Now you really can’t fight away your smirk, because you know you have him when you say: “Are you really so determined to see me shirtless?”

He practically throws the bandages in your lap as he recoils away from you, ears burning scarlet.

“You’re shameless,” Griffin fumes. He backs away several steps, and his hands twitch awkwardly in the air before he settles on crossing his arms and huffing with his nose turned up.

Your heart rate relaxes minimally, but you can feel a warmth on your own cheeks.

You laugh at the display. “And you’re so easy.”

Griffin glares daggers at you, nose scrunched despite the charming pink hue on his cheeks.

It's odd. This whole situation is unbearably odd. Griffin refuses to do things he doesn’t want to, not unless it’s meeting some end. He hardly even acknowledges people or events he finds unworthy. Griffin has always made his disdain for doting known, almost bitterly, if you’re being honest.

You can’t wrap your head around why he is so insistent on this. What end is he trying to reach by helping you?

“Don’t be a prude,” You sigh, but your shoulders release a tension you hadn’t known they were holding. “If you wanted it so badly, all you had to do was ask.”

“No, I think I’m quite alright,” Griffin now fully faces away from you, determined to block out your nonsense. “You said it yourself, you can manage on your own.”

“Please don’t make me beg,” You say jokingly, lifting your shirt over your head and laying it down beside you. “You won’t like me when I beg.”

“Quite the contrary,” Griffin retorts, “You could use a lesson in humility, dear.”

You glare at his back, knowing he only uses that term of endearment when he’s mocking you. Shaking your head, you begin to unravel the used bandages on your midriff but startle at what you find.

“Holy shit,” You whisper, and Griffin, ever the nosey devil, instantly whips around.

“Holy shit,” He echoes.

There isn’t even a scar on your stomach, just smooth skin and everything else exactly as you remember it. You run a hand over yourself, just to make sure you aren’t imagining it, then repeat the motion to be extra sure.

“It didn’t look like this the last time you changed them?” You ask, glancing up at Griffin.

“I haven’t been the one changing them,” Griffin admits. “Anthony insisted on being the one to do it.”

Your eyes widen and you smile giddily. “Anthony’s here?”

Griffin finally snaps to his senses and clears his throat, turning back around to give you some decency. It hardly matters now, since he’s seen everything there is to marvel at, but you let him pretend to be a gentleman anyway.

“He arrived the night you were injured. Said he tried catching up to us on time but he didn’t make it,” Griffin explains. “Miraculous timing for you though. He insisted on being at your bedside. He’ll be upset you woke up without him here.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him whenever he comes around,” You say fondly. “He’s quite the miracle worker.”

“You could be thanking me, too,” Griffin huffs, and you laugh.

“Thank you, oh generous one,” You say dramatically, laughing again at how he groans. “My knight in shining armor, who rescued me in my darkest hour with his magical powers and carried me to safety. I’ll never be able to pay off my debt to you.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to if you had done as you were told,” Griffin retorts, unamused. “Why did Leon never come up?”

You stop laughing, the reminder of Leon’s death like a bucket of ice being dropped over you. “I don’t know,” You say honestly. “I didn’t even see you come up. He must’ve still been on the boat when it…”

Griffin doesn’t answer, just nods stiffly. Despite all his faults, he understands when to stop pushing a topic.

“Anyways, I’m glad everyone else is alright, and that I’m somehow unharmed despite being a kabob for an hour,” You redirect, pulling your shirt back over your head. “That bar is brilliant.”

“It’s certainly not perfect,” Griffin murmurs, peering at you over his shoulder.

You catch his gaze, furrowing your brows. “What do you mean? My scar is gone, no one would even suspect I was injured in the first place.”

“It exhausted your energy,” Griffin says, spinning around to face you. “You were out so long no one could be certain you’d wake up.”

He leans against the desk behind him as you process his words, the cogs in your mind turning.

That made sense, the body needs rest to heal. Even Evie’s Triacle bar hadn’t been as successful at healing as the one Griffin made, and even then, people reported feeling fatigued after using it.

It did make you wonder about the nature of the bars, since clearly, this implies that they aren’t just creating matter out of thin air. Their powers need an energy source that complies with the laws of nature.

Dragging a hand down your face, you file away the information for another time.

“How long was I asleep for?” You ask.

“Five days,” Griffin answers plainly.

Startled, you throw your feet over the side of the bed, pushing yourself onto weak legs that shake like a newborn deer.

How could you sleep for so long? What happened during that time? Why in the world hasn’t Griffin left for Oxford yet? Anthony had to watch you and change your bandages for five days? You can’t just stay here, you need to leave— to get ready and keep moving-

Your mind spirals with both the rush of information and the force of your movements.

Instantly, Griffin is at your side, one hand wrapped around your bicep and the other thrown in front of you to catch you as you stumble.

“Stay. Lay down,” He commands, and you listen.

You feel very much like a scolded puppy, lowering your head and shifting back onto the bed apprehensively.

“We can’t stay here forever,” You say miserably. “At the very least, you need to head back to Oxford and respond to your correspondents. They’ll be waiting on your letter.”

It’s your turn to avoid Griffin’s gaze, even as he sighs.

“I can reach them fine from here. Liverpool is as good of a base as any, even if it’s crawling with government mutts.” Griffin waves a hand dismissively. “You still need time to recover.”

“So you’re staying with me?” You ask, trying to keep the hopeful lilt from your tone. “Until I recover?”

Griffin doesn’t answer you, and you still don’t meet his eyes, favoring the loose threads of your cover sheet.

“You’re smarter than that. Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Griffin eventually says, leaving your bedside and making for the door of your room. It seems this is all the emotional confrontation he can manage for today.

“I’m injured, have some sympathy,” You whine after him.

He halts, hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Good to know you’re well enough to get on my nerves again.”

“I’m well enough to ask one more stupid question,” You say, finally meeting Griffin’s eyes as he turns to give you an expectant look.

“Well?” He says, hand still curled around the doorknob.

“Well, I wanted to know if it was true,” You swallow, suddenly nervous. “What you said before?”

Griffin’s brow furrows. “You’re going to have to be more specif—“

“You care for me,” You interrupt.

Griffin goes rigid.

His eyes are locked with yours, his gaze feeling like a growing storm that threatens to pull you under waves of terror. You can hardly see him breathing.

“That is a stupid question,” He concedes, turning away from you and pulling the door open. “Didn’t your tutors ever teach you to stay away from rhetorics?”

You smile, giddy. Even if he won’t admit it out loud, and this is as close to a confession as you will ever get; he’s right. You do know the answer.

He healed you. He carried you to safety. He stayed by your side for five days, with no idea when you’d wake. He’s promised to continue staying at your side until you can both return to Oxford together.

It’s the strangest pattern of behaviors Griffin has ever displayed.

The Griffin you know would’ve run away. Would’ve left you to lick your own wounds. It's not that he is oblivious to others' pain, he just doesn’t have the time. Or maybe he just never cared enough. Maybe he’s never realized that paying attention to these things is caring.

You realize just a moment too late that his trying to change your bandages was perhaps his attempt at crossing the bridge between you two. Maybe he wanted to show he cared.

Griffin steps through the door frame, but it doesn’t feel like he’s running away this time. This time, you know he’ll come back. This time, you know you’ll be waiting for him, and maybe this time you’ll let him in.

The door closes behind him, though you catch the familiar curve of his lips just before it does and it nearly sends you into a fit of giggles.

You flop back onto the bed, head hitting your pillow as you refrain from rolling around and kicking your feet excitedly.

There is a small part of you that will grieve having Griffin as your friend. But a much larger, much more delighted part of you thrums with excitement for whatever future you get to build with him as your lover.

Your lover.

You bury your face in your pillow and giggle manically.

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Hello yall! I'm getting a head start and queueing this extra early (its technically Wednesday for me right now) Once again, under the cut, for length reasons, and nsfw reasons <3

------------- PWP Dom Henry and Free Use Alex

“You are not going to cum yet, Alexander. Calm down,” the blond hissed, “Or call a color,” he added in a quiet voice. “N-no, I can.. I can calm down,” Alex whined, “That’s so cold,” his voice was soft and pathetic, “I just wanted to cum.” “But you won’t, not till I say you can, not till I’m done with you,” Henry reiterated, “Because you want to be good for me. And Alex? You are a good boy, you’re the best boy, and you are not going to let me down.” “I’m good, I’ll be good for you… W-wanna be good for you so bad, Hen,” Alex cried.   “That’s what I thought,” Henry purred, “Just a moment more,” he said before leaning closer to press a kiss to the side of Alex’s thigh, “Let’s get those balls nice and cold, it’ll take you a minute to warm up, hm? That should take some of the need away.” “Yeah,” Alex nearly sobbed, but his cheeks were dry, no tears falling, “Thank you for helping me be a good boy.”

