#guess we’ll find out together

[breannasfluff]

Prompt List - Follower Milestone

I've gotten a lot of new followers (thank you, all!) I wanted to do a prompt event as a fun reward. Send one of the following prompts and specify the fandom [Linked Universe, Danny Phantom, Batfam, or DP X DC] and 2 characters if you have a preference. I'll do my best to write a little drabble for you!

Emoji ~❄️ ~🐻 ~🧯 ~🚱 ~🫂💤 ~💥😅👍 ~🥫🧀🥯

One Word Cuddles Comfort Rain Clay Asunder Teeth Venus

Scenerios 1. Begrudging pen pals: “Dear [name], whose presence I barely tolerate” // “Fellow person who has improbably lived past the age of nine.” 2. Hair care (for someone else, or with help) 3. After B succeeds in a remarkable achievement, A cups their face and tilts their foreheads together to express how proud they are of them. 4. A walks in on B treating their wounds 5. Giving someone a piggy-back ride 6. Cuddle Pile 7. A is a thirst trap for powerful females 8. None of the doors or window showed any sign of having been opened, yet A was gone. 9. [enemy] shows up in [location]. 10. [enemy] decides to hunt [other enemy].

Sentences 11. “[name], h-his heart. It isn’t beating.” 12. “…This isn’t the person we hired them to kidnap.” / “Well, they’ll still be usable as a test subject anyway.” 13. “Holy shit, what happened to your arm?!” / “Nah, it’s chill, it’ll grow back.” / “No it won’t!?” 14. “If you’re not a criminal, why did you attack me?” / “You crashed through my fucking window!” 15. “ Look, I get the whole lone wolf thing, trust me, I do. But…you do understand that there’ll always be a place here for you, don’t you?" 16. "Here, grab a plate; I made your favorite." 17. "Oh look, it's the useless one again." 18. "I've already forgiven you, you idiot." 19. "You're allowed to feel sad."

[steveharrington]

dan and serena so annoyinggggg (/pos) they’re literally at a ball with dates and still standing there saying shit like the night we had sex was the best night of my life 🥺 now let’s go find our dates! also bart bass dead allegations?

[bulldog-butch]

Only two episodes left of discovery….. I don’t want it to be over 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[jtl-fics]

watch FF get offered a prized position in the mafia without even realizing theyre not FBI agents, and him just thinking its some kind of complex government tactic to get him to admit something

we love a confused man who sticks to the bit

Lol his ability for self-delusion can only go so far but man it’d be funny to write about the life and times of FF Ichirou’s preferred translator and occasional heavy hitter.

He’d figure it out eventually even still but….

“Oh man Ichirou was just being nice. He wasn’t trying to trip me up so that I’d say that Andrew stabbed me. This is so embarrassing.”

All in all Ichirou in this AU may not offer a position outright because well… it certainly appears that FF’s loyalty lies firmly in the hands of someone else.

[mxdragonsdoodles]

Monty saying hi for day 10

[Don’t trace, repost or edit]

[ssreeder]

“I like this new habit! We can be sunrise pals - “

“No. We will not. Don’t call me that.”

Aww Sokka is exclusive….

-ly a prison pal

awwww he is an exclusive prison pal! the one & only!

[mydictionary-yume]

Lusaku’s 1 year anniversary is coming up July 9th but I have no idea what I wanna do for it wahhhhh

[space-heat3r]

Oh god Clay’s death makes me so sad; I just started this case and I’m already gonna cry.

[lichen-teeth]

Mlem

more Narfi ;}

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon’s home.

Which means he’s glued to your side.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two of you are in a local bookstore, the shop having caught your eye while out on a stroll together, each of you going to your respective shelves to find your preferred genres.

Simon grabs the first novel he thinks sounds interesting, quickly snatching the book by its spine so that he can cross the few steps back to your side.

His eyebrows furrow when he notices how closely you’re holding a book up to your face, your own eyes squinting at the back cover.

“Havin’ trouble there, love?” He asks as he approaches.

“Can’t believe I let myself run out of contact lenses.” You reply, trying your best to decipher the blur of black ink on the pages.

“Could’ve worn your glasses.” He retorts, something he’d already suggested more than once since you ran out of your contacts and had to order new ones.

“You know I only like wearing them at home.”

“But you’re so cute in ‘em.”

