#how to fix kitchen sink leak

[newtness532]

i just had to put my hand in the hole in the bathroom floor to try and clean it. i had gloves and a trash bag on my hand, my mom on video call telling me what to do and i cried the entire time. 0/10 experience, do not recommend.

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, looking up skirt, panty stealing + sniffing + licking, masturbation, professional misconduct, 18+ minors dni.

pervy electrician!toji who unintentionally shows up a little earlier at your house than he was supposed to and is rewarded with the sight of a very unprepared you hurriedly rushing to answer the door in just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks.

pervy electrician!toji whose usual disinterested expression he has permanently plastered upon his features during work hours morphs into one of subtle interest as his dark eyes leisurely drag up and down your figure — and damn, he never gets sent out to clients as hot as you.

pervy electrician!toji who greets you with a simple nod as he brushes past you to get inside, his scarred lips involuntarily twitching up into an amused half-smile at how you ramble out several apologies for not being ready for his arrival.

pervy electrician!toji who casually waves it off and assures you that he doesn't mind; and he definitely doesn't mind when it means that he gets to watch you walk around in front of him wearing that shirt that barely even covers your ass.

pervy electrician!toji who is as well-mannered as he has to be when conversing with a customer, but makes sure to inject a little more charm into his voice just for you as he drawls out "well, what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

pervy electrician!toji who silently pats himself on the back when he notices you grow slightly flustered at the polite term he used to address you by, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you explain the issues you've had with your power frequently cutting out lately.

pervy electrician!toji who has to make a concerted effort to bite back a scoff when you explain that despite being married, your useless husband has no idea how to fix the problem himself so you had no choice but to resort to calling his company.

pervy electrician!toji who can hardly even comprehend that your sorry excuse for a husband just went to work for the day and left a precious thing like you here with no power; some fools really don't know how good they have it, do they?

pervy electrician!toji who finds a rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips when you joke lightly that you'd make him a cup of coffee if there was any power for the kettle. so you're pretty as hell and you have a good sense of humour... oh, he's in trouble.

pervy electrician!toji who investigates the fuse box located at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink while you dash upstairs to change into something more appropriate, humming a quiet tune under his breath while he works.

pervy electrician!toji who figures out what the issue is in no time at all — there's a small leak dripping from the pipe leading from the bottom of the sink that has trickled down and fried some of the wiring; shouldn't be too hard to fix.

but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to create a reason for him to stay around here just a little longer.

so, pervy electrician!toji 'accidentally' makes the leak even worse by using the spanner on his tool belt to stretch the hole in the pipe slightly wider, causing any working part left in the fuse box to fizzle out into uselessness as a result.

pervy electrician!toji who has to pretend to be inconvenienced by the problem that he just worsened once you return to the kitchen, scratching the side of his jaw and telling you that it'll take him atleast a couple of hours to try and salvage the fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who isn't exactly lying when he says this; just refraining from telling you the whole truth that there is no way to fix the ruined thing now. the entire box has to be replaced and he doesn't happen to have a new one with him today.

...looks like he'll just have to come back tomorrow, too.

pervy electrician!toji who keeps himself busy pretending to attempt to mend things under the cupboard, but finds it quite hard not to be distracted by your pretty self sitting atop the counter where you insisted on staying to keep him company while he works.

but, at the end of the day, pervy electrician!toji is a man, after all — a man who can't help himself from sneaking a quick peek up the edge of the skirt you changed into, holding back a groan when he catches a small glimpse of your patterned panties.

pervy electrician!toji who claims he needs to use your bathroom a little while later, making sure you don't follow him up the stairs before sneaking through the hall until he finds you and your husband's shared bedroom.

pervy electrician!toji who finds himself rifling through his client's underwear drawer like a damn horny teenager, hastily pulling out a pair of cute panties similar the ones he knows you're wearing downstairs right now.

pervy electrician!toji who is way too worked up to feel any sense of shame as he pushes his baggy work trousers down, exposing the extremely noticeable tent and subsequent wet patch staining the front of his boxers.

"fuckin' hell," pervy electrician!toji rasps as he shoves a hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his painfully throbbing cock as he begins languidly stroking himself. "driving me crazy here, girl." he mutters to himself.

pervy electrician!toji who can't stop himself from holding your panties up to his face, cursing under his breath when he remembers that these are a clean pair from your drawer. no — he needs a used pair if he wants to be able to properly get off.

pervy electrician!toji who sifts through your laundry hamper like a starving man searching for scraps of food in a dumpster, his movements fuelled by the sheer need to release the overwhelming desire coursing through his veins.

pervy electrician!toji whose scarred lips twitch up into a victorious smirk when he finally finds a dirty pair of your panties, wasting no time in pressing his nose against the slick-stained crotch and inhaling your scent. and fuck, is it an intoxicating smell.

pervy electrician!toji who is utterly pussydrunk without even being near your actual cunt, tongue instinctively flicking out on its own to lap lightly at the soiled material, a pornographic moan falling from his lips afterwards.

"shit. tastes s-so sweet, heh." pervy electrician!toji grunts as he resumes those earnest tugs of his furiously hard cock, his sloppy mouth just coating your dirty panties with his glistening salvia.

pervy electrician!toji who is cumming in record time like a downright pathetic and touch-starved virgin, one press of his thick thumb against his weeping tip causing it to spill rope after rope of milky release into his boxers.

pervy electrician!toji who does actually go to the bathroom after he's pulled his trousers up and shoved both pairs of stolen panties into his pockets, cleaning himself up as best he can and checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn't look too wrecked.

pervy electrician!toji who saunters downstairs and faces you with an easy smile as if he didn't just jerk off with your used underwear pressed against his mouth, sharing the news that he'll 'unfortunately' have to return tomorrow to replace the broken fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who tells you his usual bill for the basic work he's done today, although secretly gives you a considerable discount — one because it's you, and two because he didn't actually do anything to fix your power issue and instead deliberately made it worse so he could stay longer.

pervy electrician!toji who releases an amused chuckle when you frantically dart around the house in search of your purse, coming to the sheepish conclusion that you must've left it in your husband's car that he drove to work this morning with.

pervy electrician!toji who simply shrugs and suggests that you pay him when he comes by tomorrow instead. little do you know, however, that you've already paid him... just in the form of an orgasm and two pairs of panties instead of money.

pervy electrician!toji who is counting down the seconds until he can see you again as he drives home in the company van, body relaxed and sated from his previous climax and pockets stuffed pleasantly full with stolen underwear.

he'd say that was all in good day's work.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy lifeguard!gojo <- PREVIOUS PART.

[tojisun]

found you today through your plumber simon story and hngggg how can you take a concept that's so overdone and still nail it??? THE TALENT

(I need more of those plss)

aww im glad u liked the lil drabble teehee and thank you so much!!

(idk if this will serve the way the first past did but—)

just. blue collar simon makes me shrivel up in need. he’s just so…capable. so competent. he’s suave and ruggedly charismatic. he sees what he wants and knows how to take it; how to coax it out of you.

simon sees how wide-eyed you are when you look up at him, sees the shyness in the way you give him that drink he asked for, sees the way you curl into yourself while you explain to him the problem you’re having with your kitchen sink, and he physically has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from preening.

you stuttered out your concerns, ducking your head down when you noticed how much eye contact he’s keeping, only for your lungs to constrict when all what your quiet murmur did was make him lean ever so closer to you.

“sorry, miss,” he drawled, shuffling to rest his hand on the counter. “just can’t hear y’well, s’all.”

“oh, okay,” you replied, voice all sticky because what else could you say?

and simon just watched with narrowed eyes and pinched lips because darlin’, you didn’t even know what you do to him.

simon didn’t really fuck you then, not with how you laid there on your kitchen table, loopy and twitching, eyes faraway while your body came down from the intensity of your orgasms.

little lady, you fuckin’ squirted. you drenched his mouth and made his fingers all pruny with your slick.

god, doll, you were so pretty, all sweaty and drooling, unable to even properly kiss him back when he leant down to nab a taste of those spit-slicked lips. all you could do was whine, your body locked while your cunt spurted uselessly, still so overstimulated by the way he stuffed you.

you pawed at the tent in his jeans when you finally came back to, and who was simon to deny you of his cock?

you sucked him messily, but simon’s never been so horny until then. you couldn’t even swallow his prick properly, your mouth tired and your body still putty, but simon came the fastest he’s remembered, shooting his spunk all over your sweaty face.

simon would’ve snagged a photo of how you looked but the pipes really needed some fixing. so he tucked himself back in his jeans, then slapped the inside of your thigh softly, his eyes still on your puffy cunt.

“a’right. this bloke need t’work again, is that not right miss?” simon crooned, dragging his hand along your leg, watching your skin dimple with the weight of his hold.

you warbled a response.

simon chuckled and pressed forward to brush a kiss on your forehead before forcing himself to walk away because he’s still on the clock.

not like he’d even charge you after all of that.

.

it’s two weeks later when you finally called the plumber again. sure, you had to slam the hilt of your knife on your pipe until it finally dented, but it’s not like the plumber—mr. simon—would need to know.

your call gets picked up after the second ring but before you could even offer any greetings, all of which you’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror over and over again, he says, “well, that sure took y’while, didn’t it doll? almost had me worried that you wouldn’t call.”

you breathe in sharply, your pussy tingling already. he chuckles.

“same address?”

“yes, please,” you rasp out before licking at your chapped lips. then, “can i request for an asap service? it’s…leaking right now.”

mr. simon laughs loudly this time. you end the call before he can say anything more, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks thrum with feverish heat.

because you’re sure that this time…

[schtrambotik]

I think too much when I can't sleep. This is definitely not proofread but please enjoy a tiny look into my never-ending neighbor fantasy. nsfw 18+ Neighbor!Price who tries his best to hide his attraction to you knowing he’s too old for you but often fails miserably. Looking at you up and down when you wave at him from your front porch, his eyes fixed on your exposed legs while giving you a tight-lipped smile. A raspy “Good morning, doll” leaving his lips as he walks past your shared fence towards his car.  

Neighbor!Price who’s been positively obsessed with you since the day you first moved in. He can remember everything from the day you two met, all the way from the innocent smile you gave him as he introduced himself, down to the small tank top you were wearing, and the way your sweat made it stick to your body from the effort of carrying in your boxes.  

Neighbor!Price who let you know you could count on him for anything you might need, telling you he wants to make sure you do okay. A sweet young thing like you living in that big house all alone, it’s not odd for him to care, or something like that he said.   

“I mean it, love. Anything, anytime.” his deep voice, along with that signature stern look on his face easily sent chills down your spine ever since. You softly nodded your head, assuring him you won’t hesitate to call him.   

Neighbor!Price who was delighted to see you that evening when he opened his front door. His eyes immediately darted to your soaked shirt without any shame, clearing his throat at the sight of your wet cleavage that was practically begging for his attention.   

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked with a low tone once he met your gaze again, noticing the distressed look in your eyes. A deep loud laugh left his lips when you explained how you noticed your sink was leaking, and in the process of fixing it, you seemed to have made the problem worse.   

Neighbor!Price who went to help you without a second thought, walking into your home as if he had been there a million times, going straight to your bathroom to find and hopefully fix the mess you made. Working in silence and pretending he couldn’t tell you seemed to be in a trance staring at every part of him while he worked, his arms certainly catching most of your attention.  

Neighbor!Price who felt a fire erupt in his chest when you engulfed him in a quick hug once he was done. The softness of your voice when you thanked him not helping at all as he tried his hardest to be a gentleman. But God was it hard when your tits pressed up against him like that.  

Neighbor!Price who snapped out of his daydream when you asked if there’s anything you could do to thank him. 

“A drink would be good” he hummed in response, following you into the kitchen while trying to push the nasty thoughts to the back of his mind and ignore the growing ache in his pants.  

Neighbor!Price who was practically torturing himself by staying next to you, only having half a mind to hear the words to whatever silly story you were telling him. Nods and hums were his only response while he finished his glass.   

Neighbor!Price who decided to be quick with his goodnight, knowing it was only a matter of time before he gave in and did something stupid.   