---

GEORGE THOUGHTS (Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this fic are those of George Villier’s and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the author.)

“Good boy, you’re my favorite,” it was whispered against a sweat soaked temple, and for the day at least it was true. His hand fell to his own thigh, fingers wiping through the slick there and bringing them to his own lips. He sucked at those fingers, salt and bitterness on his tongue, his opposite hand falling to the pet still kissing his neck. With one shove he pushed them aside, “Wine,” he murmured against his own fingers. He couldn’t help but smile hearing ‘yes master’ leave the young woman’s lips. A delicate hand placed behind his head, leaning it up as a cup was placed to his lips, wine poured into his mouth. Sweetness burned down his throat as he tilted his chin up to signal he was finished drinking. That lover was rewarded with a hard kiss, the last swallow of wine in his mouth pushed into hers, their tongues intertwining as vermillion ran down their chins.

--- Client Alex and Hairstylist Hen

“W-wait, what?” Alex stammered, “You’re…leaving? You’re not going to even let me get you off?” He was pulling himself off that wall some but resting a hand behind his back for steadiness. “But wait, didn’t you come here to like- prove me wrong? You have to do that, right?” he asked, clearly grasping for straws. “Ah, right, smart thinking,” Henry nodded, undoing his own pants, and lifting his shirt half up. It was just enough for Alex to see the soft tummy that was creating a slight muffin top above those pants. The brunette found it entirely grabbable, but Henry didn’t seem to notice the intense stare. Instead, he pushed the front of his pants and underwear down, resting them on the base of his own cock. He was visibly hard, and yet all he did was show Alex the tawny pubic hair there, “Blond, see, you were wrong, I was being honest,” he hummed, before fixing his pants into place again. Alex was still staring in awe, as if everything happening amazed him, “I… you’re really leaving? What if I say that you seem like the kind of guy who’d dye your pubes too?” “Then I’d tell you to fuck off,” the blond said matter-of-factly.

YAY TAGS (no pressure tags darlings)

@taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie @henrysfox @mikibwrites

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @tailsbeth-writes

@onthewaytosomewhere @anti-homophobia-cheese @thighzp + literally anyone else I'm sleepy and forgot, or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[sturn-wrld]

🪼brave enough by then

pairing: matt x reader

summary: where reader gets the confession she never thought she would genre: fluff

warnings: nothing

a/n: pancakes for dinner pt 2. read pt 1 here. not proofread and comment to be added to my taglist :)

masterlist

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

I have been sitting on the plane for a total of 3 minutes reading his text over and over again.

"let's talk when you get home"

that is definitely code for i don't like you but i don't want to say it over a text.

i am now in my head again bashing myself for my silly mistakes but this time on a major level. i can't deal with these thoughts, "your so stupid, he doesn't like you like that" "he is showing to hate you for the rest of your life" "you are never gonna see him again"

this is the time i decide to put my head down, tail between my legs and try to forget about matt.

it's been a long week back home but i'm finally in my uber on the way back to my apartment. i didn't text matt at all during my short visit in fear or might rub salt in the wound. i'm sure he doesn't want to talk to me anymore anyway.

little did i know i was very wrong.

i walked into my apartment to see matt sitting on my couch waiting for me.

"hi" i muster up the courage to spit out as i walk past him to try and hurry to put my bags in my room

"hi, take your time lovely, i'll wait for you"

LOVELY?!?!?!????!!!!

now i'm second guessing if that was a slight text of rejection or a slight text of approval.

as i am finished putting all my things down and feeling more at home again, i go to sit with matt on the couch.

"how was your trip beautiful?" he says placing a strange of my hair behind my ear

"it was good, my mum said hi by the way" i say barely at speaking level

BEAUTIFUL?!?!?!?!???? i swear. this turns into one of those heartbreaks no one saw coming i'm going to turn into a permanent ball in the corner and cry.

"aww that's good, i'll give her a call tonight. so about your text message..."

i stare in fear of what he is going to say next

"how about we use our actual words and you tell me to my face"

i was right to be scared.

"okay. um so matt i have liked you from the moment girls start liking boys. i liked you even before that and there has been not one day where you haven't been stuck in my head"

"oh-"

"please let me finish and then i might be brave enough to answer questions"

he nods to let me continue

"all i have wanted to do with you for the past 10 or so years is play dress up at first and then it was to make pancakes with you and now i want to be one of those girls who takes their boyfriend out on the weekend to show off how hot he is and have you be the boyfriend. my boyfriend. i'm sure you can see from the mess i am, i'm not good with confrontation and i was waiting for the day you told me you liked me, which never came and will probably never come"

as i finish with tears welling in my eyes i looked down my hangs that are held together leaning non my knees trying not to absolutely break down on the spot.

"hey don't say that. y/n i have loved you forever. longer than you've loved me"

i look up, tears running down my face, with hope.

"we were in the same class my whole life and i think that really had an affect on me" he says looking at me grinning and wiping away my tears

"so if it is what you want we can play dress up or make pancakes for breakfast or even go out on the weekends because you are stuck in my head"

"how do you feel about pancakes for dinner?"

"even better" he says planting a short sweet kiss to my forehead

taglist

@ermdontmindthisaccount @its-jennarose

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

things i do daily as a freyja devotee ✩₊˚.⋆⁺₊✧

i am not yet "out to" or openly pagan with my family. though i believe they'd be supportive, i still have chosen to wait to tell them (my altar space isn't too obviously an altar, it probably just looks like a collection of decorations to those who don't know context). these are some things i do daily for my goddess in this situation!

i brush my hair and get ready in front of her altar or in front of a mirror, and i think/say positive affirmations about myself

i wear necklaces that remind me of her - i have a couple that are specifically dedicated to her

i like to remind my friends that i love them, or help them when they need it; i also like physical affection (hugs, cuddles, etc) with my friends who are cool with that

throughout the day, i continue with affirmations when i find myself needing them, and i take a few minutes to reflect here and there when i can. i make sure to be myself and embrace who i am in her honor

i listen to music that reminds me of her

i accept my sexuality and work on being confident in myself completely unapologetically

i see the beauty in everything around me, including every person i encounter

i like to offer her sprays of perfume on her altar, and my other offerings tend to consist of food like chocolates and strawberries. if i'm drinking something like tea, i dedicate that to her as well

at home, i like to light the candle on her altar and spend some time with her (on days i don't are the days that i light different candles to other deities). sometimes spending time with her includes meditating, but other days i just read, draw, or play video games nearby while the candle burns

not every day, but i love to take baths once or twice a week with bath salts and crystals while praying to her or reading

i say goodnight to her and pray before i go to sleep

i find comfort in remembering that the norse gods are not picky. if you are thinking of them while doing these small devotional acts or giving them any offerings at all, they are most likely just grateful to be worshipped and have that connection. after accepting that extravagance isn't always required, i've found myself growing a lot closer to freyja ꨄ

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 13/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

He knocks again, then stands back to wait. What the hell are they doing in there? he wonders, shifting the six pack of beer he brought to the other arm. Poker night is every Thursday—it’s not like they aren’t expecting him. 

The night is cool and crisp, the clear indigo sky speckled with pinpricks of starlight. Trillions of miles traveled across the universe over thousands of years, just to be overpowered by skyscrapers and streetlights and the haze of the industrial revolution. He tips his face up and locates the Big Dipper, the North Star, Cassiopeia. It makes him at once feel insignificant—a speck on a rock in a pile in a quarry—and extraordinary. How many events throughout the history of time had to happen in precisely the way they did in order to bring him to this moment? It feels like destiny, which is both a comfort and a burden. 

Finally, the door pops open and he’s greeted by a tall blond man with thick glasses. 

“The party has arrived!” the man says jovially, standing aside to allow him entry. “Jeff’s here!” he hollers, and voices of the other two call out greetings from a nearby room. 

“I’ve been standing out there for ten minutes,” Jeff chides gently. “I thought you’d kicked me out of the coven.”

They enter a small dining room with a circular table surrounded by four chairs, two of them occupied.

“We were out back smoking a cigar,” the blond man explains as he takes his seat. “Cuban, the real deal.”

“And you didn’t wait for me?” Jeff asks, exaggerating his level of offense as he sits in the remaining chair. 

“Come on, man, we know Diana would have your balls if she smelled cigar smoke on you,” one of the other men says. He’s older than the other two, with wiry salt and pepper hair. 

“You’re not wrong,” Jeff agrees, cracking open a bottle of beer. “Let’s get this show on the road; who’s dealing?”

The third man, mahogany-skinned and handsome, shuffles the cards artfully, making a show of bridges and cascades as he smirks to himself. 

“Mike thinks he’s hot shit with his little card tricks,” the blond man says bitingly. “Just deal the things already, Mike. Jeff has a curfew.”

“Fuck off, Simon,” Mike shoots back. “I’m perfecting my craft.”