“Yeah well, you’re the only one who thinks so.” You mumble under your breath, though Simon hears it of course, the crease in his brow deepening.

“Wha’s that supposed to mean?” He gruffs out.

“I just got teased a bit in school was all Si, typical kid stuff. Just stuck with me I guess, but it’s fine, I have my contact lenses.” You explain to him.

Simon considers your words for a moment, the gears evidently turning in his head, muscular arms crossed over his large chest.

“And do we know where these fuckin’ tossers are at now?”

“Oh my god Simon, don’t-”

“Have we got any names to work with?”

“That is not-”

“Any addresses?”

“You are not about to-”

“Pictures?”

“I was like ten years old-”

“S’alright lovie, we’ll dig up your yearbooks when we get home.” He simply says, plucking your book from your hands and heading towards the register to pay.

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[wearenotasfarwest]

C’mon, what did my boy Fready July do????

[peachsukii]

Pro Hero Bakugo who can’t wait to see you once his patrol shift is up. He’s been texting with you all day during his downtime, smiling like an idiot anytime your name pops up on his lock screen. Even when Kaminari teased him about it, he didn’t yell or tell him to fuck off, just rolled his eyes with that grin still plastered on his face. It didn’t matter what you two talked about, you somehow always kept his attention.

Bakugo was the one to find and pull you out of the burning building months ago, saving you from the eventual collapse of the rubble. He’d stayed with you for hours, making sure you were properly seen by medics and not overwhelmed when the police questioned you about the villain who started it all. Before leaving, he left you with his agency card - “Call if ya need anythin’, big or small.”

That was Bakugo’s way of saying, “oh shit, I kinda like you” without risking his professionalism.

Fast forward to now, he’s blasting through the air to your apartment complex, feeling like a feather in the wind. He lands on your balcony with a thud, hurriedly kicking off his combat boots and leaving them outside. You’re already in the living room, arms crossed with a smile on your face as he comes inside.

“I have a front door, you know,” you tease, laughing softly to yourself. He doesn’t care, stomping over to you excitedly and tugging you into a hug, smothering your cheeks and forehead with kisses. It leaves you gigging, even if he’s covered in sweat and dirt from his shift.

“Katsuki, you’re filthy!” You joke while trying to shove him off of you.

“Excuse me, Princess,” he jests, throwing you over his shoulder. “Guess we’ll just have’ta shower together.”

Bakugo’s running down the hallway of your apartment to your bathroom with you over his shoulder, cackling like a witch as you squirm playfully in his hold. He sets you on the bathroom counter before pulling you flush against him, lips finding yours in a heated kiss. When he pulls away, his hand caresses your cheek, eyes focused on your beautiful features.

“If you shower with me, I’ll cook ya dinner,” Bakugo offers, impatiently beginning to reach for the hem of your shirt. You knew he was going to anyways, he shoos you out of the kitchen every night to make dinner for the two of you.

“Isn’t bribing against the laws of hero society?” Your fingers hook under his mask to slide it to his forehead, hands roaming to the zipper on his collar piece. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You’re such a little shit,” he grunts, pulling your shirt over your head. “And I love it.”

It’s not a typical relationship, being that you’re quirkless, but Bakugo wouldn’t trade it for the world. No matter how soft you made him, it’s worth every moment in your presence and by your side. You make him want to be a better person, a stronger hero, and have a bigger heart.

[pomegranatesarchive]

two people that matched each others freak | max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x teammate!reader

summary: max verstappen and y/n l/n love to match each others freak.

liked by, carlossainz, maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 692,028 others!

yourusername: what an unfortunate series of events. first crash kinda nervous 🥰🥰@/carlossainz kill yourself for what you did to me.

view comments below!

user1: LMAO THE CASUAL SELFIE AFTER THAT BIG ASS CRASH ??

user2: carlos deserves way more then a 5 place penalty after that…

user3: no literally ??? y/n is literally BLEEDING !!

maxverstappen1: yeah @/carlossainz. KILL YOURSELF.

user4: you tell ‘em max 🗣️🗣️

user5: queens first crash and it’s not even her fault 😞😞

user6: queens first crash and she almost DIES

user7: carlos hate club reunite !!!

user8: oh let’s not…

user9: to quote y/n: “accidents happen. i know carlos didn’t get into his car with the intention of hurting me. there’s no hard feelings whatsoever.”

carlossainz: IM SO SORRY Y/N.