“Thanks again,” you said with a sweet smile, looking up at him with those doe eyes while you stood next to the door.  

“It’s my pleasure.” the rasp in his tone gave away how much he was restraining himself, but thankfully you were oblivious to his current predicament, at least that’s what he told himself.   

“If you need me, you know what to do” he gave you a playful wink before stepping out, feeling your eyes follow him while he returned to his house.  

Neighbor!Price who couldn’t go to sleep that night until he stroked his cock at the thought of how he could’ve bent you over that kitchen counter and showed you exactly how much he wanted to help you.

Your name fell from his lips like prayer while he pictured how you could’ve thanked him with your pretty pink lips wrapped around his leaking tip, looking up at him with those innocent eyes that made him ache to ruin you.   

Neighbor!Price who came with a loud grunt that vibrated through the back of his throat; eyes tightly shut as he imagined his cum dripping onto your big round tits instead of his bedsheets.   

Slow strokes and deep breaths helped him come down from the high; head falling back against the soft pillows as he opened his eyes again. Swearing to himself this would be the last time he thought of you like that, just like he did every night. 

[starkeysprincess]

rafe being the handyman for your apartment complex -> based on this post

warnings: icky + sleazy behavior, no real smut, 18+ mdni a/n: bit longer than I meant & i low key hate this but oh well

The keys on his belt loop jingled as he made his way to apartment 4B, chewing on tobacco and muttering something along the lines that today was supposed to be his day off. His fist made contact with the door, briefly knocking but there was no answer. 

His patience starts to wear thin, his boot thumping against the floor as he knocks harder. Just as he turns around, ready to walk away, he hears the sweet sound of your voice, “Hello?”. 

Rafe turns around, his eyes raking your body, you looked just about the sweetest thing he’s laid his eyes on. Your nipples poked through the oversized shirt you had on and your hair was in a messy bun. “Sorry I didn’t answer sooner, I just woke up” you sighed, trying to rub the sleep away from your eyes.

He smirked at your sweet and innocent demeanor, “S’not a problem, doll face. I was sent to fix an issue you’re having with the sink.”.

You didn’t say a word, your face burning from the nickname, “You gonna let me in?”.

“Oh, right, sorry�� you ushered an apology, stepping aside to let him into the apartment. You close the door behind him, “Kitchen or bathroom?” he questions. You turn to face him and it wasn’t until now that he realized how small you were compared to him. His cock stiffened in his jeans at the sight of your big, doe eyes looked up at him, “Huh?”.

“The sink” his voice was gruff and you felt a shiver run up your spine as he stared down at you, “Oh, um, the bathroom”. He looked at you expectantly and you realized you had to show him where your bathroom was, muttering another apology under your breath. 

As you led him to the bathroom, his eyes were glued to the hem of your oversized shirt that stopped just a little below the cheeks of your ass. He could tell you were wearing nothing but a pair of panties under the oversized shirt. 

He steps into the bathroom, groaning to himself lightly at the intoxicating yet sweet smell of your body wash floods his nostrils. His toolbox clanks against the cool tile floor as he sets it down, “What’s the issue you’re havin’?” he murmured. 

You frown, “It keeps leaking, I had to remove everything from the cabinet. I can’t even use the sink without water getting everywhere”. Rafe’s eyes were glued to your soft lips, watching them move as you rambled and all he could think about is stuffing your mouth full with his cock, “You’re ramblin’, doll face”.

You squeak out an apology, your face burning from embarrassment, “Think you could show me the problem?” he gestured to the sink and you nodded, moving past him to open the cabinet under the sink. 

Rafe knew what the problem was based on what you described and from the maintenance ticket he received but that wasn’t stopping him from wanting to see you on your knees, bent over. You can feel his gaze on you but don’t think much of it as you bend over. 

“Where is the leaking comin’ from?” he grumbled as he stood behind you. “Here” you pointed, turning your head to look back at him to see he was squinting, pointing his flashlight towards the pipe, “Where?”. 

When you leaned forward more to show him where the leaking came from, your shirt rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your baby pink panties, “Do you see it?”, your saccharine-like voice rang through his ears, still facing away from him.

He licked his lips, eyes locked on the delicate panties around your hips, “Mhm, I see what I was lookin’ for, doll face”.

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna accidentally bumping into you at a café. *inspired* by this ask!

college sukuna masterlist

The bells right next to the front door chime when he enters the café. Today he’s distracted: the kitchen sink back at the apartment is currently leaking and he’s searching online for someone to come look at it. Not that he didn’t already try to fix it, but he doesn’t have the right bolt to repair it alone. He’s just going to order the usual, sit at one of the tables in the corner and play candy crush until Yuuji gets out of school.

He’s a regular here since his brother’s elementary school is right in front of it. Sometimes he just wants to kill time, and pastries here are good for his macros. Or at least he tells himself so.

“Hello, what can I get you?” A female voice asks him from the register. He doesn’t strain his gaze from his phone.

“The usual,” he says. Then he thinks about the familiar voice he just heard and snaps his head up.

“What are you doing here?” “Sukuna?” You both say at the same time.

His surprised face morphs into a smug one in a split second.

“Didn’t know you liked me so much that you started to follow me, baby. You could’ve just waited for me at home if you missed me that much, I would’ve made sure to put some cream in your… coffee,” he says winking at you.

You put on a fake smile before answering. His innuendos are getting worse by the day, he’s disgusting.

“I’m going to poison your coffee if you keep this up, Itadori,” you whisper, as to not make the manager hear you. “Go get some pussy, please, you’re insufferable,” you whine when he gets closer.

He looks you up and down, licking a corner of his lips, mischief still in his gaze. He knows you’re right, sometimes he does a bit too much, but the way you huff and puff brings him more joy than any game on his phone does.

“You know I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Y/N. I don’t fuck snitches,” he responds, rolling his eyes.

You chuckle at that. This has been one of your inside jokes since the start. You managed to file 15 noise complaints in the first three weeks of your stay in the apartment, and the owner had to threaten to kick out Sukuna if he didn’t stop fucking girls so loudly. Sukuna had to agree and bite his tongue 5 times during that conversation. He knew you filed the complaints just because he didn’t want to say he was the one who ate Yuuji’s cookies, instead blaming you. Yuuji didn’t talk to you for a day for that, and you took it to heart.

Also, you exaggerated how many times he fucked inside the apartment. By a lot. You knew he had game, or at least you were certain of that seeing how confident he was, but he also hated when Yuuji managed to see some of the girls. Which happened only one time and it was when you moved in. You just filed noise complaints for every little noise you heard from his room, and seeing how the landlord didn’t doubt Sukuna had game either, you won by default.

“So… One black coffee? I don’t know your usual, I’m just covering a friend for today. It’s been a long day,” you say sheepishly, putting some of your hair behind your ear, cringing when you hear your own voice. Suddenly, the screen of the menu is so interesting to you. It’s not like you’re embarrassed as hell to see him here when you’re clumsily trying to understand how things work. It’s not like you’re trying not to look at him at all. Fuck. He is never going to let you live it down if you make a wrong move.

“I can see that,” he adds, serious. He sees your crestfallen look when he finishes his sentence. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud, even if it is pretty obvious. He never saw you this nervous.

“Couldn’t you just fucking lie?” You grit out, composing yourself, pinning him with some sort of rage.

“Not my style, doll,” he answers, raising his shoulders. Your eyes turn into slits and you’re about to say something else when he catches movement behind the counter. The manager.

“Two coffees and a strawberry cake,” he says, getting back to his phone.

You raise an eyebrow. You thought he hated strawberries. You start typing his total when said manager turns to Sukuna.

“Your total is-“

“Man, I haven’t seen you in ages,” the man behind you enthusiastically interrupts you.

“Satoru,” the pink haired man nods, pocketing his phone and making some sort of special handshake with him. They know each other?

“Mind if your coworker here comes home with me?” Sukuna asks the handsome man you have next to you.

Your manager is silent for what feels like 10 long seconds. “Y/N, don’t give into this brute,” he tells you, staring at you behind those dark ass black glasses he wore the entirety of the day. He managed to do the work of three people without breaking a sweat, but he also spent most of his time tasting pastries the chef cooked. He’s nice, you think. But he’s weird as hell. No wonder they’re friends.

“He’s actually my roommate, boss,” you say, smiling up at him. Then you look at Sukuna and your smile drops. “Unfortunately.” Your said roommate flips you off.

“You know what, fuck you. I was just doing you a favour by letting you go earlier, stupid,” Sukuna says, bored.

The white haired man chuckles at the interaction, then tilts his glasses down his nose to look at the man in front of you, amused. “Oh, it’s her, huh.”

Sukuna snarls. “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s talked about me? What did he say? Is it enough to kick him out and ask for Yuuji’s custody?” you ask, mockingly. Your manager turns to you and you’re almost blinded by how blue his eyes are. You genuinely have to blink a couple of times to make sure you’re still able to see.

He completely ignores your questions, giving you a once over. Then he gets his glasses back on correctly.

“Go home, Y/N, don’t worry. You’ve done an excellent job today. Feel free to come whenever,” he says, giving you a smile as bright as his eyes, then leaves while you think about how your cornea must be damaged now.

“Off the clock, come on,” Sukuna says, taking his phone out again, not sparing you a glance.

“Why don’t you jump off of my dick instead,” you hiss, going to take your purse from the service room. You don’t see the way he tips you anyway, even if you didn’t ask, and takes his order to the nearest table, positioning the cake in front of him. Like he’s waiting for someone.

You get back out front and side eye him, rummaging through your purse violently before sighing defiantly. You forgot your keys.

You turn around to look at Sukuna, who is just a couple of tables away, jumping a little when his eyes are already on you. He gives you a confused look behind his cup of coffee, before putting it down and mouthing “You look stupid, come sit.” You raise one of your eyebrows and you’re going to flip him off when someone bumps into you.

“Yo, cutie,” the man in front of you addresses you. You smile politely and sidestep to the left, getting out of the way, but he follows your movement, positioning himself closer to you.

“I was wondering if you were free now that you don’t have that little apron on,” he tells you languidly, swiping your arm up and down with his hand, stopping at your shoulder. When you try to get it off, he just grips you harder.

“Get your hand off of me or you’re getting kicked in the balls in front of everyone,” you deadpan. He’s slimy, probably conventionally attractive for a lot of girls, but he’s creepy.

He whistles lowly. “I love it when they’re a little feisty,” he smirks, trying to get even closer. You’re raising your knee when he gets pushed off of you and you kick a strong thigh instead. You widen your eyes comically and the man you just kicked winces.

“Man, what the fuck-“ the creep starts, before getting interrupted.

“Don’t touch my girl,” Sukuna seethes. The man takes a step back. Your heart skips a beat. You didn’t think he’d come to your rescue. “Even if her kicks are strong as fuck, I gotta say that. I might have unfortunately just saved your sorry ass’ future sad child,” he says, glancing at you. You giggle.

“There’s no way a fine thing like that is with you,” the man continues blabbering, albeit scared of Sukuna’s imposing feature.

“There’s no way a fine thing like me could ever be with someone like you, you mean,” you say, standing closer to Sukuna.

The man scoffs. “You could do so much better.”

"You? Lying is a sin, motherfucker."

On cue, Sukuna raises one of his arms and drapes it over your shoulder. You’re surprised by how delicately he gets you closer to his body, like he’s thinking you aren’t going to like what he’s doing. You look up at him, laying your hand on his chest, giving him the okay. He stares down at you, swallowing.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” he says thickly, smirking, before lightly kissing your forehead. The kiss is barely there, you wouldn’t even have felt it if right now you weren’t hyper aware of how intoxicating and warm his body pressed to yours feels. You think you might have a fever from how much the spot he grazed is scorching. Your ears are buzzing, and you don’t distinguish the words the two men are exchanging, getting out of your daze only when the creep exits the cafe with his tail between his legs.

“I didn’t need you, you know,” you say to Sukuna, still looking up, letting your hand fall from his chest. Fuck, he’s ripped.

He nonchalantly gets the bag your manager (grinning behind his hand) is passing him before escorting you out. You notice he didn’t get his arm off of you, and you realise you don’t really mind the soft weight of it. Or maybe you just don’t mind being close to him. Or maybe you don’t mind him at all.