“Women are attracted to money, not junior high magic tricks,” Simon says, nudging the third man with his elbow. 

“I like magic tricks,” the third man comments self-consciously, and the other three laugh. 

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Mike says, shaking his head. “You always gotta be the weird one, don’t you, Frank?”

“Yeah, well, you won’t be laughing when I clean house,” Frank grumbles, and Mike finally deals out the deck. 

Frank does, in fact, clean house. They don’t play with real money, just chips, but that doesn’t hamper each man’s desire to win, nor his disappointment when Frank scoops up the lion’s share of the pile and begins stacking them enthusiastically. 

Simon checks his watch, then sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I gotta head out in a half hour or so,” he says. “Marcy didn’t want me to stay too late.”

“Well, I guess Jeff isn’t the only one with a curfew,” Mike teases, and Simon shakes his head with a smile. 

“It’s not that, it’s just hard for her to get up with the baby at night right now, so I’ve been taking all that on.”

“Is she okay?” Jeff asks, his mind immediately going to the kinds of things that can cost you a sister. 

“Yeah, she’s fine, just tired. She’s, uh—she’s pregnant again, actually,” Simon offers, and all the eyebrows at the table shoot up to their hairlines. 

“No shit,” Frank says carefully. “Is that good news or bad news?”

“Surprising news,” Simon says. “But ultimately good. We didn’t really plan to have two this close together, but I guess fate had other ideas.”

“Congratulations,” Jeff offers, extending his hand. “That’s great.”

“Can’t say I miss those days,” Frank remarks, still stacking his chips. “Up at 3:00 am trying to get a baby back to sleep when you have to be up for work at 6:00? No thank you. I’m glad mine are all grown.”

“Thanks, Frank, that’s really kind of you to say,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. 

“I always miss my kids when they’re at Jenny’s,” Mike says sadly. “Being a dad is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Hey now, I love my kids,” Frank defends. “I’m just saying, waking up in the middle of the night fucking sucks.”

Jeff watches the exchange, unable to take part. He can relate to overbearing spouses and the perils of the working world, but he has nothing to offer on the subject of fatherhood. 

“I actually need to head out too,” he says as he stands and retrieves what remains of his beer. “Wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to my balls.”

“Send our best to the warden,” Frank quips, earning him a warning look. 

He leaves them, a peel of laughter fading as he pulls the door closed behind himself and makes his way to his car. 

It does bother him a little, the way they talk about Diana. At the same time, what they say about her isn’t untrue. She is a little bit controlling, but not without due cause. He’s made mistakes in the past, ones he can never fully set right, and ones that justify Diana’s desire to know where he is and with whom. He promised her that he would do whatever it takes to make it up to her, and that has included checking in regularly and being home by midnight. Of course, his friends don’t know that, because he’s never told them. He’s too ashamed. So he accepts their cheap shots at his wife, and then drives home to her so he can prove again and again that she is the only one he wants to come home to. 

He slinks into the house quietly, shushing Frenchie’s barks as he enters through the laundry room. He walks towards the back of the house to let her outside, and is startled by Diana’s voice as he passes through the kitchen. 

“You’re late.”

He jumps a little, bringing his hand to his chest as he pulls the sliding glass door open and Frenchie slips out. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” he admits, though that was fairly obvious by his reaction. 

Diana is perched at the kitchen island wearing a silk nightgown, a glass of water on the counter before her. He looks at the time on the microwave display and then back to her pinched expression. 

“By four minutes, Diana,” he defends, indignant. 

She pulls in a deep breath, straightening her posture. 

“Where were you?” she asks. 

“At Frank’s, for poker night. Same as every Thursday. There was an accident on the turnpike,” he tells her, and his gut twists at the disbelieving look on her face. He steps closer, laying his hand over the top of hers on the countertop. “Diana—”

She pulls her hand out from under his and stands, walking to the sliding glass door to let Frenchie back in. 

“I believe you, Jeff. But call next time, okay?” she says tersely, and he nods. 

He lies awake in bed, and by Diana’s breathing, he can tell she is awake too. He feels guilty, but also angry that he feels guilty when he didn’t do anything wrong. He knows that he deserves this, knows he’s lying in a bed of his own making, but he still hates knowing that it will never go away. Six years later and she’s still watching him like a hawk. He thought it would get better over time, but it hasn’t. 

And then there’s Simon and his new baby. He was surprised by the pang of jealousy that lit up in his chest upon hearing the news, a sensation he’s never experienced before. He’s always considered he and Diana to be childfree by choice, but looking back, he doesn’t really recall weighing in on that decision. Diana never wanted to be a mother, and he wanted to be with Diana, and so it was simply part of the deal. Now, at nearly 39 years old, he suddenly wonders if being a father would suit him.

“Did you always know that you didn’t want children?” he asks out loud, and Diana’s breathing pauses briefly. 

“Where did that come from?” she questions.

“Marcy is pregnant again, and I was just thinking—”

A blustering sigh. 

“Jeff, are we really going to do this right now?” she asks, annoyed. 

“Do what?” he counters, equally irritated by her dismissiveness. 

Diana rolls to her side to face him, propping her head up on a fist. 

“Can you really see yourself giving up poker night, and sleeping in, and playing basketball on the weekend?” she asks, her tone shifting to something lighter. 

“I mean…I don’t think I’d have to give up all those things. Not forever, anyway,” he says. 

“Imagine walking into the office to find your rare book collection in tatters on the floor, covered in drool,” she teases, and he smiles. 

“That would be less than ideal,” he agrees. 

“Imagine having to stay quiet when we make love,” she continues, sliding her hand across his belly. 

“I’m not even sure that’s possible,” he says, now grinning. 

She hitches her leg up over his hip, straddling him, then peels the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her breasts. 

“These are, and always will be, exclusively for you,” she says in a syrupy voice, then leans forward and brushes her lips over his. “Help me fall asleep, Jeff,” she whispers. 

Her nightgown finds its way to the floor, as do his boxers. She sits astride him, grinding with her eyes locked on his. She’s possessive, maybe a little desperate, though he’s not sure why. 

“That’s it,” she encourages him, her hands planted on his chest. Her eyes slide closed, her mouth falling open. “Yes, Fox,” she murmurs. 

When she collapses against his chest he rubs wide circles over her back, and his mind instantly returns to its wandering state. 

“What did you say about a fox?” he asks, and she stiffens. 

“What?” she asks breathlessly, her face tucked against his neck. 

“You said something about a fox, during—”

“I’m relatively certain I said ‘fuck.’ Sorry to offend your delicate senses,” she says somewhat defensively, rolling off of him. 

He turns toward her, laying a reassuring hand on her bare hip. 

“I’m not offended, Diana, I was just wondering—”

“Goodnight, Jeff. I have work in the morning, I need to get to sleep, if you don’t mind,” she says in a clipped tone. 

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “Goodnight.”

He waits for her to turn her face towards his so he can kiss her goodnight, but she keeps her back to him. He presses his lips to the curve of her shoulder, lingering there as a confusing mix of emotions swirl around in his chest. 

The life he has. The life he sometimes thinks he might want. The discrepancy between the two. He wonders why now, all of a sudden, he’s peeking over the fence at possibly greener grasses. Why the life he’s been content with for years suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. 

The rush of the waves fills his ears, calming him. A gull calls out, its shriek carried away on the wind as his toes sink into the sun-warm sand. He spies a child further down the shore, a boy with dirty blond hair building something with a shovel and a bucket. There is a feeling of recognition, a sense of knowing, though he cannot recall the child’s name, nor their relationship to one another. 

A strong wave pushes up beyond the waterline, sweeping across the child’s half-finished project and washing it into an indecipherable mound. The child’s shoulders slump, defeated, so he approaches and calls out to him.

“Oh, hey, buddy. That’s okay, you can build it again.”

He kneels down beside the boy and touches the child’s cheek, brushing an errant grain of sand from his downy skin. There’s something in the child’s eyes, something familiar that makes him feel a swell of affection and protectiveness. 

“Just start again,” he tells the child, reassuringly. 

He jolts awake, his heart racing. Frenchie stands from her bed on the floor, alerted by his sudden movement, and watches him for an indication of what’s next. 

“It’s okay, Frenchie,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands over his face. 

The night is still in full swing, only inky darkness peeking in around the blinds. He looks over at Diana’s sleeping form, her back still turned to him and her breathing even. It feels like only minutes have passed since he fell asleep. 

Wired from adrenaline, he stares at the ceiling and waits for the potential of sleep to return to him. His dream has mostly faded, and he grasps at snippets. The beach, he remembers the beach. 