yourusername: i only take apologies in cash and gift cards xx.

maxverstappen: i only take apologies in cash.

carlossainz: why would i apologize to you?

maxverstappen1: because you almost killed my bestfriend.

carlossainz: do you accept venmo?

user8: max still calling y/n his bestfriend even tho they’ve been dating for two years now is so ??

user9: they were bestfriends for 6 years before that so..

charles_leclerc: give us a big scare there l/n 😬 happy you’re okay!

yourusername: thank you charles ❤️ but because you are carlos teammate, i feel like i am also owed compensation from you as well.

maxverstappen1: yeah leclerc! pay up!!

charles_leclerc: text me the amount 😞

user10: i love how max just goes along with everything y/n says???

user11: we love a man who matches his gfs freak ❤️❤️

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz, redbullracing, and 720,629 others!

maxverstappen1: thank you to @/charles_leclerc and @/carlossainz for funding our date night 💙

view comments below!

user12: NO WAY

user13: CARLOS AND CHARLES ACTUALLY SENT THEM THE MONEY ???

user14: this is so cute 🥹

user15: yns so pretty 🙁

maxverstappen1: the prettiest 💙💙

user16: i just looked at my bf and sighed

charles_leclerc: ofc!! cute couple 🥰🥰

user17: charles definitely has a favorite couple

user18: y/n, my favorite nerd

user19: max, my favorite nerd lover

user20: perfect couple

user21: i have a theory that y/n and max are so happy together because they genuinely compliment each other so well

user21: they literally clicked as soon as they met, and they have said that “they feel at home” with each other, they can be their true selves when they’re together

user21: conclusion; i’m lonely and i wish i had a relationship like this

carlossainz: you’re welcome ig. am i forgiven now?

yourusername: we’ll see!

liked by 284,029 others!

f1gossip: throwback thursday!!! throwback to when max and y/n broke the internet, by announcing they were both no longer virgins..through cake.

view comments below!

user22: oh yes the good old days

user23: been matching each others freak since DAY ONE

user24: back when ynstappen was still not OFFICIALLY confirmed

user25: you should throwback to when max refused to resign with red bull until they gave y/n a multi-year contract ☺️☺️

user26: this was a CRAZY day for f1

user27: this connected the dots for all the ynstappen shippers because they basically confirmed they lost their virginity to EACHOTHER!!

user28: did we ever find out who’s idea this was?

user29: a couple months ago it was brought up and max spoke: “i know lots of people think it was yns idea..but it was actually mine. i guess i was just tired to hiding our relationship, so i brought it up, and y/n thought it was hilarious.”

user30: my parents ☝️☝️

user31: from teammates, to friends, to bestfriends, to lovers. living my dream.

user32: them.

user33: if they breakup i will genuinely never believe in love ever again.

user34: them becoming bestfriends was so unexpected, but made so much sense.

user35: if it weren’t for the ice cream shop they never would have happened ☹️

user36: pls explain?

user35: this is when y/n and max had just started the season as teammates, max hadnt performed his best at one of the races, coming in at 6th with y/n behind in 7th

user35: after the race, y/n had unexpectedly asked max to go get ice cream with her at a ice cream shop nearby

user35: max, feeling like he didn’t deserve to celebrate in anyway, declined. but y/n persisted, basically pulling him into that ice cream shop

user35: that’s when max said he truly had the time of his life, he felt happy, even though his race went horrible, he said that he has so much fun with yn and that he has never laughed so hard; the start of ynstappen ☹️

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, landonorris, and 729,624 others!

yourusername: siri, play nasty by tinahe.

view comments below!

maxverstappen1: listening to it right now!

maxverstappen1: oh wow

maxverstappen1: i like this liefde!! 💙💙

maxverstappen1: come to the room so we can listen together!!

yourusername: coming!! 💙💙

landonorris: you are aware you can text privately right?

user36: THE ICE CREAM SHOP PICTURE

user37: he looks so happy 😭😭😭😭

user38: sobs

user39: y/n healing maxs inner child is something i KNEW i needed.

user40: power couple !!!

danielricciardo: i been a nasty girl, i been a nasty girl

user41: i need someone to love me like max loves y/n

landonorris: whos gonna match my freak 😣

user58: ME I WILL PLS LANDO I WILL

user42: the first picture?? 😭😭

user43: omg the second picture. i’m going to throw up with joy. i love you guys.