“Now you can tell Yuuji how fucking cool his brother is,” he shrugs, getting you imperceptibly closer to him. You roll your eyes, whining, while he huffs out a laugh.

Back at home, Sukuna goes to take a shower, leaving you with a yapping Yuuji. He’s telling you about his day at school and you get your phone out to read the text you just received, noticing the ping sound.

Worst roommate ever: the cake is urs. eat it. or don’t. idc

[toxicanonymity]

Some Landlord ! Billy smut would be Perfect, if you have time. Thanks Tox 🥺

murderbait

BILLY LOOMIS x f!READER | 2k words | The Leak WARNINGS: 18+ sleazy landlord Billy, Gratuitous slutty descriptions. masturbation in public, detailed PIV fantasy, degradation, praise, banter and bickering, light enemies to lovers dynamic, manhandling, dom vibes, sexual tension, pet names, "protective" Billy. NOTES: Sure, nonnie. I offer this sleaze with love. 🖤🖤

In the middle of the night, you wake up sweaty despite being completely naked and using no covers. Without putting on any clothes, you walk to your kitchen to get a cold cup of water, only to see a stack of filled ice trays next to the sink because you forgot to put them in the freezer. Ugh.

You get a glass of water and stand in front of the fridge with the door open. The air conditioner in your window feels weaker every day. It’s so stuffy in your trailer, you wonder if you’d be better off with the window open. Still naked, you go to the kitchen window and slide it open. No matter how hard you push upward, it won’t click and stay. 

“Piece of shit,” you mutter. But the fresh air does feel good. 

Standing in the window with your arms raised, tits blazing, skin glistening…. something moves in the corner of your eye. There’s a fake security camera mounted on the shed you’re looking at. At least you always assumed it was fake, since the owners are such deadbeats. You give it the middle finger just in case, then use a pitcher to hold the window up. 

You go back to bed for a while longer, then get up and rifle through your unfolded laundry, looking for a swimsuit. You find a bikini that appears to have shrunk, but it has adjustable strings so you put it on anyway. Next door, there’s an extended stay hotel that has a pool. It has a cracked and faded slide, no longer in use, and half the rungs are dangling from the pool ladders. It won’t be the first time you’ve snuck in there. No one seems to care, and no one’s going to be out at this hour anyway. 

The pool water is normally warm by sunset, but in the middle of the night, it’s cooled off enough. A weakly-inflated flamingo pool float sits atop the water, and a couple of pool noodles hug the wall. Half the pool lights are working. There’s no way this would pass an inspection, but sometimes it feels like barely anyone outside the area knows it exists.

You sit on the side of the pool, and as you lower yourself into the water, you look down to see your hard nipples barely contained by the shrunken, unlined triangle top, with some areola showing on one breast. The sight of your own slutty fit turns you on, and you don’t fix it. 

Kicking your legs out in front of you, you imagine Billy joining you. Billy and his dirty wifebeaters and trucker hats and jeans that fit too well. Billy and his slutty fucking selfies that you can’t stop looking at every night. Billy, and that look in his eyes like he could eat you up, if only he were hungry. 

He’d be hungry right now, you bet. You turn to your side and use both feet to grab a pool noodle, letting yourself off the wall as you mount it. Straddling the  pool noodle, you turn toward the wall and rest your forearms on the side and squeeze your thighs together. 

Closing your eyes and resting your head, you fantasize about him. He’s a low-life and a sleaze, and god he makes it hot. The way he moves, it shouldn’t be hot at all, but you’ve been watching him closer ever since he sent those selfies, and when scratches his lower belly, lifting up his tank top, exposing his happy trail, at this point it drives you fucking crazy. Like that’s where you need your forehead. You tilt your hips for more pressure from the foam between your legs. 

There’s not a single thing about him that says he’s a better guy than you thought, but maybe he is. Or more likely, you don’t care. Or, perhaps most likely, you kinda like him bad. 

He’s not the kind of man you’d want in your life, but in your bed? 

It’s so easy to picture his silhouette at the foot of your bed, scratching himself, then lewdly grabbing the massive bulge in his jeans. 

Your hips begin to move on their own, seeking friction with the foam noodle. 

You can see him kneeling onto your mattress, prowling toward you, arms flexing, chains hanging down from his neck, dangling in the air–god if you could feel those hit your skin. You can feel him grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, while he unbuttons his jeans with the other. 

You reach down and slide the pool noodle against your front, grinding your hips. 

He’d probably lean in real close, say something cocky like, “you ready for this?”  Ugh, his voice. With his dick in his hand. “Think ya can take it?”  Yes, yes, please. He drops his thick meat heavily against your mound. Yes, please. God, please, you’d be squirming under him, wrists pinned by his hand, lifting your hips desperately.  “Sure ya can handle this big cock?”

Fuck. It’s so clear, you can practically smell him. Your whole cunt throbs and you’re gushing in your bikini bottoms. “Mm,” you quietly hum as you get closer. 

He’d shove himself into you, you’d arch your back and moan. He’d chuckle darkly, then his free hand would come to your jaw, dwarfing your face as he uses just two fingers and a thumb to squeeze your mouth open. The smell of cigarettes intensifies as his face hovers over yours, then he spits in your mouth. And he stays there, bottomed out, and you’ve never felt so full but you need the friction, you need him to move so bad, you need him to fuck you, you beg him to fuck you, really fuck you. “Yeah? Need me to fuck you?” God, yes. 

“Mm,” your face screws up. You're so wet, and your clit twitches as you rub the front of your swimsuit with the foam cylinder you're straddling.

You can practically hear him say, “Poor baby.” He’s got half a smile, amused and in control. “Yeah I'll give it to ya,” he begins to slowly retreat, pauses with his cock half-withdrawn and lowers his pitch. “Who’s your daddy?”

The tension snaps and your lips part as you see stars. 

Squeezing your thighs tight around the pool noodle, you ride it out, cumming to the thought of his girth stretching you with his gold chains dangling over you, hips beginning to move, jeans sitting loosely around his hips. 

You weren’t planning on doing that, but, there you are, coming down off that high in the motel pool, in your shrunken bikini, skin buzzing, so tired and peaceful you could fall asleep. 

And then metal scrapes against concrete, stirring you from your blissed out state. 

A shadow moves.

His deep voice at a low volume, with that edge of condescension: "All done?”

Your stomach drops. You almost don’t want to look up, but you do. It’s his silhouette, manspreading in a worn-out chair, with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. The shadow of his stupid trucker hat hides his face. You let go of the pool noodle and try to subtly push it away, obviously too late. Frozen, heart racing, you’re standing with your chest above water. 

“What are you doing here?” you demand. 

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way out.” He stands up and stretches, revealing his happy trail. He twists in another stretch and god, his silhouette - his jeans bulging, clearly aroused. “An' so are you, c’mon.” 

“I’m still cooling off,” you protest. 

“I’ll bet.”  He drops his cigarette into his can of beer and carries it with him as he approaches the pool with his face still in the shadow of his hat. Light reflects off his gold chains. 

You make a fake effort to adjust your top and can’t take your eyes off his jeans. He adjusts himself and stands there giving you a moment. 

Then he loses patience and says, “Alright, sugartits. Let’s go.” 

He squats down and grabs you by the arm. 

“Hey,” you protest as he starts to manhandle you toward the shallow stairs. “Alright, alright. Damn”

When you’re out of the pool, he looks you up and down. You feel like covering yourself up, but you defiantly stand with your hands on your hips. 

“Tryin’ to turn tricks out here?” He slowly steps toward you and his eyes are glued to your chest. “Good place to do it….prolly make a few hooker friends too.” 

“How many of’em have you fucked?” you retort. 

He ignores the question and reaches for your chest. 

Without blocking his hand, you look down and part of your nipple is showing again. He “fixes” your suit, tugging it over and thumbing your nipple while he’s at it. It covers your areola but leaves underboob. 

“There ya go.” 

He puts a toothpick in his mouth and motions for you to lead the way. 

As you exit the pool area dripping wet, you mention, “If you’re gonna spy on me, you could bring me a towel next time.” 

“Yeah, okay,” He mumbles with the toothpick at the corner of his mouth. “Just lookin’ out for ya’s all.” 

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

He pulls the tab off his beer can and it replaces the cigarette that had been between his fingers. He throws the can into a bush.

As you reach the trailer park property line, he throws his toothpick into the shrubs and lowers his voice. “Listen sugar, there’s some shady fuckin’ characters over there.” 

You scoff. “Apparently so.” you shoot him a look and can’t help but check him out while you’re at it. A harsh floodlight highlights the freckles on his big, tan shoulders. 

He keeps on, “You tryin’ to get stabbed?” 

“What?”

“Dumb as hell, sneakin’ over there, middle’a the night.” 

Somehow, this makes you feel stupid. Like if he’s calling someone dumb... Damn. 

You walk the rest of the way to your trailer in silence with him following slightly behind you. 

“Lemme guess, ya left it unlocked, too,” he mutters, then opens your door himself. “Fuckin’ murderbait over here,” he grumbles.

He stands with his back to the open door and waits, making your body brush his as you walk in. 

Full body goosebumps. 

He stands there looking at you, and you eye his pants. Slowly, he steps into your personal space, and you back up almost to the nearest wall, but not against it. There, you stop. Letting him close. With his hand on the wall, he effectively traps you, blocking you from going any further into your trailer.

The smell of Newports fills your nostrils. He wets his lips and looks from your eyes to your chest, then  your mouth. 

He brings his nose to your neck and barely grazes you as he takes a long sniff. His nose brushes your cheek, and his lips follow. Just above a whisper, he warns, “Don’t do it again.” 

When you don’t answer, he pulls back and his hand comes to your neck. He’s gentle, not applying any pressure, but the presence of his large, strong hand is enough to feel like a threat. One that makes you more turned on than scared. “Got it?” he asks, looking at your mouth. Can’t be sure if he’s talking about going over there alone or leaving your trailer unlocked, and it doesn’t really matter. His eyes are wild, and it’s like he’s inspecting you, marveling at your face. 

You whisper, “Yes sir,” and await his next move. 

He takes his hand from your neck and cups your cheek to whisper, “Good girl.” 

You could actually melt.

He gives your chest another look and drops his hand, incidentally brushing his wrist against your breast before he pulls up his jeans. He bites the aluminum tab and turns to leave without another word. As he walks away, your eyes are drawn to a glock sticking out of the back of his pants. 

He looks back at you and winks before shutting the door behind himself.  

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate your interest and engagement with him so much.

Please take care of yourselves ♥️

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 15 ~ Oral Fixation

Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

Summary: Logan gives you something to suck on.

A/N: Day 15! Give it up for day 15!! Goodness, why is October going by so quick? Hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

“Hey, I didn’t know you smoked.”

You perked up at Logan’s words as he walked into the kitchen. “Huh? I don’t smoke.”

“What? You for real?”

“Yeah.” You continue to dig through the fridge, trying to find something good enough to suck on for at least twenty minutes. “What gave you the impression that I smoked?”

“Because you always have something in ya mouth.” He notices your shocked expression and quickly tries to fix it, “Yeah, yeah I know how that sounds.”

You close the fridge to face your boyfriend. It’s only been a month since you two started dating. You’ve known each other way longer since you both live together at Xavier’s mansion, but you’d think after all the time you spent with him he’d pay more attention to you.

“Ororo said it was rude to ask, and Kirk said to ask.”

“And you thought to listen to Kirk?”

He facepalmed, “Yeah, I know it was stupid to ask, I’ll just-”

“Hey.” You grabbed his hand, not letting it go once he faced you again. “It’s okay, I get it. I know it probably looks odd.”

“You’re a mutant, it can’t get any weirder than that.”

“Touché.”

You purse your lips in a brief thought before you explain your…fixation. How you usually sucked on things when you were under duress, be it stress or anxiety. Before this conversation, you found out Charles wants you to teach. Your mutant abilities allowed you to have increased knowledge of, well, everything. The professor thought math would be a good fit. You didn’t have a problem with the subject; you’ve just never taught it before. You didn’t even know where to start, as you had an unlimited amount of options. Textbooks, calculators, etc.