Just start again.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[valeria-garza-enjoyer]

Damien

Now Playing: Granite by Sleep Token

length: 4,843 words, ~15-20 minute read

summary: Oh to be a little hucow, desparately single and lonely, out in public and my udders start leaking from neglect. God what would I do? I’d probably just cry and moo and wait for some nice bigger older man to come up and milk me and take me home, only for him to fuck me senseless and get me pregnant. Totally not what I wanttttttttttttt :/

(hucow) reader (first person sorry) x male oc (Damien)

CW: lactation, exhibitionism, CNC/dubious consent, vaginal fingering, breast feeding I guess,

Also please interact with this if you see this, I can't 100% tell if the silly little people in my phone can see this. It would mean a lot to me if you did !!

Oh to be a little hucow, desparately single and lonely, out in public and my udders start leaking from neglect. God what would I do? I’d probably just cry and moo and wait for some nice bigger older man to come up and milk me and take me home, only for him to fuck me senseless and get me pregnant. Totally not what I wanttttttttttttt

I’m just out in the mall, a few bags from a jewelery store and maybe a few from some clothing stores and trinket/gift shops, and as I go to the food court, I notice the pain getting worse in my udders. They’ve been hurting for a while, filling up with milk that I haven’t had the time or the energy to collect, and now they just feel red hot. I go to sit down for a minute, but it only gets worse as time goes on. 

At one point, a good 20 or so minutes after I’ve sat down, I go to stand in line at the smoothie stand. Who cares who makes it or what it has in it - a smoothie is quick and easy, especially when my udders are about to burst. As I’m standing in line for the smoothie, my udders just let loose. I’m leaking, bad. It’s painful, it’s hot, it’s wet, and I can’t keep it in anymore. I’m moaning from both the pain and the relief, sinking to my hands and knees, crying from it all.

Everyone’s looking at my poor little self, but no seems to care to help. If I were any worse off I’d be crawling around begging someone to milk me. Oh please, please please. Just a few squeezes and you’d never have to see me again. Please, my udders need this. I can’t do it myself, look at me! I’m just a stupid little heifer, you think I could milk myself?

And thank god someone finally gets the memo. This nice man, at least double my age - he has to be at least 40 - with salt and pepper hair, tall, and a nice toned body, comes up.

“Oh you sweet thing, is no one taking care of you? C’mere, let me help” he coos. He knows if he talks any other way it’d be in one ear and out the other. He has to dumb it down for a stupid little moo moo such as myself.

He helps me into his lap and undoes the buttons of my shirt and the clips of my bra. My poor udders are almost red with neglect. He tuts as he sees them, sad I’ve gone so long without a nice milking. 

He gently cups my udders, knowing a harsh tug like a hucow normally wants would only make things worse right now. With those big, gentle, strong hands of his, he slowly tightens his grasp and pulls down, obviously experienced with milking.

And Oh the relief! My milk flows faster over his fingers than before, ruins what clothing is left and leaves my exposed skin wet. The wet relief is making me sigh and gasp in small bouts, little moos and huffs fall from my lips. I relax into his grasp more, letting him completely take control. He knows this, for sure. 

“If only you were smart enough to milk yourself before you went out, darling. But it doesn’t matter now, you know that, don’t you? All you care about is getting your udders empty, yeah? C’mon little moo moo, moo for me. Just a little louder, let the mall know you forgot to milk yourself like the stupid heifer you are. That’s it, good girl, keep mooing for me.”

I can’t help but listen to him and what he tells me to do, I’m mooing and moaning louder than I was before. I want him to keep calling me a good girl. My pussy is getting warm and wet, like my udders were some 30 minutes ago. But there’s no pain, it’s just warm, wet, searing pleasure. I want him in me. I want him to breed me. Please pick up on that, sir!!!!!

He stops squeezing, only to pick us up off the floor - my bags included, thank god - and takes me with him to his car. If I were a little more coherent I would be questioning him and trying to get away, but hey, maybe he’s taking me home to breed me? Milk me some more, save some for our future calves? Now I can’t disagree with that!

He gets me in and buckles me, puts my bags in the back seat, and gets in to drive off. I want to say I’d be satisfied with ten or so minutes of being milked, but that’s not true. My milk’s already coming back in, slowly, yes, but my udders are swelling up again. As he gets to a stoplight he sighs and looks over at me, his wet, squirming and moaning mess in his passenger seat.

As the light turns green he goes, but slows as he sees the sex shop come into view. He didn’t want to make a stop with such a needy whore, but he knows I need something, anything to keep me occupied while he drives to his house.

“Stay in here, deary, and don’t open the door. I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to hop in and grab you something.” He hushes me as he closes his door and locks it to go get whatever he’s going to find in there.

He goes into the store, picking up a small vibrator and looking in hopes to find some sort of pump for my udders. He can’t find exactly what he wants, so the vibrator will do, at least it’ll occupy her little head for a few minutes, he thinks. He pays and leaves, smiling softly when his car comes into view and he sees me in a different, more lewd position than he left me in. 

Meanwhile, left to my own devices for a few minutes, a thought finally pops in my head for the first time in almost an hour: I should touch myself! And that’s exactly what I do, I unbutton my pants - which, I should add, is hard to do when your udders are screaming to be milked and your head is clouded over from the frustration of partially being milked by the hottest man alive. I get them unbuttoned and slide them down to the floor, taking off my slides in the process, letting my wet pussy free as I slide my panties down with them as well. I let one hand fall to my udders, shivering when I feel the red hot pleasure but scorching pain. My other hand slides down to my wet cunt, and although it would be smarter to play with my hole, I play with my swollen clit instead. It’s sensitive to the touch, I almost jump when I apply actual pressure to it. My middle and ring fingers start slowly circling my clit, my attention almost completely absorbed down there. My other hand is slowly circling my teats, changing which udder it plays with. Milk is starting to leak again as my slick hole drips a little faster. 

He opens my side of the car and kneels down as I gasp. I would be embarrassed but what the hell, I’m too far gone to care.

“I couldn’t find a good pump for you, but I did find something I thought would help. It looks like you’ve got it all handled, though, so I guess you won’t be needing me or the vibrator I got you.” He whispers in my ear. I loudly moo back, I need him and his hands and the vibrator and his body and his cock and ohmygodohmygodohmygod please touch my daddy-

He shushes me and puts the vibrator in my lap. Of course it didn’t come with batteries - thanks capitalism - and he has to make a second stop to find some. He does, about a block down from the sex shop, and quickly pulls in to get what he needs. 

As he comes back from the CVS, or Walgreens, or whatever, I wasn’t paying attention - my attention is on my leaking udders and swollen little pussy, not some stupid batteries - he opens my side again, leans to take the vibrator away, and quickly puts the batteries in. He peals my hand away from my clit, and I cry in frustration. I was so closeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why would my daddy do that to me? 

But oh do those bad thoughts stop as I hear a small buzz and feel it right against my nub. I’m mooing and moaning and crying again in seconds as i close my thighs around the vibey he bought me! He put it on the highest setting, I can feel it! Oh daddy is being so nice to me now!!

He closes the door and gets in on his side to drive off, smiling softly at my ever-increasing moans and gasps and moos and huffs. As he cruises down the empty streets to his house he puts a hand on my thigh. He slowly caresses it, moving his hand up and down.

His touch and the vibrator and my hands on my udders push me over the edge, I’m absolutely gushing slick and cum on his seat. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He looks at me as he slowly pulls into his driveway and parks, adoration and lust being the only things in his eyes. 

He gets the both of us unbuckled and leans over, petting my hair and occasionally over my fluffy little cow ears. I take my attention off my cunt and my udders to look at him, and I notice the lust immediately. He wants this as bad as I need this.

He climbs over the small center console, spreads my legs, and moves the vibrator so it’s just sitting on my cunt to make room for his fingers. He raises his digits to my mouth, knowing any good cow would know how to do this.

I’ve been waiting so long for more attention from him, thank god I got his fingers now! I take them and swirl my tongue around them immediately. I hope he thinks I’m a good heifer now!!

He takes his fingers out, fully coated in my saliva, and trails them back down to my wet hole. He knows a young heifer such as myself wouldn’t have much experience, she’d be tight. So, he sticks one tentative finger in at first, wriggles it around, and slowly puts a second in. 

“Oh, Ohhh Daddy!!” I moan loudly in his ear. He smiles, knowing only pleasure courses through me now. He adds a third finger, and moves them all to stretch me even more. I feel his breath on my neck, his fingers in my cunt, the smile on his face, coupled with the other hand on my hip for balance, the vibrator still going wildly on my cunt, I can’t help but cry some more when I cum a second time. 

He smiles a little more and opens my door to climb out, taking his fingers out of me. I can’t help but whine at being empty when I just had daddy’s fingers in me! It’s like, SO unfair! Doesn’t daddy get tha-

But he picks me up and shushes me, closing the door and leaving my bags for another time. he secures the vibrator halfway in my pussy and halfway on my clit as he walks to the door, letting the moans and slick drop from both lips as he unlocks his door and leads us in to close it. 