user44: ynstappen ships used to PRAY for days like these.

liked by, yourusername, redbullracing, danielricciardo, and 829,924 others!

maxverstappen1: i’ll match her freak!!! i will !!!

view comments below!

user45: yes max, we know

user46: i just looked at my boyfriend and sighed

user47: the shirt???

maxverstappen1: @/danielricciardo thank you for the shirt :D i love it 💙

user48: i’m totally ready for max to wear that shirt on race day…

yourusername: the perfect photographer 🥰

maxverstappen1: it’s easy when my muse is perfect ☺️☺️

user49: that SHOULD BE ME.

user50: con🥹gra🥹tula🥹tions

user51: no one will ever understand how much i love this couple

user52: we love a man who matches his gfs energy ❗️❗️❗️

user53: so happy for you guys! haha. ha. ha. so happy.

charles_leclerc: beautiful shirt mate!

user54: the way charles and max still don’t follow each other but this is charles every time max post:

user55: oh! such a cute shirt! haha, ha, i’m so lonely.

user56: max could do better

maxverstappen1: kill yourself you worthless piece of garbage

user57: y’all saying you miss mad max but he makes an appearance every time someone says something negative about y/n 😭

. . .

notes: took a small break to enjoy my summer break start!! but i’m back, request are open !!

[sloaneispunk]

“love is a losing game”

frontman! (hwang in-ho) x you

what if frontman had joined the first games with gi-hun? in-ho seeked thrill and decided to become a player in the first games, meeting you. when it was time to play ‘marbles’, he was caught between a dilemma of letting you or his cover go

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

‘this game will be played in pairs. please find a partner and shake hands to indicate your pairings’

in-ho was the first to look at you. “y/n, play with me.”

you looked at him stunned, “you want me? what if it’s a game that needs strength?”

“you’re the strongest person i know here, so it’s a yes?” he smiled, waiting for you to shake his hand.

then, you looked to gi-hun who was watching the two of you expectantly as his face dropped. when he saw the worry on your face he shook his head. “no, you two go ahead, i’ll find someone else to play with.”

you gave him a sympathetic smile before turning back at in-ho, taking his hand.

when the timer came to an end, everyone moved towards the next room.

“ah! y’all bastards, play with me please! you need me!” player 212 pleaded as the guards started to approach her. she was the only player that hadn’t found a partner.

her screams and pleads pierced your ears as you looked back at her being dragged away by the guards.

“don’t look.” in-ho said, using his hand to gently turn your head away from the sight.

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

you and in-ho followed the guard to your assigned places. it was the porch of a small wooden house, just like yours when you were younger. despite the fake set up, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia, taking in your surroundings. small trees encircled the house, its leaves seeming as real as ever.

“i wonder what game they’re going to make us play.” you wondered aloud as you sat on the porch steps.

‘the game is marbles. each player will be given ten marbles, you are to play any game of your choice. the winner will be determined by having all twenty marbles’

your eyes shot to in-ho. “that means…”

“there can only be one winner.” he finished, looking back solemnly.

your distress was rising quickly as the tension between the two of you thickened.

you rushed to the guard, “can we switch partners, please? i can’t play with him!”

“y/n-”

“please.” you sobbed, but the guard remained unfazed.

“hey, it’s okay. we have time, let’s just sit down and talk.” he gave you a smile, taking your hand leading you back to the porch steps.

“in-ho-”

“so what movies do you like?” he cut you off, that stupid smile still bright on his face.

after a brief moment of silence, you answered. “i-i guess i like the marvel movies.”

“yeah? do you have a favourite superhero?”

“black widow.” you let out a suppressed laugh. “as a kid i looked up to her, she was strong.”

“she’s pretty badass, isn’t she?”

you chuckled. “yeah, she is.”

even though it was obvious that in-ho was simply trying to uplift the mood it felt like it was working. if you were going to die here, it might as well be with in-ho.

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

time passed and now you only had five minutes left on the clock, anxiety bubbled in your stomach.

“what do you want to do when you get out of here?” you asked in-ho, your head now rested on his shoulder.

he pulled you closer, making sure you were nice and comfortable before he replied. “i guess, pay off my debts and start a new life… maybe a nice apartment with a dog.”

“i like that.” you agreed.

“what about you?” he asked, looking down, placing a kiss on your head as he did so.