The entire debacle overwhelmed you, hence your search in the kitchen.

“You’d be a great teacher.” Logan reassures you, stepping one foot closer to make sure he is in your line of sight. “Math though? Good luck with that. It sucks.”

“You know, you were doing so well..”

He makes up for it with a kiss, trying to soothe your worries. You focus on his tongue brushing along yours and his large hand groping your entire bottom. And you want it to be enough, but sucking on something would be so much better.

Logan notices your unsatisfied face, “Damn, have I lost my touch?”

“No…You’re always great. Just sucking on something would calm me down a little.”

“You couldn’t find anything in the fridge?”

You shake your head, “I thought I had mints or cough drops, but I ran out. Can’t get them until tomorrow morning.”

He hums, pulling you close to his body. Immediately, you felt his growing erection, not surprised at how one kiss can get him going.

“Oh wait.” You place his hand on top of his bulge, his arm around you tightening. “I may have found something…”

Logan immediately knows what you’re talking about, “Would that count?”

“Yeah, it counts.”

Next thing you know, you’re on your knees back in his room. Shirt off, breasts on complete display since Logan said he wanted a nice view, licking up his shaft. Your hand around the base of his cock as you give long licks up to the tip, catching any cum that leaks out.

“I thought you said you had a thing for sucking, not licking-oh.”

Logan shuts his mouth when you enclose around the tip, sinking halfway, stroking the rest with your hand. Your pace is agonizing because you wanted to stretch this out as much as possible. You and Logan have been fooling around, and it was usually quick, not having a lot of time for you two to take your time. Now, you wanted to spend those twenty minutes to make him writhe.

You keep steady on your knees while bobbing your head, paying attention to the sounds Logan makes to ensure he’s enjoying it.

“Fuck, right there…” He growls when you flatten your tongue against the base, his hand on the nape of your neck.

Your thighs squeeze together when your eyes connect, seeing your boyfriend’s pleasure-ridden face. His eyes lowered, lips slightly parted, trying to keep it together as it’s currently late in the mansion. Your pace picks up and you’re taking more of his dick now. His tip almost hitting the back of your throat.

Logan’s growls send ripples across your body, pooling around your core. You hope that he doesn’t smell you yet. Once he does, your idea of sucking him off would come and go and then he’s bending you over on the mattress.

Saliva begins to seep down from your lips, staining your jeans. Your cheeks hollow out, creating a louder sucking noise that makes Logan’s grip on you tighten. He groans once more and it’s with a hint of desperation.

“Shit. I smell you, sweetheart.”

Your heartbeat picks up and you’re ready for Logan to turn the tables. Only he doesn’t, making you suck his cock with more volition. Your eyes welling with tears, pace even faster as he’s so close. Low, tense groans escaping him.

“You swallowing?”

You give him the okay and not a second more does he cum down your throat. You’re swallowing his seed, moaning against his cock. Once you’re done, you sit back with a pop, licking your lips. Logan takes a few breaths as he’s coming down from his pleasure. He looks at you with an emotion you’re not sure if you want to believe it.

“Feel better?” You nod, “Good, because you’re sitting on my face now.”

Tags:

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@golden-ebony @ethanhoewke @marit332

[keeksandgigz]

my guy

eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.

cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni

AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy

The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.

Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.

"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.

You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.

Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.

You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.

One, two, three, four, five, si--

The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.

He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.

He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.

"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.

"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.

"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.

"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.

"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.

"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.

You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.

The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.

“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.

He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.

"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.

"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.

"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.

Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.

"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.

"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.

“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.

“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.

"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.

"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.

"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"

He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.

"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.

"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.

"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.

"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.

"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.

"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"

"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"

"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"

Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.

"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.

"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.

His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.

"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.

His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.

After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.

"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.

His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.

He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.

"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.

"What?" he says weakly.

"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.

His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.

After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.

"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.

"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.

"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.

"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.

“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 9

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8

Jeff calls her. It’s the first time they’ve spoken on the phone, and something flutters in her chest.

“How did you get this number?” she asks, finger twirling the coiled wire of the phone as she smiles down at her socked feet.

“There’s only one Cunningham in the phone book, Chrissy,” he replies, all dry wit—she can almost see the smirk on his face. “It’s not exactly rocket science.”

She laughs, shuffling around her kitchen, suddenly desperate to move, but she’s leashed to the wall by her phone’s cord, so it’s only about four steps each way until she’s bungee-corded back to the starting point.

“Smartass.”

Jeff laughs this time, quiet the way he always is, but her chest feels like a supernova’s exploding in it. “But that’s not why I called.”

Chrissy’s smile fixes to her face before drooping down into her shoes with her gut. “What’s wrong?” she asks, now standing statuesque in her kitchen, cold tiles leaching all the warmth from her feet even through her thick socks.

“Nothing,” Jeff sighs, and there’s a crackling sound, like he’s rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Just—Steve drove me home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks, clenching the phone hard enough in her hand that the cheap plastic creaks.

“I think so?” Jeff replies, sounding unsure. “He just seems sad, man.”

Steve and Jeff don’t spend a lot of time together, but he’s been around enough that she trusts his judgment.

Steve is sad.

Chrissy wants to sink down to the cold tile beneath her and never get up. Instead, she shuffles back over to the phone and swings herself up onto the countertop—what her mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Her heels clack against the cupboards noisily, broadcasting her restlessness even as the worry sinks straight through her.

“What about?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“He thinks Eddie hates him.”

Chrissy sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out before biting her lip against the next logical question. “Does he?”

“He thinks he does,” Jeff replies promptly. “But he definitely doesn’t.”

Chrissy hums, too lost in her own head to think of a reply. It doesn’t matter what Eddie feels if the effect is the same: a sad Steve Harrington.

“I don’t think you guys should do this anymore,” Jeff says, snapping her out of her spiral.

“I know,” she groans, shoulders slumping. “But Steve’s hellbent on keeping it up.”

He sighs again, muttering, “boys,” with such a defeated air that she can’t help but laugh again.

“You just keep an eye on yours, and I’ll do the same for mine,” she says, smile audible in her voice. “Deal?”

“I feel like yours is a bit easier to wrangle than mine,” Jeff scoffs, a twinge of bitterness leaking into his tone.

And he’s right; Eddie still hasn’t even told Jeff about the letters he’s been getting, much less asked his opinion on them. Steve, at least, keeps her appraised of his next moves, shares his feelings, and asks for her help even if he won’t always take her advice.

So, when Steve’s acting weird when she sees him the next morning—all shifty-eyed and nervous—she doesn’t ask. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. Besides, the hallway’s too crowded, and she’s got a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with her and Jeff’s conversation last night.

She’s proved right when they hit the library at lunch instead of the cafeteria, and Steve barely waits until they’re settled in their usual table, feet interlaced.

“He hates me,” Steve whispers.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Steve pouts across at her, bottom lip stuck out like a puppy dog as he accuses, “you’ve been talking to Jeff.”

Chrissy bites her lip. “I always talk to Jeff.”

He rolls his eyes, but it seems to lift his spirits. “Did you ask him out yet?”

“Shut up.” She kicks him beneath the table until he laughs.

Without further preamble, he pulls a piece of paper from his bag and pushes it across to her. She expects the latest note from Eddie, having yet to read the last one, but it’s not—it’s a letter from Steve, clearly responding to something she’s yet to see.

“Did you pick up the letter yourself?” she asks, panic sinking through her. He could get caught, and then all their subterfuge will be for nothing. She might lose her best friend. 

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, so shyly that she can’t bear to chastise him further. “What do you think?”

She reads it again, trying to look past the panic to the words in front of her. “It’s good,” she says, and it is. “Do you want to send it like this?”

His handwriting is barely legible, even to her with her weeks of practice, and there’s a few misspellings, but she’ll do whatever he wants, forever and always. But he shakes his head, and asks, “Will you edit it?”

“Can I see the one you’re responding to?” she asks.

He pulls it out of his bag and pushes it across the table without a complaint. She picks it up and begins to read.

         Secret Admirer,

         There was a little hiccup with my guitar and plugging her in, but otherwise it went great! All four of the drunks at the Hideout clapped politely when we were done, and not even one of them booed us off stage!

         The riff is still getting on my last nerve, darling, you have no idea. I wish I could hear you play, I bet you’d inspire me so much, a stroke of genius would strike me and I’d know exactly what I’m missing.

         (I don’t know how to ride a bike. My dad was never around to teach me, and by the time I moved in with Uncle Wayne, I was too old to learn.)

         Darling, did you dream of me? Was it a naughty dream?

         Yours,

         Eddie

P.S. The Lord of the Rings is the name of the whole trilogy, so I hope you find it in The Fellowship. Can’t believe you don’t even know Tolkein. It’s okay, baby, I like you anyway. 

She smiles when she’s done, kicking him beneath the table as she asks, “Does this sound like someone who hates you?”

If anything, Steve just gets droopier. “It’s for you,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t have anything to say.

Chrissy squeezes his foot tighter between her own in a pantomime of a hug.

Even with his newfound pessimism, he carefully rereads her edited words once she’s done. He smiles down at it, clearly cheered by the act of writing to Eddie.

“It looks great, Chris,” he says genuinely, as if she’d done more than correct his spelling and rewrite his letter word for word.

“Thanks,” she replies, smiling across at him, relieved his spirits have risen. “Now, let’s drop this in his locker so he doesn’t have to wait too long to read your lovely letter.”

Steve’s ears turn red with embarrassment, but he dutifully wraps his arm around her waist and leads her out of the library.

Jason’s loitering outside of it, leaning against the wall like it’s a coincidence he’s here at all, but the way his eyes glare at the point where they’re in contact makes a liar out of him.

Steve seems to agree because he pulls her closer and asks, “problem, Carver?” in his snootiest King Steve voice.

Jason holds his hands up, smiling like this is all a coincidence, but he seems to have forgotten that Chrissy knows him, maybe better than anyone. She sees the way his arms are flexing, the way he’s baring his canines more than smiling, and it makes her feel on edge.

“No problem, man,” he replies, untold violence behind every word.

“Let’s just go,” she whispers to Steve.

She’s relieved when he nods, not sparing Jason another look as they take the most direct route to Eddie’s locker. He doesn’t respond until they’re well out of Jason’s hearing range. “That guy’s starting to really freak me out,” he says, talking quietly still, even after putting all this distance between them.

Chrissy sighs. The thing is, she still misses Jason, but the Jason she misses is at least a year dead and gone. Now, all that’s left of him is someone who wants to own her.

“Me, too.”

*** 

There’s something different about the letter he finds in his locker this time.

  Eddie —

  You were the best damn thing those drunks have ever seen, hands down. No, before you ask, I wasn’t there. But when I had that letter under my pillow, I dreamed a little dream (not naughty, I know you’re disappointed, sorry). I don’t remember the songs, but I remember the way you looked for me in the crowd and smiled. All the dream people gave you a standing ovation, me loudest of all.

  You’re never too old to learn to ride a bike. My dad didn’t teach me either, but a friend did. Maybe someday, I could be that friend for you, and when I tell you I won’t let go, you can rest easy knowing I’m not lying.

  Sincerely,

  Your Secret Admirer

  P.S. I know it’s still winter, but I’ll meet you in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The handwriting is just the same, and it’s as sweet as always, but still. There’s—something Eddie can’t quite put his finger on no matter how many times he rereads the letter. Maybe he should have paid more attention in English class instead of always working on his next campaign.

He watches Chrissy when she’s not paying attention, trying to figure out what’s changed, but Harrington always catches him and stares him down like a dog marking his territory.

It leaves him flushed, desperately trying to focus on whatever he’s supposed to be doing. By the time he looks up, Harrington’s always moved onto something else.

Maybe it’s just because they know each other now, spend time with each other, are even becoming friends? Eddie doesn’t mind, as long as the letters keep coming. He might even like this letter best of all. It feels more honest, real somehow, like he’s peeling back the layers of bullshit obfuscation to get to the truth of who she is.

He hopes it lasts.