God, if I were coherent, I’d be awing at his house. It’s not obnoxiously large, or pathetically small, it’s just a little bigger than average. It’s beautifully decorated, it completely suits him. 

He walks to his room and turns on the small mood lights as he goes through. He gently sets me on his bed as he he walks off to get something. Where is he going? Why is daddy leaving me? Am I not good enough? He took me to his house I must be good enough? Wha-

He comes back with a few bottles of water, a small towel or two, and a small pump. Nothing like the one I have at home, a large pump with equally large tanks so I rarely have to deal with my milk. 

“C’mere dear, lets get you hooked up, you’ll feel so much better once you’re fully milked. But you know that, don’t you? C’mon little heifer, c’mon and crawl to me, you know you want to. Be a good little cow for daddy, yeah? Good girl, so good.” He croons as I crawl over. But I don’t really want a pump, I want his hands! Daddy’s hands are so nice, way nicer than some stupid pump!

I go to lay down on his lap and push the pump away, my ass in the air, begging for him to use. He chuckles, he got the idea from that. No pump, only hands. 

As I went to lay down, though, I see something better. I see his bulge. Oh my god he must be huge. He’s got a small dark spot where he’s been leaking precum for who knows how long, and now all I want is that in me. Nothing else. He can ignore my udders and treat me like shit for the rest of my life if I get to have that cock inside me once.

He sees me staring and smiles, moving me off so he can undo his jeans and pull his boxers down to free his dick. It has got to be at least 7 inches, but even then that’s being conservative. I need that in me more than I ever thought I’d need a dick in me. I should tell him I’m still a virgin tho--

“Oh baby, you look nervous, have you not done much of this before? It’s okay little moo moo, daddy understands. You want to take it a little slower? He won’t go as rough, daddy promises.” He coos softly, brushing my little fur covered ears slowly. I can’t help but be completely entranced by him as he coos softly and repeatedly brushes my ears, and coupled with the vibrator still working away, I just want to melt into a little puddle for him. 

He moves me off his lap and helps me onto my back in the center of his bed. It all smells of him - his musk, his cologne, his sweat. I just want him to envelop me in his arms and rut into me with no care for my udders or my pleasure.

And although he doesn’t do that just yet, he moves his fingers back to my mouth to put them back in - he never really finished stretching me. I take them in and I look at him this time - our eyes meet. He still has the lust in there, but I see the adoration now. 

As he pulls his fingers out, I let out a quiet mewl, I want him and I never want him to leave my side. He shushes me and moves his hand down to my swollen cunt again to do the very same thing he did in the car. 

He sticks two digits in at first this time, knowing I’d still be a little loose from earlier. His fingers lightly moving in me, coupled with the end of the vibrator just barely in my walls but tormenting my clit make me on edge, just a little more and I’ll go over the edge a third time. Please, just once more, please daddy, add a third finger or something, anythi-

His free hand squeezes down on my left udder, and I moo loudly right in his face. I’m gushing like a waterfall as my thighs shake uncontrollably. He drops his hand from my udder and moves it to my ears again, petting them as I work through my third orgasm. This man has given me three orgasms and the best milking in a hot minute and I don’t even know his name.

He turns off the vibrator and pushes it out to let his third finger move in and rest in my womb. I finally get to catch my breath. I guess I should ask his name. 

“What, uhh, What’s your,, like, your name, sir?”

“Damien, dear, but that might be too hard to scream out here in a few minutes.”

It takes a few seconds to register, but I smile and blush, he really does know how to charm. Maybe he learned it, maybe it comes naturally to older men. He seems like such the gentleman. I mean, he didn’t have to milk me, he didn’t even have to confront me. But he did, when no one else was. 

I’ve lost my confidence when I feel my right udder get red hot. I need his help again. I start writhing in pain from it again. I need him again and again and again and agai-

And instead of a hand coming to it, he moves down to suck on my teat. And Oh my god does pleasure rip right through me, almost like I had never had that third orgasm just a minute ago. His mouth is light, he barely uses his teeth, he just lightly sucks. 

“Oh, Ohhh D-Dam-Damien, Oh my god, dont stop, pleaseeeeeee! more!” I moan out, followed by a few loud moos. I’ve never had this before. Oh my god does it feel glorious. My milk has either been running down my body or sucked away by a cold and lifeless machine. But this, this is warm, this is wet, this is heaven. 

And he’s taking full advantage of that. He knows I’m a virgin, he knows I don’t have a partner back home to fuck me senseless or at the least suck my udders dry. He knows he’s the only port in a storm right now, and he’s taking every single advantage he can over me.

And I hate to say that I love it.

He sucks and sucks and sucks, and his other hand - the one knuckle deep in me - starts moving around, getting accustomed to my hole. After a few seconds of general feeling around, he curls his fingers upward to my sweet spot, and I can’t help but arch my back and moo out for him. 

I am an absolute puddle in his bed, wrapped in his body, waiting to be taken and used for the first time. And he knows that. I think he knows everything.

After another minute or two he's sucked my teat dry and moves to the other one. I go white hot. I think this could be enough for a lifetime, but I still want more.

And again, he knows that.

But a few more minutes pass by, and my fourth orgasm is nearing from the constant attention my most neglected organs are getting, and he finishes sucking my other teat and leaves me completely dry. I whine for him, but he shushes me as he takes his fingers out.

"Damieeeee, why-why'd you do that? I was sooooo close!" I whine a little more. He moves up to my mouth to give me a searing kiss, I can taste my milk and his saliva combined. I never knew I would like the taste of my own milk, but here I am, drinking what little milk and saliva he has to give me.

He moves around for a second, positioning his knees so he can fuck into me. Oh my god I'm gonna lose my virginity to an older man who has ruined my body over - god how long has it been? One, two hours? - Who cares, I certainly don't when I feel his tip right against my clit.

He drags the tip of his cock up and down my cunt, lightly circling when he makes it back up to my clit. As he goes down the next time, he slowly pushes a little bit of himself in, only to pull out and circle up to my nub once more. He stops for a second to reach behind him for the vibrator.

He places the vibrator snugly against my jewel and turns it onto its highest setting. I gasp and moan a little louder after he pushes back into me, finally breaching my hole. He gives me a second to breathe.

"You okay little baby? We're gonna go at your pace, so just tell me when you're ready. I don't want you to hurt more than you were earlier." He whispers against the shell of my ear. I shiver at the closeness.

"You, you can uhh, you can keep going, Damien" I whisper back. I don't have the energy to speak up. Today has been so wild.

He thrusts in a little more and he's made me lie to myself - I can get way louder. I'm moaning loudly in his ear, loving the attention I'm finally getting.

He slowly pushes in until he's at the hilt - he stretched me just right, he's a perfect fit.

He sits there for a minute, letting me acclimate to him. He sighs, going down for a kiss. I can't help but reciprocate him, let him have his way. He bites my bottom lip, asking for entrance I've only thought about in my dreams. Hell, all of this has only been in dreams. I let my mouth hang open for him, letting him explore what's his.

He moves down from my lips to the crook of my neck, where he smothers it in kisses and starts to leave hickeys. He wants the world to know I came to him, that I'm his now.

As he works his way around my neck, he starts thrusting in, slow and steady at first. I can't help but moan and whine at finally getting his everything. I want to scream and cry and beg and moan and moo and scratch and and and and-

He picks up the pace. I can hear his skin slapping against mine. I'm going to cum again. There's no doubt.

He moves away from my neck to grab at my thighs - what is he doing? Why is he--

He moves my thighs up to where they're up against my chest, tucked in tight between us. And Ooooh, my god. That feels good. He gets deeper, he thrusts his cock in harder each time. He moves his hands around my body to places I never knew could feel good.

And I see white a fourth time. I've met god four times today. I'm squirting and I'm cumming all around him - I can't control myself anymore.

My udders leak what little is left - he's milking me of everything I am.

"OH, oh oh ohhhhhh Daddy, daddy please, please give me more!" I cry, I want more!!!

"Moo for me babygirl, then I'll think about it" he claps back without skipping a beat.

"M-Moo-mooooo"

"What was that? You call that a moo? I should stop right here and now if you think that's gonna satisfy me."

"Moooo! Daddy don't pull out, I- I'm a good little cow I swear! Mooooooo!"

He smiles.

"I was kidding, doll, I'd never do that to you. You're such a good little heifer. So sweet, so patient, our calves are gonna love their mommy."

He starts thrusting again, picking up at a different rhythm and pace than before. He's harder, faster, rougher. God do I love it.

"Good little girl. Taking everything I give you and yet still begging for more. I'm so happy no one else took your little pussy home to fuck." He grunts out through gritted teeth. His thrusts are a bit more erratic now, less rhythmic. He's about cum.