“find my family. we’ll all live together again, i’ll buy a big house and we can all be happy.”

“that sounds nice.” he whispered.

“we should play a game.” you sighed, lifting your head. you pulled your legs together, crossing them as you turned to face him, marbles in hand.

“we can play rock paper scissors, winner takes all.” he suggested.

“i really don’t want to play against you.” you said barely above a whisper, looking down.

he smiled, lifting your head up with his finger. “it’ll be okay. on my count okay?”

you nodded hesitantly.

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”

you threw scissors.

in-ho threw rock.

but he knew better, quickly changing it to paper right before your eyes.

without a word said, he gave you his ten marbles.

“no! in-ho, you can’t do that!” you shouted, tears flooding to your eyes.

“ah, i knew i should’ve threw rock.” he laughed to himself, acting oblivious.

you got up, kneeling down before him as you grabbed his collar.

“let’s play again, that wasn’t fair!”

“no, the rules were that. i guess i lost.”

you started to weep at his feet. in-ho had been there for you ever since the first game of red light, green light, taking you under his wing.

he would spend the nights keeping watch over you as you slept, pairing with you in every game so he could win for the both of you. he even kept the ridiculous goons away from you when you were being threatened by them, and now you were going to lose the only person you trusted in the game.

he was your best friend and your lover, he couldn’t possibly be stripped away from you just like that.

“y/n, please don’t cry, you’re going to make me cry.” he tried to laugh it off, but he felt his eyes stinging.

he gently scooped you up from the ground, making you face him as he pulled you close, your head on his chest as he shushed, rocking you back and forth.

“you’re okay.” he cooed, “you’re a strong girl, you’re going to make it out, right?”

you shook your head ‘no’.

“yeah, you will. you’ll leave the game with the money, find your family and live a happy life.”

“not without you.” you cried. “i can’t do this without you, in-ho, please. i need you.”

his heart broke into a million pieces. this whole character of his was a facade but it suddenly felt all so real for a moment.

in-ho realised that he too couldn’t live without you, but as frontman, he didn’t have a choice. for now, he could only give you the comfort and company you needed.

“look at me, y/n.” he said softly as you lifted your head once more.

“you’re the most beautiful, compassionate and the toughest girl i’ve ever met. you’ve got what it takes to get out of here… my strong girl is still right inside here.” he pointed to your heart, making you sniffle. “i’ve had the best moments of my life playing these games with you.”

“me too.” you admitted.

he cupped your face, pulling you in for a first and last kiss.

it was full of emotion, relief, joy but also grief. when you pulled away, he nodded, asking you to leave as the timer reached your last ten seconds.

without a choice, you slowly walked out into the corridor, leaving in-ho behind. you couldn’t bear to look at him again, tears still streaming down your face as you were escorted to the exit.

then, there was a loud bang. a gunshot.

‘player 002 eliminated.’

it felt like a part of you had died along with him.

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

when he had made sure that you made it through the exit, in-ho glared at the guard.

“dickhead, do you know how close that was to my feet?” he scolded, pushing past him as he walked towards the backdoor.

yes, he felt awful about the whole faking his death thing. but what choice did he have? he knew that he couldn’t let you die on his behalf, he was going to get out of the game either way.

but a part of him was filled with overwhelming sadness, because this meant that meeting you would just be a memory now. there was no way he could face you again.

he sat alone in the dark back in his control room, whiskey in hand as he tried to drown the pain.

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

when you met up again with gi-hun, you ran up to hug him but your tears wouldn’t stop flowing. you sobbed the entire time, it didn’t a genius to immediately know what had happened.

he stayed with you the whole night. even when you jerked awake from nightmares, gi-hun made sure to calm you down, ensuring that you got enough rest.

during meal time when you could only stare at your food, he ensured that he kept the food, just in case you ever got hungry in the middle of the night.

little did you know, in-ho kept watch too from behind the screen.

there was a sense of comfort as he watched gi-hun treat you as if you were his very own daughter. he knew that you were in safe hands… for now.

but he knew that sang-woo had turned completely cold-hearted. he was going to be a threat to your safety.

in-ho picked up the walkie talkie on his table, “keep player 455 safe, whatever it takes.”

but how was he going to keep sang-woo away from you?

· · · ──── 𖣠𖣠𖣠 ──── · · ·

a little angst couldn’t hurt anyone.

[marblehazel]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.