It’s hard to write his own letter back, to meet that same level of transparency to someone who, despite now having a name and face, still feels like a nebulous being. A nebulous being whose favorite color he knows, who’s insecurities feel like they’re his own, whose words he’s stroked on the page late at night while unable to sleep.

He tries to pour that same energy back into his letter.

  Secret Admirer,

  I wish I could dream about you, too. I want to know your face well enough to hold it in my mind, even unconscious. I want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and know that you’ll be waiting for me in dreamland, ready to be the best groupie a guy could ask for.

  The truth is, no one’s loved me before. No one’s liked me, or kissed me, or held my hand during a scary movie. And, that’s scarier than any movie could ever be. Because, you’re it, baby. The one and only, and all that shit.

  I’ve got friends, and that’s enough for me! It really is! But a part of me just wants to hold someone’s hand—your hand. Maybe we can someday. Maybe we can do all the things we’ve talked about: go to a drive-in, play music together, learn to ride a bike. But even if we never do, I’m grateful for every one of these letters. Being wanted is new to me, and I’m not ready to give it up.

  Yours, always,

  Eddie

He steps into the Shakespeare section once more and slips the note into A Midsummer Night’s Dream and promptly tries his best to forget about it. It doesn’t work.

He wants a response immediately, dreads waiting the typical days it takes for a letter to appear in his locker, so no one can blame him for panicking.

“Do you want to come to a Corroded Coffin practice?” Eddie blurts after the latest Hellfire session.

Chrissy’s brow’s all furrowed up as she asks, “Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie’s surprised she doesn’t already know. He’s mentioned it at least once in one of his letters; does she not spend her nights pouring over the words like he does? Does she not have every dotted i and crossed t seared into her retinas?

His intestines wriggle around in his body, fingers itching to tear his letter into tiny little pieces before she reads his desperate, yearning words.

“My band,” Eddie replies, his response overlapping eerily with Harrington’s, “his band.”

Chrissy smirks between them but Eddie barely notices, too caught up in staring at Harrington. “How do you know that?” he demands.

Harrington’s shoulders curl, like Eddie’s the threat here as he mutters his response barely loud enough to hear over the sounds of the other Hellfire members packing up, “uh, the middle school talent show?”

Eddie’s lip quirks up as Harrington looks up from his own shoes and meets Eddie’s eyes. “You remember that?”

Harrington snorts. “Hard to forget, dude.”

Harrington’s smiling—he’s never noticed before but it’s a little off center, just enough to be endearing. Eddie smiles back helplessly, taking a step forward as he asks, “the king remembers little old me?”

He gets a laugh this time, Harrington’s eyes almost crinkling shut with his amusement. He’s got a nice laugh. Eddie’s never noticed before, hasn’t heard anything from him that wasn’t at least a little snide.

Eddie opens his mouth, desperate to elicit that noise again, when Chrissy pointedly clears her throat and reality comes rushing back in—what was that? He snaps his gaze back to her, shuffling his feet, feeling absurdly guilty. For what? Being nice to her boyfriend?

“When is it?” she asks.

It takes him a minute to remember what they were talking about. “Oh!” he exclaims, taking a step back when he realizes how close he’s gotten. “Uh, tomorrow night in Gareth’s garage.”

Chrissy’s smiling, but there’s something sly about it, Eddie knows, watching the flashing of her eyes, that Chrissy Cunningham knows what evil is and has the capacity to perform it. So much for his pet theory that she’s actually a golden retriever stuffed into a human girl’s body.

“Can Steve come?” When Eddie frowns, shifting his eyes to a red-eared Harrington standing stock-still beside her, she continues, “it’s just, Jason’s been a little intense lately?”

Carver’s name seems to bring Harrington back to life. He damn-near growls as he wraps his arm around Chrissy’s waist. “The word you’re looking for is stalkery.”

She snorts, “not a word, but yeah.”

Now that they mention it, Carver has seemed to be within arm’s reach of Chrissy for a while now, loitering on her fringes with his arms crossed like he’s staking his claim, even all these months after they broke up.

“Sure,” Eddie replies, and he means it. Harrington can come if it keeps Eddie from ending up on the wrong side of Carver’s fists. “Harrington can come.”

Harrington’s ears flush again, and he mutters an awkward, “thank you,” before leading Chrissy out of the drama room.

Once they’ve cleared out, Gareth sighs, long and loud as he says, “band practice is going to be so awkward.”

Eddie glares at him, having forgotten entirely about his audience while talking to Harrington and Chrissy. “Oh, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Doug snorts, shouldering his bag and heading toward the door.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” he replies as all three of them head out the door, Jeff having inexplicably already left despite Eddie being his usual ride home on Hellfire days. “It’ll be fine!”

Before he drives the guys home, he doubles back to the library to try and steal back his note, but it’s too late: the doors are locked and by the morning, the note’s sure to be gone.

They’re right; band practice is awkward, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault. It’s not even Harrington’s fault. It’s Jeff’s.

“You look nice today,” Jeff says, looking directly at Chrissy, who blushes.

He’s right, she does look nice in a cute pink cardigan and some light-wash jeans that fit her well. It’s not Eddie’s style, but it suits her. But Jeff doesn’t have to say it while her boyfriend is standing right there.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at Jeff.

Harrington just keeps standing there while Jeff does what can only be described as flirting, with his girlfriend. Everyone else carries on like this is normal, but Gareth’s sending him crazy-eyed looks proving that Eddie’s not the only sane one.

Doug’s too busy practicing his riffs, sure, and Jeff’s clearly gone off the deep end, but Harrington? What’s his excuse?

When he’d been dating Wheeler, he’d been all over her at all times, monopolizing her time whenever possible. And sure, Chrissy and Harrington are always together, but there’s never more than an arm around her waist or sitting close together. He’s never even seen them kiss.

And now here he is, letting Jeff flirt with his girlfriend right in front of him.

Eddie just doesn’t get it.

Corroded Coffin’s a fucking mess, Gareth keeping a beat only he can hear, Eddie missing every other note, and Jeff too busy looking at Chrissy to keep tempo. Only Doug is on his game, clearly getting more and more fed up with each new fuck-up.

Chrissy stays by Jeff’s side, whispering with him between songs while Harrington flops down on the couch and watches them play like it’s his own, personal concert.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off Steve. He wants to peel the guy like an onion, figure out what makes him tick, what makes him smile, why the hell he’s here in Gareth’s smelly garage watching his girlfriend make eyes at Jeff while she writes love letters to Eddie in her free time.

He wants to know.

He just—

Wants.

*** 

Steve’s words have been echoing around her brain for days—have you asked him out yet? It’s ridiculous, but before he’d said those words, she’d never even considered it as an option. Boys ask girls out, that’s how it works. But if Steve can like a boy, she can ask out Jeff.

That doesn’t make it any less scary though. She sits on the revelation for a few days more, watching Jeff out of the corner of her eye, flirting back after he instigates. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s still him instigating.

“I’m going to ask him out,” she tells Steve, not looking at him as they walk into the school together, too afraid of what she’ll see.

“Yeah?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together. “When?”

When she glances his way, he’s grinning ear to ear. She huffs, “I don’t know, soon?” Looking away so she doesn’t have to see that sly look on his face. “It’s just so scary.”

“I know, Chris,” he says, bumping into her again and again just to annoy her. “But you’re the strongest person I know.”

She doesn’t feel strong—she feels like a breeze might swipe her feet out from under her, but Steve believes in her. Steve thinks she’s strong, and she told him she’d ask Jeff out, so she will.

So, when Jeff next slides into her passenger seat, she starts the car and drives away without saying a word.

This has become something of a habit lately—if there’s no Hellfire, she drives Jeff home. Usually they talk, or turn on music they both like and sing along. The quiet has his feet tapping and fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. He grows more restless with each minute that passes.

“Chrissy?” he asks finally, a shyness to his voice that she’s not used to hearing. From the first time they’d spoken, he’s been confident—quiet, yeah, but assured. “Are you okay?”

Unable to take the waver of his voice sitting down, Chrissy veers off the side of the road, holding her arm out to keep Jeff from smacking into the dash at the abrupt change in momentum. She puts the thing in park, takes off her seatbelt, and turns in her seat to face Jeff head-on.

His eyes are wide, clearly freaked out by her erratic behavior, but he still unlatches his own seatbelt and mimics her position, awkwardly pulling his feet beneath him when it becomes clear his legs are too long to fit.

She’s helplessly charmed; it may just be Steve and Eddie’s letters rubbing off on her, but she wants to reach out and take his hand. So she does.

His fingers jerk in hers, pulling back a little like it’s instinct before he drops his hand on the console separating them and lets her link their fingers together. Even with the heater on, the interior of her car’s cold enough that his skin scalds against hers, sending a shudder through her.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” he asks, squeezing her hand. “Because if so, let me know.”

“So you can run away?” she asks, grateful for the moment of levity.

“No, because I’m a gentleman,” he replies, winking at her, “and I can help dig the grave, save you some work.”

Chrissy laughs, once again captivated by him. He’s a nerd, how is he so gosh darn charming? Her cheeks hurt, her heart hurts, her whole body is tingling with the anticipation of what she’s about to do.

“Chrissy—“

“Will you go out with me?” she asks, slapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she interrupted him. She closes her eyes, entirely mortified. “Shoot, sorry!”

His hand spasms in hers before he tightens his hold. “You’re…” he starts, hand shaking in hers. She opens her eyes, horrible visions of him crying dancing behind her lids, but he’s laughing, whole body moving with the effort of suppressing it. “You’re apologizing for the best moment of my life?”

She laughs, too, helpless not to. “Is that a yes, or are you just laughing at me?”

He hums, tilting his head closer to hers, chuckles finally fading away as he replies, “can it be both?”

“Always.”

Chrissy bounces a little in her seat, vibrating with pent-up excitement. Maybe sometimes the girl can get the guy instead of the other way around.

He hums again, low down in his throat, and their gazes lock. The energy in her car is so electric her skin is buzzing with it. She wants to reach across the distance between them and steal a kiss. But girls don’t do that sort of thing. Girls aren’t supposed to—

She leans across the console separating them and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Jeff gasps into it, like he’s the one being electrocuted now, and suddenly his hand is out of hers, but that’s okay because it’s on her face now, drawing her closer, closer, closer, as he sucks on her bottom lip until she gasps.

She might have stayed in that position forever, craning her body uncomfortably forward like a sunflower toward the light, if she hadn’t shifted a little too far to the left into her car’s horn with a bony hip.

As it blares, they both jump apart, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking around for a threat that will never come.

“Oops,” she whispers, settling back into her seat, back protesting at the change of angle.

Jeff laughs, head thrown back, long throat on full display. She wants to bite it, but the moment’s long since broken, so she puts her seatbelt on and shifts back onto the road, cheeks flaming, heart warm.

“Does this mean you’re going to give me your letterman jacket?” he asks once he’s finally stopped laughing. “I’m not familiar with jocks courting rituals.”

Chrissy’s responding laugh isn’t her usual cultivated giggle—it’s a bark that makes Jeff grin at her. “Oh my goodness, can you even imagine the looks we’d get?”

“Or that Steve would.” Jeff replies. “But you’ve gotta admit, I’d look good in his jacket.”

She almost wants to do it for the drama, Eddie’s presence rubbing off on her surely, but it’s not quite worth doubling the lynch mobs that will already be after all of them.

“You realize this is only making this whole situation even messier, don’t you?” she asks, eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs, but his fingers reach across the car and settle atop her hand where it’s clasping the stick shift. “But worth it, right?”

She’s been smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, but at that, she damn-near beams ear to ear. “Yeah, baby,” she says, heat pooling low in her stomach when Jeff lets out a soft little gasp. “You’re worth it.”

PART 10

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[demonic0angel]

Another Anger management idea:

Jason is going through his own First Burn, but unlike Hamilton, he didn't do it. The evidence, though fake, is damning. Hopefully, Jason can get Vicki Vale to give up her sources easily, or there will be hell. He just wants his wife back.