I would be approaching a fifth orgasm if I had the energy, all I can do is squeeze and squirt around him now. I can't even say my fourth orgasm has ended when my pussy's still gushing from the last one.

"Oh babygirl, you're not gonna be a heifer for long. Daddy's gonna knock you up with some nice calves. He's gonna make you a mommy cow. And you're gonna take all of it and love it. You're not gonna let a drop of my cum go to waste." He grunts out again as he gets closer.

"Oh- Oh my god, Damie, make me, make me a mommy, please Damie, give me calves!" I cry out. He smiles and moves down to kiss me again.

And before he can even reach my lips he's bursting in me. He's painting all my walls white and not letting a single drop go to waste. His lips crash into mine.

"Oh fuck baby, you're pussy is way too good. Fuckkkk, Baby, you're all mine." He says into my lips. I can't help but whimper at the feeling of being full in my cunt and empty in my udders. I feel complete.

We sigh into each other as he lays on me. I feel him twitching in me, shrinking down and tiring out. I can feel the vibrator still raving away at my clit - it's too much now.

"I-I- Damie, can you, can, can you please get the vibey off? It hurtsssssss" I whine. I can't take all he's given me and this vibrator, I'm gonna cry.

He shifts a little to get it off, moving it to the side of the bed. His bed is ruined - absolutely soaked, mainly in my juices. I hope he doesn't mind (he loves it).

He finally pulls out. His cum starts seeping out of my abused hole. I whimper and move to push it back in.

"Shh shh babygirl, it's okay, let me go grab a plug, just keep your little fingers in your pussy, I'll be right back." He coos as he gets up. He stands at his bedside drawer, grabbing the water and towels first, then opening a drawer and grabbing a small egg-shaped (and pink) plug.

He removes my fingers and slowly pushes the plug in - how is it wider than his cock? He smiles at me and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, telling me he's going down to the bathroom to wash off real quick before cleaning me. He brings back the small towels - warm and wet from the sink, and lightly moves them around my body. He starts with my wet and sticky thighs and cunt, going softly as he gets near my jewel, knowing it's more sensitive than before.

He moves up my body, letting me take it all in. I let out little sighs as he wipes the milk stains from my udders. He moves up and wipes the small spit from my neck, and finally reaches my face, where he rests the second (clean) towel over my eyes. He throws the dirty towel to the side, probably near the vibrator, and dives down to kiss my face and neck. I can't help but giggle at how sweet he's being.

"What a good girl you were for me! I can't believe such a quiet girl was so good for me. And to think, had you milked yourself, you wouldn't be here with me right now. Sad."

He moves me back into his lap when he fully lays on the bed - he'll deal with the soaked sheets in a minute. He pulls me up to where he can leave a few more love bites on my neck and whisper the soft nothings he's been waiting to use.

"What a good little moo moo for me. You're gonna be such a good mommy to our calves. They're gonna be so lucky to have you as their mommy. They'll never be hungry or sad when you're around - your milk, god your milk will feed them for forever and a day. What a good girl for daddy. You were so good for him. You are so grateful he gave you his calves to take care of.

Just think, in a few months you'll be swelling with my calves, and then you'll be waddling around everywhere and everyone will ask what happened to you? Who's the father? And all you got to do is point to me, let me take care of it. Then your udders'll swell even more than they do now. God, you'll never fit into another top of yours."

I smile and relax a little more. He's perfect. I'm gonna be a mommy because of him.

I doze off in his arms. He lets me sleep, he knows I'm tired.

I think I'm gonna stay.

god i am so delulu teehee

I am not gonna say I listened to the same four songs on repeat (Rx Queen by Deftones, Closer by NIN, Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) by Deftones, and Granite by Sleep Token) but I'm not gonna deny it either ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also if you actually got to the end of this, why don't you stay for a while? I got one other work up at the moment and chances are if you've found my posts you'll like the stuff i repost. Just a thought :)

kinda edited, not really, just read through it once or twice once I finished it. will come back to edit it soon

Creds to @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers ♡

[trulybetty]

Sunday | Week In Review VI

A bit of a slow week this week - nothing much really happened. Got some writing done, announced some things I'm working on and worked on my TBR list. Odd week as my notifications just disappeared and felt a little disconnected. Things seem to be back on track *fingers crossed* - so lets get on with this weeks review...

Truly Betty Updates This Week…

Strings Part V Mood Board

Salt Water Soft Launch

Autumnal Offerings

Fics I Enjoyed This Week…

How Good It Is (Benny Miller) by @wildemaven Fully on the Benny train, this scratched the itch this week with this delightfully wonderful piece of fluff with a delightful touch of spice and I can't wait to get more insights to this couple's relationship.

A Safe Haven Drabble (Joel Miller) by @darkroastjoel You don’t have to have read the series to appreciate the angst in this small little drabble that packs a punch. Explores Joel’s feelings on the impending arrival of Tommy’s child with the grief of missing Sarah and it manages to do it all in less than 600 words beautifully. 

Your Hand In Mine (Joel Miller) by @thelightsandtheroses This is a great opening to a new series and it's such a great opening premise that will have you wanting to find out what happens next and in eager anticipation of what is to come next.

Open Mic Night (Marcus Pike) by @secretelephanttattoo No denying it anymore, I’m ankle-deep in this Pike Puddle and this is an excellent example of what keeps me content with damp *ahem* feet… Are you one of those who forgot it's canon that Marcus was a part of a band? This one-shot is here to remind you with a bang!

Clouds (Joel Miller) by @softlyspector This is incredibly soft with a few hard edges - allusions to events from TLOU2, but no spoilers and no golfing. Highly recommend a read of this.

Little Monsters (Dieter Bravo) by @chronically-ghosted Dad Dieter was not the trope I thought I needed, but here we are and I can’t get enough. This is all what I picture Dieter as a father being like. This is equal parts fluff with equal parts spice which makes for a delightful read! 

For the Night (Agent Ortega) by @ladamedusoif I think the pilot hit the web for all of a couple of hours before we were blessed with this delight. As far as I am concerned this is what the pilot should have been, it’s deliciously raunchy and I may have read it several times. 

Delta Landscaping | Chapter 5 (Triple Frontier Boys) by @rhoorl I don’t know if I still have words for my thots feelings on this update to this series. So please accept this gif and go get caught up, and if you've not read it? What are you waiting for?

Spinning in the Rain (Frankie Morales) by @frenchiereading This is like the best kind of fluff, it's atmospheric, it's indulgent, it's sweet and it's Frankie - what more can you ask for? Oh, and it's based off a song that I already adored and this makes for one to go back to for re-read.

All I Need (Frankie Morales) by @frenchiereading Mel has such a way with these perfect snippets of fluff and romance that make your heart swell and this is another example of this. I can't do it justice, you just need to read it to experience it!

Exposed (Ezra) by @maggiemayhemnj This was a delightful debut and a great read that flowed just as well as Ezra's poetic prose, which Maggie manages to capture perfectly. If you are a fan of Prospect and Ezra, you will not be disappointed!

Personal Day (Marcus Pike) by @sin-djarin If I'm staying in the puddle, I'm going to make sure it's in good company with fanfics like this one! If Marcus Pike is going to ask me to come back to bed for five more minutes, who am I to deny the man?

Shared Breaths | Chapter 9 (Frankie Morales) by @frenchiereading It's a triple header here for @frenchiereading! The slow burn of the first eight chapters pays off with a bang here and, it does not disappoint! If you're late to the game like I am on this excellent story, I very much recommend jumping in because it does not disappoint!

Posts I Enjoyed This Week…

The thots were truly alive and well on this Narcos gifset. I don't think the image of this post is burned into the back of my eyelids. Also, might have prompted some non-Narcos writing somewhere in the WIP pile...

Thoughts on the contents of the Delta Landscaping Yelp page? We got you here!

@goodwithcheese's book recommendations! I'm off this week and hoping to get some reading done between parental activities.

Things I’ve Enjoyed This Week…

I got four episodes deep on Wrestlers, a Netflix original docu-series on OVW, a Wrestling farm out of Florida that was once where the WWE sent its superstars to cut their teeth before making their debut. I once upon a time was a big WWE fan, so this has been an interesting watch. I'd recommend it too even if you're not a wrestling fan as there are some interesting stories from both those who run it and those who live it.

This Week’s Song…

On a N'Sync kick this week with the rumours that they're going to be reuniting for more than just the Trolls 3 soundtrack/movie. I will be feral if the rumour of a reunion tour materializes!

Happy Sunday all! Here's to a great week ahead!

B 💕 x

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Four

Life after Cyprus really isn’t all that interesting. In fact, I spend most of my time thinking about Cyprus, remembering Cyprus, reliving moments from Cyprus and pretending I’m still there, especially on those drizzly spring days when I look out the little Mezzotint studio window over the slick grey Dublin streets. I wonder just how much more interesting would my life be if I was in Cyprus right now? 