(… did you want comfort, bc it’s only angst tbh. Also, I’m assuming that Jazz doesn’t have Shadow, because this would’ve been fixed so fast otherwise lmao)

Jazz didn’t turn to face him, as she just hugged her plushie, a little plush toy of Red Hood. She sat on their bed and just curled around the toy, her brilliant hair scattering over the sheets and covering her face.

“Jazz, please. Please listen to me. I don’t know how this was taken, but it isn’t real. I didn’t cheat,” Jason said, almost begging. He moved forward to be in front of her so she could face him, but she turned her head away, tucking her face into the plushie and clutching at it.

Not for the first time, he was horrifically jealous of the toy he had won for her.

“Princess, please. I love you,” he said urgently, “I love you so much.”

Jazz shook her head softly, and he could see a peek of her face through her curtain of hair, horribly blank and empty. She didn’t cry, she would not cry while he was here. She was strong like that, and hated showing weakness unless she felt safe. She hadn’t shown such strength in front of him for years.

“I know,” she said, her voice tiny.

It broke his heart in two.

Jason clenched his fists and tried to breathe.

Just a few days ago, Vicki Vale had released news of him cheating on Jazz with another woman. No matter how much he could deny it, the evidence was so damning that he had nothing to say. But he didn’t really have an excuse. He knew he hadn’t done it, but the evidence all pointed towards him.

Even his family were giving him odd looks. Only Jazz’s warnings had prevented her own siblings from brutally murdering him.

There was no alibi he could give, no witnesses to see where he was, nothing to show that he hadn’t done it.

But he really hadn’t done it! He knew, because he had been in the midst of a reconnaissance mission alone. But he had no excuses, because the video was so well done, the photos were so clear, and the information was so detailed that he couldn’t say a word.

“Jazz,” Jason said, his voice cracking as he felt the lump in his throat grow, “I didn’t do it. Please believe me. I promise, I didn’t cheat on you. I swear on my life. I love you, please.”

Jazz still didn’t face him. Her hands tightened on the doll and then she said slowly, “I need time to think. Can you call Dick and Dani please?”

Jason wanted to grab his guns and start shooting up Gotham, or better yet, sink the whole damn continent into the ocean. His rage and frustration was so strong that he almost felt blood leak up through his throat. He wanted to kill Vicki Vale more than ever, but if he did that now, it would only make him look more guilty.

“Okay,” he said comfortingly. He did not reach out to touch her. If he did, he knew she would’ve shut down further. “Do you want me to call Valerie too?”

Dick, Dani, and Valerie were often part of Jazz’s counsel. Dick and Dani would’ve been too nice to immediately leap to Jason cheating, but Valerie was ruthless enough to be a good voice of reason and if he offered, then maybe Jazz would think that he was being honest.

Jazz nodded silently and Jason immediately called them up as he moved to the kitchen to make the calls.

Dick agreed instantly and told him that he would come over as fast as possible. Dani was clearly disdainful of him, but tried to be polite and agreed the moment she knew that Jazz wanted her presence. Valerie cursed him out for a whole fifteen minutes before he could get a word in, but eventually agreed without hesitation when he asked.

Jason hung up the phone when he was done and buried his head in his hands as the soft sounds of Jazz crying alone in their bedroom filled his ears.

The urge to kill Vicki Vale grew more and more tempting.

He didn’t know why he was being targeted. Or how she had gotten such good falsified photos. Hell, he hadn’t even done anything in the last few weeks to deserve this.

He sat there in the kitchen, eyes clenched tight as he resisted the urge to go into the bedroom to pull his wife into his arms and hold her. He wanted to bury himself in Jazz’s hair, hold her tight to his chest, feel her heartbeat and her warmth, and settle her in his embrace as if they could somehow merge themselves into one.

Jason opened his eyes.

He knew what he had to do to clear his name.

He would have to find Vicki Vale’s sources and investigate for himself. He’d be damned if some hack reporter tore apart his blissful marriage with his wonderful wife. And god only knew what lengths Jason would go to for Jazz.

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel sleeps with his innocent married next door neighbor after fixing her sink.]

Smut

“He could see the guilt you felt, the confusion you felt when you suddenly smacked him across the face. He barely moved, accepting your hit with his hand still around your waist.”

The phone sitting right beside you, Joel could read the name on the called ID. It was your husband.

“Answer it” he whispered.

A tiny hint of Javier Peña in this

“Damn it, Henry” you sighed checking under your sink to see it was leaking much more than earlier. Of course your husband was coming home late once again from work leaving you to a messy kitchen. The water over flowing and it being late in the evening you knew no plumber would be available to come now. The thought of asking your neighbor Joel Miller was tempting but also a bit embarrassing this late in the day. Joel knew you and he knew your husband, the two of them weren’t exactly friends but whenever they’d see each other they’d have a quick talk about whatever game was going on. With a sigh you snapped yourself out of it and marched yourself to Joel’s front door.

It didn’t take long before Joel opened his door, intrigued to find you on the other end.

“Stella” he greeted you with half a smile.

“Hey, Joel…I’m sorry for bothering late. Henry won’t be back until God knows what time and my sink is leaking and-“

“Say no more,” he chuckled before calling out to Tommy letting him know where he would be.

Grabbing some tools from the back of his truck he followed you to your house right behind you. Not being able to stop himself from enjoying the view of the way you walked up the stairs, the move of your hips with each step his eyes were glued to your ass.

“Sorry again about this” he quickly looked up as you turned around opening the door for him.

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’” Joel always had a way with words, yet it wasn’t exactly what he said but more of how he said it.

Standing to the side you watched how he got to work under your sink. One of his legs lay flat while the other was bent, you couldn’t help but notice his navy blue shirt being pulled up slightly, revealing a light soft patch of hair that led to his-

“How long has this been like this?” Joel’s question distracting your thoughts, distracting your eyes.

“Oh uh-Henry tried to fix it but-“

“Yeah I could see that” he chuckled, his arms flexing as he worked. There you were again checking out Joel as he lay under your sink when your house phone rang.

“Not again, Henry” Joel heard you speak with disappointment, he couldn’t help but take a peak at you as stood by the counter.

“We’ve had to change it so many times, silly me for thinking you’d prioritize your wife” Joel looked down at you and watched as you sadly hung up the phone and pushed it aside. Before you knew it he was finished wiping his hands clean.

“That’s it?”

“Yes mam’” he smiled yet noticed the sadness in your eyes.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah” you sighed not being able to hide the disappointment you felt.

“Henry and I made four years last week and we’ve yet to celebrate it because theres always a reason for him to come home late, even bought this damn bottle of wine to surprise him,” you rolled your eyes. Joel tilted his head and crossed his arms listening to what you had to say.

“I can’t remember the last time we went on a date and we don’t even have children keeping us busy…ain’t that sad?” You chuckled sarcastically.

“I even bought this new stupid dress I’m wearing now to see if he’d like it and now I’m blabbing away-“

“You look beautiful in it” Joel’s compliment completely catching you off guard.

“Thank you” he watched as your eyes lit up before you realized you hadn’t even offered him a glass of water.

“Oh god, how rude am I? Would ya like a glass of water or tea? Coffee?”

“How about wine?” A playful look in his eyes as he motioned to the bottle you had just mentioned.

“You know what….why not?” You grabbed two glasses and the wine opener, pouring each a cup. Joel watched as you took a sip from your cup and tried to hold back a smile.

“What cha smiling about?” Joel asked with a smirk.

“If my husband knew I was standing here having wine with you-“ you laughed as he stepped closer to you.

“How would he feel about that? ” He asked curiously, a squint in his eyes.

“He probably wouldn’t like it” you looked down with embarrassment.

“Oh yeah?” He took another step closer.

“Or he’s probably too distracted right now with his secretary anyways too wonder what the hell I’m doing” you rolled your eyes before chugging the remainder of your wine. You always suspected your husband wasn’t faithful. Joel watched as you wiped your lips still lost in thought before you realized he was staring at you.

“Sorry- I know you don’t care to hear about any of that”

“Hmm..I don’t know darling I just find it hard to believe a man could get distracted with another woman when he has you at home” a light shade of red appearing on your cheeks as you quickly looked away. It had been a while since another man flirted with you so directly you didn’t know how to respond. Quickly pouring yourself another glass Joel chuckled as you chugged down what you poured. Silently he walked towards you, slowly pulling the glass away from your lips and setting it aside. You could feel your heart racing, leaning back against the counter as he looked down at your lips.

Was this actually happening?

“Joel” you whispered as his eyes found yours, his hands gently falling on your hips.

“You..you now I’m married..” you whispered as he pressed his body against yours. He was hesitant for a moment, analyzing your face.

“Happily?” His question making you react with a look of defeat.

No you weren’t happy, you hadn’t been for a long time and Joel could always see it whenever he saw you and your husband together yet you never expected this from Joel.

You couldn’t respond and before you even realized, he closed the distance between your lips and kissed you sending a shock through your body. Your eyes were open as he took you by surprise, his hand slowly closing around your waist pulling you harder against him before he gently parted away.

“I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t thought of doing this for some time now” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“This ain’t very much gentleman like of me but for some reason….I don’t care” he smirked before kissing you again. This time you closed your eyes, your hands brushing up his chest and wrapping around his neck, your body melting into his. You were losing control forgetting what was right or wrong, he pushed aside the dishes behind you and quickly lifted you up onto the counter without parting his lips from yours. His hands sliding under your dress making you gasp and turn away from his lips.

“Joel….” You whispered. No other man beside your husband had touched you in almost a decade.

“I…I’ve never done this before…I have a husband” you spoke as if you were trying to remind yourself of the man you married. Joel could tell this was the first time any other man aside from your husband touched you. The thought giving him a rush.

Refusing to look up into his deep brown eyes barely able to make out your words you swallowed nervously.

“This is…it’s wrong” you made the mistake of looking up at him and found him staring at your lips, yearning to feel more of them.

“So tell me to stop” he whispered before looking up into your eyes.

“Tell me to stop and I promise I’ll leave, darlin’”

You knew you couldn’t.

You didn’t want him to.

Slowly you could hear the sound of him unbuttoning his jeans, his lips pressed against your cheek before slowly finding yours again. Joel knew you had never done something like this before, somehow that intrigued him more. He moved slowly, giving you the chance to stop him but he knew damn well you wouldn’t. Feeling his hands between your thighs you felt him slowly slide your underwear off your legs, throwing them to the side. Shoving your dress higher he positioned himself right at your entrance slowly sliding himself in you. Breathing each other in you moaned as his thrust pushed your body up against the wall. It felt exactly like you what you wanted.

What you needed.

Your arms slow grabbing onto his shoulders as he penetrated you deeply. A louder moan than you expected escaped your lips, Joel smirked looking down at how much you creamed all over his cock.

“Look at that..” he whispered roughly.

“Wanted it that bad, huh?” He thrusted harder when the house phone rang making you gasp. The phone sitting right beside you, Joel could read the name on the called ID.

It was your husband.

“Answer it”

“What?” You panted as he continued to move into you.

“Answer it” he demanded, his hand sliding behind your neck grabbing a chunk of your hair. A look you had never seen from him as he eagerly waited for you to do as he said.

Looking at the caller ID your heart sunk, what the hell was Joel thinking?

“Joel..I can’t” you whispered when he tugged at your hair.

“Yes you can” he held himself inside you deeply making you gasp.

“Hello?” You whispered, the phone shaking in your hand against your ear as Joel looked dead at you. Your husband of course making more excuses on how he would get home even later than he first said. Yet, for the first time in months…you didn’t care. Joel unexpectedly began to slam into you faster, a panic arising in your eyes as you felt yourself about to cum.

Your husband speaking as you attempted to control your breathing but at this level of pleasure it was impossible.

“I don’t know what damn time I’ll be home tonight so please don’t wait up for me, maybe I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t call my office either” Your husband continued as Joel watched your eyes begin to roll back. Biting his bottom lip as sweat dripped down his forehead he felt you tighten up around his cock.

“Hello? Are you even listening?!!” Your husband yelled when ecstasy exploded throughout your body.

“Yes!” You screamed uncontrollably, the phone slipping from your hands falling into pieces onto the floor. Grabbing onto Joel you moaned as he watched an orgasm take over you completely.