“Oi,” Simon snaps his fingers in front of my face, “Earth to Evie, you’ve been daydreaming all morning. Don’t you have… something to do?” He seems unsure about what exactly it is that I’ve been working on, which is understandable. Sometimes it’s cards, sometimes it’s windows, murals, signs, really, it could be anything. It just happens to be a poster for an art exhibition this time. Dull. 

“I’m working as hard as I can,” I tell him, which is true, because the most work I can manage is none. I wonder what Jude is doing. When we texted forty minutes ago he was in his studio working on his project, which is a collection of masks inspired by his travels in Asia, and before that he got a coffee in a little cafe near his university. I’m riveted by the idea of what he might be doing now. I text him again. 

Not you again…

He texts back, and I smile, no, beam to myself. 

Joking, I’m eating a pretzel. 

Oh, cool. 

I’m thrilled to know about the pretzel, and even more thrilled to receive a photo of said pretzel seconds later. It’s a salt and pepper one half wrapped in a serviette on his lap, and he’s wearing blue jeans and those green and white runners I’ve always liked. 

Miss you

I text him. 

Miss you too, Evie. Loads. Can’t wait to call you later.

I respond with a barrage of emojis, heart eyed, sparkling hearts, kisses, winky faces, flowers, moons and suns and stars. I should be completely embarrassed of myself , but I mean it all in a partially ironic way. Sort of, and really, I don’t care so much about the horrifying ordeal of sincerity anymore. It feels good to be mushy and emotional, earnest and obsessed with this gorgeous person who puts up with me, and it’s not like anybody is going to read our texts…

“You done talking to your boyfriend?” Simon is right behind me now, and I can tell that he’s trying to sound as annoyed as he can but he’s not really managing it. He’s smirking. Smirking because he saw my stupid emojis, and now I am humiliated. 

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, “I’m sorry, I’m so distracted. I’ll get back to work now, I know with this deadline and all…”

“End of day, Evie, I mean it. The client wants that poster by Wednesday, and if you have me panicking at the last minute trying to get it to the printers on time I’m not going to be happy about it.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll stay late if I have to.”

Gabriel makes a huffing sound when Simon goes back to his seat, “He’s no fun, girl. Text your sexy boyfriend all you like.”

“Can hear you from over here,” Simon comments. 

“He thinks he’s so scary and serious,” Izzy chimes in at volume, “But he’s absolutely not. Don’t let him intimidate you into staying late.”

“If the three of you don’t shut up I’m going to implement a no phones and no speaking rule, and it’ll be all Evie’s fault.”

I catch Izzy’s eyes and she rolls them, but indeed, we say nothing else, and for the rest of the day I do my level best to ignore my buzzing phone, and work on the boring, unsexy poster until it’s time to go home. 

“Do you think I’ll need a jacket at all when I’m in Sydney?” Claire takes an army green coat with a fur collar from the discount rail at a clothing shop and holds it up to herself in the mirror. 

“How cold does it get there in the winter?”

“I’ve no clue,” she sighs, “I’m unprepared, I don’t even actually know what goes on in Australia. Do they like Irish people?”

“Probably.”

“What do you think of this coat?”

“Everyone has that same coat, Claire, it’s too trendy, and I bet they have, like, other kinds of coats in Australia. Maybe you should just wait and see when you go.”

She strokes the faux fur collar lovingly, “It’s fluffy…”

“Look, you’re going in the early autumn, which for them is…” I tilt my head and imagine I’m upside down, “…early spring, so you’ll be going into the summer, and you definitely won’t need a coat, in fact, doesn’t it get so hot there that it bursts into actual flames every few years?”

“A coat is like a safety item though, I can’t imagine being in a place where I won’t need one. Is this the end of cosy winters for me? It feels like I didn’t appreciate the one that just passed, and actually, I complained about how cold and rainy it was the whole time, and I didn’t think about the fact that it might be my last real, cold winter for years and years and…” She’s clinging very tightly to the sleeve of this coat, chest heaving, tears springing to her big, blue eyes, and I immediately reach for her as though I can somehow prevent the imminent breakdown. 

“Claire,” I say in my best soothing voice, “You’ll have cold winters. You’ll come home for Christmas when you can, right?” 

She relaxes a millimetre, “Yes, yeah I will, you’re right, my parents would be devastated if I didn’t, it just wouldn’t be right, and God forbid Shane Healy isn’t home with Eamonn and Caroline on Christmas Day, God, no they wouldn’t hear of it…”

“Right, and I know what this coat symbolises,” I try to gently pry it from her clutches, “But you’ll take up too much space in your suitcase if you pack something like this, and look,” I put it gingerly back onto the rail, “You can always get your mam to send a package over at some point, you know, if you find that the winters are actually cold and you need something heavier, you have loads and loads of nice coats, don’t you?”

She nods. She’s got that thousand yard stare in her eyes. 

“Try to think of this as an exciting adventure.”

“I do think about it like that, I just… I’m an Irish girl, Evie,” She says with conviction as though she absolutely needs me to understand it, “I always, always thought that I’d just live here forever and I’d be glad about it, I had no interest in living abroad, I was just never bothered with any of that, J1 visas and all of that craic, I just can’t believe that I said yes to Australia,” She grabs my arm tightly. “You can’t go further than that without coming back around again.”

“You’ll like it, and if you don’t you can come home.” The truth is that I don’t want her to go at all, I don’t want Shane to go at all, actually, and I’m ashamed of the fact which is why I won’t say it. Having to be the one that holds it together during this conversation is hard for me when all I want to do is cling to her and cry and beg her not to leave me. Doesn’t she know that I have trauma about that kind of thing? Why would she do this to me? “I’m sure you’ll like it there, it’ll be amazing,” I reassure her, “think about Bondi Beach and stuff, and, I don’t know, whatever else they have there. Kangaroos.”

“I don’t care about the kangaroos really,” She frowns, “That’d be something Shane would like, probably.”

“I was kind of joking about the kangaroos.”

“Oh right, well, yeah, so you think I should think more about summer wear?” She pivots to the new season rail, “More bikinis, I suppose, I’ll be having two summers in a row, that’s exciting.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say, “Who wouldn’t want nine straight months of summer?” And I help her to rummage through the rails. 

When we come home from town later that evening she’s in a much brighter mood. She’s in the mood for a full on girls night, and is going on and on about getting dressed up and doing each others hair (Which translates to her doing my hair, because I’m relatively clueless about it, while not allowing me to lay a hand on hers, understandably) and then finding a bar that serves fancy cocktails and staying out until town shuts down. 

I don’t tell her that I was excited to call Jude, actually, because that’s what I do every night now that he’s away, and I know that he’s in an especially amorous mood because for the whole walk home with Claire he’s texting me the kinds of things that make me have to angle my screen away from her.

I’ve discovered that I like this kind of thing, even if my Catholic Shame is scratching at the door when I get up to the things I get up to when Jude is on the phone. He mostly talks about what he wishes we could do with parts of his body and parts of my body, and I don’t really know how to reply or to say any acceptably sexy things back to him, but I’m more than happy to lie there and listen with shocked delight as he speaks absolute filth over the line to me. Tonight is not shaping up to be one of those nights, though, so I regretfully text him while Claire chatters about this bar and that bar and who does what drinks and for what prices. 

Sorry, I think I’m having a girls night out.

Aw, damn.

I think this is when you’re supposed to tell me that you’re happy for me and that I should absolutely spend as much time as possible with my best friend before she moves 15’000kms away from me. 

You should do that, that’s what I meant. Going out with Claire sounds a lot better than listening to me. 

Hmm… I’m not so sure. 

Have fun, Evie. I’ll call you tomorrow. 

I’ll probably drunk text you in the meantime. 

Please! I love it when you do that. 

Claire and I spend two hours getting ready once we’re home, and I love every minute of it, because she has this incredible way of making me look like the best, hottest, most spectacular version of myself. Sometimes when she does my makeup I think back in horror to what I used to let Kelly do to my face. She was dangerous with an eyeshadow brush, and as Claire carefully applies layers of exquisitely blended shimmery gold to my lids I suppress a shudder at the thoughts of what I looked like on my dinner date with Liam all those years ago. I recently uncovered an old photo from a digital camera SD card of myself, awkwardly standing by the flimsy door of Kelly’s mobile home bedroom with eyes rimmed in black kohl liner and a circle of orange foundation around the collar of my top. I don’t know how I wasn’t mocked relentlessly.

“I didn’t notice those things,” Jude said to me when I sent the photo to him, “Maybe it was just too dark out that night, I don’t know, but I remember thinking you were really pretty when we were on the quay.”

“Yeah right, I was a ghoul,” I told him. 

“A pretty cute ghoul, and by the way, didn’t you see my haircut? I definitely looked worse than you.”