“Please…please-“ you begged as your body arched against him. Joel grunted pulling your hips closer to him thrusting his hips against you as you came.

“Joel…” you whispered, your body collapsing back against the wall. Out of breath you could barely say a word Joel quickly pulled out and came on your thigh making a sound of sweet relief.

A twist of emotions exploding through your chest. A pleasure you had never felt before mixed with a guilt you never knew you could feel.

“Oh my god…” you whispered as he turned away fixing himself up. Grabbing some paper towels you cleaned yourself off still in shock with what you had just done. Getting off the counter your legs felt like jello practically making you lose your balance. Joel quickly turned and held you up by your waist as you looked up at him feeling confused yet you didn’t know what to say. He could see the guilt you felt, the confusion you felt when you suddenly smacked him across the face. He barely moved, accepting your hit with his hand still around your waist. You attempted to push his hand off before he abruptly pulled you tighter against him. You gasped not expecting his reaction as he stared down at you intensely not saying a word.

“You-“ Joel grabbed your face pressing his lips to yours as you struggled to push away for just a second, his hands grabbing your wrists before you melted once again in his arms. Parting his lips from you he looked down breathlessly.

“It’s alright” he whispered as you looked up at him innocently. He knew what he had just done, but Joel didn’t regret it, hell he wished he could stay with you.

Kissing your forehead he silently left your home as you stood against the counter in shocker. Your phone still on the floor, your underwear right beside it with a drop of his cum you had noticed.

What the hell did this mean?

Joel went to his home and walked in casually passing Tommy who sat at the table eating a sandwich. Tommy didn’t even get to say a word with how quickly Joel hid himself in the bathroom starting the shower.

Staring at himself in the mirror he didn’t know what to feel. This wasn’t like Joel to sleep with a married woman yet the guilt he felt was more from you. The look in your eyes as you had realized what you had done he felt responsible for…yet he couldn’t keep himself away….

Part 2?

[thezombieprostitute]

What's Mine

Summary: Bucky pushes you too far and decides to explain how your situation works. Or doesn't.

Word Count: ~2.3 k

Warnings: Dark Fic, Implied dub/non con, Power imbalance. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous Part

It's been a few months since Bucky "claimed" you. He followed up on his promises of taking care of you. You frequently woke up to some surprise gift or another. One day it was a fully stocked kitchen. Another day it was the leak in the bathroom sink getting fixed. More than a few times it's been jewelry with his initials on it.

And all it cost was letting him use you. You swear a piece of your soul dies every time he makes you cum. Every time he coats you in his semen. Every time you match his fervor. It might not be so bad if he didn't gloat every time. That damn smirk haunted your dreams. Or was it nightmares? What was the difference anymore?

It had definitely affected your standing in the community. People were scared to interact with you. Fewer parents brought their kids to the library when you were there. Ruth and her friends had no problems calling you all sorts of degrading things under their breath. You definitely caught them giving you the evil eye more than a few times.

Part of you suspected that if you'd quit trying to fight him he'd lose interest. He liked when you were in a fiery mood. If you could just give in, give up, he'd likely stop using you. But you couldn't help yourself. You hated him. You hated yourself for enjoying the pleasure he gave. That hate needed an outlet.

You pull into your driveway, no longer surprised to see Bucky's bike there as well. You sigh, wondering if you can talk him into to leaving. You're exhausted. Walking into the house you don't even have a chance to take your jacket off before Bucky is on you.

"Bucky, please no. I'm just too tired."

He chuckles, "don't worry. I'm just really happy to see you. We're going out tonight."

You sigh, "I'd rather stay in."

"Then that means you have the energy for me all night."

"Ugh, fine. Where are we going?"

"I've got you an appointment at the tattoo parlor."

"WHAT?! I hate tattoos! I can't get any!"

He smiles as he growls at you, "you're going to get a tattoo just for me. No one else is going to be able to see it, but we'll know it's there."

"Isn't the jewelry enough of your 'ownership'? You even got me a brooch for my cardigans with your initials!"

Bucky licks his lips, "it was just the beginning, Doll. So far everything I've done to mark you are things that can wash away or heal up. This is the next step."

"I refuse," you declare, crossing your arms.

"Fuck, Doll, you're getting me riled up." He puts his arms on each side of your head, boxing you in against the wall. "And you're getting that damn tattoo. We can either go now, while you're still cleaned up, or after I've fucked your brains out and you're a cum covered mess."

"Fine," you drop your head. "Let's go to the tattoo parlor."

"Not yet." He grabs you chin and makes your look at him. "You need to thank me, first, Doll."

Bile rises at the back of your throat. "Thank you for letting me preserve my dignity."

He laughs. "Give me another," he taunts, using the same voice as when he's telling you to give him another orgasm. You hate yourself for the involuntarily clench your pussy does.

"Thank you, Bucky, for...for introducing me to Bunny. It is nice to have a friend." A friend who understands how fucked you both are, you think.

That gets a more sincere smile on his face. "It is important to me that you know my best friend and his girl. I'm glad you're good to them. Bunny is gonna need you when she's pregnant."

"What are friends for," you dryly reply.

"That's my good girl, Doll."

The tattoo is pretty much what you expected. His initials, right over your heart. If you wore anything low cut, it would be obvious. You were sure that was the point: can't even show a hint of skin without reminding everyone who it actually belongs to. At least it wouldn't be a problem at work, given you always dress conservatively.

By the time you're home Bucky is practically salivating at the memory of the tattoo on your chest. He might be eager to see this permanent mark of his claim on you but at least he's willing to follow instructions for proper care so it doesn't scar or make you sick. You made sure to thank him for that, knowing he likes to hear it, and he reiterates, "I take care of what's mine."

"Any chance I can just get some sleep tonight? I wasn't lying when I said I was tired."

"I'm all worked up, Doll."

"I thought you take care of what's yours," you snap back. "How is keeping me awake, not letting get good sleep, taking care of me?"

He grips your chin and gives you a thoughtful look. "I suppose you're right," he admits. "Even a vibrator's batteries gotta recharge every so often, right?" You roll your eyes and he grins. "But I'm going to hold you all night and when you wake up, it's on. I know you don't work tomorrow."

"Is that why you helped with my budget? So I'd have more free time to be your personal toy?" You can't fight the fire in your voice. You're tired, yes. Tired of being so angry all the time.

"Aww, you admit you're mine," he teases.

Unable to hold back any longer you smack his face. "I have never been so angry or tired as I have been since you showed up. You want to take care of me? You want me to be yours? Treat me like a fucking person!" Tears are pouring out of your eyes, the stress and frustration of the months finally finding a kind of release.

Bucky glowers at you and grabs your throat with his metal arm. "You shouldn't have done that, Doll."

"I don't care anymore," you croak.

That seems to catch him off guard as his hand loosens and his face softens.

"Oh, Doll," he shakes his head. "You really should've said something sooner." You squeeze your eyes shut as more tears start falling. He removes his hand from your throat and brings you in for a hug, causing you to cry even more. He pats your hair and coos, "there, there," until you can't cry any more.

"Let's get you to bed," he says quietly.

"I...I don't...I don't understand."

He gently lifts your chin, "you know, before Bunny ran, I tried to warn Steve he was being too controlling. That she was going to bolt. He didn't listen and, sure enough, she escaped. Wouldn't surprise me if she continued to try because he hasn't learned to loosen his grip. I don't plan on repeating his mistakes. Yes, you're mine and you'll never be rid of me. But that doesn't mean I can't be benevolent."

You sniffle as your brain tries to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Now lets make sure that tattoo is properly cared for," he says with a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I...I hit you," you stammer.

"You're over-stressed and tired," he shrugs. "If I thought you were doing it just because you wanted to hurt me, yes, there would be repercussions. But I've apparently been overworking my poor Doll, so I'll forgive that one smack." His tone at that last part implies any more attempts to lash out at him will be punished.

"Thank you, Bucky," you murmur as you hang your head.

"Mmmm. That's more like it. Now let's get you to bed and tomorrow we'll work on your communication skills."

You wake up feeling like you're hungover without having had any alcohol. The delicious smells of breakfast lure you out of the bed, even though you dread meeting the cook.

Bucky's shirtless and smiling as he works. If you were in anything close to a healthy relationship you'd smile at how happy he is. Instead you keep your head down, trying not to think about that metal hand wrapped around your neck. About how those muscles feel pressed against your back, or on top of you.

He sees you and gestures for you to sit at the table. He brings you a plate of breakfast, a mug of coffee and kisses the top of your head before sitting across from you. You don't eat right away like he does, lost in your confusion about this change in behavior.

"Eat, Doll," he orders. "I didn't stock your kitchen and cook this up just for you to let it go cold."

"What is going on?" your voice is barely above a whisper.

"I'm taking care of my girl," he answers, nonchalantly. You look at him like you've never seen him before and he sighs. "Eat, or I will force it down your throat."

You grab a slice of the toast and start chewing. "Thank you, Bucky," you grumble and he nods in his approval.

"One of the differences between me and Cap is that I know I'm a monster," he tells you between bites. "He likes to think we've done all of this to keep his girl safe and give her the life she always wanted. I know better. But we've been best friends since we were kids. Ride or die, you know? So I'm always going to have his back. I've just made peace with the fact that it means ruining lives."

"You never tried to talk him out of it? Out of taking over an entire town?"

He shakes his head. "Steve's the kind of guy who can never be talked or distracted from his goal. One of the things I find endearing about him."

"So, he gets you all to take over everything here and you, what? Enjoy the spoils?" Feeling the bile rise at the back of your throat, you go for another slice of toast to try to settle your stomach while keeping Bucky happy.

"It's a balance," he grins. "We take over and just start doing whatever the hell we want, a lot of people are going to die trying to get rid of us. So we set up some rules for our men. People will remain upset, of course, but they're less likely to 'rise up' so long as we have a level of restraint. It's, honestly, the biggest part of my job as Cap's second."

You think on this for a minute, mindlessly eating. "I get why the town, but why me?"

He shrugs, "I needed the stress relief. It ain't easy keeping a crew in line and I was initially just hoping for a quiet spot to read to calm down. Then I started watching you. Saw you expertly handle all kinds of difficulties. When you snapped at me, I figured, like me, you could use some stress relief."

"Stress relief?!" He gives you a look that has you clamming up.

"And fuck you were so good," he muses. "That first photo is still the background on my phone." Heat rushes to your face. "I decided to go ahead and keep you as mine. You're not only a good fuck, but you were quick to befriend Bunny. Everyone else who sees her with Cap has decided to avoid her. Something I know you've been experiencing, even though you haven't told me." You look down, unable to say anything. "I honestly thought you liked the rough treatment and was happy to give it, but I'm guessing we hit a limit for you."

"You branded me," you snarl.

"No, I got you a tattoo. Branding is something else and would've hurt you a lot more." His tone is stern and you return your attention to your food. "You've played a critical role in helping me keep things under control. Plus, since you're my girl, you get some privileges and protections. You think Steve would've beaten up Walker for some random librarian? No. But for his best friend's girl? That's another story."

"So, you're just going to keep using me?"

"Yes," he nods. "And now that I know more about your limits, I'm less likely to get stabbed in my sleep."

You look at him, aghast, "that's why you never stayed the night before?"

Bucky chuckles, "so smart. I love it. And now that you have more information, hopefully you're smart enough to put the rest of the pieces together."

"If I hurt you, Steve drops everything to find and kill me. Probably painfully." He nods. "If I make you angry, you're likely to take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it or you lose control of your men for long enough that they hurt someone who doesn't deserve it." He nods again, smiling at you. "And if I stop playing along like everything is okay, it's another sign to the townsfolk that might set them over the edge and have them shooting, getting hurt, or worse."

Bucky finishes his breakfast, nodding at your conclusions. "God, I love that you're so smart. Makes a lot of this so much easier." You start sniffling and he reaches across the table to gently grip your chin. "I get that this is a lot to take in, Doll. But I know you'll make the right decision. If you really didn't care about this town, you'd have left when you only had a skeleton budget. You're willing to work yourself to the bone to take care of these people, you're willing to be mine to keep them safe."

"I can't say 'no'," you whimper.