Of course he didn’t, he always looked cute, but I never bother to tell him things like this, because he always denies them for the sake of being humble, or at least the pretence of being humble. I’m never quite sure which.  

Before I go out I make sure to send a photo of myself to him so that he can remember that I can look good if I try, with help from Claire and about sixty euros worth of beauty products slapped onto my face, just in case I’m stricken down by a bus tonight and that awful teenage picture is the last image he has of me.

Bring a stick with you so you can beat the guys away from you

He says, which is total projection. It’s him that probably gets swarmed by the opposite sex in bars so he probably thinks that’s what happens to everyone. But not me, never me, except for the odd time, usually in dark corners of bars when I’m a little bit too drunk, and usually by the calibre of men that Claire would deem absolutely unacceptable to make eye contact with. 

“Come on, Evie,” she’s saying now, and I realise that I’ve been staring at my reflection in the black window while she’s been zipping herself into her lightweight jacket. “Jaz and Serena are already there.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[realblacklightvirus]

Deliciously Moist Banana Bread

Recipe by me, Lottie!

Just before we get on to the ingredients and whatnot, I just wanted to preface this recipe by saying:

Sorry for the long wait, folks!

I'm not sure why, but I must've forgotten all about my blog during the panic - for those who don't know, Manhattan was taken over by this virus for a few weeks, but not to fret, I feel fine! (Although my memory must have gotten worse as I must have forgotten that I changed my blog's design, LOL!)

I feel great otherwise... almost like I've gotten taller and my joints just don't hurt like they used to. My senses have changed too, but strangely I'm not entirely sure if it's gotten better or worse, ha ha! I can feel people's body heat and, swear to God, I think I can hear them talking to me! Must be the heat this week, lots of people have been going a little heat-crazy.

I'm currently staying over at this wonderfully kind young lady's apartment, and she just seems so cheery watching me talk about baking and crocheting. She did request that the location stay private for job reasons, so no "vacation" photos, LOL.

Now, if you've been like me for the past few hours, you're positively starving! Let's get into the recipe.

Lottie's Banana Bread

Makes 2 loaves.

Prep. Time: 20 mins

Baking Time: 1 hour to 1 & 1/2 hours

INGREDIENTS:

2 cups of white flour

1 cup of golden sugar, lightly packed

1/2 teaspoon of table salt

2 teaspoons of baking powder

1 teaspoon of baking soda

1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon powder

a pinch of cardamom

3 thoroughly mashed, ripe bananas

1 banana, cut or gently ripped into small cubes

3 eggs

1 stick of butter (quarter-pound size) or 1/2 cup of your choice of oil

1/3 cup of buttermilk or buttermilk substitute

1 to 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract

chocolate chips if desired, amount to taste (this recipe does not need any chocolate chips, but if you want, you can start with a 1/2 cup of chips!)

MIXING & BAKING:

Preheat your oven to 375f.

Either grease and flour your bread tins, or use parchment paper and oil.

Combine wet ingredients in one large bowl, and dry ingredients in another separate bowl.

Add your dry ingredients into the wet ingredient bowl, all at once (yes, trust me on this!).

Start whisking gently at first, then as more gets incorporated, whisk normally. Do NOT whisk until clumps disappear, as you do not want to over-mix this batter - the bread will turn out to be tough and dry.

Pour batter into tins, then place into the oven.

Let bake for an hour, or until a toothpick, when inserted into the loaf, comes out clean.

Let the bread cool on a rack for at least 10 minutes, then slice and enjoy! Best served warm.

Thank you all for reading, and stay safe out there! I hear there's this man jumping around and eating people, and I would hate to hear that on e oo ff fffff yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy y y j;oiiiiiiiiiii/>"////////////////

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Corruption In Our Testimony 

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK

=========================

+ 1 Corinthians 2:5 So that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

=========================

VERSE OF THE DAY 

========================

+ Colossians 4:6  Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

=========================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I HAVE A TESTIMONY 

I AM LOVED

I AM WAITING ON GOD 

I AM WATCHING MY WORDS

========================

READ TIME: 7 Minutes & 38 Seconds

========================

THOUGHTS:

=======================

    When we are around family and friends, we forget that our conversation must be gracious and seasoned with salt. Even how we answer someone we know, sometimes we talk a certain way around family and friends and say it's okay to speak this way because they know us; we always need to be careful what we do and always what we say. Our language must be full of clean words, and we must always do this. We must always set an example of how God wants our lives to be: clean, righteous, and holy.

 Verse 4-5 Pray that I may proclaim it clearly, as I should. 5 Be wise in how you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity.

  It tells us again to be wise in acting towards others because we never know how our lives can affect others. I always say everyone is accountable for their actions. Still, if we say we are believers we can’t expect to save anyone if we go around our town and at our jobs acting not Christ-like . How we act and what we do plays a significant part in what God allows us to do; look at Apostle Paul as he changed, and he was around people still connecting him to his past life. If Paul was going around saying ugly things and cussing and fussing, how was that going to show Jesus in Him? 

   Acts 9:13-14 “Lord,” Ananias answered, “I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your holy people in Jerusalem. 14 And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.”

   See, Ananias even said wait, Jesus, this man was here with the authority to arrest people who called your name; Paul couldn’t escape his past at first. It was all around him, and the more he kept walking in the light and showing people,” I'm not that same person, “ the more people started treating him like the man of God he was; we can't let our past defy who we are now, but we can't allow our actions to show who we aren’t anymore , and we are of Christ we must show that side of our selves at all times. 

   Galatians 1:14-15 -16 I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my age among my people and was extremely zealous for the traditions of my fathers. But when God, who set me apart from my mother’s womb and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles, my immediate response was not to consult any human being.

    Paul, many times in the word, let us know who he was; he didn’t try to hide it, nor did he go back and dabble into what he used to be, and sometimes the biggest hang-up that happens in our lives we must learn to forgive ourselves for the people we became or for saying and doing things we shouldn’t do. Paul knew who he was in God and that we must remember who we are in Christ; we are no longer of this world; we are transformed now by renewing of our minds.

   Ephesians 4:29 Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.

    It says here, don’t allow corrupt talk to come out your mouth because we are supposed to be building people up, but if we are going to destroy someone's feeling our life by our words, we aren’t living the way we should. We aren’t being that man or woman of God. God wants us to live a life that represents him, and we can't do that if we are too busy trying to show people our other side or who we used to be. We all have things we must work on, but when we find these things, we must go to God for him to help us with our speech and everything else.

  Proverbs 15:4: A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but perverseness in it breaks the spirit.

  Paul never got angry because people saw him for who he used to be; he let his speech be gentle and full of life, and he didn’t let his ways break his testimony. Jesus is allowing us to show family and friends the new us, not for us to show them what we haven’t changed from; it’s okay to laugh and joke with family & friends but who we are now, we are delivered, we are free, we are chosen , we are His. To continue walking in this, we must deny ourselves the chance of being someone we aren’t anymore. 

   Verse 23-24 They only heard the report: “The man who formerly persecuted us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy.”24 And they praised God because of me.

   Paul tells us here people will remember who you were ; they will remember what you used to do, but don’t allow that to stop you from continuing to allow your speech to be of Christ and allow what you say not to turn anyone away from Jesus , we must allow our speech to show people who you are now in Christ ! 

  ***Today, we learned how words and our ways can sometimes be different in front of family& friends . Still, we must always try to be in control of what we do and say and not let it ruin what God is trying to do in us; people will remember who you USE TO BE; that won’t change, but what will change people perspective on how they see us handle different moments in our lives , we can’t allow our speech or our old ways to corrupt our testimony , we have to allow our speech always to be salted by God and always leading people to Christ , not away from him. Don’t let corrupt talk corrupt your testimony. 

   Paul was a murderer of a bunch of Christians, but when Jesus came into his life, Jesus changed not only his life but his mouth. He no longer wanted to harm people, but he wanted to teach them about the love of Christ. We often think our language can’t corrupt our testimony, but it can. We must allow Jesus to change what we say and our minds; every day, we must go to Christ and say, Jesus , I need you to change my mind and what I say to others. And he will change our lives when we submit. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee

========================

PRAYER

========================

Heavenly Father, thank you for everything, lord; give us strength to help us stay strong; please change our hearts, minds, and mouths. Lord, forgive us if we have been talking with corrupt language . Forgive us if we hurt someone with our words. Help us to be kind and loving to everyone. Lord, we thank you for change; we thank you for love. Lord, give us strength to push through and to continue to walk in you so that others will see you in us, in Jesus' Name, Amen

========================

REFERENCES 

========================

+ James 3:10 From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so.

 

+ Psalm 141:3 Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!

 

+ Matthew 12:36 I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak,

========================

FURTHER READINGS 

=========================

Proverbs 23

Leviticus 23

Ezekiel 10

Jeremiah 42

=========================