"But it doesn't have to be all bad. Remember, I take care of what's mine."

Previous Part

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Sweaty

week 2 of the Winter Writing Challenge

prompt: "I totally definitely did not just watch you chop wood outside.“ 

Summary: Things.... escalate after Joel caught you watching him chopping some wood outside in the snow.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: E

Warnings: some domestic fluff, flirting, smut (unprotected sex), f masturbation, cum play, some dirty talk, Joel Miller really being into readers tits, humour I guess?

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Ellie was hovering behind you. 

„Stop it,“ you hummed, your hand steady as you tried yourself on the first decorative frosting of cookies in… twenty years. 

„I’m not doing anything,“ she whined. You could feel her breath on your upper arm. Turning you head to the side you narrowed her eyes at her. 

„I wanna waaaatch. It’s so cool,“ she pouted. 

You sighed. 

„Okay. But you gotta give me some space. I haven’t done this in a long time,“ you said. She grinned, taking a step to the side. 

Ellie had asked you for help.

She wanted to do something nice for Dina and asked you for advice. You ended up offering to teach her to bake some of Dina’s favourite cookies and then help decorating them with whatever you could find in the community kitchen. 

Turned out Ellie was not as creative with cookie decorating.

She got frustrated pretty quickly, leaving you to do most of the decorating, while she cleaned up the kitchen. But now she was finished and while you still hated people watching you when you worked, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the girl standing next to you. 

Things did not start out like that with the two of you. 

You had moved into the house they had apparently occupied when they came here the first time, leaving Ellie calling you House thief for the first months after meeting. 

More than once you had offered to move, the house being way to big just for you alone, but Maria and Joel had insisted you stayed. 

Ellie and Joel had moved into the house across from you instead, leaving you with your official first neighbours. 

They both did not talk much in the beginning, nor did you see much of them. 

Sometimes you saw them leave the house together in the early morning when you were just finishing getting dressed. Sometimes you saw Joel sitting alone outside of his porch, a guitar in his lap, his eyes far away. 

You hadn’t really talked to either of them until a month after they joined the community and Ellie had somehow managed to break you kitchen window as she played outside. 

Joel had made her say sorry before he offered to fix the window up for you. 

And it seemed like Joel found reasons to come and see you after that alone. Without Ellie around, just him and you. 

Your sink leaked? Joel would fix it. 

Creaky floorboards? Fixed within a day. 

Your back was tense, because you had spent all day cleaning out the stables? Joel’s big hands could help. 

Thinking back, him offering to massage you had been smooth as hell, but you were just too thankful and exhausted that day to notice just how much he had been flirting with you. Or maybe you were generally not used to people being very interested in you. 

Hell, to this day you went all shy when he told you all the things he wanted to do with you (or to you).

It had now officially been nine months since you and Joel started dating, and three months since both Joel and Ellie moved into your house. 

You were putting the finishing touches to the cookies, when you heard the door open and close, followed from a long released deep sigh, that brought a smile to your lips. 

„Joel’s home!“ Ellie said just before he walked into the kitchen. You looked over your shoulder, smiling at him. 

„Though patrol?“ You asked. 

„Stupid fucking newcomers want to play hero just to get knocked of their horses,“ he grumbled, walking over to you. He kissed your cheek, smiling at you. 

„Ugh, gross,“ Ellie gagged and you rolled your eyes. 

„That’s gross? Remind me who asked me to help her bake cookies for the girl she’s crushing on again?“ You sing sang and Ellie blushed. 

„Shut up. You’re like ancient…. And I do not have a crush,“ she mumbled, grabbing a cookie to hide her smile before she sprinted out of the kitchen and you heard her footsteps walk up the stairs. 

Joel’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You brought one cookie up, feeding it to him. 

He moaned softly, enjoying the taste. 

„How about you leave some of that frosting for later?“ He asked, licking his lips. You set your frosting tools down, turning in his arms with an eyebrow raised. 

„To do what exactly?“ You pursed your lips.

He leaned in, kissing you softly. 

„Guess you’ll have to wait to find out,“ he winked, pecking your lips again before he took a step back. 

„I’ll get some wood from outside and then I’ll take a shower,“ he said.

„Okay,“ you smiled.

Half an hour later you had put all cookies away, Ellie had grabbed and packed the ones for Dina and left for the birthday sleepover party and Joel was still outside. 

With the intention to look for him outside you made your way towards the front door, grabbing his extra winter jacket to stay warm, and then walked towards the back of the house. 

It was a chilly December day, snow shovelled high everywhere, yet there he was. Joel Miller, stripped off of his flannel and only wearing his grey undershirt, swinging an axe down on a log of wood, splitting it in half with what looked like ease, the wood seemingly melting against the force of the blade. 

You stopped in your tracks, your feet seemingly glued to the snowy ground beneath you, watching the man you loved split some firewood. His hand gripping the handle of the axe, the muscles of his arms flexing every time he split another log of wood. His shirt clinging to his sweaty chest.

You swallowed, your eyes tracing the veins of his arms you loved to brush your fingers on whenever you had the chance to. 

You kept watching him, for what felt like hours (or days) but probably only minutes, fascinated (and turned on) by the sheer strength of his body. 

Fuck, your man was hot. 

Joel set the axe down, his hand brushing his hair back as he groaned, brushing the sweat that had started trickling down his temples away. When he looked up he found you standing there, watching him. 

He tilted his head and you flushed, your teeth catching your upper lip between them, nervous. 

And yeah, still turned on. 

It only took seconds for Joel to access just why you were looking at him like you wanted to jump him, his left eyebrow raising in question, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. 

Not wanting to embarrass yourself by more ogling you turned around, intending to walk back into the house, when you slipped, crying out in surprise, but before you could fall to the ground, hands wrapped around your upper arms, keeping your upright. 

Both of his arms wrapped around you from behind then, one of his hands on your stomach, keeping you close to his body. His nose in your hair. 

He smelled of leather, nature and sweat. 

„Careful there sweetheart,“ he whispered and you shivered. 

„Can’t just run from me after undressing me with your pretty eyes…“ he kissed your neck. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to give him more space. 

„I.. I wasn’t…“ you began to lie but he hushed you. 

„You weren’t watching me? Getting a little turned on?“

„… No?“ You gasped, feeling his fingers play with the waistband of the sweatpants you had on, having left the jacket unzipped as you left the house. 

„So… your little pussy isn’t dripping for me right now?“

You scoffed. 

„My little pussy is always wet for you, baby,“ you smiled softly, closing your eyes. 

„God damn right she is,“ you felt him grin against your neck. 

He had you stripped down within seconds, making you lay with your legs spread for him on your bed while he got out of his clothes, having you whimpering when he pulled his belt of the loops of his jeans with one fluent movement. 

„Touch yourself baby,“ he said, getting his shirt off. 

You brought one of your hands straight between your legs, playing with your clit. 

„Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy,“ he groaned, making quick work of his pants and underwear, shrugging them off. He spit into his hand before he wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watched you. 

You moaned. 

„Can see how wet you are. Can smell you. Put two fingers inside,“ he said, his voice raspy and deep. Sinful. 

You obeyed, pushing two of your fingers inside, whimpering softly. 

„Fuck yeah,“ he hummed.

The bed dipped and Joel’s hands were on either of your knees, his gaze fixed on how you were fucking yourself with your fingers. 

„Wanna fuck you hard,“ he groaned and you moaned. 

„Do it,“ you sighed, close to your first orgasm. 

His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your fingers out of your pussy and into his mouth, his tongue cleaning your cum off, humming as if It was a five course meal. 

„Fucking delicious. Best pussy I ever tasted,“ he winked and you chuckled.

„Ready for me sweetheart?“ He asked, kneeling between your legs. He notched his cock against your pussy, using his hand to slip it over your clit, playing with it. 

„I’m so fucking horny for you. Just fuck me,“ you whimpered. 

„Gonna make your tits jiggle for me,“ he winked, before he lined his cock up and filled you in one hard thrust, both of you moaning.

„Oh fuck,“ you cried out. He did not give you much time to get used to the size of his cock, starting to fuck you in quick, hard movements. You stretched your arms above your body against the mattress, pushing your chest out towards him, your tits moving every time he thrusts into you. 

„So god damn wet,“ Joel groaned, pumping into you, moving your whole body with his forceful thrusts. The headboard was hitting the wall and you were thankful Ellie would be out of the house for the whole night.

„Fucking love your tits,“ he rasped and you playfully wiggled your chest, making him groan.

„Not gonna last long today. Touch that clit for me,“ he said and you did. Your hand back between your legs, parting two fingers to feel where he was filling you before you began to circle your clit, the combination of him fucking you and playing with your clit leaving you reaching your orgasm in record time, crying out his name. 

„Fuck,“ he groaned, pumping into you a handful more times before he pulled out, jerking himself off until he released a long groan, coming all over your stomach and tits.

„Mmmmhhh…“ you hummed, your eyes closed as you panted for breath. 

When your eyes opened Joel still had his hand wrapped around his cock, his eyes burning into you. Letting go of his cock he brought both of his hand down on your body, smearing his cum all over your tits and stomach, massaging it in. 

„You really like tits, huh?“ You asked and he smiled, almost shyly 

„Really like your tits,“ he winked, using both of his hands to squeeze them. He groaned as he softly let himself fall down on top of you, his weight a welcome blanket, his head resting between your tits. 

„We gonna be all sticky,“ you mumbled, pulling one of your arms around him, your other hand brushing through his hair. 

„Don’t care. `s comfortable,“ he kissed your tit and you smiled. 

„All of this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t ogled me like fresh meat outside,“ he said and you laughed. 

"I did not ogle!" you said.

"Uh huh. You totally did watch me watch chop firewood outside," Joel said smug.

"I totally definitely did not just watch you chop wood outside,“ you giggled.

"Sure sure," Joel hummed.

You laid there in each others embrace in comfortable silence for a moment.

„So us being sticky is now my fault?“ You asked after a while. 

„Jep,“ he kissed your tit again.

„I guess I can live with that,“ you said and you felt him moving a little on top of you until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking softly on it, making you sigh.  One of his hand was on your other tit, softly squeezing it.

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth before a teasing grin came to your lips. 

„Imagine if these were full of milk,“ you teased and felt him still. 

„God fucking damn it, woman.“

[thedevilrisen]

begging for quinn hughes and “How did you end up like this?” 😵‍💫

Quinn considered himself a tool-body. He was smart and good enough with his hands to fix little problems around both yours and his own respective apartments. A flat battery in a smoke detector, sorted. A leaky window sill, plugged up with silicone before anything could sneak in.

However, on a quaint, sunny Saturday afternoon Quinn went in a little too far over his head when it was decided he would tackle a small plumbing issue. A leaky faucet, which had been dripping in his kitchen.

Quinn very quickly recognised that he was in far over his head, or in this case his ankles as water flowed, ankle-deep around him. The faucet now turned waterfall was doing little but gushing into the overflowing sink and flooding Quinn’s kitchen. Sodden towels, buckets and makeshift damns were easily over run.

His situation was just plain comedy, a broken wrench in his hand, pipes floating around the kitchen in the miniature swimming pool and water leaking from places it definitely wasn’t meant to be leaking from.

The kitchen, now turned watery battle zone had pots and pans strewn around to stop the flooding, the YouTube video Quinn had been watching in which a few steps were absolutely missed.

When you swung open the door, seeing Quinn standing there like a dear in headlights you couldn’t help but let out a light scoff and smirk.

“Quinn, how did you end up like this?” You asked with mock seriousness, this situation was secretly highly amusing you.

Trying to play it cool Quinn looked back at you, absentmindedly flicking his wrist with the spanner in it, "Okay, so, I watched this video—twice, mind you—and I thought I had it under control. But apparently, there's, like, a valve... or maybe a nut? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I turned the wrong one, and—well—everything sort of... exploded?"

You stood there and couldn’t help burst into a fit of giggles as you very clearly remember Quinn stating, “No! Don’t call a plumber, I can handle this!” Reaching for your phone you capture some pictures for future blackmail you asked, “Need me to call that plumber now?”

Thank you for requesting my lovely Ivy! It made my day and I hope this lives up to your standards!